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spencerreidsconverse · 3 years

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Bets With a Vegas Boy

summary: When Spencer and Reader make a bet with high stakes, their stubborn sides show, but when a consulting officer has his eyes on reader, Spencer has to step in.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: SMUT (breeding kink, daddy kink, a bit of degradation, semipublic sex,) unrequited flirting, criminal minds style violence, suggested cannibalism, reader has multiple tattoos

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: This took me forever to finish as I was on vacation! I hope you all enjoy it!

“Y/N, have you ever met Reid? You’re supposed to be smart, why would you willingly sign up for this?” You scoffed at JJ’s words. When Penelope Garcia is involved it seems that no news traveled slowly, proven by the entire BAU’s new knowledge of the bet you had made with boy genius after bickering about which of you was more clingy. “JJ, you really underestimate me that much?” She shook her head in disbelief “You know that’s not it, but come on Y/N! Seriously, he’s banned from every casino in Vegas! Why would you bet against that?” “JJ, he was banned because he can count cards. It’s not like we’re playing Black Jack for christ’s sake!” She weighed the idea for a moment and you could see the wheels turning in her head. “Okay that’s true, but still. He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. I seriously hope whatever he has in mind for your forfeit isn’t as bad as yours.” You laughed, imaging Spencer in the predicament you were positive he would be in the thick of by the end of the week.

“I think he’d look good with one, you don’t agree?” JJ rolled her eyes as you both made your way out of the elevator towards the glass doors. “That’s not my point Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little harsh? I mean he’s not like you, how do you know he’d even want one?” You smirked, remembering the first time you’d met Dr. Spencer Reid. You had been brought on to the team a few short years ago after an implemented policy that required an even amount of field agents so there were partners for every investigation. You thought it was a bit condescending, requiring the most brilliant minds in the nation to follow the buddy system, but it gave you a job and for that you were thankful. It had its perks though, one of which being your immediate pairing with Reid. You were as young as him and not far behind in brilliance. What you lacked in eidetic memory and forgein language fluency, you more than made up for in marksmanship and street smarts. You and Reid got along fine, even if it was a bit tense at first. He was thoroughly convinced he didn’t need a babysitter.

“I’m a grown man! Why would I need to be watched every second of the day? The last thing we need is a liability.” you remembered the words like it was yesterday. You had been approaching him from behind, and overheard his rant. “Well, technically since we’re the same age, I’d hardly consider myself a babysitter. Would you trust your child’s care with someone their age?” Spencer had turned himself around so fast he’d almost fallen off the desk he was perched atop. “Y-you must be Agent Y/N! It’s uh nice to meet you?” He cringed at the tone of his voice, and you burst out with giggles before shaking your head. “Don’t worry Dr. Reid, I understand it must be a difficult situation for you. I mean, if I were the resident genius I wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea of being shown up either.” The dark-skinned woman who had previously been engaging him in his sour mood let out a surprised chuckle and you watched his face turn from embarrassment to shock and finally settle on disbelief. “Wh- Excuse me?” You felt your stomach begin to cramp as his reaction made you laugh further and you clutched your files against your chest. You fought to catch your breath for a few seconds before regaining your composure. “Excuse my reaction, Dr. Reid but I couldn’t resist. No hard feelings?” He nodded mutely and you saw a soft smile crack through his mock stern expression. You turned to introduce yourself to the woman next to him, Tara Lewis. You made small talk for a few more minutes while Reid scribbled away at his desk before Emily called all of you to the round table with a case.

Nerves had struck you then, and you stood frozen instead of joining Tara in her stride. “Y/N, everything okay?” You jumped slightly as you heard Reid’s voice from behind you. “Oh! Yes, sorry!” You moved out of his way, trying your best not to stumble over an empty desk and failing miserably. He stretched his hands out and caught you, much to your embarrassment. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you feeling ill?” You shook your head quickly. “No! No, I'm fine, really.” He looked into your eyes and you tried to ignore the sparks you felt deep in your chest. “Y/N you’re working with profilers now, lying that poorly will never work around here.” His joke succeeded in its attempt to lighten the mood and you let out a soft laugh despite your anxiety. “I’m just a little nervous I guess. I didn’t expect to have a case so soon.” He nodded and his thumb absentmindedly rubbed soothing circles on your sleeve. “I understand. We all felt that way at first. I won’t say it’s easy, but we’re all here to support you. Take a few deep breaths.” You did as he instructed and you felt your nerves ease as he consoled you. “That’s better. Besides, what could you have to worry about? You have the best partner here.” You laughed, and he released your arm. “I’ll meet you in there.” and with that he left you standing there trying to lock down the feelings he had just arisen in you. “Nice Y/N, crush on your partner first thing. What a great start.” you muttered to yourself

A few moments later you joined the rest of the team at the table and quickly reviewed the case, before lifting off 45 minutes later to a small town in Georgia. Everything felt like a whirlwind and you did your best to keep up. True to what Spencer had said, the team helped you get your bearings and by the end of the night you were making great strides along with the rest of them. It was near midnight when Emily dismissed you all to the hotel a few blocks away to get a few hours of rest. You were thankful, having poorly attempted to drown your tiredness with watery coffee from the small pot at the station, and you made your way to the hotel as swiftly as you could manage. When you were all gathered in the lobby, Emily handed out the keycards and it quickly dawned on you how the room assignments would work. You tried to shake off the thought and prayed that the night would go quickly. It made sense to just put the partners together, it made keeping track of everyone easier and allowed for quick communication between the team. You told yourself all the reasons it was logical as you made your way up to your room.

Spencer left you to your thoughts, but he could see how hard you were focusing. He unlocked the door and the lights switched on as you both made your way towards your beds. You heard him ask you something, and turned awkwardly to face him “Sorry, what’d you say?” He looked at you, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. “I asked if you wanted to shower first. Are you okay?” “Oh! Yeah, thanks. I’m okay, just thinking about the case.” You hoped you had lied better this time and were relieved that he seemed to buy it. “Just try to shut your mind off of it for now, I know it’s hard. Trust me, you’ll feel much better when you’re refreshed.” You nodded at his words and pulled some pajamas out of your go-bag. “Thanks Spencer. I’ll try not to take too long.” He shrugged you off “No worries, take your time.” You shut yourself behind the door and tried to shake the feelings out of your head. “Get a grip Y/N. You’re being crazy.” You scolded yourself before showering. You hurried despite Spencer’s insistence and quickly made your way out of the shower to dry yourself off. You applied lotion to your ink-covered skin and slipped on your shorts and t-shirt before drying your hair as fast as you could and making your way out of the bathroom. You dropped your folded clothes on top of your bag, alerting Spencer that you were done.

“That was fast, you really didn’t have to-” his words died in his throat as he looked up from the file in his lap and caught sight of your legs, covered in the intricate artwork that stretched across the skin. You tried to ignore his watchful gaze. “It’s no problem! I wanted to save you some hot water.” He thanked you quietly and made his way to the bathroom hurriedly, trying not to look at you again. You tried to fall asleep but you couldn’t get him out of your head. A few more minutes passed and he made his way over to his bed, trying to will the awkward tension out of the room. You both eventually managed to fall asleep without speaking another word.

The tension continued to grow over the next few months and the rest of the team were getting sick of watching you two dance around each other. You both denied any advances, shot down the chance to go out on any of the numerous blind dates members of the team offered to set up, and chose instead to trade glances across the bullpen and divulge your personal lives over breakroom lunches. Eventually, they made plans for a team outing and convinced you both to attend. Penelope made reservations at a nice restaurant, announcing that everyone just had to try their food. That night however, you showed up to Spencer waiting awkwardly at a table for two in the back corner with a sour face. “Where’s the rest of the team?” You asked him, taking the seat across from him. “Apparently they’ve all had to cancel. Luckily, the reservation was for two.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and you made a mental note to scold Garcia. “Well, since we’re here I’m happy to eat. I’m starving.” Spencer’s eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly, agreeing with you. After an evening of great food and better wine, the rest was history, and you found yourself thanking Garcia the next day instead. You and Spencer had been dating for just over two years now, though he’d be able to count it down to the second you’d showed up looking angelic at the restaurant that night. You both complimented each other perfectly and you had a relationship stronger than either of you could have dreamed of.

“Hello?? Y/N are you even listening to me?” JJ’s words and nudge against your shoulder brought you back to present day and you snapped your eyes back to her face. “Yes! Sorry JJ I was just thinking… Anyways, we’ve talked about it before. He loves all of mine, and he’s talked about getting one. He’s just afraid of the pain, and too indecisive to choose what he wants.” You blushed softly as you thought about the many nights spent in your shared bed, Spencer tracing the black lines with his fingertips. He adored them and thought they made you especially unique, not to mention he found them extremely sexy. He favored the black sun on your ribcage, shaded to perfection. Even when you were clothed he would run his hand along the fabric that covered the piece.

“Well still, if you do happen to win, I can’t imagine he’ll go along with it.” You smirked and shook your head. “We’ll see about that JJ.” You both sat at your desks, and began to work through your piles of paperwork. You were thankful there was no case that needed your immediate attention, but paperwork always made you feel like a nap by the time lunch came around. You pushed yourself away from your desk, and stood to find yourself nearly chest to chest with your boyfriend who had stood at the same time. “Oh, sorry Spence. I just need coffee.” You maneuvered your way around him, missing the way he would usually grab your hips to aid you. He followed you to the break room and you poured him a cup as well leaving plenty of room for sugar. Instead of handing it to him with a quick peck on the cheek however, you left it on the counter to be picked up. “You really think you can go a week without touching me?” You heard his voice from the doorway. “It’s already been 3 days.” You said uninterestedly with a shrug, and he eyed you suspiciously. “Okay fine, no. I just think I can go longer than you can.” You finally admitted, smirking back at him.

