#aaron hotchner x original character x spencer reid

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter One:

The bar was abuzz with the kind of infectious energy that only comes from a group of friends riding the high of a celebratory night out. In the center of it all was Evelyn Gideon, her laughter a melody that seemed to turn heads and draw smiles even from strangers. She was the embodiment of sunshine—her allure as undeniable as the curves she carried with effortless grace.

Evelyn raised her glass, her eyes sparkling with excitement and liquor. "To new beginnings and breaking ceilings," she toasted, her voice carrying over the crowded room.

Her friends echoed the sentiment, "To Evelyn, the FBI's newest and brightest!"

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed easily, touching on memories, aspirations, and the occasional playful banter about the 'aesthetically pleasing' aspects of her new job.

Evelyn leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, "You know, I've had my fair share of late-night googling and let's just say the FBI isn't all work and no play. They've got some serious eye candy too."

Her friends giggled, urging her on, and she obliged, a little tipsy from the copious amounts of wine. "There's this one agent, my boss, Aaron Hotchner. Oh, and another, Spencer Reid. They're like the real-life versions of those FBI recruitment posters. So hot, it's criminal."

The group erupted into laughter, unaware that just a few tables away, two men had paused their conversation, a knowing look exchanged between them. They said nothing, just an awkward cough as they went back to their drinks.

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before averting his gaze.

Aaron's expression was unreadable as he scoffed, "Interns."

The laughter from Evelyn's table continued to ripple through the bar, a stark contrast to the muted tones of conversation at the agents' table. Spencer's eyes flickered back to his drink, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. Aaron, meanwhile, maintained his stoic facade, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

Evelyn, buoyed by the warmth of the wine and her company, leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting across the room. She caught Spencer's eye again, realization drawing on her face, and this time he held her gaze, an unspoken challenge passing between them.

One of her friends nudged her, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "He's cute."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing with the implications. "I think that's my new boss and colleague."

Evelyn, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and her earlier comments, caught the agents' glance and felt a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over her. She fumbled with her purse, her laughter trailing off into a nervous giggle.

"Uh, I just remembered, I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I should really get going," Evelyn stammered, avoiding eye contact with the table of agents. Her friends, sensing her discomfort, offered her quick hugs and understanding nods as she made her hasty retreat.

As Evelyn vanished into the crowd, Aaron and Spencer's attention was momentarily captured by the bar's TV, where a breaking news segment flashed across the screen. They leaned in, their focus on a case they'd been following, the world around them fading into the background.

When they finally turned back, expecting to find the lively group still immersed in their celebration, they were met with the sight of an empty chair where Evelyn had been. A twinge of disappointment flickered across their faces, though neither would admit it aloud.

Spencer cleared his throat, "Well, interns are always full of surprises," he remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Aaron nodded, his gaze lingering on the now quieter table. "Indeed. But let's not forget, we were all there once," he said, raising a glass in a silent salute to their beginning memories.

"Statistically speaking," Spencer began, his voice barely above the murmur of the bar, "the chances of us overhearing a conversation about ourselves in such a setting are quite slim."

Hotch couldn't help but chuckle at Spencer's comment. "And yet here we are," he added, the hint of a smirk betraying his amusement.

—

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across Evelyn's sleep softened face as she awoke to the chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city. She lay in bed for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of memories from the night before. The laughter, the wine, the unexpected encounter with Dr. Reid and Hotchner.

She was Jason Gideon's daughter, a fact that filled her with pride yet weighed heavily on her. At 23, she was young to be joining the FBI, especially the BAU, and she felt the pressure to prove herself as more than just a legacy hire.

Evelyn sat up, pushing back the covers as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Today was the day. Her first day at the BAU. A mix of excitement and nerves bubbled within her, but there was something else too—a hint of mortification. She couldn't shake the memory of calling her new boss and coworker hot within earshot. She hoped against hope that they hadn't overheard.

With a deep breath she rose and made her way to the mirror. She took pride in her appearance, and today was no exception. She chose her outfit with care, professional yet undeniably her.

As she applied her makeup, each brush was an attempt to paint away the embarrassment of last night. She styled her hair, letting it fall into soft waves around her shoulders. We one last glance in the mirror, she was ready.

Evelyn grabbed her gun and badge, the weight of them both a reminder of the responsibility she was about to undertake. She was a member of the FBI now, and she had a role to play.

—

Evelyn's heels clicked against the polished floors of the FBI building, a steady rhythm that matched her racing heart. She drew a deep breath, letting her bubbly personality shine through her nervous smile as she passed through the security checkpoint. She didn't spot Hotch or Dr. Reid, a small mercy that allowed her to collect herself without the weight of their gazes.

The first day formalities were a blur—ID photos, paperwork, and the endless maze of hallways. It was all so technical and impersonal, yet it was the gateway to her dream.

Then, a beacon of light, she spotted Penelope Garcia. They had connected over an online forum for crime fiction enthusiasts, bonding over plot theories and character developments. Garcia's vibrant attire and smile were just as welcoming in person.

"Penelope!" Evelyn greeted, her voice a mix of relief and excitement.

"Evelyn! Honey, you're even more stunning in person!" Garcia beamed, pulling her into a hug. "Welcome to the BAU family!"

As they chatted, Garcia led her to the bullpen, where Evelyn was introduced to the team. Emily Prentiss's firm handshake and measured smile spoke of strength and understanding. JJ's friendly nod and Derek Morgan's charming grin were disarming, making Evelyn's nerves ease slightly.

"So you're the prodigy Gideon was always bragging about," Morgan teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Evelyn laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I hope to live up to at least half the hype," she replied, her tone playful yet sincere.

Prentiss leaned in, her voice low but encouraging. "We've all heard great things about you, Evelyn. We're glad to have you on board."

"And we'll make sure you find your footing," JJ added, her smile reassuring.

The warmth of the welcome eased the knots in her stomach. She was a part of the team, surrounded by legends, and yet, they made her feel like she was one of them—bright, capable.

"Gideon."

The newfound calm in Evelyn's stomach vanished as swiftly as it had arrived when she heard her last name echo across the bullpen. The authoritative tone of Aaron Hotchner snapped the easy atmosphere like a taut wire. She turned, her heart hitching as she met his gaze. For a fleeting moment, she saw the mask of his composure slip, a flicker of surprise that quickly schooled into neutrality. "A word, please?"

Derek couldn't resist the opportunity for a quip. "Don't keep the man waiting, he's not known for his patience," he said, eliciting a round of chuckles from the team.

Evelyn's heart pounded as she approached Hotchner's office, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts seeming to rest on one—he was going to confront me about what I said. She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

Hotchner's office was a stark contrast to the lively bullpen, its walls lined with commendations and case files. He gestured to a chair.

"Good morning, Evelyn," Hotchner began as he motioned her into his office. "Please, have a seat."

She moved past him, her senses heightened, astutely aware of the shift in his demeanor. As she settled into the chair, she caught him glancing at a file on his desk, his eyes momentarily distracted.

"I didn't expect you to be so..." he started, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

"Young?" Evelyn filled in, her voice a mix of confidence and self-deprecation, butterflies filling her stomach. "I get that a lot, but I assure you it won't affect my performance, sir."

In his mind, Hotchner corrected himself, Attractive, but he let the thought pass unspoken of course, cursing himself for even thinking it. "Of course," he said aloud. "Your age isn't a concern. Your qualifications speak for themselves."

He leaned back, interlacing his fingers as he regarded her. "As a new member of the BAU you'll be expected to undergo a period of observation. You'll accompany the team on cases, but your involvement will be limited until you've completed your training."

Evelyn nodded, absorbing every word.

"You'll be assigned a mentor," Hotch continued. "Dr. Reid will take on that role. He'll guide you through our protocols and procedures."

"I'm ready to learn and contribute, sir." Evelyn responded earnestly.

He had been called "sir" by many, but when the word left Evelyn's lips, it was as if he heard it for the first time. He caught himself staring at the lips at which the words came from, snapping his focus back to her eyes.

Hotchner's expression softened ever so slightly. "I believe you are. And remember, this team is a family. We rely on each other's strengths to face what most can't even imagine."

With a final nod, he stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Welcome to the BAU, Agent."

next

[thatgirlstrawberry]

See this?

That’s the look of pure horror, when his girlfriend’s father aka Aaron Hotchner storms into the working space the chief landed them (just imagine they are on a case somewhere far away) and LITERALLY seething and *angry vocalising* his disagreement with theirs relationship, because Spencer’s 5-10 (just age gap idc) older (reader’s over 18 for dear life) and she just started working there (7months). Derek has to physically restrain him from hurting his not so soon son in law. He calms down soon enough to get to work, but they’ll have a big talk about it, including Rossi. Cuz this man can’t hold a secret for dear life. I can imagine the ANGRY FACE Hotch does 🤬🤯 when he finds out about it. Also can you make it a lil bit longer with spice? Like after the big disapproving talk with Hotch, that they freely have a long hot makeout sesh, not worried about her dad finding out about them. In their apartment, where he’s sitting with his back to the headboard, hands tightly squeezing her hips while she’s whining on his lap.

I Hope this text above was coherent enough for you to consider making something with it. I hope that both sides of your pillow are cold. Ily<3

YESSS OMG

Not-so-happy Hotch

In which Hotch finds out that Spencer and Y/N have been seeing each other and is not happy about it

Warnings: angst, angry angry Hotch, spoilers from season 5, age gap (9 years), reader is 18+, heavy making out near the end + grinding kinda, sadness a lil bit, fluff, lmk if I missed anything!

Spencer Reid x fem!hotch!reader

Y/N sat on her bed alone, in the hotel room. The team were in Massachusetts investigating the murders of a variety of women. It was her third case. She’d only been there for about 7 months.

She’d been dating Spencer for 4.

The day she walked into the BAU in her little white blouse and tight black jeans, Spencer had his eyes on her. Not just because of her body but because of her bright personality. He couldn’t believe how wonderful she was even after what she went through.

He obviously knew her before she started on the job, she was Hotch’s daughter. She first fell for him when she was 18. The day Haley died. She was with Jack and her in the house. Foyet had tied her to a chair and had her watch him kill Haley.

It messed her up. It made her want to stop people who did the same to other people and their families. She had originally wanted to be a teacher but everything she saw that day changed her entire life.

Spencer was the one to untie her because her father moved right past her, putting a finger to his lips with his gun raised in the other direction.

Y/N felt her mother’s blood splatter all over her face and clothes as Foyet shot her in the head. She squeezed her eyes shut and let a muffled scream out over the gag he had tied around her head. The sound of Haley’s body hitting the floor made her flinch.

She didn’t dare open her eyes but she could tell Foyet moved closer to her. “I’m gonna go find that little brother of yours and you can watch me kill him too.”

And he moved her mother’s body.

Y/N cried and didn’t open her eyes until she knew he was out of the room. She tried so desperately to get the cloth out of her mouth but nothing worked.

Moments later, her dad appeared. She widened her eyes and whined. He let a tear slip from his eye and pressed his finger against his lips.

He moved past her and looked forward, making sure that his gun was pointed forward. Then all the noises from fighting and gunshots were heard.

She let out more screams hearing her father fight for his life. It was almost like she couldn’t breathe., she was screaming so hard.

Then she heard them tumbling down the stairs. Punch after punch.

“Reid, get her out of here!” She heard the voice of her uncle Derek Morgan behind her.

Suddenly, Spencer Reid appeared in front of her, making sure not scare her. “You’re okay. You’re okay, look at me, Y/N.” Spencer rushed as his hands tore at the knots around her hands and feet.

She looked into his eyes trying to stop the tears. When her hands were untied she reached up and tore the cloth from her mouth. When her feet were untied, Spencer wrapped his arms around and pulled her up from the chair.

She buried her head into his shoulder trying to contain her sobs as he carried her out of the house. “Is my Dad okay!?” She asked when he set her down on the ground. “Is he dead too— what about Jack— where is Jack!?”

Spencer shook his head and watched her eyes dart around. Her chest heaved but she was barely taking in any air. “Y/N, stop. Look at me, please.” Truth was, he didn’t know if Hotch was dead or alive.

The woman stopped looking everywhere else and settled on his eyes. “Take a deep breath in.” He held her hands tightly in his. He watched her body shake as she did what she was told. “Now let it out.” She nodded and squeezed his hands a let her deep breath out through her rounded lips. “Good. Keep breathing just like that.”

Y/N had always had a little girl crush on her father’s coworker. He was cute and awkward and had a nice smile. So, when she started working there, she was able to get to know him better.

“Everyone, meet our new liaison, Y/N Hotchner.” Garcia squealed and clapped, Morgan smiled and went in for a hug and Spencer stood back with his hands in his pockets with a small smile on his face.

Hotch turned to the rest of the team. “She’ll start out as a liaison but we’re working to get up to profiling level. She is a part of this team just like all of you.”

Days after that, past her mother’s funeral, she left town. She went to college, pretty much reset her entire life. One day, after all her classes she went to get coffee. All by herself. She didn’t have many friends anyway.

While she sat by the window with a book and her coffee, someone familiar walked in. She didn’t see him at first but when she heard his voice across the shop, she looked up. “Spencer?” She called.

He turned around and was pleasantly surprised. “Y/N!” He raised his brows. “What— how—“ he paused. “Hi, how are you?”

She pressed her lips together. He had the same look on his face that everyone did when they asked her that question. Pity. “Y’know, I’m okay.” She shrugged.

Spencer nodded. “G-good.” Y/N took the pause to look at him. His hair was longer, stubble was grown out, he was really fucking pretty.

She inhaled deeply, a wave of confidence washing over her. “Can I… buy you a coffee?”

Spencer tilted his head with a smile. “No.” He shook his head. Y/N visibly deflated. “I-I already bought one.” He leaned in a bit closer. “You can buy me a chocolate donut with sprinkles though.”

She scoffed jokingly. “Wow. Begging a broke college student for food.” She rolled her eyes with a teasing smile, pulling her wallet from her back pocket and walking up to the counter. Spencer blew a raspberry and followed behind her.

In her hotel room, Y/N pulled her knees up to her chest waiting for his knock at her hotel door. Her heart always raced when she realized that they could be caught by her father. But she loved Spencer and she fully believed that nothing could stop her from seeing him. She knew her dad would probably have a big problem with it. Y/N was now 24 and Spencer was almost 33. She knew also that he didn’t want her dating anyone for that matter.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She smiled and bit her lip, climbing out of the bed. She walked to the door and opened it. “Yes?” She raised her eyebrows, trying to keep her composure as Spencer stood there with a small smirk and a small pink box in his hands.

“I have a delivery for a Ms. Y/N? Is she here?” Spencer asked, his eyes gliding down her body.

She shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “Depends. What’s in the box and what do I owe my amazing delivery man?”

Spencer stepped forward a bit. “There’s a donut in the box. And you owe me a few kisses as the delivery fee.” He smiled, his eyes were soft— puppy dog like.

She bit her lip. “Well in that case…” She pulled him into to room by his tie and shut the door quietly.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Hotch was standing at the end of the hall watching this.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N was outside talking to a few news reporters who were asking questions. Her dad and Derek went to check out the latest crime scene. When she saw the SUV roll back into the parking lot of the station where base of operations was set up.

She nodded at a man with a microphone who had asked her a question. “Everyone should stay inside, lock all doors and windows. Don’t answer the door after 7. Be safe and if you know anything, call the number on the screen.”

She walked away towards the SUB and furrowed her eyebrows when Hotch got out of the car hurriedly.

“Hotch— wait! Hotch, you gotta cool down!” She heard Derek’s voice from the other side.

She furrowed her brows and tilted her head to the side. “Dad, what’s wrong-“ He pushed past her and walked towards doors of the station.

Derek rushed past her too. “What the hell?” She whispered, following them.

“Hotch, just give the kid a damn second!” Derek called after him.

Their voice disappeared as they entered the station. Y/N’s eyes widened when she realized “the kid” was Spencer.

Inside, Spencer was drawing lines across the map of Massachusetts where the murders happened when he heard Derek yelling. Luckily, the place was clear of cops because they were in a small town and all eight cops were assigned to keep watch of a few people.

“Spencer Reid, get your ass here right now!” His voice boomed and all of the blood seemed to drain from his face. He whipped his head around in shock and turned away from the board nervously. “Mind telling me why I saw you go into my daughter’s room last night?” He asked, his hands placed on his hips.

Y/N walked up beside Morgan who had the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. Her eyes desperately tried to connect to her boyfriend’s but the poor man was so scared he didn’t look anywhere but at Hotch. “I-I…uh…”

Hotch walked forward closer to him a little too quickly for Derek, Spencer and Y/N’s comfort. “You better give me a real good excuse and o don’t wanna hear what I’m thinking.” He shook his head, his voice low and intimidating.

Spencer didn’t say anything so Hotch all but lunged forward and Derek reached and grabbed his arms, pulling him back.

“Dad, stop!” Y/N cried.

Derek pulled him back more. “Come on, Hotch. Take a breath.”

“Let me go, Morgan.” He shook his head and shut his eyes.

The man shook his head too. “Not unless you can truthfully promise me that you won’t hit the kid.” He paused for a moment and when he didn’t get an answer, nodded. “Guess I’m not lettin’ you go then.”

Rossi walked into the building with JJ and Prentiss behind him, all of their faces contorting in confusion. “What the hell is this?” The man asked, holding his hands out.

Hotch didn’t spare a glance at them. “Reid’s messing around with my daughter.” He said.

Spencer shook his head. “I-I’m not messing around with her, I love her!” He blurted. The room was silent and it seemed to make Hotch even more mad.

He turned, ripping himself away from Morgan, pointing at his daughter. “Outside. Now.” He walked past her and towards the doors, pushing Rossi’s hand away when he tried to reach for his shoulder.

Y/N looked around at everyone, holding eye contact a little longer with Spencer before sighing and turning to leave the station.

When she got outside, her father was there with his arms crossed and a stone angry look on his face.

“Dad—“

“You are not to see him in a romantic way ever. Or I will fire you from this job.” He saw how her eyes softened and tears filled them.

She shook her head. “Do you think— I mea do you think I’m just messing around, dad?”

“Yes, I do. Y/N, It’s wreckless and unprofessional.” He nodded.

Y/N squinted. “You think so little of me? That I would let him play me like some game?”

“You are a child, Y/N—“

“I am a grown ass woman and I’ll see whoever I want to see.” She stopped him.

“He’s almost 10 years older than you!” Hotch scoffed.

She groaned and covered her face. “We are both mature adults. I don’t think it’s that much of a problem, dad.”

He stopped moving and looked at her. “I mean It, Y/N. Stop seeing him or I will fire you.”

Y/N have him a challenging look. “Do you want my badge now, then?” She raised her eyebrows and stuck her hand on her hip.

Hotch seethed. His daughter was just like him and it sucked.

“Get back to work for now but it’s mine when we get back to Quantico, understand?”

She shook her head with a roll of her eyes and pushed past him.

“And I don’t want you near him either!”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Case closed. And now they were on the way back. The entire jet was uncomfortably silent.

Y/N didn’t show it on the way back but she didn’t think that her father was bluffing anymore. They landed on the air strip and when everyone was off, her eyes filled with tears.

It was only her and her father left. She pulled her badge from her coat pocket and walked up to him, holding it out.

He looked at the badge for a moment and then at her. He sighed heavily and turned away from her, exiting the jet.

She raced after him. “So, what— you’re not firing me?” She called. He stopped and turned to her.

“Get Spencer and meet me in my office.”

He left her there, a billion possibilities racing through her head. Would he fire Spencer instead? Would he fire both of them?

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

“Spence!” Y/N whisper shouted as she walked behind him.

He flinched and turned. “H-hi.” He nodded. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day Hotch almost beat him up.

“Uh… my dad wants us in his office.” She nodded.

He nodded and visibly grew nervous. “I- okay.”

Y/N stopped him from walking and tilted her head. “Spencer, wait.” He looked down at her. “Don’t be… scared. I won’t let him do anything. And he won’t fire you. You’re too good at this.” She smiled, placing her hand in his.