He grabbed the mug from the counter, adding several teaspoons of sugar before taking a sip. “We’ll see about that. You’re the one that’s always curling yourself around me.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh yeah, like you hate it. You’re the one that’s always rubbing my back and holding my hand under tables. Even when we’re on the metro home you’ve got your hand in mine.” He narrowed his eyes at you and stuck his tongue out, making you chuckle. “Very mature Dr. Reid. I can’t wait to win.” He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by Luke who stuck his head in to alert you both of the new case you’d be working. You let out a long sigh. “So much for paperwork.” The three of you made your way to the round table and sat, Spencer curling his hand into a fist to keep himself from subconsciously reaching over to place his hand on your leg.

“So, we are assisting in a local case this time, with Washington state PD about a string of murders in the homeless community. However, there’s been hefty construction in their field office so they will be joining us here.” Penelope quickly took the lead after Emily’s announcement and filled you all in about the details. She ran through the few details the local PD managed to uncover on their own and the team had only managed a few minutes of brainstorming when a group of police officers made their way through the glass doors of the BAU. There were only a handful of officers which surprised all of you, and Emily led the rest of you out of the conference room, beelining her way to the chief. “Hello, Landon. It’s nice to see you again.” She shook his hand briefly. “Likewise Emily, though I wish it was under different circumstances.” “As do I. I’m sorry for the miscommunication, I was under the impression that your entire force would be joining us. Is that not the case?” The chief, Landon Bridges you now knew him as, shook his head. “We knew you had a pretty tight space and we have a lot of members. I brought a few people from each department and figured it’d be easiest to fill everyone else in periodically. We didn’t want to overflow your space and leave no room to work.” Emily nodded and rested her hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the thought, thank you. This is the rest of my team. SSAs Jennifer Jareau, Luke Alves, Matt Simmons, David Rossi, Y/N Y/L/N, Drs Spencer Reid and Tara Lewis, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You all gestured as Emily quickly introduced you, and a short time later you were all acquainted and working throughout the bullpen. You and Spencer were just beginning to start the geographical profile when one of the Washington police officers, Kline, made his way over to you. “Pardon me agents, do you need any help?” You looked up from your section of the grid lines and smiled at him which he returned brightly, but before you could answer, Spencer dismissed him. Kline’s face fell slightly but he nodded and made his way over to where Tara and Luke were reviewing the last known areas of the victims.

You turned and stared at Spencer in disbelief. He looked up after a few seconds, feeling your eyes burning a hole through the top of his head. “Yes?” You glared at him harder, before railing into him in a hushed tone “Don’t ‘yes?’ me. That was insanely rude. They’re here to help us! Quit acting all high and mighty.” He stared back at you and you saw the stubbornness light up his eyes. “Why should I? We could solve this case twice as fast without them getting in the way.” He knew he was talking too loud, and was more than aware of Kline who was staring at his back with a sour look resting on his face. “Spencer! I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to fix it. You’re being an ass.” He rolled his eyes and you both let out a sigh before looking back down at the maps covering the desktop beneath you.

A few hours passed before you and Spencer finished the geographical profile, and you gestured Kline over to ask him a few questions about the area you’d narrowed down. Spencer noticed he had made his way to your side and bit his lip to keep himself silent. “Officer Kline, can you tell me anything about this area of the block? It seems like a lot of our victims were last seen in this area.” He eyed the map where red ink stained the paper and pondered for a few seconds. “Well, there’s not much out there really. A few older shops and some construction to the east” he gestured to the empty spot of land on the map “but nothing of real interest. We don’t usually get calls for the homeless population over here either. There’s not really much shelter so they don’t usually go towards this way” Your brow furrowed and you nodded, thanking him but before he could get another word in Spencer piped up. “Kline, if the homeless population doesn’t “Go that way” he mocked the officer in front of you, and Kline tensed up in response “then why are they all disappearing from the area? Does that make sense to you?”

Kline struggled to respond and you glared at Spencer before assuring Kline there was no need for him to pay Spencer any mind, excusing his behavior with a rambling about late nights and too little coffee. Kline walked away and you stared Spencer down for several seconds before making your way towards the main group to deliver the geographic profile, leaving Spencer to sulk. You continued to avoid Spencer until you were sent out to investigate the block you sectioned off with Emily and JJ. You opted to drive which left Spencer in the passenger seat, fuming at your silent treatment and JJ and Emily trying to fight the tension in the SUV to no avail.

You parked the SUV a few blocks away and the four of you walked the rest of the way to avoid raising too much suspicion. You were standing in the center of the unsubs hot zone when you noticed a line of people clustered in front of one of the more rundown buildings. The building had wide front windows that had been taped over with brown paper, as well as the glass doors. You and Spencer approached the group warily, trying to get closer to see the poorly written signs on the door.

“DISCOUNT MEAT - PRE-COOKED”

“12pm-12am”

You gestured Emily and JJ over and the four of you quickly aimed to disperse the crowd much to their displeasure. After several minutes of arguing and multiple badge flashes you managed to succeed and stood outside the door ready to investigate once the owner opened his doors. Fifteen minutes had passed without any sign of movement from the inside and Spencer began to shift anxiously, causing you to do the same. A few more seconds passed and you heard the locks on the door click, reaching your hand around to rest on your holster automatically. As soon as the door opened, Emily pushed through holding her badge and announcing the reason for your investigation.

The shop owner immediately demanded you leave and not return unless you had a warrant. “Actually, because this is no longer a registered business it becomes property of the town and therefore is subject to any kind of local or national investigation under Property law 14, sections 3a-3f go more in depth about the issue if you feel the need to verify.” Spencer explained the situation while sifting through the counter drawers, leaving the man to sit in silent rage while Emily and JJ questioned him. You bent over to fiddle with a padlock on a hollowed bench seat on the far wall and pulled one of the pins out of your hair to pick it. A few seconds of tampering later, the lock gave way with a satisfying click and you pulled the bench open. A rancid smell hit your nose and stomach before you could process what you were seeing. Body parts were wrapped in butcher's paper and poorly taped, and you fought to keep your breakfast down as you slammed the bench shut. Emily then stood the man up and cuffed him, while reciting the miranda rights. JJ followed her out and you followed her quickly, trying and failing to erase the memory from your mind.

Back at the office, the rest of the team and several of the officers had already begun processing the unsubs case and there was little left to be done by the time you returned. You filled out your files and quickly wrote out your account of the incident before heading to the breakroom for a cup of coffee. You pulled your mug down from the shelf and pressed your favorite individual pod into the machine and pressed the button to let it run. You were digging in the fridge for your creamer when a deep voice startled you

“Little late for coffee isn’t it?” You turned swiftly to find Kline standing in the doorway and you let out a small sigh. “When you work like we do, it’s never too late for coffee” You smiled and made your cup to your taste, taking a long sip. You expected Kline to just grab what he wanted and leave, but instead he continued to make awkward conversation despite you going so far as to begin scrolling through your phone. “So, that Spencer guy is really a piece of work huh?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead remained focused on your screen, telling yourself that he just didn’t get the chance to see the good side of Spencer like everyone else there had. “He’s really not a bad guy, he’s just had a long day. We all have.” Kline nodded but moved closer to you, so close that you could smell his headache-inducing cologne. “I’m just saying, if I had the opportunity to work with you every day, I wouldn’t waste my time arguing with you. I’d treat you right.”

You shifted uncomfortably, praying he would pick up on your uneasiness and back off but instead he moved to corner you against the counter. You tried to excuse yourself but your voice caught in your throat.

“Kline, I really overestimated you. I figured even a man as dimwitted as yourself would be able to tell when a woman isn’t interested but here we are.” Your head snapped up towards the doorway where Spencer was standing. Kline turned around and prepared himself to tell your boyfriend off when he froze. Spencer had the look in his eye that sent chills down your spine and made it very aware to Kline that there was no use fighting. He quickly left the room and you and Spencer held eye contact for several seconds before he spoke again “Meet me in the storage room at the end of the hall in 2 minutes.” His voice made your legs feel weak and you nodded, dumping the contents of your mug down the drain, keeping your pace in check as you slipped into the hallway.

You had barely unlatched the door when Spencer pushed it the rest of the way open and you felt yourself being dragged into the dimly lit space. You barely had time to let out a surprised squeak when you felt his lips against your throat, turning your noise into one of pleasure. His kisses quickly turned sharp, applying the expertly rehearsed amount of pressure to avoid marks but to still send shockwaves of heat to your core. “Spence” his name left your lips in a whine while he busied himself unbuttoning your blouse. “Spencer, you just lost the bet.” You felt a smirk grow across your face that disappeared as he hiked your skirt up to your hips while rubbing your clit through your panties. “Fuck the bet, Y/N. I’m sick of seeing you walk around here clueless. You know I’ve been all over Kline’s ass, little girl?” His voice dropped lower and he lifted you up to push you against the wall. “It’s because he couldn’t stop looking at yours.” You let out a moan as he pushed your panties to the side, slipping two of his fingers into you.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet. Did me getting all protective of you turn you on? You like making daddy jealous?” You shook your head as well as you could manage, trying to keep your volume in check. “Answer me pet, or you’re not gonna get daddy’s cock in you like I know you’re desperate for.” You whimpered at his words “No! I-I wasn’t trying to make you jealous daddy I swear!” You stuttered as he began to spread you further with his fingers. He smiled against the exposed skin of your chest before removing his fingers. “That’s my good girl. You ready for daddy?” You nodded as he fiddled with his belt buckle, moaning in anticipation as he released his cock from his slacks. You bit your lip as he ran the tip over your folds, sucking in a harsh breath as he pushed himself deep inside you. He let you adjust for a moment while he sucked at your neck again. “Daddy, please move. Please, I need you.” He let his hips move, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming you forward into the wall again. You let out a moan as he thrusted in and out of you. You felt like your skin was on fire, the lack of touch over the past days made everything more intense.

A few more minutes passed and you felt yourself growing dangerously close to the edge. “Spence I’m gonna cum” you felt his pace grow even more rapid and he circled your clit with his thumb. “I’m gonna cum inside you angel. I’m gonna fill you up with my kid. You want that huh? Want everyone to know that you belong to me, don’t you?” You moaned at his words “God yes, please daddy. Please cum inside me!” You felt his hips stutter under you and a familiar warmth as you finally climaxed. Your toes curled and your head fell back against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“God Y/N that was amazing.” You let out a soft whimper as he pulled out of you and lowered you back down to your feet. He kissed you, pulling you closer than before. “I love you Spencer. Only you.” He touched the tip of his nose to yours and returned your words, while you both caught your breath. A few minutes later you both exited the closet, and tried to smoothly make your way back to your desks. Washington PD had finished the bureau required paperwork and had already left so things were much quieter.

You had just sat down when JJ looked up from her computer. “So Spence, whatcha gonna get?” His head snapped up and your cheeks flushed. “Wh-What?” he managed to stutter out. “From the diner? Garcia said she would run out and get dinner.” You both let out simultaneous sighs of relief and told her what you wanted, settling in for a long night.

The next weekend you had free, you found yourselves in one of your favorite spots. The low pitched buzzing added to Spencer’s anxiety as he tried to divert his focus to the bright neon signs. You held his hand, stroking it with your thumb as you waited for your tattoo artist and best friend, Vannessa, to finish Spencer’s design. You tried to distract him but before long she called you back to the table and you heard his breathing quicken. You helped him get settled on the table while Vannessa applied the stencil. She adjusted it until Spencer and you both approved and then she started. Spencer tightened his grip on your hand as she traced the lines while you murmured words of encouragement in his ear. Half an hour later, she was running Spencer through the after care process while wrapping his forearm up. You paid her and made your way out of the shop after thanking her.

Slipping into the driver’s seat, you watched as Spencer carefully maneuvered his way into the car, fastening his seatbelt and resting his arm against the door. The streetlight shining through his window highlighted his forearm perfectly, revealing the perfectly mimicked shape of a shaded black sun.

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

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The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.

#tommy shelby x smut #tommy x fem!reader #tommy x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x smut

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ssahoodrathotchner · 4 years

Text

Pictures of You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you lose your memories of the last few years, including the ones of your relationship with Aaron. The rest of the team thinks it’s hilarious.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: memory loss, swearing, some angst, hospital, talk of injuries, team shenanigans and fluff

A/N: okay this was a lot of fun to write bc soft!Hotch rights !! also really wanted to make the team play a larger role in a fic so here we go :)

Masterlist

---

You wake in a hospital bed, Morgan by your side, and a godawful pounding in your cloudy head. With a groan, you try to raise one of your hands to cover your eyes as Morgan’s head shoots up to stare at you with a relieved smile.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hand before you can lift it higher, “Don’t do that. You had a nasty fall, Princess.”

Satisfied that you won’t make any more moves towards your head, he sits back down at your side.

“Should I even ask how you’re doing or…” he trails off when you glare at him. “I’ll go let the team know you’re okay. Boss Man will be happy to hear you finally woke up,” and with that, Morgan is up and out of the room before you can even open your mouth because what.

Shifting around in the bed, you try to gauge just how injured you are, but the soreness in literally your entire body coupled with the haziness in your mind from the constant pain makes you conclude that you’ll leave it to the doctors to tell you what’s wrong. Sighing, you gently tilt your head to the side and observe the various beeping monitors.

The door opens and as you turn to see who it is, your mouth opens in disbelief. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way. This is fake. This is a dream. Your stomach simultaneously drops and fills with dread. How is this possible?

“You’re dead. You’re dead. We buried you,” you say in a rush, as none other than Emily fucking Prentiss stops by the side of your bed, looking at you confusedly. “Does this mean I’m dead? Are you a ghost?” you wonder out loud, and Emily looks behind her as the rest of the team, except Hotch, file in behind her, seemingly fine with her sudden appearance.

“How are you here, why are you here, what happened? You died. You’re supposed to be dead which means I’m probably dead,” you continue to ramble, frantically looking from at each member of your team and then back to Emily.

“What? Y/N, you aren’t dead. Just like I’m not dead,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you are,” you say shakily, chest tightening as your breaths become shorter and shorter.

“Y/N…” she says slowly, softly, “I faked my death four years ago.”

And with that, your ears rush and your mind goes blank. No no no no no no we buried her six months ago, she’s dead. You don’t notice the rest of the team trading glances around you as the world you thought you knew shatters and reforms in your mind.

“No,” you croak, throat suddenly constricting, but Emily only looks at you worriedly, Reid slipping out the door behind her.

“Y/N, can you take some deep breaths for me?” and your head turns to find JJ at your other side, hand on your shoulder. “Let’s breathe, you can do this,” she says, taking exaggerated breaths to demonstrate, smiling gently as you cooperate.

Reid enters, now, followed by a doctor who, immediately upon reaching your side, proceeds to shine a light in your eyes and asks you to complete all sorts of short tests while the team looks on.

“Now, Agent Y/L/N, Dr. Reid informed me that you seem to be having some memory issues, which is normal,” the doctor assures you, “especially with the head trauma you endured. So, tell me what you can remember and we’ll go from there,” he says with a helpful smile.

Fuck. What do you remember?

“Well…” you trail off, trying to pin-point an exact moment. “I remember Emily—Agent Prentiss’—funeral because it was six months ago, but apparently—” your eyes slide over the rest of the team, “—apparently, it was more like four years ago,” you finish slowly.

“And that’s as recent as you can remember?” the doctor pushes. You nod your head. “Well, Agent Y/L/N, it seems that you have post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, which isn’t a surprise, as I said before. My guess is that it’s temporary, and that you’ll recover your memories in time.”

“Any ideas how long?” Emily speaks up, carefully looking at your face.

“With cases such as these, there isn’t a definite timeline or standard procedure for memory recovery,” the doctor explains. “It may help to look at photos or videos and tell stories to try and help Agent Y/L/N heal quicker, but the brain is tricky,” and with that wonderful statement, the doctor turns and exits, leaving you and your team staring at each other, processing the fact that you don’t know when you’ll get your memories of the last four freakin’ years back.

“So, from the research I’ve done, it seems that—” Reid is cut off by the door flying open and Aaron Hotchner, your Unit Chief, bursting into the room with a concerned look on his face wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Morgan tries to grab his shoulder, but Hotch shakes him off as he walks right up to your bedside and grabs your hand. Holy shit. Heat rises to your cheeks instantly and you think your heart might have actually skipped a beat but, you can’t help it, you’ve had a crush on Hotch for ages and he’s holding your hand. But you don’t remember a time when Hotch was so forward in showing concern for one of his agents.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Sweetheart—” you’re pretty sure you’re dreaming because Hotch has never called you Sweetheart. Ever. You’ve also never seen him in anything other than a suit. “—Jessica called because Jack has the flu and then he wanted to talk to me and—”

“Hotch!” Morgan all but yells, interrupting Hotch’s update on Jack, as you stare pointedly at his hand, still holding yours, trying to control the redness growing steadily stronger in your cheeks. What the hell.

“Hotch,” Morgan states, softer this time, “The last thing Y/L/N remembers clearly is Prentiss’ funeral.”

You look up with a weak approximation of a smile, and watch Hotch’s face shift as he comprehends what Morgan said.

“That was years ago,” he says slowly, face hardening into a look you’ve seen too many times when he tries to separate himself from the information he’s received.

Looking down at you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, so you divert your eyes to his hand in yours. Once he notices this, he gently lets go and you know it’s silly, but you almost reach out for it again. Who knows the next time Hotch will want to hold your hand?

“So you don’t…” he doesn’t finish his question, which leaves you even more confused. Don’t what…?

“Umm. If it’s happened in the last four-ish years, then umm… Then I probably don’t remember it,” you say quietly, apologetically. “Sir,” you add on quickly, not wanting to forgo formalities even if your memory isn’t what it’s supposed to be.

However, instead of nodding, like you thought he would, Aaron Hotchner looks sad which confuses you even more.

“Aaron,” Rossi begins slowly, “the doctor said that talking about what’s happened since then may help Y/N’s memory come back.” Hotch looks up, almost relieved. “So why don’t you tell her something that’s happened since Prentiss’ funeral.”

And with that, Hotch takes a breath before reaching across your body to your other hand and holding it up. Not quite sure what’s happening, you allow him to hold your left hand up in your line of vision and that’s when you notice a fucking wedding ring. On your hand. Which Hotch is holding.

“I’m married?” you screech, looking at the team, who are now all trying not to laugh for some reason. “Who am I married to? Holy shit, what?” you continue looking around. Morgan and Prentiss look like they’ll break into outright laughter any minute. What’s going on?