He opened his mouth but then closed it before deciding that he was going to say something. “I-is there any way we can hold hands until we get to Hotch’s office?”

She tilted her head to the side and didn’t respond, she only squeezed his hand tighter.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N, for Spencer’s safety not for her comfort, net go of him when they reached her father’s office. And she walked in first. Spencer followed behind her, his nervous stare causing him to move quicker and knock over a file that was on the little table near the door.

Y/N saw Rossi standing in the corner. She furrowed her brows and tilted her head.

She looked back at Spencer before looking at her dad who still looked very angry. They stood side by side and in silence until Hotch spoke.

“Sit.” He pointed at the two chairs in front of the desk. Spencer almost immediately fell into the chair, Y/N slowly sat down in the other one.

They were enveloped in silence once again. Hotch sighed and looked down at his desk. “Listen,” He started. Y/N bit her lip. “I do not approve of your… relationship in any way.” He shook his head. “But, I can’t afford to lose either of you. This job needs you.”

Rossi shook his head. “This team needs you.” He crossed his arms.

Spencer and Y/N looked at each other. “I think your relationship is premature, unprofessional. I expect you to at least think about a break up for the good of the team.” He nodded. Y/N looked down at her lap. “Y/N, you may go.”

“But-“

“Now, Y/N.”

She looked at Rossi who nodded his head comfortingly, telling her silently that Reid would be okay.

She got up from the chair and took one last look at her boyfriend before leaving.

She decided she would go home because there was no way her father’s little talk wouldn’t take more than and hour.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N paced in her kitchen, worried for her boyfriend’s well being. She hadn’t heard from him in two hours.

She had changed from her work clothes into a shirt that belonged to Spencer and a pair of pajama pants. She had also cooked because she knew Spencer would not have eaten between the time he left the BAU and when he got to her apartment.

She heard the familiar knocks at her door and rushed to it. She flung it open and there stood her boyfriend who looked sad. Y/N pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around him wordlessly. He leaned down to bury his head in the crook of her neck.

“Are you hungry?” She whispered, her nails lightly gliding over his upper back. He shook his head. “Do you want to go talk?”

He nodded and she pulled away from him, keeping her hand in his. She walked with him to her bedroom.

He climbed up on the bed first, his back pressing against the headboard. Y/N began to sit down next to him but he pulled her over his lap, hands settling on her thighs. “Spence…” She brushed a piece of hair out of his face.

“He Uh…” He cleared his throat. “He told me that he wanted me to break up with you. And then when I told him that I couldn’t do that, he told me not to hurt you or he would ruin my life.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side and rubbed his cheek bones with her thumbs. “I know you’d never hurt me Spence.” She shook her head.

He smiled and leaned in a bit. She kissed his lips slowly. “I don’t care that he doesn’t want us to be together.” She shook her head.

“Me either.” He nodded, trying to catch her lips again. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands found her hips.

Their kiss deepened and his hands guided her body back and forth over his lap. A little noise came up from her throat and she accidentally bit his lip. She pulled away when he hissed and giggled quietly. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He let out a deep chuckle, squeezing her hips. “Bite me as much as you want. You know I love your mouth.” He whispered in her ear seductively. Y/N’s eyes all but rolled into the back of her head.

She whined and leaned back in, his tongue entering her mouth almost immediately. She absolutely loved his kisses. He always tasted like peppermints and chocolate.

His hands moved her back and forth again, she tried to ignore the feeling of his hardness underneath her. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck.

Desperation to just be close to each other enveloped them. When they broke away for just a second, his name left her mouth breathlessly. It wasn’t to get his attention, it was to tell him that she was scared. She had been scared of losing him.

They felt closer than ever before, both of them on fire for the other. They had no care I. The world of who approved of them or not.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Helloooooo i hope you enjoyed this! If it’s not how you expected I will happily rewrite it to the best of my ability!

I tried to add some flashback scenes to make it longer. Also, I made Hotch really mean bc I didn’t know how else to write him but I love him so much!!

Thank you for requesting @thbidkbutok !!! Luv you babes!

Also, feel free to request anything you want! In my ask box or private message!

Oop i forgot the Taglist lol

Taglist: @mrsgweasley

@tuesday-yellowxx

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[dreamdaddyhotch]

awhile ago there was a surge of BAU twt!aus on tiktok and i made some silly lil tweets as well LMFAOO but this is the first time i'm ever posting them online 🙏

note, for context: river is my male!oc <3 all you need to know rn is that he's in the BAU and in a r/s with aaron! 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

cw: suggestive content below the cut, 18+

that's all that i can fit into one post!!! i still have a bunch of tweets left but i'd post them some other time... hope someone out there found this entertaining to read n laughed a lil 🫶

BONUS: pre-relationship river and aaron‼️‼️😋

[mymauvemaude]

SOME UNHOLY WAR BY MMAUVEMAUDE002

WORK IN PROGRESS! (COMING SOON)

[breakingbranchesbella]

Self-Indulgence; A Criminal Minds Multi-Fandom Fic

Also found on Wattpad, Quotev, and Ao3 under the name BreakingBranches.

CHAPTER 1 - Loose End

Season 1. Episode 15. Unfinished Business. 

  IT'S NO SECRET that the younger you are, the longer time seems to go. Once you reach your fourties' a decade feels like a fever dream. Cassandra was still a little far from that mark. She was still only twenty-six. Twenty-six and she had wasted eight years of her developmental life personally deteriorating her own psyche. Only to be spat out by the big green machine. Now, eight years wasn't a decade, but it was certainly a long time to spend running towards no light at the end of the tunnel. 

  The tunnel had ended. The light still wasn't there. 

  Cassandra wasn't suffering, not really. She wasn't stuck in an endless torture of her own mind. She had passed her evaluation. She had been cleared for the field. Twice now, given she was sitting in the stuffiest office possible with the worst fluorescence known to man. Maybe the second worst, and she would only know this from the memories that this little scene brought back. Except in these recounts, she was on the other side of the desk. 

  "Miss Lorayne, we ask that you answer these next few questions to the best of your ability. Do you understand what I mean by that?" 

  "I do."

————————————

  There was an incessant buzzing in Cassie's pocket. At first, ignoring it had been her go-to solution. That hadn't worked. It still rang on. Over and over. And over again. Nothing but a frighteningly stimulating reminder of why she was here. Sometimes another person's kindness only serves to make you feel more helpless. Cassie had gone from a problem solver to a statistic in just twenty-five seconds. A few months later she was back to her protector role. The only difference was that this role didn't require her to move around every few months. Currently she was stationed in Quantico, Virginia. Sure, she had been given the warning that her days of freedom were seldom with this job. That traveling was still very much a constant, so much so they needed a personal jet. Having a house was just a new sort of feeling. Not a good one. Not a bad one either. 

  From police to FBI, oh how the mighty had fallen. Everyone had their opinion of each other in that part of the world. CIA, FBI, homeland security, the military, and all the way down to beat cops just trying to fill a quota. They all had their specific issues with one another. Sometimes it reached a point where the individual only cared because it was mob mentality. Cassie had her reservations, but she also had to have a job. Work till' you die, the American dream. 

  Physically, she was beyond qualified. Mentally, she met the requirements. Socially? That was going to be a fickle bridge to cross. One she was about to meet much sooner than she would have liked. 

  Today wasn't supposed to be her first day on the job, the role of a profiler and investigative specialist for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Much to her chagrin, it was going to be beyond easy. They had been assigned a case early in the morning, a Sunday. She wasn't given the full details, former serial killer, something about resurfacing. Something about an old vendetta. Something about a former agent who had spent the later half of his life obsessing over a lost case. Something, something, it was always something. Initially, Cassie was to be formally introduced to the team in a timely manner, in which it was supposed to negate any sour feelings or potential problems. Though since the jet was about to take off, she was unceremoniously given a pat on the shoulder, and a general gist of what she was up against. 

  However there wasn't enough time to prepare her for the mixed bag of people she was about to meet. Not entirely in a negative perspective, it all trailed back to her own social issues. She was easier to describe than them, and that was more often than not five simple words. 

'Hard to get along with' 

  The muscled figure stepped onto the plane, inching her way through the first enclosed space. Once she was on the other side of the thin door she was met with six faces. Only one was vaguely familiar, the other five were total strangers. It wasn't hard to place vague description to the silent confused figures before her. Nerdy, jock, kind, snappy, old. That's about the most she processed. There was obviously a lot more that had been described to her, but looking at them now she decided to just boil it down to the bare minimum.  

  "Lorayne." 

  "Hotchner." Cassie stuck a hand out to shake his own. A firm grip meeting an even harder. Calloused fingers met better kept ones. He still had a wedding band on his finger, that was probably the only reason his skincare routine was better. Not that she had any to compete with.  

  Cassie had met agent Aaron Hotchner before. He was working on a case that bounced back and forth between military and federal jurisdiction. She was stationed in America at the time, a fateful meeting that didn't seem all that important so many years ago. Today she was unable to tell if she was thankful for it or not. 

  Green tinted eyes met hazel ones. The stare was neither aggressive nor polite. It was just that; a look. "How is Haley?" Hotch's wedding band was warm, he'd been white knuckling his fist all morning. At first she thought it might have been her arrival that sparked the odd tension in the plane, however when a seventh figure emerged from the back end, she realized she shouldered the blame pretty evenly. It didn't take an analyst to pick out he didn't belong here. He wasn't horribly anxious, but he rubbed the nail head of his pinky against his ring finger. He was angry about something. Most likely the liaison she was told would be joining the team temporarily. This was his old case. He'd have to feel some sort of guilt, nervousness, or pressure over this. After all in some way of describing it, it was his fault this guy was still out there. You'd never hear Cassie admitting such a thing out-loud. 

  Hotch's response about his spouse was interrupted by another voice. A heavy voice, it was filled with confusion. "Hotch?" Aaron turned, Derek was almost out of his seat now. His skin crinkled as his nose scrunched. A half a sneer. "Right, sorry." Aaron took a step to the side, he'd gesture over towards Cassie. 

  "This is the new agent, introductions were supposed to be more formal but..." Cassie could see the way he fought himself to not look towards the odd man out. She piped up. "Liberté, egalité, fraternité." Her pronunciation wasn't that far off. It sounded practiced. It was. "French revolution?" The skinny kid's brows knitted. His train of thought was derailed by the ever consistent Derek. "We all know that one. What the hell does it have to do with this though?" 

  Cassie shrugged, awkwardly rubbing her chin against her shoulder as she did so. "Something about sticking it to the man. I was supposed to start Monday, but they weren't entirely sure when the team would return. You're as upset about this meeting as I am." The atmosphere was honestly much kinder than most situations she had been in. But she was out of her element, a fish out of water. Here everyone seemed casual, when her normal was the very opposite. All eyes were on her. It took her another moment to understand why. Thankfully with the change in pace she didn't have to meet every confused gaze with a stiff position. She was allowed to be as informal as possible. Still, impressions mattered.

  "Cassandra Lorayne, Cassie, Cass, I don't have much of a preference." Tan fingers flexed against her sides. Without her manual of squaring her shoulders, planting her feet together, and raising an arm to her forehead, she didn't know what to do. Aaron was nice enough to pick up the slack. He'd point with all five fingers towards each member. "Jason Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, and Max Ryan. Ryan was a part of the initial case eighteen years ago." At each call of their name the member would give some sort of wave or awkward smile, as if the pointing wasn't enough of an indicator. 

  The air about them gave away the notion that they weren't entirely aware of her indoctrination to the team. Cassie doubted it was sprung on them, but the concept was probably only batted around before more important things stole their attention away. Aaron had known for a while, he was the only one lacking any sort of surprise. 

  A few moments of people watching later and the jet was already taking off. Nobody sat properly, instead they'd shift their positions to sit around a clunky laptop that Derek was opening up. Dark fingers pads clacked against buttons, a small ringtone, and there was a woman on the other end. She had blonde hair and a very personal choice of fashion sense. "Talk to me sweetheart." Noone on the jet besides Max batted an eye at his nickname for the woman. Reid caught Cassie's confusion. A cautious smile paired with a tilt of her head led him to notifying her with two fingers half raised. "Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst." Cassie nodded. "Your oracle, yeah?" She'd murmur back to him. He didn't quite catch the reference. She didn't get a chance to explain it.

  "Philly PD confirmed that Carla Bromwell's been dead less than twelve hours. She was forty-seven years old." Hotch and Morgan glanced between each other. "That's odd." 

  "Their age range is older." 

  Elle cut in. "Why would the victimology change?" 

  "That's not the only odd thing, she was found tied with flex-cuffs, not ropes." Everyone was a puzzled as the next person. "That's all I have for you, PD is waiting for you at the crime scene." Morgan just nodded and waved her off with another unprofessional comment. "Thank you baby girl." 

  It wasn't easy to tell whether Cassandra's perplexed expression was due to the new information, or Morgan's choice words for his coworkers. Reid would once again offer some lighting. "It's sort of their thing." It wasn't a very good answer, but a relation like that, one that hadn't violated any rules yet, wasn't something she was able to comment too much on as the newbie. Instead she'd take the high road and sit back with a thick file of the former case findings. Unlike most others on the jet, she didn't spend her time researching other murderers and serial killers. It wasn't from a lack of care, more the opposite. Her former job hadn't been much different, albeit more physical. But she tired from surrounding herself with the worst humanity had to offer. She'd seen both sides of the spectrum, but the most heinous interactions often crossed her desk. If she had put any free time into it, she would have taken the plunge several years ago. 

  Instead of a refresher, this was her first time seeing the details. She'd have to put a good amount of effort into reading up on it. Everyone else was familiar enough. The seasoned veteran of this particular killer didn't seem to keen on the help, which only created another barrier.

  He wasn't stupid, and if Cassie could hear the way her newfound coworkers spoke about him, so could he. It wasn't anything unprofessional just voiced concerns. Cassie wondered if she had listened any longer when those same concerns would be made about herself. She didn't have the time to worry about some other's perception. The folder was thick, it smelled like freshly printed paper. Old records had been tracked down and republished, it beat searching up the initial documents. 

  She'd read over the whole thing twice before flipping back to the first police report and actually thinking about the words in front of her. By all accounts this new method of killing didn't seem to connect the previous offender. If it wasn't for the letter, nobody would have known. Which meant it was someone who wanted to do this, not someone who couldn't stop themselves. Which, Cassie had never found to be an accurate description of a murderer. She knew other profilers would classify that sort of person as an unwilling victim of their own urges. She liked to classify them as dead. But this was FBI, not the lawless land of the military. Blue jeans pressed against the back of leather seat covers, repositioning herself at the previous train of thought. 

  Why had he changed? It wasn't of his own accord, couldn't possibly be. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Her tongue caught between her teeth, sounding off a sort of clicking noise.

————————————

  Carla Bromwell's home was filled to the brim. The news reporters and curious passerby's were enough to give Cassie a headache. The amount of detectives inside was another issue. She'd split off from the two most comforting figures to take a look at the body. Gideon and Elle were headed to the room as well. "Agents Gideon, Greenaway, and Lorayne." The department detective raised a brow, but he wasn't given time to push the subject matter when Max came into the room.  

  "I was wondering when you'd show up." 

  Cassie didn't listen to the rest of their conversation. She might have been interrupting something when she spoke. "It's been processed?" A simple nod was all that she'd need. Kneeling down near the body, Cassie would carefully move her wrists and neck. The photos were an obvious indication that this was a different methodology. Elle took over, repeating Cassie's steps. Maybe it was out of distrust. Maybe it was out of morbid curiosity. "There's no bruising." 

  "The note said 'no fight'." Cassie tilted her gaze up towards Elle. Who was currently distracted with something else. From the looks of it, one could only assume it was whatever Max had said. Bad first impressions, but Cassie was struggling to really care about how the older man felt about all of this. Her scrutiny wasn't solely just from blaming him, more so his attitude. She didn't like it. Which wasn't actually saying much given she didn't like a lot of things. 

  Gideon broke the tense silence. "The wound is extensive, it's violent, he's escalating." Elle went on a sort of goose hunt after that. Not that Cassie would have done any differently, but she just wouldn't have said it out-loud. Her ability to work with others wasn't nonexistent, yet it did need an update to the manual. 

  "Elle's good at this sort of thing Max." 

  "Never said she wasn't." 

  Leveraging herself with the nightstand, she'd use an arm to stand up and take a step back so Max could look at the body himself. There wasn't anything else the could learn from it without the forensics report. Ryan pressed a padded finger against the woman's clothes. "I haven't felt like this around a dead body in a long time." 

  Cassie didn't need to hear anymore. He was taking it too personally. The former MP was no saint, she had her fair share of cases that she wore too openly on her sleeve. She had grown since then, to some extent. And in the areas that she hadn't, she kept hidden.

  As she was stepping out, Reid, Hotch, Elle, and Morgan were all coming back. Hotchner had a paper in his gloved hands. It didn't take a genius to guess what it was. 

  "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present." Max had taken the note, intent on reading it with his own eyes. The note offered two more context clues, a quote from Max's book, and the promise of a gift in two days. It was all an attempt at riling the former agent up. The unsub was targeting him specifically. Either a grotesque fascination or the perfect means of getting him worked up. An on edge agent is an agent who can't do his job. It was working. 

  They weren't going to find anymore than that. The behavioral team led themselves outside, only to be greeted by more angry reporters and microphones in their face. Cassie weaved through the crowd and dodged into the closest car available to her. A black sedan with tinted windows, a rental, something for the team to use. The department was the next agreed upon stop, from there everyone had done just about the same as her. 

  Unluckily enough she had managed to pick the one vehicle that Morgan was driving. The leather smelt of some bad cleaning agent and the air was humid inside the van. Getting comfortable seemed impossible so she'd opted for the self meditating movements of pressing down overgrown cuticles with her thumb. 

  "So," 

  She turned her head, her eyes lagging behind in the motion of facing him. 

  "So?" 

  "First day." 

   The car stalled to stop. Someone was taking too long to turn. 

  "Yep." 

  "That's all? No questions, comments, concerns? No issues?"

  Cassie's light brown brows furrowed. "Should there be?" 

  "No." 

  "Then, no." 

   There was silence again. The conversation was over. 

  "But," 

   Until it wasn't. 

   "Most aren't as enthusiastic to touch a body on their first day." 

  "CSI had already done what they needed to. I didn't see anything wrong with it." 

  Morgan let out an odd half-laugh, half-cough. "Again, I meant as enthusiastic." He'd tilt his head to the side, still facing forward as he spoke. His eyes never left the road ahead, but he made up for that with other movements. Every time he spoke his right pointer and middle finger would spread off of the wheel and point to who knows what. His right thumb tapped against the leather cover. 

  "I wasn't enthusiastic." 

  Her nose would crease with the rest of her face. An extended proof of her dissatisfaction over the comment, as if the quick change in tone wasn't enough. 

  "It was the first thing you did." 

  "But it's not my first time." 

  She watched as his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. 

  "What did you do before joining the BAU?" 

  "You don't know?" 

  "I wouldn't ask if I did." 

  "This. Homicide investigation. We were all profilers, and detectives, and the law." 

  "Military?" 

  "Yeah. Aaron didn't say anything?" 

  "Didn't get the time to." 

  "Right." 

  There was no more talking after that. Further into the city streets Morgan would trade his hand motions for a thin pursing of his lips. Traffic was entertaining enough to drop any other questions he had. Or, Cassie just wasn't.

  There was no time wasted between parking the rental and meeting with the other timely members of the unit. They made their way inside the sand colored building and pretty quickly they had the entire department working with them. Cassie would take a few steps towards the back, as though she were yet another officer these agents were preaching to. It wasn't only due to her new rank on the totem pole with the team. She was also a little jarred by how quickly they where to adhere to policy and comply. Then again, this was the bureaucratic process, not the militaristic. 

  Hotch lead the beginning of the profile, as he went on the others bounced off of him. They were a real unit. Real as hers used to be. Most likely better. 

  "Over the last two decades, our killer has changed. The age of his victims is more notable." 

  The head detective on the case shrugged his shoulders. "The keystone killer is older, his victims are older too. So?" 