Looking helplessly to Hotch, who is suspiciously quiet, you don’t have to repeat your question before he is carefully letting go of your left hand to hold his own up next to it and since when did Hotch wear a wedding band? Until you notice the striking similarities between the ring on your hand, and the one on your boss. What the actual fuck.

“We’re married?” you say, whipping your head to the side—ouch—to stare at Hotch, who is looking a little more amused than worried. “What? When? I just…” you can’t even finish your train of thought because your head is spinning so fast.

“Is it really that much of a surprise, Princess?” Derek chimes in. “I mean, you guys have been in love with each other forever,” and with that, he and Prentiss dissolve into a fit of laughter, which they try to smother, but you’re too busy taking in this very new and very interesting life development.

At some point in the last couple years, you married Hotch. Which means he knows you like him. And he likes you. You dated Hotch and now you’re fucking married. And you can’t remember any of it.

“…I don’t remember it…” you say sadly, softly and the laughter ceases.

Running a hand through his hair, Hotch takes a step back and shrugs, a small, reassuring smile on his face.

“We’ll figure it out, Sweetheart—” your stomach erupts into butterflies, “—we always do.”

With a sigh, you sink back into the pillows on your bed and stare at the ceiling, head throbbing worse than before thanks to all the new information.

“I just…” you pause to think about your current dilemma. “I just don’t know where to start with all this…Getting my memory back,” you look to Hotch and then the team, unsure of what to do.

“Well, the doctor did say that photos and videos might help. I’d be willing to recount every conversation we’ve had since Emily’s funeral, if you want, including the ones that you weren’t a part of, but were about you or a case,” Reid offers with a grin, and your heart melts.

Slowly shaking your head, you answer, “Thanks but maybe later, Spence. I’m still stuck on the whole I’m-married-to-my-boss thing right now.”

“Trust me Princess,” Derek laughs “I’m pretty sure all of us could tell you about how everything went down like a damn movie.”

“Yeah…” JJ continues with a fond shake of her head, “You guys weren’t very subtle about it.”

Sneaking a look out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hotch blushing and staring down at his shoes before he also sneaks a look at you, meeting your eyes.

“See?” Derek’s voice breaks your gaze. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You guys weren’t subtle and still aren’t,” rolling his eyes, he laughs a little and you can’t help but smile.

“At least they’re married this time around,” Rossi supplies. “No more ‘secret’ glances and yearning,” he says with such contempt you can’t help but laugh as Hotch—Aaron? — lets out a small chuckle of his own.

“Now I just need to remember how we got here,” you say, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly, you reach for Hotch’s left hand, studying the ring the matches your own. “Remember us,” you continue, just to him, and the smile that overtakes his face is the best thing you’ve seen since waking up.

“You weren’t wrong, Morgan,” comes Emily’s voice from the end of your bed. “This is just like a movie. Ugh. But don’t worry, Y/N, we’ll help you sort this out.”

“And I know just the woman for the job,” Morgan adds with a mischievous smirk which immediately makes you wonder about whatever it is he has planned.

“Now as much as I’d love to watch the two lovebirds gaze into each other’s eyes, I actually have plans,” Rossi states, looking down at his watch. “So, I’ll be back tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says before waving to the rest of the team and leaving.

The rest of the team makes their own excuses to leave, and you can’t help but feel like Morgan and Prentiss have concocted some sort of scheme to “help” you get your memories back.

Running a hand over your face, you sigh. What now? The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up and realize that Hotch hadn’t left with the others, but was instead standing near the foot of your bed, looking somewhat anxious.

“I ummm… I was planning on spending the night here to make sure you were okay, but umm…” he trails off, unsure.

“But since I have no memory of us being together you think it’s weird…?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” he answers in a sigh. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here, especially because I know how frustrating and confusing this must be for you…”

“Hotch,” you start, but he can’t hide his wince when you call him that. “Aaron,” you try again. “Yes, this is incredibly confusing and frustrating because Emily should be dead and I didn’t think you had feelings for me at all,” you pause and see him smile, just a bit, “But I’d really like it if you stayed here. With me. Because—” you take a deep breath. “—Because you make me feel safe, Aaron, and I need that right now,” you say gently, not quite sure where the confidence came from, but Aaron’s eyes soften and his smile grows bigger as his shoulders drop in relief. Worth it.

“Then I’ll stay,” he says, and you can’t help the heat that once again rises in your cheeks as he continues to look at you.

You guys are married, dammit. Pull it together.

Averting your gaze, you turn your attention to getting more comfortable in your bed and decide to fuss with the placement of your pillows because damn was your back starting to hurt, but Aaron beats you to it. Within ten seconds of arranging the pillows behind you, he has them perfect.

“How…?” you start to question, but he just raises his eyebrows. “Right. Married,” you say with a shake of your head.

Aaron finally sits in the chair next to your bed and reaches, almost absentmindedly, for your hand before catching himself and stilling. You can see the fight in his mind—he wants to comfort you and himself, but with your memory, he doesn’t quite know where your boundaries are. Taking pity on him, you grab his hand yourself, weaving your fingers together so he knows it was on purpose. Okay so you really just wanted to hold his hand again, but you’re married! You’re allowed. He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair, turning his head to really look at you.

“How’s your head?” he asks, brow furrowed in what you’ve come to understand is genuine concern.

You pause and consider for a moment.

“Not terrible, but not great,” you say slowly. “It’s like there’s a fog in my mind that I can’t see through. I know I’m missing stuff, but I just don’t know what.”

Aaron gently squeezes your hand, but doesn’t speak yet.

“I want to know what brought Emily back, how we happened, what it was that gave me this fucking injury, I just…” with an exasperated huff, you collect yourself. “I just want to know.”

“Well, Emily should be the one to tell you her part of the story, and as for us,” he gives you a smile “it’s a longer answer, at least for me, so that will have to wait—Sorry, Sweetheart,” he says when you pout. “However, I can tell you about what landed you in the hospital. How does that sound?”

“It’s a start,” you tease, and yes Aaron smiles wider and rolls his eyes.

“We were chasing an unsub, and Garcia had tracked him to a warehouse not too far from Quantico. We went there and—” his voice wavers. You squeeze his hand. “—and the unsub had set explosives around the perimeter of the building. I guess you got too close to him when trying to talk him down and he triggered the whole set.” Aaron sighs, and his eyes are glazed over like he’s reliving this—which he probably is—and there’s nothing you can really do besides let him take his time.

“You weren’t right by any of them, but you were thrown back and had hit the ground before I could even yell at you to stop—not that you would have listened,” he says pointedly with a watery laugh. “You just laid there, Morgan and I carried you over to the medics as soon as the dust settled and they took you away as we cleared the rest of the scene.”

“And the unsub?”

“He didn’t survive the explosion. As soon as we figured that out, we left it to the local PD and crime scene techs.” He looks at you softly. “We came straight here after that.”

“How long was I out before today,” you ask lightly, curiously.

“Three days. Dave had to convince me to go home and shower on the second day.” He looks down before sneaking a sideways glance at you.

“Well I’m glad he did,” you tease, scrunching your nose.

“And I’m glad you’re awake, Sweetheart,” he replies, squeezing your hand.

You laugh and look away before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Get used to what?” he waits a second. “Sweetheart?” Motherfucker. He knows what he’s doing.

“That! I woke up convinced you didn’t have feelings for me at all,” you say with a glare, “and now I know we’re married and you keep being so nice and understanding and calling me Sweetheart and I just don’t know how to deal with all of this!” you finish in a huff.

“I just feel bad that I can’t remember this, us” you add, gesturing between the two of you. “I’m trying and there’s just—” you make a frustrated noise and flop back to stare at the ceiling. “And my head still kind of hurts,” you add softly, almost pouting.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Aaron whispers. He clears his throat before continuing. “You’ll get your memories back,” he leans forward to stroke some hair off your forehead. “And until then, you know the team and I will do what we can to catch you up and help you remember.”

You push your head further into his hand with a sigh. He runs his hand through your hair a few times before pulling back and you almost whine. You yawn instead. Settling down, you tug the blanket up higher across your chest and turn to face Aaron as he also gets comfortable. He turns on the small television in your room and at some point, you fall asleep holding his hand.

---

You wake to the sound of the door opening, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of heels worn by none other than Penelope Garcia.

“Rise and shine! Time to regain your memory, lovely Y/N,” she sings, coming to a stop by the side of your bed as you roll over with a yawn.

“Pen—” you groan. “Let me sleep. Please.”

“Oh no, my little profiler. Do you have your memory back?” You shake your head. “Then we need to work on that! And don’t you dare tell me no; my wonderful Derek Morgan and I were up all night making this for you,”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Sadly, not like that. But, we compiled a presentation-slash-video montage for you about what you’ve missed!”

That catches your attention.

“Wha--? How? Penelope where did the footage come from?” you ask, more awake now.

“Well, I may or may not have used security cam footage for a lot of it, but that’s neither here nor there, so, without further ado, I present to you: your life for the past four-ish years!” and with that, she somehow connects her tablet to the TV and you see a picture of the whole team; Penelope then produces a remote from the depths of her purse and then proceeds to the next slide.

Which is a photo of you. And Aaron. Standing by the coffee machine in the office and smiling at each other, clearly unaware that the moment was being documented. The image is embellished with what must be close to fifty moving, sparkly hearts, obviously done by Garcia.

“First thing’s first,” she starts with a flourish. “Your husband!” and as if on cue, Aaron walks into the room, cup of coffee in hand. Much to your surprise, Aaron just rounds your bed to sit in the same chair you assume he fell asleep in, watching the screen.

“What is happening,” you say softly to yourself, looking from Aaron to Garcia and back.