  "Most killers have specific fantasies they act out through their violence. These people fall under an identifiable few categories. He liked young brunettes." 

  "And that means?" 

  Back to the BAU members, they worked fairly seamlessly. There was no indication of a turn, however nobody attempted to speak over the younger Dr. when he chimed in. A commentary on Ted Bundy. Cassie only hoped he was brought up due to his known name, and not some weird fascination. Reid would go on to explain even Bundy had a type, a type that when he started to neglect, lead to his ultimate capture. In the same vain, it lead to more violence. 

  Gideon raised both palms at an angle. "It could be a sign that he's devolving." As though there was some invisible speaking baton being passed between the group, their statements moved from one to another. First with Morgan. "Which could mean he's about to slip up. Though, the devolution theory is just that, a theory, we can't rely on it." 

  "If he is in a frenzy," Hotch interjected, taking the mantle of the conversation again. "We can't tell how fast he'll continue to devolve." 

  "Or how many more victims he'll take before he's finished." Gideon curled his mouth inward. 

  "So, in order to keep that number as low as we can, we need to go over everything. Everything we learned eighteen years ago, everything we got today." 

  The oldest of the BAU leaned back against a whiteboard covered wall. He steepled his fingers together. "We'll start with the older profile, Max," The latter turned away, shaking his head and waving the former off. Gideon sent a look towards Hotch, who cast it over to Cassie. Her eyes went wide, then they scrunched up. Russet colored lips pursed before a curtly nod was offered. 

  "Right the..." She thought, frowned, then continued speaking. "We're looking for a man in his forties now, white. He's thoughtful, meticulous. His former means of killing suggests a law enforcement or military background. Most likely he's stayed in the same area all of his life." Had she been speaking too much? She passed the proverbial stick with a look of confusion. Tossing it's invisible form into the air and hoping for the best.

  Elle would come to the rescue. Then Morgan, then Reid, and back to Hotch for a closing statement. Gideon had meandered off after Max. At least, that was the most likely scenario. She couldn't really see the stern faced agent walking off just because he didn't want to present in front of the class anymore. 

  If he had, she wouldn't have judged. Her own presentation of the profile left a bad taste in her mouth. She wasn't used to this way of phrasing it. It felt clunky, unnecessary. She looked for evidence and facts, not probability. A profile wasn't unheard of in her investigative unit, but it wasn't relied on in the way it was here. Psychology was one thing, making up a killer in your mind was another. She was still skeptical. Openly so when she had been interviewed for the position. They felt her stance was a fresh look. She felt it was a pity situation. 

  After wrapping up the main idea, Hotch gestured for the team to follow him to a carved out space for them. The blinds were up, leaving the goings on inside of the room visible to everyone. Cassie didn't mind. The openness felt fresh. The sun could peak in through the windows. Her old office had been without windows, the light fixtures were bleary, the paint job reminiscent of a filing cabinet covered in dust. She much preferred it here. 

  She appreciated the two whiteboards. Even if it made the room more cramped, it allowed the youngest of the group to visualize his musings. In her past, she would have just strewn papers about her desk and hoped for the best. That seemed viable here too, but with so many members it might have gotten overwhelming. She glanced down at the wooden fixture. It already was.  

  "We should focus on the differences between the crimes, what's he doing that's new?" Hotch breezed past the group, yet another Manila folder in his hands.

  Elle, Hotch, and Morgan opted to sit around the table. Reid stood, phasing in and out of his own little world when the conversation required it. Gideon was beside him, he put more of his eggs in the basket of the exchange. The self-certified genius was good at balancing them between the two. Cassie was comfortable standing as well, just on the other side of the room. "The victim was hit in the head, so that's one." Derek leaned back against his seat. "The note mentioned she didn't put up a fight, so why feel the need to hit her? To show dominance?" 

  Hotch shook his head. It didn't make sense. "He never needed to before." Elle thrummed her fingers along a photo of the crime scene. "But a hit like that wouldn't just scare her, it would knock her out." 

  "—To control her better." The head of the group finished.  

  Cassie's gaze flicked between each speaker, landing on Gideon as he found interest in the abyss. He stared towards a photo, but his head seemed somewhere else. "He switched from a knot, his signature, to flex-cufs." 

  "They're easier, it saved him time." Morgan kept his eyes on Gideon. He'd turn his head over his shoulders to catch Cassie's eye when he finished speaking. 

  "No, no, it's not that. The knot was intimate. It wasn't about the ease of immobilizing her. He chose a completely unnecessary approach." 

  "Maybe we should just forget about this, seriously. It's not helping us to go over what others already knew. Let's pretend he's a new offender." 

  The glass was cool against her arms, she'd trade her hands for her biceps when pushing off of the wall to step forward. A little brazenly, she let a few fingers fall to the head of Morgan's chair, pressing down and holding on as a sort of cane for her posture. "That's the problem, he's still the same person he was. We can't mull over what happened in the past, but we can certainly compare it to the future. He went from intimate, slow, methodical killings. He played out his fantasy with full physical control. So he traded it, for what? A smack to the head and a heavy lidded girl. He can't watch himself take the life from her eyes anymore. Where's the 'fun' in that." Cassie sucked in a breath through her teeth during her commentary. She let it go quickly as she ended. 

  "What I'm saying is—" 

  "—Guys, I have a name." All eyes moved from Cassie to Reid. She lifted her hand off of Morgan's chair and crossed her arms. Her hip dropped at an angle and she balanced more weight on her left leg. 

  "Nibrahs? What is that?" Reid bit the inner left part of his cheek at Elle's question. "It's backwards, S. Harbin. He was an original suspect." 

  "It's not him."  

  Max had finally made his entrance. He brushed off the conclusion, claiming Scott Harbin, S., had been in jail for stabbing someone. Sentenced thirty years, which meant there was no way it was him.

  "Unless he's out on parole." 

  Max didn't seem to keen on the notion. "He's a pervert and a small time thief, he steals undergarments. I interviewed him, twice, he's no killer." There were a few exchanged looks. Morgan picked up his phone and nodded in Hotch's direction, who returned it with a nod of his own. "I'm going to call Garcia, see if she can find anything about him." 

  Max raised his voice, adamant that they were being lead down a dead end. A second wave of looks. Silence. Morgan left. 

  "Jason why are we here?" 

  "Hm?" 

  "Are we here to catch him, or just prove to Max he knows more than us?" 

  Nobody answered, because the only one who could had left. The four remaining didn't have a chance to pick up where Cassie had left off. Derek came back in with a shit-eating grin and a notecard with scribbles on it. 

  "We've got an address for Scott Harbin. He was paroled three months ago, missed his last hearing." 

  "That makes him a wanted man." Elle was already out of her seat, pulling her brown jacket over her shoulders. 

  Leaving the station house required a bit more than a few rental and squad cars. Priorities were higher, everyone was banking on the fact that this was supposed to be their guy. A killer to be put away. It still felt too easy. However, a dead end still pointed you to a different direction. They'd be negligent not to take it. No matter what was about to meet them on the other side. 

————————————

  They'd been banking on the fact that this was their Keystone Killer, SWAT was going to be involved one way or another. It took a few extra moments to get their group in the door after the men in black. They took a more defensive stance and let the first three members of the BAU past. Elle and Cassie were at the forefront, the presence sent a silent figure to dart from behind a cabinet. 

  "Don't move— Hey!" 

  Elle practically vaulted past Cassie towards the man, grabbing him by his shoulder and sending a swift kick to the back of his leg. He stumbled over and she applied her weight to his back to apprehend him. "Are you Scott Harbin?" Cassie felt a hand on her shoulder, and instinctively she moved out of the way. Max looked down at the man being detained. "That's him." 

  "Nice to see you too Ryan." He'd smile up from his cuffed position. Cassie's brows met in the space between her eyes and tilted upwards. "You missed a parole hearing." Gideon commented. It was just an excuse, they had no reason to be here. They had no real evidence. A lawyer could dismiss his name in the riddle easily. But, an excuse bought them time and a search warrant. 

  The agents wandered through his home, picking up what they could just based on his arrangements. He was organized, neat, obsessively so. He needed constant control over every aspect of his life. It made a good argument. Cassie didn't like the feeling of it, though. She stood in front of him, her hands resting on her hips. Her expression gave a lot more away than just a train of thought. She bounced from theory to theory. Moss colored iris' scanned his form. Even going so far as to move behind him from where he sat in the arm of his couch. She couldn't see any injury to his hands. Nothing of note about his posture or physical capabilities. He moved his fingers back and forth, a squeezing motion, an attempt at self soothing. She didn't think this was the guy. As much of a creep as he was. 

  He looked out of the corner of his eye at her. "You finished checking me out?" Cassie locked eyes with him, nothing but disinterest on her face. She wasn't going to say anything, even if she was she wouldn't have had the chance. Elle made her way over, almost gesturing for Cassie to take a position behind her. The two were about the same height, maybe Elle had an inch or two on her. Cass was a little better built physically. Not a hulking mass of muscle, but you could see the beginning of a tone through her short sleeved shirt. She'd take the offer anyway and step around the two. Elle was leaning over in Scott's face, her eyes wide with something beyond disinterest. Fury maybe. "Did she upset you? Make you angry? What? You're fantasizing about hurting her, me? No, no you wouldn't do that. What's the matter Harbin, can't handle a woman who isn't afraid of you?" 

  Scott licked his lips. A sign of enjoyment, a sign of stress, it wasn't enough to tell just from the movement alone. Agitated, probably. 

  Gideon pulled Elle aside. Cassie didn't want to listen. She moved on from the room and up the stairs to the second floor of the home. A few SWAT agents still roamed, but she mostly watched as Morgan and Hotch moved back and forth. They stopped in the entrance of a room for a second. She waited, too many cooks in the kitchen. She wasn't needed anywhere right now. 

  "We need some help in here! Get an ambulance, now!" Morgan's voice was like an alarm bell ringing, everyone throughout the home heard it. Someone called out a response and raced down the steps past her. She was moving with similar urgency in the opposite direction. She was tall enough to see over their hunched forms, Hotchner and Morgan crouched near a woman. Her mouth had been taped shut, her feet tied at the ankles. She was wrapped in some sort of plastic. Awkwardly, Cassie shouldered Morgan to push him out of the way. She wormed herself between the two and pulled out a knife from her back pocket. Carefully she tilted the sharper side of the blade up towards the ceiling and worked it under the plastic. It took a bit of leveraging and gentle 'It's okay, you're okay, its okay' to get the knife to pierce the solution. Once she had it torn enough she moved to pull a blanket off of the bed above them. Hotch helped to cover the exposed woman as Cassie cut, leaving no room for any extended embarrassment. 

  The woman wasn't harmed besides a few bruises on her hips and thighs. That was good enough for Cassie. Once she finished peeling back the last of what was on top, she switched positions with Hotchner and pressed a hand against the woman's cheek. There were too many sounds, too many questions, too many voices, Cassie only focused on the lady's sobs. She did her best to murmur those same former phrases over and over again.

  What felt like far too long of a time later, EMTs came into the room and pushed the three aside. Hotch left the building first, his cellphone indicating his attention was needed elsewhere are the moment. Morgan got out of their way, heading down the steps to reconvene with Gideon, Elle, and Max. Cassie stayed, she stayed until they were putting the victim on a stretcher and carrying her down the steps. She helped at the transfer point, holding the right corner of the stretcher near her head. She hadn't repeated her mantras in a while, the EMTs had picked up the slack for her. Once they could begin to wheel her out, the profiler let them go. 

  Philly PD wanted to be the ones to make the arrest. It looked better to the news reporters already gathering outside. Cass could only hope they had enough sense to not photograph the victim as she was being taken away, but she wasn't ignorant. 

  "It doesn't make any sense, he was a small time creep." Max let out a breath as he spoke. Gideon blinked. "He fits your profile, the age, the background, the obsessive traits." 

  "Still—" 

  "Guys." Cass pulled a slip of paper out of the wipers of one of the rental cars. "It's.. for you," She passed it to Max.

Isn't Scott an inelegant monster. He harbors no light. He is pure evil. Balance is what produces mercy. You'll be reminded of my mercy tomorrow. 

K.K.

  "We didn't get him?" Everyone had started to gather now. The pause was enough to spark concern. Morgan spoke first, Gideon answered. Max was too stuck in his head, going over everything yet again. He was reliving the chase from eighteen years ago. It wasn't pretty. "He's not the one we're looking for. Form a six block perimeter, we have to have seen him." 

  But they hadn't. Nobody had. He had been right outside, waiting for the exact moment the police would file in like ducks after their mother. He had slipped off without anyone the wiser. The atmosphere on the way back was bleak. Everyone shared a similar sentiment of frustration. Cassie couldn't feel proud of her observations from earlier, it had only served to get off the sick freak who was orchestrating all of this. It sentenced another victim to a worse fate. The BAU's methods made her feel stagnant, like she had no more control over what was about to happen than a leaf did over the way the winds blow. 

  "That's got to be a first for the BAU, a killer leading us to another." Hotch commented as the made their way back to the little room they were given for mediation. "No, we all know they make the best profilers, it's how they find their own victims. It's how they think they can get away with it." The oldest would correct.

  "So we're starting over. Run by it again, what do we know about the Keystone Killer?" 

 "He's not dead, or in jail." 

 "He likes playing with us, he's treating it like a game where he's controlling all of the pieces." Elle raised her head as she spoke. Then Morgan, then Reid. 

 "He strangled seven women in the late eighties, stopped for eighteen years, then picked it back up again. Only this time he chose to suffocate them. Ten percent of violent crimes are carried out through strangulation, it only takes eleven pounds to incapacitate a person. Hanging on for a minute longer and that person will never recover." The skinny kid's ramblings weren't bad. Cassie could admire them for what they were worth. He was smart. Probably smarter than she'd ever be. The only difference was he learned his facts through textbook, and she earned hers through practice. 

  "But, he suffocated his latest victim. It's actually more passive than strangulation. What Lorayne was saying earlier, he can't feel the life leave the body." Aaron reaffirmed. 

  "But why? Why, why, why? Why change his MO, it suggests a blitz attack, yet in the past he walks right into his victim's homes without so much as a struggle." 

  Cassie's face lit up, her expression almost elongating in a moment of realization. She had never finished her train of thought from before. They had been so distracted with Scott Harbin that she had just forgotten nobody else was thinking the same as she was. 

  "We keep talking about this as though he's doing it on purpose, but what if it's not. What if something happened that stopped him. A sole loss of confidence isn't enough for such a drastic change. He lost his confidence in his own abilities, not his means of killing. A few years ago I was on a case that involved a serial murderer, similarly to this guy's MO. Maybe a little less showy— in any case, he started to slip up when he changed. And he only changed because he had been in a supply moving accident. Lost all control of his dominate hand. Couldn't kill the way he wanted to. He found another way, but it was sloppy, witnesses were around, we caught him." 

  Morgan leaned against the wall where Cassie had once stood. "So it's an injury?" 

  "Or a stroke." Hotch looked to Reid, who shrugged his shoulders in response. 

  "Either one, there will have to be some sort of medical records, right?" Derek didn't really agree with Gideon. "Alright, so an accident after nineteen eighty-eight in Philidelphia, that doesn't lower our suspect pool by much at all." 

  "It's too many hospital records." Spencer finally answered. 

  "Call Garcia anyways, see what she can find." Pointing towards the exit, Gideon gestured to Morgan. 

  It took a few minutes for Morgan to return, he had a slanted smile. Not good, not bad. "There's a lot of records to go through. Garcia's having them sent over now." 

  Hotch moved towards the fax machine as it sounded off, indicating the first few pages. "Let's get started then." He'd grab a couple, pass them around, and repeat until everyone had a handful. Cassie still didn't sit with her pile, she'd let it sit off on the top of a cabinet next to her while she looked through whatever her current file was. 

  Morgan tossed down a few papers, a frown on his dark lips. "We're looking for a guy in his twenties, is that too early for a stroke?" 

  "I still think it's a possibility. We're looking for a fair amount of loss of mobility." Aaron didn't look up from his stack. Reid did however, happily explaining the statistics around strokes. Something or other, Cassie brushed it off with a laugh that sounded more from her nose than it did her mouth. 

  "Hm?" 

  Reid was staring at her now. So was Hotch and Morgan. She shook her head, biting the inner flesh of her cheek as she did so. They all went back to their own files.  

  Twenty-five minutes in and it felt a little hopeless. The records Garcia had given didn't narrow it down at all. Sure a few names were marked off, but then again too many to count were added. "This is taking too long. Just for a moment let's rule out strokes, what's something else that could have happened?" Cassie mimicked Morgan's earlier frustrated motion and tossed her papers down. 

  "A car accident would have to be filed in police records, especially if it resulted in injury, right?" Spencer tried to pick up where she was leaving off. Gideon and Max nodded. 

  "Back then we profiled him to have some sort of American-made sedan." 

  "Alright, then why don't I call Garcia back, have her cross reference sedan accidents with Philly PD records. That should narrow it down significantly with what we've established." 

  "It's a long shot." Ryan seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes at Morgan, a slip of a few words from Cassie halted that means of response. "It's better than nothing." 

  For the third time that day, Morgan would return from his little 'chat' with Garcia. Only this time he seemed a lot more proud of himself. "'Think I've got something; Walter Kern, fits our age range, military background. ROTC, Air Force, his accident happened right outside of Bromwell's address." 

  He passed the already printed document around. Cassie skimmed over it. He certainly looked like the type. "In his accident he lost mobility of his right side due to spinal cord and nerve damage." Veiny hands rolled up dove-white sleeves as he spoke. 

  Cassie watched as the invisible stick returned to the playing field. It was Hotch's turn. "He installed home alarms with, guess who, Scott Harbin." 

  She sought to grab it before it was taken by someone else. "That's how he could walk right in to his victim's home without issue." And as quickly as she had it, it was taken by Elle. Tapping her pencil against the paper, she'd flick it back and forth with her ring finger. "He got his major in criminology. Shows to how he was able to evade law enforcement." 

  And from Elle to Gideon, "Do we have an address?" 

  "575 Wight Street Southeast Philadelphia. Got you, you son of a bitch." 

  That was probably the first time Max had smiled in the day that Cass had known him. There was no time to mull over it, once again the team was up and moving. SWAT was hesitant, they had failed to catch him the first time, leniency wasn't on their side. Neither was the press. 

 Cass was stuck with Morgan again, Reid too, though he kept to himself in the back of the car. 

  "You were right." 

  Again she was stolen from her thoughts by the brawny driver. 

  "Is that shocking?" 

  "Well, not when you phrase it like that. I was trying to compliment you, you know." 

  "Oh."

  "That's it?" 

  "No, I was trying to think of something to reference that you would understand." 

  "Like?" 

  "A philosophical quote, nothing good came to mind. That's not exactly my thing." 

  Reid was about to say something and Morgan had that look in his eyes through the rear view mirror, something that screamed break-check. Reid no longer had anything to say. 

  "What is your thing then." 

  "Nothing really. Oh, I guess something along the lines of I'm the Chandler to your Phoebe, though that's a bit of a stretch. I only watched a few— Nevermind." 

  Morgan gave a dumbfounded look, but didn't press the issue. There were bigger problems than whatever Cassie got up to in her limited free-time.  

  Gideon and Max took the lead on the entry of the home this time. It was almost deserved.

  They knocked once. 

  No answer. 

  Twice. 

  No answer. 

  It was bordering on three when the door finally swung open. A woman in her later fourties' answered, she had short brown hair and a tired face. Makeup, jewelry, her clothes were ironed. Cassie's nose crinkled. 

  "This is agent Ryan with the FBI, we need to speak with your husband." The woman quickly looked away. She was sheepish, confused. She'd stutter out a response to Gideon. "He's not here." 

  "Do you know where he is?" 

  "Well, I," 

  "Why don't you let us inside?" 

  She stuttered, again, failing to form any coherent sentence. She'd nod anyways and the team followed inside. His wife said something about volunteering at a community center. Gideon notified Hotch, to which Cassie gently pressed her fingers to his raised elbow. He looked at her, doe-like eyes squinting in confusion. She took a step back and mumbled. "Don't send everyone there. He's still intent on giving us that 'gift'." Jason looked her up and down once, then complied without saying anything in response to her. 

  Max had let the reason they were there slip, the murders, the seven victims. 

  "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, please." She didn't take very kindly to the notion. Then again no good person would. "What you're suggesting is absurd, and," 

  "—I don't think you believe that Mrs. Kern." Cassie took a step closer to the woman. She was taller than her. Height helped in most cases she had been on before. 

  "Excuse me?" 

  "I don't think you believe that your husband has nothing to do with this. You're dressed awfully nice, he likes you that way doesn't he. Modest, untouchable. Though, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that last part isn't true." 

  "Lorayne," Gideon warned. She should have listened, should have stopped talking. This was her first day, her first case, she had everything to lose. And yet so did an innocent girl. 

  "I'm guessing he has a space in the house, a room, an area, a closet, a chest youre not supposed to touch. Don't look inside of, don't even think about. If you did, Walter would get angry, wouldn't he?" 

  The wife took a step back. Cassie took a step forward. She looked anywhere but the agent's face. "He has a photo-room, but he only worries that I'll mess up his pictures. That's all." 

 "Eighteen years ago you noticed your husband fell into a depression, it seemed like it would never end. Maybe he was more irritable. You were thankful on one hand, he couldn't hit you if he wanted to. But he wasn't the same. Just a few days ago he returned back to his old self, for better and for worse." 

  "How do... no, what does it mean? Did he..?" Cass blew a quick puff of air out of her nose and stepped off to the side. She had said all she needed to. 

  "We need to see that room Mrs. Kern." She didn't miss the way Gideon followed her with a grim expression as he spoke. 

  SWAT was the first to clear the cellar on the left side of their home. It was cold, but well kept even from a quick glance at the stairway. Heading further into it lead to a room covered in photos, newspapers, anything relating to the case. He had a copy of the book Max had written about his experiences as an agent. He was a textbook stalker. Countless photos of past and present victims framed the steel-toned stone. 

  Reid flipped through a scrapbook looking binder. A collection of his killings, a story. There was a chapter missing, like he had referenced in his notes before. He wasn't finished, he had only killed Carla now because he had planned to kill her before. His accident had stopped him. It explained the extended depression. His fix wasn't just the killings, it was the perfection behind them. The consistent evasion, the methodology. 

  "Who's in the latest chapter then?" 

  "Sylvia Gooden." 

  Gideon stepped back into the room, he looked down at the image of the woman. "Hotch confirmed Walter left the community center an hour ago. We need Gooden's address." 

  Thankfully, for as much as a memorabilia fanatic he was, he included everything there was about these women. Including addresses. 

  The team was on the new sight as fast as possible, SWAT and Philly PD were right on their heels. It didn't take longer than a handful of seconds for them to be suited up and ready. Gideon confirmed Walter's vehicle was a block down the street. Preparations to go in were moving fast. Max raised his voice so the crowd of people could hear him. 

  "I want him taken in alive." 

  Which as fun as that sentiment was, it wasn't always a good one. They didn't have a clue what state they'd find Kern or Gooden in. Her life may come down to his. And while rotting in prison before his sentence was earned was the best possible outcome, Max needed to grapple with the fact he might not see satisfaction. 

  The blur of guns and combat boots breezed through the main doorway. Clearing each room was impertinent, and so was following the screams they could hear from Sylvia above. Gideon lead, followed by Morgan, Max, and Cass. Gideon trained his gun eye level before pushing open the door. There must have been eight voices, all yelling some different version of the same thing; 'Don't Move.'  

  Morgan detained Kern. He'd purposefully bash his side off of a full length mirror. A feasible accident excuse would work just fine. Cass made out the hand off to Max from behind her. Kern spoke of the former agent like some star crossed lover. She tried not to pay too much attention to it. 

  Currently calloused fingers were preoccupied in removing the plastic from Sylvia's face. She brushed her thumb against the older woman's forehead, checking to make sure the blood that was leaking was also clotting. It had already started to dry, she hadn't been hit too badly. Most likely because she had struggled too much for Kern's liking. 

  "Shh.. shh.. it's okay, you're okay. My name is Cassandra Lorayne, alright Miss Gooden? You're not hurt anywhere else, right?" 

  The blonde woman shook her head. Her body was trembling. She was sweating, her skin was clammy. It was taking her a bit longer to get the words out of her sob choked throat. Cassie didn't rush her. She'd repeat what she had done with the previous victim hours earlier. A gentle seesawing motion of her knife and the flex-cuffs were off.

  "Breathe with me Miss Gooden." 

  She was sitting up now, her shoulders heaving with another heavy cry. Cassie moved from her kneeling position to sit beside her. She pulled the woman closer and sheltered her within her arms. "You're okay, it's over now, you're okay." And she'd repeat those words for as long as she could. As long as it took for them to feel real. 

————————————

   Cassie was still getting accustomed to the whole private jet thing. It felt too classy, even if half the participants aboard had already slipped off their shoes and curled up under a blanket. Sometime she'd have to find wherever that stash of linens was. Though, for now, she was preparing herself for an earful. Gideon was moving from his seat to her end of the plane. He was at least kind enough to ensure the only one listening was Elle. To which Cassie couldn't mind too much, she felt a sort of solidarity in their methods, so hopefully the other brunette wouldn't be too abrasive in the aftermath of her scolding. 

  "You really think he beat her?" 

  "What?" 

  She had always been told to never play poker. Which was a sad comment given she was actually great at the game, just not great at her expressions. She could hold out in situations that called for a stern, unwavering face. But right here, right now, she was too wound up to keep her feelings to herself. Crinkled features gave a pretty good indication that she was absolutely taken aback. 

  "I asked a question Lorayne." 

  "Err, honestly? No. She didn't give away all of the signs, just some. Some is enough to incite a thought, and a thought is enough to be a fear. Even if he hadn't, she had rationalized that he could. Or, would, if she crossed a certain line." 

  "Alright." 

  "Alright?" 

  Gideon turned to sit down, he was done with the conversation. She'd outstretch a hand to say something else, but recoiled and changed her mind. 

  JJ had an open seat across from her, and Cassie would find comfort in the openness that followed.  

  "Have any of you been told about the time that Gideon was tricked into. . ." 

  So, this was her new home. For lack of a better phrase. It would take some time to fit in, and more effort still. Though, Cassie was able to let go of her fear for just a moment. It was the first time that day she had stopped thinking about the past, and hoped for the future. 

 ———————————— 

Date Posted: 04/24/24  

Not Yet Proofread, too lazy :(.

Next Chapter: 05/02/24

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 6. ain't like home

burn the bridges in our town till the point where we drown, as it all comes down. - Dotan, Home

S E P T E M B E R   1 7 T H   2 0 1 1

Coming back to Kansas City stirred up a storm of feelings inside me, pulling memories from the depths where they'd been hiding for so long. Walking down those streets again, it felt like a tug-of-war between wanting to be here and wishing I were anywhere else.

It had been ages since I'd been in this city, and part of me questioned if I even wanted to be back. But duty called, reminding me why I'd returned—Maile needed me, and that was reason enough.

"Alex."

The sound of my name, spoken with such gravity, cut through the air, snapping me back to reality. I turned to see my brother coming towards me, a reminder of the family ties that bind us, whether we liked it or not.

Inhaling deeply to steady my nerves, I acknowledged him with a nod, my greeting carrying a mix of composure and underlying tension. "Scott," I said, my tone carefully neutral, though hints of apprehension lingered beneath the surface.

Despite the warmth of the sun casting its golden glow over the city streets, an intangible chill seemed to permeate the air, casting a shadow over our interaction.

His question hung between us, weighted with skepticism and perhaps a touch of judgment. "What brings you back here?" he queried, his voice betraying a hint of doubt.

Meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve, I made my intentions clear. "I'm here for Maile," I asserted firmly, my words leaving no room for misinterpretation.

An incredulous scoff escaped him, accompanied by a dismissive roll of his eyes. "You're kidding, right?" he retorted, frustration lacing his voice. "I thought you were done with all of that, you finally moved on."

Though his words stung, I refused to let them shake my determination. "Maile's gone missing, Scott," I explained, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in my tone. "I couldn't just ignore that."

His uncertainty was clear, etched in the lines of his face and the cautious tone in his voice. "I thought you and her weren't on speaking terms," he remarked, his curiosity evident.

I met his gaze squarely, my determination unwavering despite the skepticism in his eyes. "There's more to it than that," I replied, my voice steady.

His skepticism persisted as he leaned forward, pressing for more information. "How can you be so sure she's missing?" he probed further.

In response, I reached across the table, laying out the collection of poems in front of him. His brow furrowed as he examined the pages, his skepticism growing. "What's the deal with these?" he questioned, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Poems," I stated plainly, my voice calm but resolute. Despite his doubts, I knew these verses held the key to understanding Maile's disappearance, and I was determined to make him understand their significance. "She wrote them."

He delicately lifted the first poem from the table, his fingers moving with a mix of caution and curiosity, as though each line held a hidden message waiting to be deciphered. With furrowed brows, he scanned the verses, his gaze lingering on certain words, perhaps searching for clues that eluded even the most discerning eye.

After a moment, he set the first poem down and reached for the second, his demeanor shifting to one of deeper concentration. His eyes darted across the page, absorbing each word with intent scrutiny, as if trying to unravel the secrets woven within the lines. Finally, with a thoughtful exhale, he placed the second poem beside the first, his expression a blend of contemplation and skepticism.

Turning his attention back to me, he voiced his doubts, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "What makes you so certain she wrote these?" he questioned, his skepticism challenging the notion that these poems were Maile's handiwork.

I felt a pang of frustration at my inability to provide concrete evidence, my conviction resting solely on intuition and the haunting familiarity of Maile's writing style. How could I convey the depth of my certainty when I lacked tangible proof?

Sensing my inner turmoil, Hotch interjected with a calm authority, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Let me point something out," he began, his tone measured yet authoritative. "In the first poem, the word 'Smiles' is capitalized and circled in what we believe to be her blood. And as you might know, your sister used to call her-"

My brother's expression softened slightly as Hotch's words sank in, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. "Smiles," he echoed, the word carrying a weight of memories and shared experiences. Yet, despite this moment of recognition, skepticism still lingered as he voiced his doubts. "You know, Alex, this is a stretch to say the least. We need more than just circumstantial evidence to make such claims."

With determination in my voice, I faced him squarely, my patience wearing thin like an old rug. "You don't need to help us, Scott," I shot back, frustration seeping into my tone. "We've been given a place on your turf. If you want to join our investigation, feel free to do so. If you don't, stay the hell out of my way."

Turning sharply on my heel, I exited the room, leaving behind a lingering cloud of tension thicker than molasses. Despite my departure, the echo of conversation between my brother and my team members still reached my ears.

Morgan's words hung in the air like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. "This means a great deal to her," his voice carried, tinged with concern. "You might want to take it seriously."

But my brother's response sliced through the atmosphere like a sharp knife, his tone rigid and unwavering. "I can't," he snapped back tersely. "I can't take anything seriously that has to do with that Crane girl. Alex's always been crazy about that girl, something I never understood. That girl is insane, and makes Alex look like a pedophile. I... Alex can't think straight when it comes to that girl."

As his words sank into my thoughts, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbled up within me. How could he casually dismiss the seriousness of our situation, shrugging off the urgency of our investigation like it was nothing? But it was clear that changing his mind wouldn't be easy.

"Is it really that hard to ease her mind?" Hotch's question hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a palpable tension over the room as everyone waited for my brother's response. When he stayed quiet, Hotch pushed forward, his voice steady but firm.

"If you don't trust Blake," Hotch started, his words deliberate, "that's okay. But then help us by proving that Maile Crane has nothing to do with this. We need to know everything about her. And everything about her connection with your sister."

As I observed him from behind the partially open blinds of the office, I could sense the weight of his frustration in the way his hands grasped at his hair. His voice, tinged with a mix of nostalgia and unease, filled the room as he began to recount memories from our past.

"We used to live right across from the Crane family," he started, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "There was Everett Crane, Josephine, and Maile. They were always a bit peculiar." His words hung in the air, carrying a mix of uncertainty and intrigue.

"He was a friendly guy, everyone in the neighborhood loved him," he continued, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. "Josephine kept to herself mostly, didn't socialize much. Alex, though, she really took a shine to her. I think Alex was probably the only person Josephine ever really talked to around here."

Listening to his memories, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences with our former neighbors. Josephine held a special place in my heart; she was like a second mother to me. Despite the description, I remembered her as gentle and nurturing, always there with a kind word or a story to share. She had taught me how to read, passing on a gift that I later shared with her daughter, Maile.

As he delved further into his memories, each word seemed to stir up a whirlwind of emotions inside me. His voice, lacking any emotion, cut through the air, yet his words sparked a fiery anger within me.

"I guess I never really got to know her," he continued, his tone distant. "But she... she was always just wandering around, observing everything. And whenever someone tried to talk to her, she'd bolt and run away." His words painted a picture of Maile, but it clashed with the lively, spirited girl I remembered.

"Nobody really got close to her, except for Alex," he added. At the mention of my name, a flood of memories rushed back—times spent with Maile, secrets shared under the moonlight.

"My sister was crazy about that girl, more than she was about her own family," he admitted, bitterness dripping from his words. "She'd make decisions, big ones, based on what would be good for Maile." His revelation filled the room, highlighting the sacrifices made for love.

"People in the neighborhood thought she was obsessed with that girl. They wondered if she'd had a 'thing' for Maile," he continued, his tone heavy with resentment. "They started to keep a distance. It really put a strain on our family." The weight of his confession lingered, casting a shadow over our past.

Leaving the building, weighed down by my brother's revelations, I sought refuge in the calmness of the precinct's benches outside. The breeze offered a soothing touch against my skin, a brief respite from the storm raging within.

Soon, my team joined me, their presence a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. Morgan's question broke the silence, delving straight to the heart of the matter.

"Did Maile always have to watch out for people?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, memories of the Crane household flooding back vividly. "Yeah, he beat that into her. Same with Josephine," I confessed, the gravity of my words hanging in the air. "They lived in constant fear of everyone."

Anxiety gripped me tightly as I spoke, a sense of urgency pushing my words forward. "I want to make something clear. I wasn't in love with Maile. I loved- still love her, but I promise..."

Hotch's hand gently rested on my shoulder, offering a momentary sense of reassurance. His eyes conveyed understanding as he spoke softly. "We know, Blake," he reassured me, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of my turmoil. "But we also recognize that circumstances change."

I turned to him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. "What do you mean?" I inquired, my voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

His expression softened, a mixture of sympathy and resolve evident in his gaze. "What I mean is, Maile holds a special place in your heart," he explained gently but firmly. "No matter how much time passes or how hard you try to deny it, she's deeply ingrained in your soul. The way you talk about her, the way you care for her—you have given her your heart and you're not gonna get it back. Blake. And that's something you can't change. She is the love of your life."

His words struck a chord deep inside me, reminding me of something I had tried to ignore. Thinking back on my life, I couldn't deny the strong feelings I always had for Maile. No matter what, she was the most important person to me.

I tried to find happiness with other people, getting into relationships and even getting married. But nothing compared to what I felt for Maile. Even when she wasn't around, I couldn't forget about her. She was always on my mind, guiding me like a bright light in the dark.

In my life story, Maile was like the string that held everything together. Even though I tried to move on, she was always there, shaping my decisions and influencing my path.

With a heavy heart, I accepted the undeniable truth: Maile was more than just a friend; she was the love of my life, the one who held the key to my heart, even when she was absent from it.

"So where are we going next?" Morgan asked.

Raising my gaze to meet Morgan's inquisitive eyes, I felt a surge of determination coursing through me, mingling with the memories that flooded my mind. "We're going to 'the house across the street'."

[icarusignite]

The Darkest Hour Before Dawn | Ch.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC! Althea Devereaux  

A/N: Reblogs and comments are appreciated, hope you enjoy <3

Word Count: 3.6k

Chapter Song: Paranoia by Liza Anne (Spotify Playlist Link)

Series Masterlist

AO3    | Wattpad  

"Nicholas Darcy has been missing for 19 hours now and it is vital that we locate him in the first 24," Agent Gideon stood in front of the room filled with members of local law enforcement as the BAU team delivered the profile.

"The unknown subject appears to be a methodical and organized individual who carefully selects his victims. His victimology suggests a preference for distinguished children, potentially those who have been given recognition for some task recently. He also demonstrates a high level of control during abductions, leaving little to no evidence behind and striking during times when he knows there won't be many people around," Agent Hotchner added.

"He is likely a white male, between the ages of 30 and 45. He drives a black van, and uses a ruse of some sort to lure his victims and gain their trust. He may ask them for their assistance and that's how he gets them in the van. He possesses above-average intelligence, as evidenced by his calculated methods and ability to avoid detection thus far. He has a menial job or he may be unemployed, allowing him plenty of time to observe the victims' routines and figure out when to strike when they're most vulnerable," Morgan outlined more key aspects of the profile.

Althea straightened from where she was slouching in the back of the room, trying her best to keep her eyes open. Most of the profile was similar to what she and Rebecca had predicted. The age of the unsub, his work habits, and his psychological motivations, but the mention of the van jolted her awake.

"Wait black van? You've identified his vehicle?" Rebecca blurted, shocked as well.

"Yes, Agent Fittes. We have a witness that places it on the crime scene around the time of Nicholas's abduction," Agent Hotchner's voice was firm.

Once his attention had returned to the profile, Rebecca looked at Althea with wide eyes.

"Has the van made an appearance at the other abduction sites?" Althea asked.

"Well, we did revisit some of the other witnesses in your files, and asked them if they recalled a black van," Elle nodded at her.

"And did they?"

"A few of them. A couple walking their dog near where Alicia Ramirez was taken, said they saw a dark vehicle of some sort. It was growing dark so it was hard to see properly but a few other's recalled similar things."

"I see."

"This is not his first abduction and we know that experienced predators don't hunt close to home so he may not live or keep his victims in the same vicinity as the locations of the abductions," Elle continued.

Agent Hotchner jumped back in, "He may have had a recent stressor, a loss of a job or a loved one, and this would have happened around the time of the first abduction. He is a socially marginalized individual who relates better to kids than adults and he may have a history of criminal behaviour."

One member of the audience, an Officer Siggins, raised his hand, "Would this type of perpetrator have come into contact with us? Don't they like to involve themselves with the investigation, find out what we know?"

Spencer shook his head, "No, not him. He will not inject himself into the investigation. He has not contacted law enforcement during any of his past abductions and he will not do so this time either."

"Yes, he has tried his best to ensure he had no witnesses, based on the timings of the abductions, but he doesn't know if there's any information about him out there. He doesn't know about our witnesses. But he will be watching the news and if he feels like we're closing in on him, he might kill Nicholas to avoid detection," Morgan clarified.

Another member of the audience raised a question, "Since the bodies of the previous children have not been found yet, do you think there's any possibility that they're still alive?'

The entire room went silent for the next few moments, the grim reality of the case apparent on everyone's faces.

"Our main focus right now is finding Nicholas," Agent Gideon managed solemnly.

"And have you figured out the significance of the black balloons found at each abduction site?"

"It's part of his signature and ruse. He likely uses them to attract the children," Morgan answered.

"It's crucial to focus on identifying any individuals who exhibit behaviours or traits that align with the profile, paying close attention to those with access to or a history of interacting with the targeted demographic. We will continue canvassing relevant neighbourhoods and all parents have been warned to keep their children under constant supervision until this unsub is apprehended," Agent Hotchner concluded. "Good luck."

As the BAU team finished delivering their profile, the room slowly cleared out, everyone rushing to continue the investigation, leaving Althea feeling a mix of anticipation and exhaustion. She couldn't help but yawn as she looked around the room, taking in the empty chairs and scattered papers. The tension that had filled the air during the briefing seemed to dissipate, replaced by an eerie calmness.