“The doctor said photos and videos might help restore your memory, so who better to put something together than Garcia?” Hotch answers dryly, a small smile flashing across his face. “The rest of the team should be here shortly,” he says directly to Garcia.

“Oh good. I always work better with an audience,” she replies as you continue to process just what the hell is happening since you woke up approximately five minutes ago.

Within a few minutes, your hospital room is overrun with the rest of the team. Sitting, standing, leaning wherever they can find the space to view Penelope’s presentation with you in the middle of it all.

“Don’t you people have jobs?” you grumble.

“C’mon, Princess. Who better to help you remember the last few years than us?” Derek says with a cheeky grin that makes you roll your eyes.

You turn your gaze to Aaron and find that he’s already looking at you in concern.

“If you really don’t want all of us here we can leave,” he says just loud enough for you to hear.

“I just…” you take a moment to try and collect your thoughts. “I guess I just don’t know how to feel about all of this, but you’re all here so— “

“So here we go!” Penelope cheerfully finishes your sentence before turning back to the screen. “As I was saying before, part one of Operation Get Y/N’s Memories Back is all about—drumroll please—our very own Unit Chief, a.k.a. Hotch, a.k.a. loving husband to our very own Agent Y/L/N.”

With a shake of your head, purposefully ignoring the way Derek and Emily are whooping and whistling, you settle in and gesture for Penelope to continue. God, let’s hope this works.

---

It doesn’t work.

Fuck.

Three almost four hours later and nothing has changed for you. However, it’s a lovely opportunity for some team bonding and creating new memories, but you’re still disappointed. It’s not for lack of trying, though. Penelope did a wonderful job of pulling together a presentation-slash-video montage of your life, complete with titles such as ‘Your lovely husband,’ ‘The Miraculous Life, Death, and Subsequent Resurrection of Emily Prentiss,’ and even ‘Badass BAU Babies,’ which was a collection of team photos and news clips of cases you guys had closed in the past few years.

The whole team had gotten a kick out of each section, especially the last one, as Penelope had spared no one in her quest to help your memory; ugly selfies sent in the BAU group chat, embarrassing footage of you tripping up (and down) the stairs to the bullpen—courtesy of the security cameras, Reid doing physics magic and narrowly missing Rossi’s coffee cup, it was all there. But nothing worked, there was no magical ah ha moment where everything came rushing back. If anything, it really was like watching a movie; it didn’t feel like you were the one is all of these clips and photos. Not even Reid’s commentary made you feel any closer than before to recovering your memories.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Penelope had a veritable stockpile of photos of you and Aaron, ranging from the office, to cases, to the occasional night out with the team. Your engagement announcement, wedding photos, freakin’ everything on the two of you and yet, nothing seemed to make a difference to your brain.

The photo on the screen was one of you and Aaron on a case. You were tucked under his arm, snowflakes visible in your hair and his as you look up and laugh at something he said while he just smiles gently down at you. Penelope had put hearts over both your eyes.

“Actual heart eyes! I had to! You guys are so cute!” she basically squealed when the photo came up.

“What did I tell you,” Rossi said teasingly, “Yearning.”

Prentiss and Morgan hadn’t stopped laughing for this entire segment, with JJ and Reid occasionally joining in if there was something exceptionally ridiculous Penelope had included, like fucking heart eyes.

A hand covering your own makes you realize you had spaced out, and you look down to see that it’s Aaron’s hand, wedding band catching the light.

“Anything, Sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, carefully watching your face.

You shake your head. “It’s like it’s someone else’s life, but I know it’s mine; you’ve told me it’s mine, there’s photographic evidence that it’s mine!” you say in a huff. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine,” you whisper, voice breaking at the end. Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your lip to stop it from shaking as you desperately try and control your overwhelming emotions. You can hear the team in the background, strategizing new ways to help you, but Aaron’s face hovers in front of your own, drawing your attention.

“It’s okay,” he says lightly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“No, it’s not,” you insist as a few tears make their way down your face. “It’s not, Aaron. What if this is it? What if I just don’t get my memories back?”

Letting out a long sigh, Aaron raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm before folding your hand into his.

“You will. I know you will,” he says with such conviction you might just believe him if it weren’t for the way he rapidly blinks to keep his own tears at bay.

“Yeah, Princess.” Morgan chimes in from somewhere across the room. “We’ll figure this out, you know we will.”

And with that, you see something click into place in Aaron’s eyes and suddenly, he’s looking at you in such a way that your heart picks up—thanks, heart monitor.

“Aaron…?” you ask cautiously.

“Princess,” he says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You only have time to raise an eyebrow at him before—

Oh.

Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could definitely get used to. His hand comes up to cradle your face as he gently moves his lips against yours. You sigh and can feel his smile against your mouth before he’s tugging your face closer, tilting your head just so and—

There.

It’s like opening a window to let in a breeze. Soft and sure, filling the space in a way that’s all-encompassing without being suffocating.

Like snowflakes falling and settling on his black jacket, like Aaron down on one knee sliding your engagement ring on your finger while you smile so much it feels like your face will break. It’s leaving cups of coffee on his desk during late nights in the office. It’s playing soccer with Jack as Aaron smiles and cheers both of you on. It’s being in bed late at night, falling asleep in the comfort provided by the man you love. Your wedding vows, promising to love him forever.

And you know.

With a gasp, you pull Aaron closer, kiss him deeper, harder, moving your lips more frantically against his. I remember I remember I remember and you think he gets it because he pulls back and looks at you with so much hope it almost breaks your heart.

“When I said I’d love you forever, Aaron Hotchner, I meant it.”

And his face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he laughs in disbelief before capturing your lips with his again, returning the urgency you had kissed him with just moments ago.

Someone clears their throat and you pull apart, smiles obvious on both your faces as you turn to the team who are looking somewhat confused.

“Would you mind enlightening us as to why you two are suddenly acting like teenagers?” Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Aaron starts, grinning in your direction, “It would seem that— “

“Nuh uh. No way,” Derek interrupts him. “Are you seriously about to say that you kissed her and she magically remembered?”

You can’t help but laugh at his disbelief because what the hell and nod, unable to speak through the giddiness overtaking your body. You remember.

“Ohmygod! You guys!!” Penelope squeals before launching herself into your arms for a hug which she promptly pulls Aaron into as well; he doesn’t protest.

“What made you do that, Hotch?” Reid asks curiously once Penelope has let you and Aaron go. “Did you know it would work?”

“Princess,” Aaron says with a nod towards Morgan. “In Jack’s storybooks, a kiss always wakes the Princess so she and her prince can live happily ever after.”

Okay that’s adorable and you can’t help but aww with the rest of the team at Aaron’s confession.

“Happily ever after, huh?” you say, tugging on his hand. “Who knew you were such a sap, Hotchner?”

Rolling his eyes, Aaron just smiles. “Wasn’t it obvious from Garcia’s presentation? I’ve been in love with you forever, Sweetheart. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?” he says with a smug smile.

You pull him down for a short kiss before moving back just enough to murmur “My Prince Charming.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” you turn to see Morgan shaking his head. “A literal fuckin’ fairytale,” and then he’s laughing and the whole team, you and Aaron included, are laughing with him because yeah this is pretty surreal.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a ghost!” Emily says once the laughter has died down, her arms crossed in mock-anger.

“Can you blame me?” you retort. “The last thing I remember was burying you and suddenly you’re here? Nope. No way. Ghost. Only explanation.”

“I have to say, Y/L/N, I’m glad you’re back, if only to stop Aaron’s sad puppy-dog eyes every time you called him ‘Hotch,’” Rossi shakes his head. “I don’t know how much more yearning I could take.”

“Hey! Be nice,” JJ admonishes, swatting Rossi’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah guys,” you echo. “Be nice! Don’t think I forgot you two,” you say, leveling Morgan and Prentiss with glares, “and all your laughter when I couldn’t remember that my husband and I were married!”

“Oh c’mon, Princess,” Morgan groans. “It was pretty funny. You were trying so hard not to look completely in love with your husband.”

“In my defense,” you start, “I didn’t know that you guys already knew how much I love Aaron, so excuse me for trying to hide my love,” you say with a sniff.

“Well, it was pretty obvious. Whenever you looked at him or he grabbed your hand, the heart monitor would register an increase in your heart rate by—” Reid starts to ramble but your laughter cuts him off.

“I get it, I get it,” you continue through your laughter. “I’m very in love with Aaron, even when I think it’s a secret, but as Penelope’s presentation so eloquently demonstrated, I’m not subtle and neither is he.”

Aaron leans over to kiss your cheek as the rest of the team continues into a conversation about Penelope’s presentation and how the hell she collected all those photos and videos in one day.

With the attention no longer on you—for now—you smile at Aaron, who smiles right back. He slumps back in his chair with a sigh, and you can’t help but pull him back closer to you.

“I love you,” you say kissing the back of his hand.

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he replies softly.

Yeah, this is happily ever after.

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heliotropehotch · 3 years

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as it was - a.h. x fem!reader

Request by @greenprisca: Hi can I request a Hotch x reader fic! The reader is always there for hotch and jack (took care of them even when Haley was alive), but they both snap at her. Telling her she’s not Haley/his mom. (Y/N) takes a break from them and goes out with a brother or family member that’s a single parent, and the boys see it wrong.

a/n: i contacted tumblr a couple of days ago about my tag issues but i haven’t heard back. boosting this fic, if you like it, could really help tumblr fix whatever issue it’s having with my accounts. its very frustrating, and is making me not wanna post right now, so i might take a bit of time off while i wait for this issue to fix, and while i wait for more requests! ilysm thank you for your support!