Just as she was gathering her belongings and leaving the room, a knock echoed through the doorway. Startled, she turned her attention to the entrance, where a delivery boy stood holding a small package.

"Package for Agent Althea Devereaux," the young man announced.

Althea's brows furrowed in confusion as she approached him.

"That's me," she confirmed.

The delivery boy handed over the package, a small rectangular box wrapped in brown paper. Althea carefully took it, studying the handwritten label with her name on it. There was no return address on it and it was quite a hefty thing for something that small. She frowned. She wasn't expecting any packages.

"Thanks," she murmured. "Do you know who it's from?"

The delivery boy shrugged, "No idea. It just showed up in the mailroom with the rest of the mail."

Althea nodded, intrigue and caution swirling within her. She thanked the delivery boy once more, watching him leave the room before turning her attention back to the mysterious package. She hefted her files in one hand before carrying the package back to the conference room that she had set up, looking for something to open it with. After some hunting around, she spotted a pair of scissors which she used to slice through the several layers of clear tape that bound the package. The flaps fell away, revealing a white box. Althea eyed it suspiciously. Anonymous mail was a dangerous thing, especially one sent to a federal agent. She held it up to her ear and shook it, hearing several objects roll around inside with a dull thud.

Well, at least it wasn't anthrax.

She lifted the lid and immediately inhaled sharply, coughing right after as her senses were assaulted by the sickening scent of decay. The odour of death and decomposition clouded the air as Althea's lip curled in horror at the grotesque nature of the contents. Eight severed fingers lay in the box. Their stature was small, their owners unmistakably young. Despite her earlier shaking, they lay neatly in a row, each bearing the unmistakable signs of violence and separation from their owners. Discoloration had set in, the skin mottled with shades of sickly pallor and bruised hues. They all appeared to be in different stages of decay. Some showed signs of recent amputation, the flesh still retaining a touch of moisture and elasticity, while others had undergone a more advanced decomposition, their skin sagging and discoloured.

There was a note as well, written on lined paper in a messy scrawl.

Hurry up!

Her eyes widened as she read the words, each letter carrying an unnerving weight

"Everything alright Agent Devereaux, you look a little spooked?" Morgan's voice echoed in her ears as she blinked rapidly to refocus.

Althea waved the note in the air with a grimace, "What's that you said about the unsub not involving himself with the investigation?"

"Did he contact the tip line?"

"Nope, looks like he's decided to get real up close and personal this time."

"What's in the box?" Agent Hotchner had entered too, along with the rest of the team.

Althea's voice wavered as she managed to speak, her eyes fixed on the severed fingers, "It's... uh... fingers of the missing children I think. Eight fingers... one for each child."

Elle gasped, a mix of horror and disbelief etched on her face and Morgan's eyes hardened, anger seeping into his voice.

"This sicko is toying with us," he muttered furiously.

"The unsub is sending us a message. He wants us to know that he has the power," Spencer chimed in.

"The package was addressed to me," Althea mumbled. "It has my name on it."

Agent Hotchner raised an eyebrow, "The message is intended for you then. Go back and look through your canvass records. It is almost certain that you were the one who came into contact with him during your initial investigations."

"Yes, sir."

"May I?" Spencer reached for the box in Althea's hand and she wordlessly handed it to him. "We should send this in for DNA. See, the unsub has meticulously cleaned under each fingernail but there still might be some sort of evidence he left behind."

He grabbed a tissue and carefully lifted one of the fingers, showing it to the room.

"Look at how the nail on this one is partially ripped out," he pointed out.

"I'd rather not?" Althea shuddered.

Elle hummed thoughtfully, "Couldn't that just have fallen off because of the decay?"

"It is unlikely. It is a sign of a struggle. The rest of the appendages also have similar defensive wounds. Their presence indicates that the fingers were amputated post-mortem."

Sure enough, the bruises and abrasions hinted at a struggle, the remnants of a desperate attempt to cling to life. Althea felt sick.

"I'll send them out and see what we get."

"Althea, Mrs. Darcy is here to see you," Rebecca popped her head in at the door, her gaze curious as she watched everyone's grim expressions.

"Mrs. Darcy? The missing kid's mother, we just spoke to her this morning. Are you going to tell her about..." Morgan gestured to the macabre contents of the box.

Agent Hotchner shook his head immediately, "Absolutely not."

"Tell her about what?" Rebecca interjected.

"No, of course not, sir. And besides, Nicholas's finger isn't in the box so perhaps we might hope that he is still alive," Althea responded quickly.

"Well, we actually don't know who any of the fingers belong to yet. One of them could very well be Nicholas's," Spencer interrupted and Althea stifled the urge to scowl at him, reminding herself that he was only speaking the truth. She just didn't want it to be the truth.

"What does the note say?" Elle asked.

Althea's lips twisted as she handed it to her, "He said to hurry up. Why would he say that unless Nicholas is alive...and we're running out of time to save him. He's taunting us."

Elle nodded, "I don't get why he's taunting you specifically though. What was he thinking, addressing it to you? Does this unsub want to get caught?"

"Or maybe he thinks he won't with the amount of information he has given us," Agent Gideon wondered aloud. "This new development suggests that the unsub is showing signs of narcissistic behaviour."

Spencer gave the box back to Althea, which she then handed off to Rebecca after it had been passed around to the other team members for a closer look.

"Could you give this to the M.E, please? Say it's urgent."

"This is..." Rebecca paled as she followed Althea down to the main lobby. "Don't tell me..."

Althea's shoulders slumped, "Two years of working this job and you'd think it'd get any easier, but nope. Every time, despite all the statistics and facts, you think there is a chance. That we'll find them alive. That the world isn't as cruel as it appears to be. Then a bastard like this proves you wrong and there is nothing you can do about it."

"No more grim thoughts, love. We'll find him, count on it. And blaming yourself isn't going to change anything. You did the best you could."

"But I could have done more. We should've called the BAU in earlier. Agent Hotchner was right. It shouldn't have taken us 9 kids, when it was clear that we weren't making any progress with the first few abductions!"

"Maybe. But there's no reason for you to beat yourself up over it. That was Agent Reynolds's call to make and there was nothing you could have done about it."

Althea pressed her fingers to her temple where she could feel a headache building, "Yeah, but I could've tried harder to convince him."

"You're the one who convinced him this time. Let it go Althea and focus."

Rebecca pointed toward a frazzled-looking woman, who was pacing the lobby anxiously, her face etched with worry and desperation. Althea nodded to her friend in farewell and hurried toward Nicholas's mother, heart aching for her, knowing that every passing moment without answers only intensified her anguish. Mrs. Darcy's hands trembled as she clutched several tissues, her tear-stained eyes scanning the room with a mixture of hope and frustration.

Gently, Althea approached the distraught woman, her voice filled with empathy, "Mrs. Darcy, I'm Agent Althea Devereaux. You were asking for me."

Mrs. Darcy clutched at Althea's hands fervently, "You. Yes, you. You're leading the investigation, aren't you? You were investigating the previous kidnappings too?"

"Yes, please rest assured that our entire team is doing our absolute best to find your son. I understand how difficult this must be for you."

"Please, Agent, you have to find my son. He's just a little boy. I can't bear not knowing where he is or if he's safe," the woman's voice cracked as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Althea nodded, her voice resolute, "I promise you, we're doing everything we can to find him. We won't rest until we know what happened to him."

"If you're really doing everything, then why haven't you found him yet?" her voice rose shrilly. "And what about the other kids? Why weren't you able to find them."

"I understand your concerns, but we have another team working with us this time and they are very skilled at dealing with cases like this. With their help, I am certain we will be able to give you some concrete answers."

"But... but what if it's too late? What if he's... gone?" her hand tightened in Althea's as she hiccuped, her sobs growing more hysterical.

Althea guided Mrs. Anderson to a nearby seating area, offering her a glass of water to help calm her nerves, "Please have hope, and know that we're here for you every step of the way."

"You...you'll find him, won't you? Promise me that you'll find him. He's all I have. Please, please, please."

"I promise that we'll do everything we possibly can."

As they sat together, Althea made inquiries and listened intently, gathering any additional details that could aid in the search for Nicholas. She assured Mrs. Darcy that every lead would be pursued diligently, every avenue explored in their tireless pursuit of answers.

"He's a good boy. He knows not to talk to strangers. I cannot imagine who he would speak to or go with on his way home," his mother explained tearfully.

"I understand, but if there is anyone you can think of who fits the profile I've just given you, who Nicholas may trust enough to go off with. A family member, a teacher, an instructor, anyone?"

"No. Not like this. He's supposed to call me if he gets a ride with someone else. He was walking home yesterday. He even called me to say that he was almost home. Who would take my baby?"

"I'm sorry you have to go through this, and thank you for being brave enough to answer our questions. Can I get you anything else, a drink or something?"

Mrs. Darcy shook her head balefully, "Just find my boy. Please, please find my boy for me."

Suddenly, Rebecca rushed in, breathless. Her eyes flickered to the desolate mother and she beckoned Althea with a jerk of her head.

"Agent Devereaux, there's a message on the tipline. You're needed upstairs."

Mrs. Darcy's eyes widened, "Have they found him? Have they found my son? Oh, tell me he's alive!"

"We're doing our best Ma'am, but for now it's just a lead," Rebecca responded.

Althea squeezed Mrs. Darcy's hand reassuringly one last time before following Rebecca back to the BAU.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"So the profile said that the unsub wouldn't involve himself with the investigation right?"

"Right?"

"And he hasn't so far..."

"With the exception of the fingers? Rebecca, I'm not sure I follow..."

"Let's just forget about the fingers for a second," Rebecca's lip curled with revulsion at the horrific act.

"I'm not sure we should be ignoring them, they seem pretty vital."

"No see, so after they released the profile to the press, we received a call, a David Grimes from one of the neighbourhoods we've already canvassed. He says he has a neighbour who fits the description."

"He does?"

"Yep, creepy black van and all. And what's more, I checked against our canvass records and said neighbour didn't answer the door when we first visited that street."

"Huh? Interesting, I assume we're going to go speak to this caller and his neighbour then?"

"Agents Greenaway and Morgan are there right now, we're to join them immediately."

The atmosphere was thick with tension when they arrived, everyone wearing identical frowns.

"Apologies if we caused any delay Agents," Rebecca mumbled.

Elle shot her a reassuring look, "Not to worry Agent Fittes, we only just got here ourselves."

"So...uh what's the matter?"

"We knocked on the door and no one's answering," Morgan grumbled.

"Mr. Grimes, the tipline caller, lives on the other end of the street, and he says that the unsub should definitely be home. His car's in the driveway too," Elle added.

"His car...the black van?" Althea questioned.

Elle nodded.

Althea frowned, "Do we have a name for the possible unsub?"

"His house is registered under Albert Simons," Morgan replied.

"Break down the door," Agent Gideon declared.

Rebecca gaped at him, "We...we don't have probable cause, sir. We'd need a warrant."

"He fits the profile," Morgan pointed out. "He's got the car, he recently lost his job, which could be the stressor, and it allows him plenty of free time. He frequented parks and he's avoiding law enforcement."

"None of that is evidence though."

"It is a witness testimony, Agent Fittes. Are you willing to sacrifice the kid's life for this?" Agent Gideon snapped.

"But, sir..."

"The longer we stand around her and wait, the longer he has to get rid of Nicholas and any other evidence."

Rebecca sighed and pulled out her phone, "I'll call a judge. The evidence won't be admissible if we go in without a warrant."

"What else are we supposed to do, Agent Fittes, we don't have much choice here," Agent Hotchner tapped his foot impatiently.

Althea's eyes wandered down the street where she spotted a balding middle-aged man on the opposite end, leaning against his fence, watching them with keen interest. No one else seemed to notice him, everyone too busy debating on the best way to apprehend the unsub, Albert Simons.

She nudged Spencer who had been standing there silently the whole time, "Hey, is that our caller, Mr. Grimes?"

Spencer looked at her, startled, "Yeah...why?"

Althea shook her head, "I think I'm going to go speak to him. Figure out if there's anything else he can tell us."

"Sure...uh...do you need me to go with you, Agent Devereaux?"

"Nah, you're probably needed here, Dr. Reid. And besides, I think I can handle questioning one guy," Althea patted the holstered gun at her waist. "Just let Rebecca—Agent Fittes, know when she's done with her phone call. And anyone else, in case they wonder where I've gone. Shouldn't take too long though."

Althea made her way toward David Grimes's house, jogging slightly to cover the distance faster. When he saw her coming, he moved toward the back of the house, slipping down one of the side lanes that presumably led to his backyard. Althea followed him, her footsteps slow and careful.

"Sir, I'm Agent Althea Devereaux from the FBI. I was wondering if you'd have a minute to answer a few questions," she called out.

"The FBI was already here to ask questions," a man's voice grumbled back.

"Right, I apologize for the inconvenience sir, but it'd really helpful."

"You said you were Agent Devereaux weren't you."

"Yes."

"Alright then, I'm back here, you can come on around. I won't have your questions interrupt my yard work."

Althea frowned. He didn't seem to be this busy moments ago when he was watching them from afar like a hawk. She threw a look down the street toward the others. Rebecca was arguing with someone on the phone and the BAU team was chasing Agent Gideon down the driveway as he ran toward Albert Simons's home. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, a primal warning that sent a shiver down her spine. Something was amiss, but she couldn't afford to hesitate, not when a child's life was at stake and she had already failed so many others. With one hand hovering over her gun, she stepped into the backyard, the main street disappearing from view as she did so, hidden by shrubbery and vegetation.

"Mr. Grimes," she called out again, but there was no response.

Her gaze darted around, scanning the area for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen. Althea's pulse quickened, a gnawing sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, a sharp impact struck the back of her head, causing her to stumble forward. Pain seared through her skull, and then everything went black.

Taglist: @haee-elia​

[tessatales]

The Ressurection of Love: Chapter Four (Spencer Reid x Original Female Character)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Original Female Character

Themes: Mention of therapy! Mention of trauma but not much Warnings: Alcohol is consumed. Apart from that no other warnings

A/N: Hey, so this chapters a longer one, but my creative juices are finally flowing properly so that a good thing really. please leave a comment if you enjoy and remember i do post this fic on AO3 too if you prefer that format! it's all under the same name on there! Enjoy! Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5 - - - - - - - - - 9:50am Dr Daniel Whiting: Video call in ten minutes.

The text was always the same and never a minute late. These factors made Spencer often wondered if it was an automatic text.

9:52am Reid:Okay

Texting a quick reply, Spencer got out of bed, swapping out his baggy T-shirt and sweatpants for his usual work pants, shirt and cardigan. He was just about to throw on his tie when he remembered he was off duty and quickly discarded it.

The coffee maker had just finished it loud rumbling when the beeping started on Spencer's laptop. Reaching for it he placed the wretched device on his kitchen counter and pressed enter, accepting the call.

"One of these days you'll answer the call with a happier expression Dr Reid." Dr Whiting said, his face appearing on the screen.

Dr Whiting was around 60, with thick black rimmed glasses and pure white hair combed into a neat almost Grease Lightning style. Although he gave off a very strict aura; Spencer had learned in his 4 year of him being his therapist that the old man did enjoy a joke.

Spencer has thought several times over the years that if they weren't therapist and patient, theys of made good friends.

"I'm sorry, Dr Whiting. I just don't like this stupid computer" Spencer replied, remembering the day he was given the devil contraption.

"I'm aware. This is how we start every session Spencer. But we can tackle your supposed technophobia another day. How are you?" Dr whiting continued, a small smile sitting on his wrinkled lips.

"I'm alright." Spencer replied automatically then cursed under his breath as Dr Whiting wrote something down.

"Strike one to me Dr Reid" Whiting continued, looking expectantly through the screen.

"I am okay. Its been 2 months since my last serious panic attack and i am 4 years and 237 days still sober." Spencer corrected, scolding himself for forgetting how he's meant to answer as he poured himself a coffee.

When Spencer has first started therapy, he'd been in a mess. Struggling with the craving to relapse along with the crushing grief over the loss of his girlfriend Maeve, Aaron had put him on leave with strict instructions to go to Dr Whiting. After a few weeks of therapy, Whiting had implemented this routine. During their sessions, he'd ask Spencer how he was. Spencer was then to reply with how long he had been sober and how long since his last mental health dip as a way to remind him how far he'd come. For the most part it worked, even if he tended to forget the routine.

"Good to hear. Now, anything to report?"

Spencer nodded, placing his mug down and reaching for his notebook.

"I have a new teammate, her names Alyssa" Spencer said, reading the first part of the note he'd left for himself. Dr Whiting knew Spencer didn't need the notebook to remember, but he'd insisted writing things down were good for his mental wellbeing as well as his memory.

"I see, and why do you think you need to bring this up today?" Whiting asked, scribbling something down.

"Two reasons actually. Reason one is she is also my new neighbour. So I wanted to run past you the home/work life dynamic that may affect. The second thing is actually something she said" Spencer replied, shutting the book in his hand and replacing it with his coffee.

"What was it she said?" Whiting asked matter of factly, cocking his head to one side as he listened intently.

"Well she asked me if we could meet up outside of work today if her plans fell through. I agreed but it made me realised that this is the first time I've been invited out by a team member that's not on my therapy plan"

"I see. So Emily is still your designated 'buddy'?" Dr Whiting asked, referring to the buddy system they'd put in place to help Spencer leave his apartment during his grief management.

"Yeah she is, and Derek is still my Sobriety sponsor" Spencer added, watching as his therapist seemed to ponder that information.

"And how does that make you feel Spencer? The fact they're still rather tangled in your recovery?" Dr Whiting asked finally, putting down his pen and clasping his hands together.

"I'm fine with them being there for me. Really I am. It's just when Alyssa asked me to go out with her today it made me realise that that was the first time someone who isn't part of my recovery has asked."

"And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Like they were only asking me because they have too. As if its a chore they need to complete. Penelope and JJ will ask me to come for a drink after work, sure, but I've never had them text me on our days off asking to do anything." Spencer admitted, feeling the words slice at him. Dr Whiting picked up his pen again.

"Thank you for you honesty Spencer, because of this new development, I'll be informing your team leader that I'll be cancelling your buddy system. Derek will still be your Sponsor as that's nothing to do with me. But I can tell from these feeling that the buddy tactic has served its purpose and if carried on may actually begin to work against you." Dr Whiting said, writing rapidly as he spoke.

"May I ask how you got to that conclusion?" Spencer wondered aloud, watching the laptop screen as his therapist finished writing.

"Putting it plainly you think they're only spending time with you outside of work because I've told them too. Therefore taking away the command will help you recognise that they are spending time with you because they want to. Not because of any orders." Whiting continued, looking so directly into the camera Spencer could almost feel the eye contact.

"Do you think that will help?" Spencer asked, tightening the grip on his coffee mug.

"if we've caught these intrusive thoughts early enough, yes it should."

"And what about Alyssa?" Spencer asked, bringing the conversation back to the first topic. Dr Whiting steepled his fingers in front of his face as he thought.

"You've began to have intrusive thoughts about your friends and teammates and their motives behind spending time with you outside of work. Therefore Miss Alyssa may be your saving grace here Spencer. As she has no idea of your past, you'll be able to build a tauma free friendship with her that cannot be tainted by your thoughts" Dr Whiting said with an air of authority only therapists seem to possess.

Spencer took a moment to process this, allowing himself to take in all the variables before speaking.

"I understand. I can't assumes she's hanging out with me out of pity if she doesn't think I need to be pitied" Spencer said, watching as his therapist nodded enthusiastically on the screen.

"Exactly. Anyway, I see you're clock watching so I shall let you go. I shall text you with our next scheduled call time. And I'll be expecting a run down of you time out with Alyssa." Dr Whiting concluded, shaking his finger at the camera again as if to say 'Or else!" before abruptly ending the call.

Spencer had just placed the laptop back in its place on the table when her heard the doorbell go, the gothic ringing sounding through his apartment.

"One second!" Spencer shouted, throwing the remains of his now half drunk coffee before grabbing his keys and coat and racing towards the door.

[eddies-puppet]

Lost In The Fire | Spencer Reid

Chapter 27: Epilogue

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and a bit more fluff 💕

Word count: 965

Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | THE END

——————————————————

"It's a good job this wedding is happening today and not in a weeks time, or you'd have had to find another dress," Gemma laughed as she fastened the last button on the back of Becca's dress. "You need to tell this baby to stop growing!"

"Oh, come on," Penelope grinned. "Chubby babies are the cutest! I'm going to feed you cake every day until baby Reid enters the world."

Becca laughed, running her hands down the front of her dress, her fingers smoothing gently over the delicate white lace that covered her stomach. Gemma was right, her bump had really started to pop now, and with five months left to go it wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

Pretty much the minute she'd joined the BAU on a permanent basis, Emily had made it clear that she could travel with the team, but under no circumstances was she allowed to go out on arrests. That suited her fine, as she certainly wasn't in any shape to be chasing after unsubs!

There was a soft knock on the door, and she turned just in time to see Emily's head pop around it.

"Is it safe to bring you some visitors?" She asked, Becca nodding excitedly in response. "Dave will be up to get you any minute, but these guys wanted to come say hi before you take your final walk," Emily laughed.

"You make it sound like I'm going to my death," Gemma laughed as Derek, Luke and Hotch filed into the room. "Hey!"

"Wow," Derek muttered as he took a step towards her. "I think for the first time ever, we might be about to see pretty boy speechless! You look beautiful," he told her, kissing her gently on the cheek.

"Thank you," Becca smiled shyly. "Is he ok?" Derek nodded.

"Much calmer than I was at my wedding," he laughed. "How about you?"

"I'm good," she nodded. "Thank you, all of you, for all of your help the last few weeks, turns out growing a human being really takes it out of you," she laughed.

"Can I come in?" She heard from the doorway, turning to see Dave.

"I mean, it is your house," Luke chuckled.

"That's enough out of you chuckles," he smiled. "Time for you lot to get your walking shoes on, the minister's ready. Gentlemen, grab your ladies!"

Becca took a few deep breaths, smiling excitedly as each groomsman offered their arms to the bridesmaids, Derek to Gemma going first as best man and maid of honour, followed by Luke and Penelope, and Hotch and Emily, and they filed out of the room, each blowing kisses and wishing her luck on their way past.

"You ready to do this kiddo?" She grinned up at him.

"So ready." As Becca picked up her flower bouquet and linked her arm with Dave, he grinned.

"Your Prince Charming awaits."

————————————————————————————-

"So you're telling us that you've known about Emily and Hotch for months, and said nothing?" Derek exclaimed.

Becca had gone to the bar to get herself a drink and had been accosted by Derek, Savannah, Matt, Kristy and Tara.

"What can I tell you, I guess she only told those who could keep a secret," Becca laughed, raising a glass of juice to her lips.

"Hey, woah," Derek chuckled. "I can keep a secret!" Savannah laughed beside him, gently squeezing his arm.

"Baby, you cannot keep a secret," she shook her head as the rest of the group laughed.

"May I cut in, Mrs Reid?" Spencer appeared beside her, holding his hand out towards her. She grinned back at him, placing her glass down on the table beside her before gently laying her hand in his.

"I'll catch up with you all in a bit," she said to the group before turning back to Spencer. "After you, Mr Reid. Dr Reid? What do we call you now?" She laughed as she followed him to the dance floor.

He pulled her softly to an empty spot on the dance floor, nestled somewhere between Penelope and Luke, and Emily and Hotch, and pulled her towards him, enveloping her within his embrace. She gazed up at him, smiling softly.

"You can call me whatever you want," he told her softly. "Although you know how much I love when you call me doctor," he added, his eyes glinting cheekily.

"Oh, is that so?" She giggled as he lowered his head, gently kissing her lips as he nodded. "I'll bear that in mind, Dr Reid," she said quietly, tightening her arms around his waist. She smiled up at him. "I can't believe we're married."

"I can," he said simply. She looked at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly. "I knew from the moment we met that I was going to marry you."

"No, you didn't," she giggled.

"Alright, well I hoped I would," he chuckled. "And here we are."

"Here we are," she nodded, removing her arms from his waist and slipping them around his shoulders, burying her fingers in his soft hair. "I love you," she sighed. "So, so much."

"I love you too," he smiled, his arms tightening around her waist. "You," he paused. "And this little one," he nodded his head downwards. "I wish my mom had met you," he whispered, his eyes glazing over with unshed tears. "She'd have loved you."

Becca placed a hand gently against his cheek.

"Spence, as long as you remember her, she's still with you," she reassured him. "And we'll make sure the baby knows everything about her, and how amazing she was, and all the things she overcame." Spencer nodded slowly, breathing deeply.

"It's all gonna be ok baby. It's you and me," she whispered. He looked deep into her eyes, a smile creeping slowly across his lips.

"Always."

THE END 💕

[lunas-criminally-writing]

current works

written in the stars ( spencer reid x maggie hotchner )

little black dress ( emily prentiss x maggie hotchner )

breeding a killer (written in the stars au )

the little things chronicles ( aaron hotchner x scarlett garcia )

proxy : jules duval ( lila madison x luke alvez )

empathy ( daisy morgan x luke alvez )

frenemies ( salem lila hotchner x luke alvez )

the twins ( salem lila hotchner and maggie elizabeth hotchner adventures )

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch

Chapter Eight:

The coffee machine gurgled in the quiet of the break room as Evelyn filled her cup, her hands carefully cradling her favorite pink mug as the steam raised in delicate swirls. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed substance wafted through the air, Evelyn was moments from savoring her first sip when Spencer made his entrance. 

He moved with an awkward grace, his lean frame wrapped in a sweater, the morning light casting a scholarly glow on his thoughtful expression. Evelyn took a moment, as she often did, to admire the earnest curiosity etched into his features. She pivoted gracefully, a playful glint in her eye, the corners crinkling in silent laughter.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she chimed. "Joining me for the most important meal of the day?"

Spencer offered a small, hesitant grin, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as if anticipating an unwelcome audience. When he turned back, finding the coast clear, his gaze couldn't help but sweep over her, a slow, involuntary trail from her eyes down to her heels and back up again.

"Did you know caffeine can actually increase cortisol levels?" Spencer inquired, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer as he warmed to the subject. "Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands and plays a critical role in regulating various bodily functions. While it's essential for survival, elevated cortisol over prolonged periods can lead to a host of issues. So, while that cup of coffee might seem like a good idea, it's worth considering the potential endocrine implications."

Evelyn closed the distance between them with a playful step, her eyes gleaming. "I love when you talk nerdy to me, Dr. Reid," she started. "But if you deprive me of my morning coffee, I won't be the only ones suffering the consequences."

Spencer's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily giving Evelyn's ass a quick, teasing tap. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a feigned expression of shock. 

"In the workplace, Dr. Reid?" Evelyn chided, her voice laced with mock scandal.

Spencer's chuckle was a soft counterpart to the florescent hum of the break room. Evelyn stood there, the light catching the subtle highlights in her hair, her smartly tailored suit accentuating her figure.

"Speaking of which, and presuming your neurons are adequately myelinated for the day, how about those ground rules?" Spencer's question came with a half-smile.

"I'm going to pretend for a second that myelinated is part of my daily vocabulary," Evelyn retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "Upstairs is all clear," she tapped her temple for emphasis before taking another step towards the genius, "but after last night, I can't say the same for downstairs."

Spencer cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as memories of the previous night flickered through his mind. "Don't start with me."

"Me? Start with you? Never," she said, her eyes dancing with humor. "But in all seriousness. This," she gestured between them, "stays between us. We can't do anything here."

She straightened up, her expression mock serious. "I'm already juggling enough with these legacy rumors. If I start adding 'sleeping with my mentor' to my resume, I'll need to write a survival guide."

Spencer's response was quick. "I can do that," he said, his eyes accusing. "As long as you behave."

"I'm always on my best behavior, sir," she declared with a sly smile, her voice trailing off as she sauntered out of the break room, "my place or yours tonight?"

Spencer's hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose, squeezing gently as if to ward off an impending headache, the universal gesture of a man both charmed and utterly undone by the woman before him.

--

The tech lab was alive with whirring machines and the subtle glow of displays. Evelyn glided into the room, her steps light and her grin spreading. 

The hum of computers and the soft glow of screens set the backdrop as Evelyn breezed into the tech lab, her steps light and her smile wide. She found Garcia, the queen of all things digital, her dominion sprawling before her in an array of flickering pixels and streaming data.

"Hey, P! Need your magic fingers to trace a number for me. And maybe sprinkle a little of that fairy dust to make the results come faster." Evelyn says with a lighthearted twinkle.

With a flourish, Garcia twirled in her chair, her clothes a riot of color that defied that room's monochrome sterility. She peered at Evelyn over the top of her pink-rimmed glasses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Sweetie, you're radiating more energy than my entire tech setup. What's got you bouncing off the walls? Extra shot of your coffee or just high on life?" Penlope questioned, her voice laced with humor as she watched Evelyn practically vibrating through the room.

"What? No, I'm not. It's just a good day, that's all," Evelyn laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.

Garcia tilted forward, a teasing glint in her gaze. "Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Miss Sunshine. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow," she pushed, "spill it. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Garcia, quit it," she giggled, brushing off the insinuation with a wave of her hand. "There's no guy. Just... work stuff, you know?"

But Garcia remained skeptical, playfully wagging a finger bedecked with a glittering ring. "Oh, come on! You've got that look. The one that says, 'I did not get my eight hours, but boy, was it worth it.'"

Laughter spilled from Evelyn, a rich sound that reverberated against the walls. "Seriously, Penelope, drop it. I'm just happy. Can't a girl have a good day without an interrogation?"

Garcia shot her a knowing glance, but she conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll let you off the hook... for now. But I've got my eye on you. Now what's this number you need traced?"

Evelyn passed a slip of paper across the table, her grin unwavering. She offered a swift thanks and retreated to the bustling bullpen. 

Evelyn's desk was a splash of color in the otherwise muted tones of the bullpen. Pink post-its fluttered like flags, each scrawled with affirmations and tiny tributes to her teammates. Amidst this cheerful chaos, Hotch stood, his hands clasped behind him as he surveyed the landscape of girlish whimsy.

At the sight, Evelyn's steps hastened, she darted forward to intercept his gaze, positioning herself squarely before him. "Hotch, sir, hi! Can I help you with something?"

Hotch met her gaze, his eyebrow lifted in mild inquiry, the shadow of a smile on his face. "I was looking for the Simmons report. You were supposed to turn in it yesterday." He tried to peer around her, amusement flickering in his eyes at the sight of her cluttered workspace. 

His eyes settled on the pen holder, an extravagant display of sparkle and faux gems. He remarked with dry wit, "Does that... fit the bureau's decor standards?"

Evelyn's smile was unapologetic as she shrugged lightly. "Mm, probably not. But it brightens up the place don't you think?" She rifled through the stack of papers, her face a canvas of sheepish charm. "About that report... I, uh, totally forgot. But it will be done, pinky promise."

She extended her pinky towards him. Hotch regarded the small gesture, his features betraying no reaction. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his stance was unwavering. "I'm not going to do that," he declared, eyes flicking to her upheld finger. "I expect the report on my desk by the end of the day."

Evelyn snapped to attention, grin never faltering. "Aye, aye, captain," she chimed cheerfully. "You'll have it before you can say 'bureaucracy'."

With a parting nod, he moved back to his office. In the corner, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss stood in a tight knot, their quiet conversation floating in the air near the water cooler. 

"There's no way," Morgan asserted, his head moving in a firm denial, his eyes reflecting staunch disbelief.

"I told you soooo," Prentiss crooned, her voice dripping in smug satisfaction.

"Huh?" Evelyn's question hung in the air as she swiveled towards the group, her eyebrow arching in a silent demand for clarity. "What are you talking about?" 

"There's an ongoing bet to see how long it'll take you to really get in trouble with Hotch," JJ confesses, her grin spreading as she looked towards the other.

Evelyn's voice rose in protest. "What? I do get in trouble!" she insisted. "Did you not just see that? Or when I went rogue on my first takedown?"

Prentiss let out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Morgan's knowingly. "Please that was 'Evie trouble.' It's like being scolded by a teddy bear."

"And what does that even mean?" Evelyn asked, her laughter rising through the room as she shook her head.

"Baby girl, your definition of trouble with Hotch is a lot different than ours," Morgan said with a playful wag of his finger. "You barely get a slap on the wrist, while we'd get the whole paddle," he teased.

"That is so not true!" Evelyn's giggle bubbled up uncontrollably, her shoulders bouncing with each note of disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head.

As if summoned by the very topic, Rossi and Reid appeared in the doorway. They caught the end of the conversation and, with impeccable timing, chimed in together, "It's true."

"If I forgot my paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'd be relegated to coffee duty for a month--minimum," Spencer said as he gave a small, resigned shrug. 

"I'll have you know, I can get into trouble," she declared, puffing up in feigned offense. "I'm always getting under Hotch's skin."

Skepticism was written all over their faces, each look a playful jab at the very ideas. "Oh, we're sure you're a regular rebel," Morgan said, his tone heavy with irony.

"Yeah, right. They day you get a real scolding is the day I'll dye my hair pink," Prentiss declared, her laughter softening the edges of her sarcasm.

"And I'll wear a feather boa to work," Rossi added, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting he found the image as ludicrous as it sounded. 

"Statistically speaking, Evelyn, the probability of you inciting Hotch's ire is remarkably low," Spencer articulated, his brows furrowing in thought. "Considering the standard deviation of workplace interactions, it's more probably likely for an asteroid to graze our atmosphere."

Evelyn rolls her eyes, taking their words as a challenge. "We'll see about that."

Noon struck, and with it, a cast of golden rays pierced through the blinds of Hotch's office, painting the surfaces with a light hue of daylight. Evelyn, her arms cradling a stack of tardy documents, sauntered into the room. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, framed her face, and her eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room.

"Special delivery!" The announcement echoed off the walls, as Evelyn, framed by the doorway, held the papers aloft like a trophy. "The prodigal paperwork returns." Her smile was a bright flash in the subdued light.

The click of the mouse ceased as Hotch's gaze lifted slowly from the computer, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Thank you, Evelyn," he uttered, each word measured. "I was beginning to think it had gone into witness protection."

The room was filled with the sound of Evelyn's giggle as she perched against the doorframe. Her smirk was a playful twist of her full, rose-tinted lips. "Oh, you know me. I like to keep things interesting. Life's too short for bureaucracy. "

Hotch's fingers moved methodically through the stack, each page turning with a crisp snap. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never strayed as he spoke. "Interesting isn't quite the Bureau's motto. We prefer efficiency."

"And yet, here I am, brightening your day with my inefficiency," she teased.

The folder landed softly on the desk as Hotch straightened, his gaze piercing as it met Evelyn's. "Evelyn, is there something else you needed?"

"Just checking on my favorite unit chief," she declared with a shrug, "making sure you're not bored under a mountain of dullness."

Hotch's eyes took on a sharper focus, an almost accusatory gaze. "I'm quite capable of digging myself out, thank you," he stated, the hint of a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

Evelyn's smirk was unwavering, a silent ally as she acknowledged his words with a graceful nod. "Of course, sir. Duty calls."

--

The bullpen thrummed with life, agents weaving through the maze of desks, papers shuffled, and phones rang, the air buzzing with the collective focus. Evelyn's presence was a silent counterpoint, a different mission in mind. Her fingers sifted across the documents in front of her. With a feigned slip of the hand, she accidentally exchanged the contents of two folders. As she handed Hotch the Thompson report, masquerading as the Henderson case, she could barely contain her amusement.

Evelyn glanced up at Hotch with feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh, did those get mixed up? That's totally on me," she said, her voice dripping with faux contrition as she sat perched on the edge of her chair.

Hotch's hand clasped around the correct folder, his gaze drifting across Evelyn's features, a wordless pause hanging in the air. It was a look that lingered just a beat too long before he finally looked away.

With a serene composure, Hotch handed back the folder, his words deliberate and clear. "Please double-check your work in the future." 

"Absolutely, won't happen again, sir," Evelyn responded.

Watching Hotch disappear behind his office door, Prentiss and JJ, couldn't help but shake their heads. "You are playing with fire."

With a playful toss of her hair, Evelyn responded, "It's what I do best." Her wink sailed across the room to the women as she swiveled back to her desk.

Later, she sent Hotch on a wild goose chase for a non-existent file. Hotch reappeared, the absence of the file evident in his empty hands and the slight crease of annoyance on his brow. His irritation was barely veiled by his professional composure and the sight stirred a warmth across her cheeks and spread through her. It was as if the air had thickened, her body responding with a clench of her thighs. 

Evelyn snapped her attention back to her task, letting out an exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening with feigned realization.

Evelyn's eyes lifted to meet Hotch's, a flutter of her lashes accentuating her apology. "Oh, my mistake. It's actually for next week's briefing. My apologies, sir."

A collective gaze tracked Hotch, the team's faces etched with a blend admiration and disbelief at the boldness. Hotch's head shook slightly as he closed the door behind him. 

With a subtle lean, Morgan caught Rossi's attention, a smirk playing on his lips. "You seeing this, Rossi?" he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of disbelief.

"Hard to miss," Rossi mused, "she's got guts, I'll give her that," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile, "but she's doing a great job of proving our point."

"Hey," Evelyn's whisper was a soft accusation, a conspiratorial murmur that barely reached between the three of them. "Just you wait, I've got more up my sleeve."

With a gentle head shake that sent his curls swaying, Spencer loomed over her desk. "At this rate," he said, looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye, "you're going to need your own section in the employee handbook."

--

The bullpen fell into an abrupt hush, the agents' heads turning as Hotch's commanding tone sliced through the idle banter. Without missing a beat, he looked eyes with Evelyn. "Gideon, my office. Now."

The team's eyes flickered from one to another, the collective oooh sounding more like a drawn-out sigh as Evelyn got to her feet. The air seemed to still as she offered a nod, her face the picture of innocence. With a gentle tilt of her head, she responded sweetly. "Of course, sir."

Hotch stood behind his desk, the stern set of his jaw softening despite his best efforts. His words came with struggle, weighted with disappointment rather than anger. "This isn't like you, Evelyn. Misplacing evidence is a serious offense."

With eyes wide and innocent, Evelyn held her poise, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The room felt smaller as Hotch sighed, his authoritative demeanor dissolving into a softer, more approachable one. His voice lowered, tinged with an unexpected warmth. "What's going on with you today?"

"Hotch," Evelyn burst out, the playful strain in her voice belying the seriousness of her words. "I've been an absolute terror today--don't I deserve a better scolding that that? Everyone thinks you go easy on me."

Hotch's eyes sharpened, the hint of annoyance seeping through his demeanor. "So that's what this has been about? You've been testing my patience all day because of what--some office wager?"

Evelyn watched, a spark of mischief in her eyes as Hotch's composure began to fray. The fabric of his suit jacket tensed, subtly outlining the firm set of his shoulders. His jaw worked silently, a clear sign of his growing irritation, a detail she found inexplicably enthralling. 

"See, right there!" she exclaimed, her finger jabbing the air with theatrical emphasis. "That's what I'm talking about--that's the look!"

A barely perceptible quirk of his lips betrayed him. "You're unbelievable."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with sheer desperation shimmering within. "Hotch, can you please--pretty please--pretend to yell at me? I need to win this bet."

"At this point, Evelyn, I don't think I need to pretend."

She offered him a pout, her lower lip protruding just so, a silent plea.

He exhaled a deep sigh, a reluctant white flag. "Fine. Shut the door."

"Thank you, thank you!" Evelyn sang out, her mind already racing ahead. "Oh, wait, I need to look scared, right?" She whirled around, her hand hovering over the door handle as she caught the team's collective gaze, wide and expectant, peering through the blinds.

Hotch positioned himself with his back to the window, his silhouette casting a commanding shadow across the room. With a flourish, he gestured towards the scattered paperwork on his desk, his voice booming just enough to be heard through the glass.