Masterlist

author: abby <3

words: 1667

warning: fighting, yelling, mention of past character death

It shouldn’t have happened the way it did.

The collapse of a perfect world was triggered by a caring act. The end of a long day, the whisper of words turned to shouts, love turned into regret.

Aaron Hotchner had come back to his home late that night, the smell of dinner flooding through to his nostrils. He smiled, a gesture he missed when he was away on case. He called for Y/N, a presence he had hoped to see. Instead of the giggles of his son and her that usually met his eyes, he was met with quiet, so he headed to his son’s room.

She was moving to close Jack’s bedroom door, having just gotten him to sleep. Her eyes were tired, holding a sadness he had not seen in a long time. He quirked his eyebrow, moving to speak. She shook her head, a finger going to her mouth as she motioned him into the living room.

“How was your day, hun?” she sighed, stirring the pot of food she had made.

“It was work,” he took his suit jacket off, draping it over a chair before hugging her body from behind. “Did something happen today?”

“I think you’ll need to talk to Jack tomorrow. He yelled at me tonight,” she said sadly, head swimming with thoughts.

“He did what?” he asked concerned, he hadn’t seen his son angry before.

“I was just trying to put him to bed, but I guess he was having a hard time,” she spoke, recalling the hour before. “So I started humming that song Haley used to sing to get him to sleep, Hey Jude.”

“What?” His body tensed around hers as she continued speaking.

“I don’t know.” She remained oblivious to his actions. “I thought it would help, but he just got more upset. He shouted saying I wasn’t his mom and started crying. I just held him until he fell asleep.”

He retracted his arms from around her, hands curling into fists. “You’re not.”

She paused her movements to the dining room to set out plates for the both of them. She asked confused, “What?”

“You’re not his mom,” Aaron’s voice rang stern, anger boiling behind his steely eyes. “You’re not Haley.

Y/N took a step back, scared of the tone, the implication of the words not said pushing against his lips. “Aaron,” her voice was confused, hurt. “I know that.”

“Then stop trying to act like you are.” He pulled his tie off, chucking it across the couch. “What made you think it was a good idea to do that? Stop trying to be more than what you are.”

“And what exactly am I?” Her voice became louder, not caring about the way it echoed through the hall.

“A distraction,” he bit out, jaw clenched. “Nothing more than a sound to fill the silence.”

She huffed out a teary, dark chuckle, looking away from the man she’d give up everything for. She grabbed her things, keys jingling as her adrenaline began to wear. “Well, thank you, Hotch,” she bit out, a sarcastic smile on her face. “For having the decency to let me know now. Dinner’s on the fucking stove.”

The silence that was there before her hung in the air as he watched her shut the door, as she watched her leave.

The next morning, Jack Hotchner woke up rubbing sleep out of his eyes, clutching a stuffed animal Y/N had given him for his birthday. He frowned as he saw his father making breakfast in the kitchen.

“Daddy?” he pressed the fuzzy elephant to his chest. “Where’s Y/N?”

Aaron sighed at his son’s confused voice, setting the spatula he was using for pancakes down. He tried to mask his own emotions with the excitement of seeing his son. “Good morning, Buddy! Y/N went home for a bit, she had some other things to do.”

“But I thought this was her home.” Jack’s small little eyebrows furrowed with more confusion.

“It is,” Hotch knelt down to get on his son’s level. “She just needed some alone time, bud.”

Jack’s eyes began to well up, striking his father’s heart. “Is it my fault?”

Aaron felt his stomach drop with guilt. “Of course not Jack.”

“But I yelled at her.” His lip quivered. “I said she wasn’t mommy.”

“I know buddy-”

“But I don’t care!” Jack was sobbing into his dad’s shoulder now. “I love Y/N, daddy.”

Aaron pressed his distressed son into his chest, shushing his cries against his casual shirt. His own heart ached with regret and words he wanted to take back. He admitted the words he had yet to say, as if to give himself some comfort. “I love her too, Jack. She’ll be back soon, I promise.”

After Jack had calmed down, Hotch decided to spend his day off trying to ease both of their minds. He took Jack to the zoo, carefully avoiding the elephants, and spent what felt like hours staring at the waddling penguins. Jack insisted on getting Y/N an apology stuffed penguin. Then he promised a trip to the park with what Jack called the ‘cool jungle gym.’

Jack ran towards the swings as Hotch reclined back into one of the park benches. He smiled to himself momentarily, as he watched his once sad son giggle with the other kids. His grin fell though, as he realized she should be enjoying the day with them.

He wasn’t sure if Y/N would wait for him, and he honestly didn’t blame her if she didn’t. He had put her through so much, after having cared for both him and Jack when Haley died, and long before she passed as well. He loved Y/N but she couldn’t be blamed for being hurt at the things he had said, and would never mean.

His eyes glazed over the park, letting out a solemn sigh at the peacefulness that contrasted the interior of his heart. And then he saw her.

Her arms were wrapped around a man, one Hotch hadn’t remembered seeing before, although it felt familiar. Around her own legs, a boy, about Jack’s age, had clung himself to Y/N’s knees, looking up pleadingly. The sweet smile he thought was reserved for his family had worked its way across her face. He almost missed his own son bounding up to where he had planted himself on the bench.

“Daddy?” Jack called out. “What are you looking at?”

“Hmm?” Hotch said distractingly.

“Who are those people with Y/N? Doesn’t she wanna hang out with us?” Aaron was too preoccupied, watching Y/N pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek.

“Can I go say hi to her?” he pleaded, tugging on his dad’s hand.

“Not now, Jack,” he sighed, pulling his now pouting son into his lap. “I think she might be busy, bud.”

Days had passed, without a word from Y/N. Aaron had picked up the phone hundreds of times at that point, wanting to say anything to bring her back into their lives. He had been relying on Jess for help taking care of Jack when he was at work, and had therefore endured a lecture he knew he deserved.

He got in his car to drive home, sighing at the empty passenger seat next to him. His eyes landed on the stuffed penguin he had bought to please Jack. He sighed once more, knowing he had to do something.

The front door of Y/N’s apartment was daunting, unfamiliar. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been to her place before, but Jack was right when he said their place was her home. She had basically moved in with them, so the varnish that covered the wooden door only seemed threatening of the barrier he had been putting up. He raised his fist, and knocked on the door.

Her eyes widened at the distraught man in front of her, promptly turning into a frown with the recognition of Hotch. She moved to close the door again.

“Y/N, please,” he begged, stoic expression long gone. “I’m sorry.”

“Aaron-”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I hurt you, I know that. But I didn’t mean it.” She stood still, allowing him to speak, and he took a step closer to her, reaching for her hand. “I love you, Y/N. You were never a distraction, only a relief. There’s so much I couldn’t have done with you by our side. We both know you’re not Haley, but I like you better as you are, as someone who cares for my kid like her own, as someone who cares for me when I forget to do it myself.”

Her hiccups of tears flooded the silence that came when he paused, his hand moving up to her cheek. “If I could take it all back, before I said those words, I would in an instant. Just as it was, just as you were. I just hope you still hold your love for me after what I’ve done.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing his nose into her neck as he breathed her in. She sighed, relieved to have one of the Hotchner’s back in her arms. “I love you, Aaron, even when you decide to act like a dick.”

He chuckled against her, squeezing her body against his before pulling back. Brushing away her tears again, he kissed her forehead, making a promise to himself that he wouldn’t let her go again. Her giggle, brought him out of his soft trance.

“Did you bring me a penguin?”

He smiled sheepishly, pressing the stuffed animal into her palm. “Jack got it as an apology gift to you.”

She pressed it against her chest, clutching it the same way his son had days before. “That’s one sweet kid you’ve got there.”’

“One who desperately wants to see you,” he chuckled again.

“Well,” she said, grabbing her purse and keys. “Let’s go home then.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #thomas gibson #jack hotchner

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charlie-minion · 4 years

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Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye).

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

#supernatural #15x20 #spn 15x20 #spn finale #rewrite #dean winchester #dean deserved better #cas deserved better #destiel #the characters deserved better #we deserved better #it was easier to get it right #yet they screwed up big time #alternate ending

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chocolatecakecas · 3 years

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Rockin' the Suburbs: Destiel Fic Chapter 1

Chp2 Chp3 Chp4 or read on ao3

Pretending to be married to his best friend who he's secretly in love with? Dean's totally got this under control. But pretending to be married and raising an actual toddler with his best friend who he's secretly in love with? Yeah so maybe he doesn't have it totally, under control, actually he's screwed. Fake married case fic+actual baby Jack? What could go wrong?

This was all Sam's fault.

Sam had strolled into the war room yesterday afternoon announcing that he had found a case in Sudbury, Massachusetts. Six people died, all parents, all with one kid, kids lived, but the parents, they weren't so lucky. It was in one of those Stepford gated communities where every house looked the same, "Pleasant Acres", or some crap like that. Meaning, Jody, Donna and Claire were all set to take the case, but they called twenty minutes ago saying they got caught up on a hunt in Montana. So now they were all shifting through their contacts, trying to find hunters with kids, since whatever it was only seemed to target families.

And Dean's been feeling well, weird, ever since Sam brought up the case yesterday. Something itching in the back of his mind. He's of course been trying to ignore it, but now that he's reading over the case it's getting stronger, making his twist in way he definitely doesn't want to unpack.

He glances up across the room, eyes quickly finding Cas and Jack. Cas is seated across from him on Jack's blanket, helping him build unstable block towers, just so he could knock them down.