Evelyn's lip caught between her teeth, an effort to rein in the giggles that bubbled over. Her shoulders trembled, betraying her struggle as she dipped her head, a strategic move to conceal from the curious glances beyond the glass.

"Evelyn, you're terrible at this."

"I-I know, I'm sorry," she sputtered between fits of laughter. "But I think they bought it."

"I doubt it."

"You're the best boss ever, Hotch," Evelyn beamed.

Hotch's head gave a slow shake, the barest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Too much if I cry on the way out?" she teased, feigning distress as she inched towards the door.

"Just go, Agent."

--

The day was winding down with the low hum of the office, Evelyn glided through the bullpen, her smirk as loud as the click of her heels. She tossed a bag onto Prentiss's desk, the contents clicking softly. The bag, clear and plastic, revealed the pink hair dye inside.

Evelyn leaned closer, the bag crinkling between them. "For your new look, Em," she teased with a wink. "I want to see a brand-new you by tomorrow."

Prentiss examined the dye, eyebrow raised in playful defiance. "Dream on, Evie," she chuckled. "This going in your Secret Santa gift."

Next the feather boa found its new home around Rossi's neck, courtesy of Evelyn's hands. "This is non-negotiable, Rossi," she declared. "Your suit needs a touch of pizzazz."

"But let's be real, Evie," Morgan chuckled. "You didn't really win the bet, did you?"

Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Whaaaatt?" she uttered. "I have absolutely no idea what you're implying."

"Oh, come on," Emily scoffed, "we all know what Hotch looks like when he's chewing someone out. And that, my friend, was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her act faltering under the team's knowing looks. "Oh! You know, I-I totally forgot, I have that thing I was totally supposed to do."

--

Evelyn was in her own world, surrounded by the familiar end-of-day bustle. As she slid her laptop into its case, her phone chimed--her eyes lit up, a smile curving subtly as she read the message from Spencer: My place. 8 pm.

Evelyn's gaze lifted, catching Spencer's eye across the room, a knowing look shared between them. She typed her response with haste: I'll be there. No sooner had she done so than Hotch's voice sliced through the buzz of the office. "Evelyn, my office."

She breezed in, her retort poised on her lips. "You didn't call me in here to actually yell at me, did you? Because, despite popular belief, I'm about as good with confrontation as a cat is with a bathtub. I'd probably start crying, it'd be this whole thing, and--"

"Evelyn." Hotch's voice was firm, a verbal full stop that demanded attention.

"Right. What's up?"

"Miami. Next week. A conference on behavior analysis," he began. "I want you there, presenting your research on the correlation between language patterns and criminal behavior."

"A paid trip to the beach? Count me in!" Evelyn squealed.

Hotch's reply came as a dry gust. "This is a business trip, Evelyn. Not a vacation."

She nodded, her grin undiminished. "Sorry, what? My mind's already sunbathing in Miami," she teased, twirling on her heel.

"Oh, and Evelyn?"

"Mhm?"

"The team's right," he confessed. "Don't let it go to your head."

next

taglist: @nonamevenus@aceofspades190

[mrs-weasley-reid]

One Dance

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Summary: One dance, that's all it took for Aaron Hotchner to lose control.

Warning: smut, unprotected (piv), curse word(s), use of y/n and l/n, first person pov, a bit of betrayal? (not serious), tell me if I missed anything

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This is one of my hidden drafts that was originally for a different character, but YOLO.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

A smile ran over my lips as my hips swayed at the heart-pounding beat of the music. My hands slid down my figure slowly as I let my eyes close to devour the rhythm.

Nothing ever beats Friday nights after a long grueling case. Especially when Penelope and Emily force the entire BAU team for a night out.

"Y/N, let me get us drinks! I'm going to pass out! I'll tell Spencer to keep an eye on you!" Emily shouted through the music with a chuckle as her support on my sides retracted.

I hummed softly, nodded without the care of opening my eyes, letting the rhythm take over my entire body on such a daze that I loved.

My body swayed and rolled, all while my hands traced my curves in a sensual and seductive way. I was not aiming for anything. I just really loved letting my body get lost in the melody.

Different sets of hands lay atop mine, keeping the grip on my waist as it hit the beat from side to side. I smiled as our bodies clashed with a type of warmth I so loved, friction sparking as my back kissed their chest.

It tasted so lustrously devouring. The way every movement felt so close, so passionate. Whatever drink Spencer — I assumed — had, I would love to get a sip. It seemed to give him a lot more energy to match my rhythm.

"Freaking finally, Spence! Get those sneakers moving!" I shouted in a teasing tone. "Admit it! You love dancing too!" I laughed, running my hands up to my chest, past my shoulders, and on his — toned? — pectorals, aiming farther to slide up on his neck.

Spencer wasn't this toned from what I remembered, but I had no complaints. I loved the way he moved on my lead, and he has never done such a thing, especially with me. I wanted to savor the moment and question it later.

He traced my figure, giving me chills and little temptation to gasp. And so I did. My head was thrown back on his chest. Spencer was my best friend. I'm very comfortable with whatever we do together. Besides, I had already tried playfully seducing him once, never worked. I wasn't his type, and nor was he mine.

I felt him squeeze my flesh sensually, "I don't know, sweetheart. Shall I?" He whispered hoarsely close to my ear. My eyes darted open, and my body froze.

My hands that traveled up his neck passed through the line where I usually felt Spencer's long curly hair intertwine with my fingers. Instead, I felt short soft strands stubbornly escape my grip.

I turned around too swiftly that the man behind me placed a hand on the small of my back for me not to fall, my hands landing on his chest.

My heart skipped a beat as I met Aaron eye to eye. A sly smirk covered his handsome face: sharp jaw, pointy nose, earthy eyes, and pinkish lips.

Brows furrowing, "What are you doing?" I asked, pushing a gap between us. I was very much flustered at the fact that it was Aaron all along. And more so that he was my boss.

Aaron kept me close with his strong, rough hands wrapped around my waist. They were so big that it felt like he could hold me like a sandwich if he wanted. "Dancing," He answered nonchalantly, beginning to sway my body once more on his lead.

"Yeah, I know, but you can't dance with me," I said, slowly retracting my hands at such a pace that made me feel the structure of his body.

"And why is that?" He curiously asked, an eyebrow raised in so much interest. "You seem fine rolling your body on Prentiss and Reid. How am I any different?" Aaron squeezed my sides again, earning a satisfying small gasp from me.

My eyes widened. Oh no. I couldn't possibly tell Aaron that I couldn't be seen this close and intimate with him because one of my best friends had a big fat crush on him, and I didn't want to ruin my friendship with Emily.

I looked down, changing my line of sight on his chest. "Fine," I said in full confidence. "One dance." I added sternly.

He gently pinched my chin with his index and thumb and tilted my head up to meet his gaze one more time. "Deal, but you have to actually dance." Aaron had a mischievous grin.

I have to admit how handsome he was, especially with the lights flickering in so much pace. It highlighted the sharpness of his beautiful visage.

But I couldn't be attracted. Emily liked him. I couldn't do that to my best friend.

Aaron raised an eyebrow. He squeezed my waist to snap me out of my trance. I jumped a little, and I glared at him. "Stop doing that." I subtly pouted, a habit I always had and hated at the moment.

He let out a very seductive chuckle, leaning close to me. "Then dance, L/N. Grind that body on me again." Aaron's voice was utterly electrifying. So authoritative and gently alluring.

I felt a shiver shot down my spine to my cunt, and I had to shut my thighs together. My body began to sway again, but not much of the friction I emitted minutes ago.

It was so awkward. So fucking awkward that I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Aaron made me tense. Us being breathlessly close made my body stiff.

And then the music began to switch, the fade of the last song filled with hundred beats that synced with my heart.

I raised my head to listen to the song in awe. I could feel my blood pump ten times faster. "Oh my gosh!" I looked at Aaron with sparkly eyes. "I love this song!" I exclaimed, and as soon as the beat dropped, my body took over.

I was jumping, swaying, tracing my own body. I did that. I always always loved feeling myself in a way that was both appropriate in public and lustrous enough to satisfy my building desire.

Lights flashed, flickering neon colors. I wrapped an arm on Aaron—not caring that he was my boss anymore—and ground my body, whipping my head as my other arm pumped up.

I was biting my bottom lip. And then I felt Aaron hold my raised hand and turn me around without his other hand leaving my waist.

Aaron's hold went lower, now aligned under the small of my back, getting a little feel of my ass cheeks. His grip got tighter when I ran my palms on his chest down. "You know that's a dangerous game you're playing, L/N." He whispered close. His breath was ragged, probably from dancing.

I laughed hysterically, "Dangerous? Well, isn't that your forte," I fluttered my lashes as I looked up at him. "Hotchner?" I challenged, giving an emphasis to his last name.

Tongue pushed the inner side of his cheek. Lips were slightly parted as he looked at me amusedly. I stumbled when he pulled me closer, eyes widened when I felt something hard poke just above where my abdomen.

Was I dreaming? What type of fuckery was this?

Aaron trailed his hand to my back and down to my ass, giving it a tight squeeze. My face heated up, no doubt turning red. My throat felt blocked, a lump forming quickly inside.

The song finished, transitioning to another. I was more than happy to push away, but Aaron never gave me the chance to. "I said just one dance." I pointed out, struggling to get out of his grip.

"Oh, but we're playing a game now." Aaron rubbed circles on my ass, and all I could think was how his huge handprint would look good tattooed on my skin.

He pulled me tighter. Now I was certain that it was a bulge that I had felt earlier as it pressed on my body. I gulped at the throb of my now wetting cunt.

I opened my mouth, blinking at the difficulty of my situation. "I-I can't." I stammered, panicking about how to get out of his touch without crumbling and hoping that Emily hadn't seen us.

His eyebrows narrowed, jaw clenching. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the dancing sea to a more quiet part of the club.

Aaron led us into the alleyway behind the building, and stopped next to the huge trash bin. I was like a lasso flicked once when he made me turn to face him. His hand still gripped my thin boned wrist, and it felt like it would snap any moment.

"Why the hell not?" Aaron growled. Such tension vibrated down my wet folds. He was heaving, eyes roaming up and down my body.

I still wore my work clothes, except I didn't have my blazer and just left my white buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt with a few buttons off.

I bit my lower lip, looking straight on his chest to avoid his blazing eyes. It felt like I was to melt. "Stop it." My eyes went back up on him.

My brows now creased. Stop what? I wasn't doing anything. I kept my words silent. This man is delusional. I swore to every psych test we had to take.

As if I was thinking out loud, Aaron cupped my chin, and the base of his wrist wrapped around my neck. "Stop that." He demanded, pulping my cheeks together and my bitten bottom lip set free.

I was blinking hard, trying to process the tension inside of me that swiftly craved for him and more of his throat lumping touch.

"You didn't answer me, L/N. I'm still waiting."

My chest heaved, and I only looked at him, his dark, messy hair that made my cunt drool. I only noticed the silver chain on his neck that looked so tempting to brush over my skin while he feasted on my breasts.

I knew Aaron knew how my mind ran, and I wanted him to. I wanted him to know how tempted I was to get him to use me as his little toy for the rest of the night. But I wasn't allowed to drill first.

I didn't realize how hard my free hand was gripping the arm he stretched to squeeze my pipe or when I did that, but I saw how his eyes darkened.

So quick. It was so quick I didn't have time to react. Aaron pulled my face up to meet him. Our lips crashed, following the beat that pounded inside the wall that grazed my back.

His kisses were rough, searing, yet caressed. I moaned when he let go of my wrist and gripped my waist.

It only encouraged him more, trailing down my jaw and under my ear. "Hotch," I rasped, and I was irritated when he pulled away. My mouth flung open, "Why'd you stop?" I entreated breathlessly.

As if my uncoordinated gasps weren't enough proof of lack of air in my lungs, Aaron knocked my breath away by swooping me off the ground.

He connected our lips again, craving for more as he walked us to his SUV. My arms wrapped around his neck to keep him as close as possible.

My legs dangled over his grip, toes curling inside my shoes. I loved how he tasted. How bitter yet so sweet his lips tasted.

Aaron opened the door to the backseat, setting me down carefully. Although the gentleness subsided quickly, he pinned me on the door across, making my back arch from the uneven surface.

"Fuck, you looked so hot." He went down on my jaw again, fiddling with my buttons until it was all unhooked. Aaron paused, eyes filled with adoration as he moved back to get a look at me. He bit his lower lip in hunger, shaking his head with a grin. "You look so much hotter now." He exclaimed and feasted on me again.

I tilted my head to give him more access to my neck. The sting of sucked blood left remarkable hues on my skin. "On top of me," He rasped, lifting me up by the waist in one grip.

I did as I was told, straddling his hips. His face now aligned with my breasts, my bra not so useful as it let my mountains spill, which Aaron didn't seem to mind.

He dove into the middle of my cleavage, licking it with a searing tongue. Biting, nibbling, sucking, he adored me with so much lust. Like my fantasy, his necklace brushed on my skin with cold tickles.

Below my waist was a lot more intimate, a hand squeezing and supporting my ass, and the other snaked up under my pencil skirt, giving my cunt the attention it craved. I yelped at the coldness I felt from one of his fingers, I didn't even know he wore rings for fun, nor did I see what color it was.

I moaned aloud when he began to circle my clit, throwing my head back in pleasure. My hands, contrary, unbuttoned his shirt with no problem. And when I reached his waistline, I unbuckled his belt with eagerness.

Aaron pinned me down on his suffocated bulge. He maneuvered to pull down his dress pants and boxers. His cock sprung free, the tip kissing the thin fabric on my wet cunt.

"Hotch," I moaned, asking for more friction. I needed him inside of me. I wouldn't last any longer. I wanted him to break me.

He hummed on my collarbone, the vibrations spreading all over my body, throbbing my cunt to more wetness I've ever felt.

My eyes shut tight when he set my underwear aside and pushed his tip in. "No one can find out," I whispered. My lips parted as vapor of searing air escaped me.

Aaron groaned in pleasure as he inched deeper, my walls tightening around his throbbing cock. It was so good. He felt so good inside of me.

"Oh, I do love the thrill," He said lovingly. "Don't worry. I'll keep it to myself as long as you're just mine."

My hips jolted, and I moaned at his promise. Aaron kissed my jaw gently, "They'll never know I'm the reason you won't be walking properly to work tomorrow." He mumbled with heat.

He placed a kiss on my lips, "No one would know who gave you all these brands." Aaron looked at me, wrapping a hand on my neck with the finger that had a ring, the cold causing a vein of mine to tremble. "As long as you promise only to be mine, I'll keep my word." He added and let go of my neck to give me attention elsewhere.

I heaved, "Move. Fast. Break me, please." I begged in broken words. My lips quivered in so much need.

Then he snapped. He pounded on me relentlessly, pupils dilated, eyes raven-ly dark. He pressed our bodies closer, the heat burning my skin in such pleasure.

"Mmm," I hummed breathlessly. I was digging my nails down his muscular biceps. He was so good. "Faster, Aaron." His name slipped out of my lips.

It seemed to fuel his lust even more as he thrust a lot faster than what I asked, but exactly what I needed. "Fuck, I'm not going to last longer with you feeling this good around my cock." Aaron growled, biting on my skin to emit a loud cry from me.

And he got what he wanted. I screamed his name, each clashing of our hips. My hands deeply tangled with his dark hair. He filled me to the hilt, filled my hunger so well.

I felt my high approach. I knew he felt it, too, by the way he mumbled my name like a prayer. I tugged his hair for his head to pull away from my hued skin and smashed our lips to heighten the intimacy I've felt.

Not long when my body tightened even more, "I'm going to cum—fuck," I shuddered, pulling on his roots even harder.

"Cum for me then, Y/N. Do it." Aaron rested his forehead on mine, watching how his cock disappeared in me.

His words were sacred, like a rule I was set to abide by. I crumbled in a pleasurable cry for his name. Hammered down my zenith as my essence spilled all over him.

"Fuck—" Aaron groaned, burying his face in my nook. I felt his thrusts turn sappy, cock twitched inside of me in such painful stimulation. He came in me with a cunt throbbing growl.

We stayed in the same position, panting. Only then did I notice the fog that masked the windows.

I looked at his blissed face. I didn't know when he started to adore me. I didn't care whether the alcohol was the only proof of his feelings for me, either. It was the most amazing minutes of my life. I wasn't willing to change any of it.

And speaking of care. Hell to Emily —bless her heart and our friendship— but I'd love to own the man who fucked me this good.

[impala-dreamer]

Excuse me...

Have I acquired your attention? Good. Ok -

So, I don't know how many of you remember my Tell Me About drabbles, or who would care anymore, but...

Let's bring them back!

Now, you may say, "but, Beka- you never answered my original one... did you keep them all?" Yes. Yes I did. And.... Some of them got full fics that are on my Patreon and will someday appear here lol So, yeah, I may answer one from 2 years ago, but new ones are so much more fun, aren't they? Also, there's new characters to choose from! "Like who? and what? and how? and huh?" Well, keep on reading and all will be revealed!

So, you may know I've been working like 5608308 hours a week now that I have a new WFH job, which is great, but I'm burning out fast and I need some writing back in my life.

Send me an ASK that starts with "Tell Me About... " and then fill in the rest with whatever prompt you'd like. It can be angst, smut, fluff, crack, hardcore porn, a mix of all. You can also choose a character from the list below and I shall do an ___ x Reader. or a ship, if you'd prefer. or a mix. it's all good! Keep the prompt short and open. Ie: do not write me a fic and ask me to write you a fic of the fic. so.. more like..

"Tell Me About... Jensen and me in a submarine with cheese wiz and a porn mag"

But not that, bc why. I may just do that one on my own bc Why. Anyway- Send it in. And if it sparks a drabble, I shall give it to you. (please do not send gifs with it. they clog things up) You may also get a full fic if you're lucky ;)

Characters and Ships I will write with:

Jensen Ackles / Dean Winchester, Soldier Boy, Tom Hanniger

Misha Collins / Castiel

Jeffrey Dean Morgan / John Winchester, Negan

TWD- Rick Grimes, Daryl

Chris Evans / Steve Rogers

Sebastian Stan / Bucky, Sebastian Stan, Sebastian Stan

Joe Goldberg - YOU (tv)

The Magicians- Quentin, Eliot, Penny, The whole gang. All of them.

Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner

SHIPS: Cockles/Destiel, StuckyxReader (who am I?), Queliot

I can't remember who I write for omg. just ask... you know what I'm into.

If you're unsure of a character or just wanna ask - send me a DM. I'm always around :)

LET'S DO THIS!

[breakingbranchesbella]

The BAU team as Jack Reacher quotes

+ Cassandra Lorayne, an oc featured in my Criminal Minds, Hannibal, Bones, etc crossover fanfic. Found ⬇️

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 26. silence is never silent

take me back to understand, we deep inside our hearts know, we don't make the wind blow. - The Common Linnets, We Don't Make The Wind Blow

N O V E M B E R   1 8 T H   2 0 1 1

Last week, I found myself back in the lecture hall, a place I hadn't visited in a while. I had skipped teaching last semester because work had consumed all my time. With cases piling up, there was no room for academic pursuits. But now, with things settling down a bit, I felt drawn back to the world of academia.

Work felt strangely quiet this week, an eerie calm hanging over everything. It was the kind of silence that made you feel like something big was about to happen. In law enforcement, calm moments like these often signaled that a storm was brewing, something significant waiting just around the corner.

It reminded me of a superstition in emergency rooms—the belief that saying "It's a quiet night" could jinx things and bring chaos. It was as if acknowledging the peace invited trouble. Similarly, the quietness at work hinted at trouble ahead, a reminder that in our line of work, calm moments were often followed by chaos.

As I neared the end of my lecture, ready to dive into the details of next week's lesson, my phone buzzed on the desk, snapping me out of my academic focus. A message from JJ popped up, short and ominous: "We have a case and it's a bad one."

Letting out a sigh, I wrapped up the class, hastily ending my presentation as I headed for the door. The weight of responsibility settled over me like a thick blanket as I hurried to my car. The urgency of the situation pushed me forward, a grim determination driving me towards the office.