(read the rest under the cut)

Dean's stomach twists again, and an all too familiar feeling washes over him.

Yeah, he definitely doesn't want to unpack it.

"Hey, I think I got something" Sam calls pulling Dean from his trance as Cas stands, making his way back to his chair.

"So Sarah and Mike Johnson? Jody met them, and their daughter, Katie on a hunt last year. They live somewhat close by, so I'll try to give them a call" Sam continues, reaching for his phone.

And now, Dean doesn't know why, but he felt that thing squirm deep inside him, and the next thing he knew, he was talking.

"Why don't we take it?" Dean practically shouts startling everyone, including himself.

Sam paused, cellphone halfway to his ear and Cas' head snapped up so quick Dean's worried he has whiplash.

And so Dean freezes, mouth suddenly very dry.

What the hell was he doing, why was h-

"Why don't we take the case? I mean the thing is only going after families right, and we-we've got an 18 month old super baby right here. So we cou-two of us could take Jack for a week, play house for a week, and gank the thing" Dean somehow chokes out, watching as Sam and Cas' stare with increasingly disbelieving looks.

Dean’s heart began pounding against his chest.

Dean could barely believe the suggestion to take the hunt came out of his mouth, let alone bringing the kid? Completely out of the question, way too dangerous. He's not just gonna put the kid directly in harms way, on a hunt for godsake! And yet the suggestion had rolled off his tongue anyway? Dean didn't know why.

God what the hell was wrong with him today?

But it's not like he can just take it back now that he practically screamed it, so in favor of looking like an idiot or delving into the reason behind why he said it, Dean sat in his own silent panic.

From across the table he watched Sam's face contort into about three different emotions, finally landing on something that looked like agreement.

Shit.

"Well, that might actually be a goo-" Sam started with a sigh

"You can't seriously be suggesting we bring Jack along on a hunt? It's too dangerous, we've barely even left the bunker with him" Cas immediately cut in and god Dean could kis-Dean was very relieved.

And Sam surely wouldn't argue with that. So he was in the clear. He could just forget about this whole stupid conversation like it never happened, and never have to think about it ag-

"Exactly, I mean you guys have barely left the house and Jack has barely even seen the world. I hate to say it, but I think it'd be good, for all of us" Sam replied reluctantly.

And there goes Dean's heart rate.

"Sam, we don't even know what we're up against it co-"

"I know Cas, but he'll be with us. And besides, it looks like whatever's doing this, is only taking victims with young children, not a single one is over the age of five. So it's probably better if we end up taking the case anyway, rather than Sarah and Mike, or even Jody and the girls. We're the only one with a kid under ten. Plus he's half angel, we're probably at greater risk than Jack is" Sam reasons carefully.

A tense silence fell over them, the only sound was Jack babbling to himself on the other side of the room. Dean wanted to say something, wanted to say he doesn't know what he was thinking and it's crazy and they shouldn't take the case, but his mouth wasn't exactly on his side today.

He snuck a glance at Cas who has his eyes trained on Jack.

The tension was killing him, Dean had to say something. He couldn't just let this happen because his stupid mouth started talking nonsense.

So he swallows thickly, opening his mouth to take it all back, so they could forget this whole conversation ever happened, so he wouldn't have to think about why h-

"You're right" Cas sighs, looking as if his answer deflated him.

And Dean couldn't agree more with that sentiment because suddenly all of the air was knocked out of his lungs. He must have looked like it too because Sam met his eyes across the table, leveling him with a look Dean can't decipher.

Then suddenly, a smile spread across his face, which in his experience, is never a good sign.

"Alright so, Dean can stay at a nearby hotel, while Cas and I take the nei-"

"I'll go with Cas" Dean blurted before he even realized what was happening.

He snapped his jaw shut, but apparently not quick enough. Again, Dean didn't know why he said that, but that thing was back swirling around his stomach so he assumed it had to do with whatever the hell that was. And his mouth must have a mind of it's own today because he's pretty sure he didn't tell it to start moving, let alone say that.

Dean's heart beat against his chest, face burning. He forced his eyes to look up at Sam, not daring to even glance in Cas' direction. He can't handle any look that might be on his face. What if he'd rather go with Sam? What if he's ang-

"Okay it's all settled then, I mean so long as that's good with you Cas?" Sam asked, smile turning into a smirk.

"Yes, that's good with me" Cas replied, tone unreadable.

Was he really okay with it? Was he creeped out by the way Dean cut in? Was he actually annoyed that he'd have to be with Dean?

All great questions, with sadly no answers. Because Dean would have to actually look at him, if he wanted any insight to what Cas was thinking, and that was so not going to happen. Not with his face still on fire.

"Alright perfect! I'll call the real estate agent, about setting up a house tour, you guys start packing? And oh, don't forget to think of your backstory so you're both on the same page! We can leave in the morning" Sam said with a too wide smile, as he pushed himself out of his chair. Sam stopped for a moment, giving him a look that Dean definitely didn't want to think about right now, before turning down the hall with a skip in his step.

Yup, this was definitely all Sam's fault.

Heart still racing in his chest, Dean braves a look over at Cas.

And a bit of relief floods through him when he catches those blue eyes. Cas seemed fine, doesn't look angry or disgusted at the thought of doing this thing with Dean. So he counts that as a win, and his heart rate slows a bit, but he still doesn't know what Cas is thinking, and he needs to know.

But he doesn't dare say anything, because at this point anything could come out of his mouth, and that's definitely not a risk Dean's willing to take after the mini heart attack he just suffered. So, awkward silence it was until Cas decides to speak up.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, Cas slumps forward folding his hands on the table as he stares over at Jack. Dean follows his gaze, watching Jack knock over his lopsided block tower with an excited shriek. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"Dean, I still think this is reckless" Cas sighs and Dean turns back, finding his eyes trained on him, filled with worry.

Dean's smile slips at the sight, his heart clenching and he pretends not to know the real reason why.

Things were already...weird between him and Cas lately, and now his dumbass had to go and make it worse. Because what the hell was he thinking suggesting they take this hunt, bring along the kid, and practically beg to pretend to live with Cas. Jesus, Cas is probably beyond creeped out and angry.

Dean has to fix this.

"Cas, listen I'm sorry it was a stupid idea-I don't even know why I said it. Because now we're putting Jack in danger-and it's not fair that you're gonna have to be stuck pretending to be married to me because I-I'm gonna go find Sam and we can just call the whole thing off, and he can contact that other family an-"

"Dean, no stop I want to do the hunt" Cas cut in quickly, effectively stopping Dean's rambling.

"But yo-"

"I said I still thought it was reckless, and it is-to bring Jack along I mean. But Sam's right he's barely gotten out of the bunk-we've all barely gotten out of here, so I think it'll be good for all of us. And besides Jack has his powers" Cas replied, gaze shifting back to Jack.

Dean let out a breathe he didn't realize he was holding. Cas wasn't angry at him, he wanted to go on the hunt. And he didn't seem too torn up about doing it with Dean so-

"Jack will have us to protect him the entire time. And I'm glad it's with you, I feel safer about the whole endeav-not that Sam isn't a phenomenal hunter. He is, but let's face it he isn't the world's best babysitter when it comes to Jack" Cas said turning back to Dean with an amused smile.

He's of course talking about the last time Sam watched Jack, where they walked in to see Sam trying to coax Jack off the ceiling into a laundry basket piled with blankets.

Dean couldn't help crack a smile at Cas' little joke. The squirming feeling had disappeared, leaving Dean feeling much calmer about the whole thing as he relaxed in his chair.

They'd be fine, this would be just like any other hu-

"So, Sam mentioned a backstory? Should we come up with that now, so we aren't caught off guard when someone asks?" Cas suggested, eyes staring into Dean's.

And just like that, Dean's calm had left the building.

"Uh yeah sure. Let's do th-let's start with how we met" Dean managed, now that his throat had gone dry again.

"Well, we met September 19th, 2008 in a barn in-"

"Okay September 2008, we can use that-but let's turn the barn into a bar instead? I saw you sitting at the bar alone, bought you a drink, we started talking, boom the rest is history" Dean raced, wanting very much to be done with this conversation.

"Dean, people always seem to be interested in these kinds of stories. We're probably going to need more information if anyone is going to buy it"

Damnit. Cas had a point, stupid angel always has to be right. So he puffed out a breathe, unclenching his fists under the table.

Breathe Winchester. It's just some fake story.

"Alright alright, so I saw you at the bar, you looked lonely so I bought you a drink and we got to talking. You uh...just got out of a long relationship with a bad ex, and I had just been through hell and back with my job-"

"Oh I see, like me rebelling against heaven, and you literally going to hel-"

"Yeah genius how'd you crack that cod" Dean quipped only to be cut off by a swift kick to the shin. Cas shot him a smug smile causing Dean to roll his eyes, and his stomach definitely did not flip.

Get it together Winchester

"So you helped me through a terrible breakup, and I helped you through the stress of your job. In a way we saved each other, which isn't so different from our real story" Cas continues.

And Dean swears his friggin heart stopped, Cas' words knocking the wind out of him.

God Dean should have stopped thi-

"By the way, what is your job going to be?" Cas questioned with his usual tilt of the head that definitely did not send Dean's heart racing even faster.

"Don't care you pick" Dean managed to force out, as he tried to gain control of his anxiety.

"A mechanic, I think. You love working on Baby, I think you'd enjoy getting to fix and help other people's cars for a living" Cas suggested in the most sincere tone Dean's ever heard. And how Dean somehow managed a nod of approval through his internal breakdown, he'll never know.