As we gathered in the conference room, there was a palpable sense of shock and determination hanging in the air. The images on the screen painted a horrifying picture: three bodies hanging from tree branches, their mutilated torsos, hearts torn from their chests, and their dignity stripped away with their genitals exposed for all to see. The chilling inscription above the macabre images simply read, 'Washington D.C.'

Garcia's voice broke through the solemn silence, her tone tinged with a sense of urgency and concern. "We're staying home today," she announced firmly, her words carrying a weight that left no room for doubt.

With a solemn expression, Garcia introduced each victim: Elijah Benedict, Alan Damon, and Philip DeJong. Their names echoed in the room, a reminder of the lives lost in this brutal act of violence. Ranging in age from forty-three to fifty, they were now reduced to mere statistics in a tragic tableau.

Morgan's words broke the tension, voicing what everyone was thinking. "Someone's got a grudge," he stated firmly, the seriousness of the situation evident in his tone. "This feels personal."

Rossi cut through the silence with a question that hung heavily in the air. "When did these attacks happen?" he inquired urgently, his concern palpable.

Hotch, as authoritative as ever, provided a grim timeline. "The first victim, a week ago," he began, each word weighed down by the severity of the situation, "the second, three days ago, and the last one, this morning." His words lingered in the room, a stark reminder of the swift and methodical nature of the assaults.

Garcia, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she accessed the chilling details, added to the grim narrative. "They were all held captive for at least a day," she concluded, her voice trembling slightly as she relayed the extent of the victims' suffering. "But no more than two, because in all three cases we have colleagues who can confirm they were at work at least two days prior."

"Do we have any connections between them?" JJ's question drew everyone's attention to Garcia, the team's digital expert.

"They all had more than just a thing for women," Garcia replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she dug deeper into the digital archives. "I'm still combing through their backgrounds for more connections or useful info. I'll keep you posted if I find anything important."

Despite the heaviness of the case weighing on us, the day wore on without any major breakthroughs. We'd spoken with the victims' families and colleagues, but hadn't uncovered much. Still, the urgency of the situation hung in the air, reminding us that time was ticking and another abduction could happen at any moment.

As I stepped into the familiar embrace of our home, weariness clung to my every step, burdening my shoulders with its weight. But the sight that greeted me at the table instantly lifted my spirits—a home-cooked meal, lovingly prepared by Maile, awaited me. It was a silent testament to her thoughtfulness and understanding, a gesture made all the more special by the fact that I had given her a heads-up about my return time.

The delicious aroma that filled the air hinted that Maile hadn't been the chef behind tonight's dinner—a fact that both amused and touched me deeply. Cooking wasn't her forte, something she freely admitted and often joked about. Despite her occasional forays into the kitchen, she knew her limitations well.

I couldn't suppress a chuckle at the thought of her valiant attempts, knowing the likely outcome. There had been times when I couldn't resist sneaking a taste of her creations while her back was turned. Yet, the results always reaffirmed her self-awareness; her dishes consistently fell short of culinary excellence, sparing me from any further taste-testing adventures.

But even in her culinary missteps, there was a certain charm—a willingness to try, despite knowing the odds were against her. It was just another endearing aspect of her personality, one that I cherished dearly and wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

"Hey," she greeted me with a radiant smile as I trudged wearily through the doorway, my exhaustion palpable in every step. Without a moment's hesitation, she gracefully relieved me of my burdens, gently setting aside my bag, and enveloping me in a comforting embrace. In the sanctuary of her arms, I felt the weight of the day slowly lift, soothed by the rhythmic beat of her heart that seemed to echo my own.

"Thank you," I whispered gratefully, my voice a mere breath as I leaned into her embrace. "I needed that."

Her response was simple yet profound, spoken with genuine sincerity. "Anytime."

With a gentle nudge, she guided me toward the table, her touch a comforting caress against my weary frame. "Now, let's eat," she urged softly, her voice carrying a warmth that seeped into my bones. "Tell me all about your day, and then let's just relax together tonight. No agenda, no worries—just us, unwinding and being together."

Her words, infused with a sense of tranquility, promised an evening of solace away from the chaos of the outside world. As I settled into my seat, the enticing aroma of the meal she had prepared enveloped me, coaxing forth a sense of contentment and gratitude. It was in these simple moments, shared within the comforting embrace of our home, that I found sanctuary and peace amidst life's trials.

She made every hardship of the day worthwhile.

As evening draped its comforting embrace around us, we settled snugly onto the couch, cocooned in its warmth. My fingers wove delicate patterns through her hair, offering a gentle caress that sought to soothe her troubled mind. In the hush of the moment, I broached a question, my voice a mix of curiosity and care.

"Are you starting to remember things?" I asked softly, my words hanging in the air, stirring up a sense of unease within her.

"It's coming back in flashes," she confessed in a quiet voice, the weight of her inner conflict heavy in her words. "But I don't want to, Alex." Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the turmoil raging inside her, a silent testament to the overwhelming emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

With gentle care, I wiped away the tears from her cheeks, hoping for my touch to bring comfort to her raw emotions. Pulling her closer, I wrapped her in my embrace, our legs intertwined, my chest against her back, and my chin nestled in the curve of her neck.

My words flowed softly, like a soothing breeze in the night. "It's a good thing, Smiles," I murmured, my voice a gentle caress against her ear. "You need to process, and why not now? You're not alone. I am here."

"I am scared," she admitted, feeling the weight of her vulnerability in her words. "I don't want to be. I mean, I don't even have the right to. Look at what you're facing at work every day-"

Before she could finish her self-deprecating thoughts, I interrupted, my voice firm but kind. "Don't go there. Don't belittle your pain because you feel like someone else's is worse," I urged, my gaze locking with hers, unwavering in its intensity. "You can't feel their pain, and they can't feel yours. You have every right to be in pain."

I planted a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, my touch offering solace to the swirling turmoil in her mind. With a deep breath, she found the courage to open up about the memories that had started to come back to her.

"I remember hearing more voices," she admitted softly, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to transport herself back to that time. "Not just James and Ira. Other voices, but I can't place them. At first, I thought they might be part of your team, but they're not. I can't remember how many there were, or if I even saw them. I just knew they were there."

I held her close, my warmth surrounding her like a shield, as I pressed another kiss to her temple, offering comfort and reassurance. Feeling my support, she continued, "There were at least two other men," her voice trembling with uncertainty and unease. Each word dredged up memories she'd buried deep down.

"That's good", I said with genuine admiration, a soft smile gracing my lips as I gazed at her. "You did good, baby."

N O V E M B E R 1 9 T H 2 0 1 1

As I stepped into the bustling bullpen, the familiar symphony of activity surrounded me—the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the rustle of papers, and the murmur of voices blending into a harmonious cacophony. In the midst of this organized chaos, Hotch emerged like a captain navigating through turbulent waters, his purposeful stride signaling an imminent discussion. "Alex," he called out, his voice authoritative yet welcoming. "Can I have a word?"

His unexpected request sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine as I followed him to his office, my mind swirling with questions about the nature of our impending conversation. Despite my uncertainty, I complied, trailing behind him as we entered the sanctum of his private workspace. The soft click of the door closing behind us added a weight of seriousness to the atmosphere, intensifying the gravity of what was to come.

Seated across from each other, Hotch's usually composed demeanor was tinged with an unusual solemnity as he retrieved a file from his desk. A sense of foreboding settled over me, a knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. "We've identified the DNA found at the crime scene," he began, his words hanging heavy in the air like a dark cloud.

My exhaustion seemed to deepen as I struggled to comprehend the significance of his revelation. "And why are we discussing this privately?" I inquired cautiously, my mind racing to grasp the implications. "Why just you and me?"

Hotch's expression remained unreadable as he delivered the bombshell that left me reeling. "Because," he began, his voice steady, "it matches Maile's DNA."

A wave of disbelief washed over me, threatening to drown out all rational thought. Panic surged through me as the weight of his words settled in. "I should never have uttered those words," I berated myself silently, the casual remark I made earlier now haunting me with its unforeseen consequences.

[alicewonderao3]

Mutual Pining

Title: Mutual Pining

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Spencer Reid, fem!original character.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!original character

Warnings: None, fluffy. Use of fem!character, mentions of violence typical for criminal minds, Aaron has a nickname for her.

Summary: She's been pining after her gorgeous boss for a while now, and is unwilling to believe the older man might possibly return her feelings. What happens when she gets injured on a case, and he proves her wrong?

Authors note: So this is something I've had in my drafts for a long time now. I started writing it and just never had the motivation to finish it until today. I didn't realize I used one of the prompts for @the-slumberparty's naughty or nice challenge until after I'd edited the piece, so I'm submitting it at as well. I'm rewatching Criminal minds and working on a piece out of my wheelhouse, a soft!dark Aaron Hotchner. It's gonna be good. As always, I have no beta, and if I missed any warnings or tags, let me know, and all spelling and grammar mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,553

Life can be cruel sometimes. It can be downright nasty, but right now, I can't help but curse life with all my being. I'm working at my desk, and I'm supposed to be studying crime scene photos and helping form the profile so we can catch this latest in a long line of bad, bad men, but I can't. How can I be expected to focus when Aaron's just standing over there, talking with Rossi about something, I'm not sure what, looking as gorgeous as he is? 

It's a shame. I sigh, returning to my work when I see Rossi's eyes catch mine, watching me admire Aaron, and my cheeks flush and I duck my head, my dark curls hiding my face as I examine the crime scene photos with a sudden interest. The two walk by my desk, but say nothing. Rossi is the only one in the office who knows of my crush on Aaron, revealed one night when I arrived early at his house for a team dinner. 

He's the only one who knows how much I like him, and admire him. He's told me to make my move several times, but it's hard. I don't know if Aaron even likes me in that way, let alone if he even notices me. Sometimes he tends to look right through people, with that single-minded determination he's got. 

It's easy to like Aaron Hotchner. So easy. The man is gorgeous, and tall, with dark brown eyes and hair that is never out of place. And don't get me started on the suits he wears. They fit his muscled frame beautifully, and the man has no idea the effect he has on me by simply walking in. But it's not just looks. Aaron's funny, intelligent, and incredibly sweet. 

There is a lot hidden under that cool reserve he has, that mask he uses to keep the world out. He keeps people at arm's length and has ever since Haley died. He keeps Jack close to him, and I can't help but adore the little boy. After his dad, I'm his obvious favorite, and he loves hanging with me at my desk. I keep a special drawer in my desk just for Jack, full of dinosaurs and his favorite snacks, plenty of crayons and coloring sheets, and books. 

I sigh again, glancing down at the crime scene photos with a wince. I should be working, not here daydreaming about my older, but attractive boss, but he doesn't make it easy for me. Lucky for me, he's also completely oblivious to my feelings. Or how women view him in general. He hasn't dated anyone since he broke up with Beth a few months ago. 

I glance up as I feel a pair of eyes on me and see it's Aaron, standing outside his office, looking over the bullpen. I know he's making sure we're making progress, and his eyes catch mine for a moment, making my heart skip a beat and my breath catch. I look up at him, sending him a warm smile, one which he returns, to my delight. 

He wanders back into his office, and I sigh. I jump when I hear Rossi's voice. "When are you going to tell him how you feel?" I sigh, fidgeting with my fingers for a moment. "I don't know. I don't even know how he feels," Rossi sighs again, his voice frustrated. "You won't know until you talk to him, you know. Maybe he returns your feelings?" 

I sigh, but there's something about Rossi's remark that catches me off guard. "Wait, what do you know?" I asked him, and he just shook his head. "Uh-huh, flower. If you wanna know, you go ask him. Better yet, tomorrow is casual Friday. Wear that pink sundress you wore to the last team dinner." 

He walks off and I watch him, shaking my head. Flower was Aaron's nickname for me. It was only his nickname for me. He did have sort of a soft spot for me, although I insisted he didn't treat me any differently than the other agents. He was the only one who was allowed to use it in regards to me and everyone knew it. 

Morgan had nicknames for everyone but me, and when he'd innocently called me flower, hearing Aaron do it, was the last time he'd used it. Aaron had turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. He didn't speak or ask any questions. Morgan held his hands up and never called me that again, but he did tease me about being the only agent allowed to call Hotch by his first name. 

I decided to take Rossi's advice and showed up for casual Friday wearing said dress. It was a soft pink color, with tiny white flowers scattered on the fabric. It was modest enough for work while still hugging my curves, my leg poking out of the slit as I walked through the office. I couldn't wear the pink heels I'd worn at the team dinner with this outfit, but I wore pink Converse instead. My dark curls were loose, pulled back in a half-ponytail with a flowery clip. 

Aaron was standing outside his office, observing the agents as we all arrived and his eyes met mine. I could have sworn I saw something in his eyes as he saw me, but it was gone. I smiled warmly up at him, and I wasn't surprised when Rossi handed me some files to go drop off to him. 

I knocked softly and walked in, meeting his eyes. "Good morning, Aaron," I said softly, my voice warm and gentle. His eyes met mine and I saw his face relax. "Good morning, Flower." My smile got wider as I walked in, setting the files on his desk. "Rossi asked me to give these to you." 

He nodded at me, and said, "Thank you, flower." He picked one up and it was a clear dismissal. I nodded and left his office. Rossi met my eyes and said, "Well?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I gave him the files," I said softly.

I walked away as Rossi shook his head. Then he caught my attention. "Hey, Alice?" I turned to face him. "Spencer needs help with that profile, help him will you?" I nodded. 

I spent the morning in one of the conference rooms with Spencer helping him. My soft laughter and giggles filtered out into the hallway and bullpen as we worked. I enjoyed working with Spencer. We liked a lot of the same things and had the same sense of humor. He always made me laugh. I may have missed the way Aaron would stare extra hard when Spencer made me laugh, but Rossi hadn't although I didn't realize this at the time. 

Spencer was in the middle of telling me a joke when we heard a throat being cleared. I was facing him, and my eyes were fixed on Spencer's as I looked up at him, my small hand on his arm as he made me giggle, and we both turned to see Aaron standing in the doorway. He had his arms crossed. "Sounds like more giggling in here than actual work." His voice was tight, almost as if he was restraining himself. 

"Sorry, Hotch." Spencer said, "We're working." He said, gesturing to the whiteboard. I nodded, my dark curls bouncing. "Yeah. He was just telling me a funny joke." I said, "We are working, Aaron, I promise." I missed the way Aaron relaxed at my words, missed the way his eyes softened as he looked at me, but Spencer didn't. 

The team loved to tease me about Aaron's supposed soft spot for me. I said they were crazy. They begged to differ. Spencer's grin got wider a moment and then he casually draped his arms over my shoulders, his hands brushing my sides, making me giggle again. "Spencer!" I said, slipping from him. 

I missed the way Aaron's eyes darkened as Spencer's arms slipped over my shoulders, and even more so when I'd darted away and giggled. All I heard was Aaron's voice sharp, as he raised it in my direction for the first time. "Alice, there is a time for laughing and now is not it." He said, and his tone took me by surprise. My whole face fell, but I schooled it. 

My voice was softer, subdued. "I'm sorry Aaron," I said, and he just turned on his heel and left, leaving me alone with Spencer, wondering what I did wrong. I helped Spencer with the profile and took it to Aaron later, my voice hesitant, as I set it on his desk. "I have that profile for you," I said, meeting his eyes. 

He didn't even look up at me at first, and when he did, his voice was tight, as if he was restraining himself. "Thank you." It was only two words, but the way he said them made my heart sink and my stomach twist. Was he mad at me? I had to know, so I asked. "Aaron?" I asked, my voice soft. 

He looked up at me, where I stood in front of his desk, my small hands twisting together, shifting my weight from foot to foot in my soft pink dress and I asked, "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" My warm honey-brown eyes were locked onto his and I saw him set the profile down, his whole expression softening at the panicked look I'm sure I was wearing. 

"No, Flower. I'm not mad at you." He said, his voice gentle, as he stood up, taking one of my hands in his. "I was just disappointed to hear you and Spencer fooling around." He said, and his choice of words made me pause. "We weren't fooling around," I said, confused as I met his eyes. "Spencer was just telling me jokes and picking on me," I said, my head tilting as I looked up at him. 

"Well," He said, as he stared down at me. "Didn't seem that way," He said, as he patted my small hand softly. "Now that you've helped Spencer, why don't you-" but he was cut off when Rossi came back in, saying we had a lead on the suspect. Garcia figured out which bar he was getting his girls from and Morgan made the suggestion someone go in as bait. 

Everyone's eyes turned to me at once. "What?" I said, meeting their gazes, before realizing what they meant. Aaron was the only one who was against it until Rossi pointed out that it was our only means of catching him. And that's how I found myself at the bar, wearing my communication device and fielding the advances of several men. 

The whole time I could hear Aaron's almost tight tone in my ear, "Move away from those men, you need to seem available to the unsub." He says, and I hear the controlled giggles of a few team members at his tone. I slip down the bar and this time when I'm approached, I know it's our unsub. He's charming as he flirts with me, his eyes focused on mine, as he carefully reaches out to tuck my curls behind my ear. 

We know his MO is to drug his victims, to get them out of the bar, and so when I set my drink down and turn for the briefest second, I know he's drugged it when I hear that frustrated sound leave Aaron's throat, followed by, "Do not drink that, flower. Get him to take you out near the alley, we're waiting." 

I do a good job of pretending I'm drugged, but instead of taking me to the alley behind the bar, he steers me out front, toward the white van waiting across the street. I can hear the team as they scramble to make their way around, and all pretenses dropped, I struggle in his hold, as tight as it is. 

He shoves me into a wall, my cheek scraping against the hard brick as he kicks my feet apart, and when his hand covers my mouth to attempt to silence my screams, I bite him, prompting him to shove me harder into the wall, turning me around to slap me just as the team rounds the corner and finds us. 

He's taken with brutal force after he's shoved me forward and into Aaron's waiting arms. My cheek is bleeding as Aaron's large hands cup my face, his concerned brown eyes meeting mine ."Are you okay, flower?" He asks, his thumbs gentle as he turns my face this way and that, examining it. 

I nod, "Just my cheek," I murmur, and I see his expression grow concerned as he pulls me to the side, bandaging me himself. "How did that happen?" He asked gently, and I saw him tense as I told him how he shoved me into the brick wall. His hands are gentle as he patches me up, and I can't help but say, "Have a lot of practice patching up Jack huh?" 

He laughs, the sound soft and gentle. "Yeah, he's always scraping his knee." He says, as he gently cleans my scrape and places a bandage over the scrape. His eyes focus on mine as he sighs. "There, all better." He says, his finger lingering on my cheek. 

I don't know what prompts me, but the words leave me before I think them over, my cheeks flushing, "Kiss it better?" I see him tense, his eyes searching mine for something before he nods, leaning in close to me as my heart races in my chest, his lips gently brushing over the bandage. I'm breathing a bit heavily as he pulls back a little. 

His voice is husky, "Better?" I shake my head, my curls fluttering along my cheeks with my movements. "Again?" I ask, my eyes soft and voice pleading, as his hand gently cups my face. "One more time," He says, and this time he leans in, his lips brushing across mine with a tenderness I'd never seen from him before. His kiss is soft and gentle, my heart racing in my chest as he kisses me like I'm the most important person in the world to him, our surroundings melting away as he kisses me. 

We're interrupted mid-kiss by the catcalls of the team as they catch us, and my cheeks flush as we both pull away from each other. I can see the faint blush on Aaron's cheeks as we hear the team teasing us. Rossi walks up and claps a hand on his shoulder. "I knew you'd do it sooner or later, Aaron." He winks at me as he walks away, and I realize that the team was indeed right. He did have a soft spot for me. 

Aaron's fingers are gentle on my face as he promises, "We'll do that again later, without witnesses, flower." And it's the husky quality of his voice, the gentleness of his touch, that makes my heart skip a beat as I can't wait for later. Later, which comes in his office when we make it back to the mission, as his lips find mine again, and the door closing so we have no witnesses this time.