"Alright, so you pick what my job is then" Cas smiled softly, either not noticing Dean's panic or clearly ignoring it. Dean was grateful for either option.

Dean managed to reign in his stupid freak out long enough to get his brain working.

"A college professor-maybe like English lit or something. I know you like to read, and you always like to talk to about the books after you finish them. That is if you wa-"

"I think that's perfect, it sounds like a nice career"

"Great, so met in September 2008, mechanic and English Professor helped each other through their crap. Now they're moving to the suburbs to grill burgers in the backyard and fight to get the kid into a good preschool. Sounds like we've go-"

"Oh, we need a wedding anniversary" Cas cut in.

And yeah Dean's 100% sure his heart stopped this time.

How could Dean be so stupid, they wouldn't have to just pretend to be together (which was difficult enough within itself, for reasons he'd rather not discuss), they'd have to be married. Of course he knew this logically, but since his mouth had a friggin mind of it's own, he wasn't really thinking about the implications.

Married. To Cas. With a kid. A family.

And god, Dean couldn't even sa-no he's so not unboxing that right now.

"Uh, got married in our backyard. Just pick any date" Dean said weakly once he found his voice.

Cas was silent for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he nodded to himself

"November 2nd, 2017"

And that was the final hit. Dean was sent spiraling, losing any control he had regained.

The day Cas got out of the empty, the night he called Dean, the night Dean tried to-

"Alright, good. Sounds like we've got everything covered. I'm gonna get a start on packing, why don't you put Squirt over there down for his nap" Dean said jumping to his feet and quickly made his way to his room without a glance backwards. He feels like shit for leaving Cas just sitting there, but he had to get away before he really lost it.

Dean carefully tries not to slam his door and flops down on his bed. His thoughts buzz around in his skull, while about ten different emotions wash over him all at once. With a groan he reaches out and punches his mattress, which doesn't do much of anything seeing as its memory foam.

God what the hell had he gotten himself into.

He just agreed to be fake married to his best friend and live in a house in the suburbs with a 18 month old child.

He was crazy. He didn't even know why he said anythi-god who was he kidding. Of course he knew why he said it, he just didn't know why he let himself say them out loud. Now he's gonna have to play house with Cas and Jack for at least a week, when he can't even admit to himself th-

No. He can't let any of that get in the way. He can't throw himself a pity party just because Cas doesn-this stupid hunt was his own stupid fault, also partially Sam's (Dean's still sticking to that, thank you very much)

This is still a hunt, there are lives at stake. He can stow it. For everyone's sake.

So Dean sighs running his hands through his hair as he racked his mind for what he'd have to pack. On autopilot he began grabbing his clothes and usual crap, shoving it into his bag. As he zipped it up, his eyes landed on a box in the top of his closet.

In a flash he had the box down, lid off, sitting on his lap. Dean reached inside, pulling out two rings and his stomach flipped at the sight.

Yeah, it was gonna be a long night.

The next morning they were all in the garage packing up the trunk, getting ready to leave for their two day drive. Sam said the real estate agent was ecstatic that they were interested in the house. Must be a hard sell since the last three owners died inside.

Dean was strapping Jack into his car seat, rings weighing his pocket down, like a boulder.

"I'm gonna grab the last bag from the kitchen" Sam announced as he jogged out of the garage.

Well, it was now or never. So Dean drew in a shaky breath and walked around the car.

"Uh Cas, here" Dean said lamely, holding out a ring between his fingers.

Cas tilted his, eyes widening at the object.

"We're uh, supposed to be married right? So we need rings ya know" Dean continued unsure of how to proceed.

Cas nodded in understanding, carefully taking it from Dean's fingers, and slipped onto his left hand.

Dean gasped, and quickly tried to cover it up

"Uh yeah sorry of it's too tight, it's mind from years ago. I used to wear a few of them all the time, but they hurt like a bitch when you gotta deck someone" Dean rambled, face heating up.

"It's perfect, thank you" Cas smiled, meeting his eyes.

The squirming feeling was back, and squirmier than ever.

"What about you?" Cas asked looking at Dean's empty fingers.

"Oh! I've got my mom's old wedding ring. Had it resized to fit years ago, so I figured it would work" Dean rushed, pulling the second ring out of his pocket and slipping it onto his finger.

When he looked up again, Cas was staring at him with a look Dean had never seen on him before. It made his heart skip a beat in his chest.

"Alright! You guys ready to go?" Sam called as he walked back through the door, causing both of them to jump.

Moment ruined.

Without a word, they quickly climbed into the Impala. As Dean went to turn the key, his eyes traveled to the rearview mirror.

Jack giggling in his car seat as Cas wiggled his stuffed rabbit right above his head. Cas suddenly looked up catching his eye in the mirror, giving him a soft smile, which Dean found himself easily returning.

His eyes slid over to Sam, who was staring at the ring on his finger. Then Sam met his eyes, offering him a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

So Dean quickly snapped his attention forward, and turned the key a bit too hard.

Yeah, Dean was fucked.

Tag list:

(Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed💛!!!)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @organicpurplepants

@writtendevastation @tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @shadowywerewolfqueen @the-cookie-navy @thelahatiel @thefantasyfiend @castielle-deanna @aestheticflyer26

@multi-fandom-imagine @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x @wellofwoes @becky-srs @multi-fandom-dark-lord @perfectkoaladream @castiel-for-lunch @it--hurts--to--become @bowtiesandneckerchiefs @dakiaty @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @hrh-princess-bea @martymar1963 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @midnight-sparks-studio @slipper007 @winchester-novak

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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Okay, I’m going to purge all my emotions into one text post in the hopes of cleansing myself. “Carry On” wasn’t just a bad finale, it was very nearly a parody of how bad a finale can get. The kind of thing that fans might — and in some cases actually did — post about as a worst case scenario joke, a “Lol can you imagine the chaos if they did this?” without any real belief that the show would go that far. Yet they did.

We begin the episode with a generic life routine montage that segues into an equally generic case, a callback to SPN’s roots that, while nostalgic in terms of the “Saving people, hunting things” motto, nevertheless fails to acknowledge that SPN hasn’t been that simple a show in years. I’m waiting for the case to tie into the larger plot/mythos somehow, but it doesn’t. We’re treated only to the heavy-handed symbolism of them saving two brothers. A woman victimized by vampires seasons back shows up for a second so Dean can comment on how good she looks, then Sam kills her. She is the only woman we see in the finale besides a nameless cop who gives exposition and leaves. Donna, an old favorite, is mentioned only by name. We know nothing about Sam’s wife.

Dean dies. After 15 years of surviving the unsurvivable, his chance to finally live life disappears as he’s killed by a grunt vampire via a nail in the back and just tells Sam not to try and resurrect him. Though the acting in this scene is decent on both sides, I have precisely zero emotional investment because I’m just asking why this is happening. Why aren’t the brothers living or dying together? Will Cas somehow return, given that they’re in a barn and all? Nope. Dean dies, is cremated, Sam mourns in another montage and moves on.

Despite this being a show positively stuffed with significant characters (it may have started out with two brothers but it certainly didn’t stay that way), the only one Dean (and via him the viewer) gets to see in heaven is Bobby. After some explanations and a bad beer, he drives off in his Impala while we get another montage of Sam growing old, which if you’ve seen the Six Feet Under finale may look familiar. Sam doesn’t age well, in the sense that the wig and makeup look ridiculous. He marries a woman we, as said, know nothing about and has a generic hunter son that he of course names Dean. Dean 2.0 tells his ailing father that he can die now and Sam does, dutifully, appearing to stand with brother!Dean on a bridge as his younger self... despite the fact that apparently only five minutes have passed for Dean in heaven, but Sam has theoretically grown into a different person after decades of life.

Most egregiously, any hope the fans had for Cas getting a respectful ending were dashed. After a shocking confession two weeks ago, everyone was waiting for their reunion and to see if Dean reciprocated Cas’ implied feelings (the “I love you” deemed romantic largely due to the “What I want, but know I can never have” line, given that Cas has said “I love you” to both brothers in the past). Except that Cas never shows up. The first time he’s mentioned it’s by Sam, with Dean encouraging him to move on and eat pie instead of thinking of lost friends. The second time he’s mentioned by Bobby, who drops the reveal that Cas “helped” build this new heaven. So did Jack let him out of the Empty? Is he here now? Why wouldn’t he ever tell the brothers that Cas is no longer in super hell? It’s unclear. Either way, Dean doesn’t seem to care. So we had eleven years and a couple of months worth of queer baiting, a presumed romantic confession, followed by immediately killing Cas off, then Dean off, and the two of them never meeting on screen again.

So... yeah. Well done, SPN! I think you may have pushed Game of Thrones and How I Met Your Mother out for a certain title.

#spn #supernatural #spn spoilers #carry on #okay I'm not diving into the spn critique world like I have rwby #that's too much for me to handle #lol #BUT #some things Had To Be Said about that finale

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whoacanada · 3 years

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‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game — he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively — defensively — as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily — burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

#Part I #maybe?#zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

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teamhappyme · 3 years

Text

my love will find you

aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count: 1.9k

a/n: another hurt/comfort fic because i’m incapable of righting pure fluff. this was inspired by the incredibly sad but beautiful children’s book ‘wherever you are, my love will find you’ by nancy tillman. i have quoted some parts of the book, and those are the quotes in italics. i first read this book to the toddlers i work with two weeks after my bestfriend, my grandmother died a few years ago. it brought me to tears, and is truly one of my favorite children’s books.

warnings: discussions of miscarriage, nothing graphic

****

You gently knocked on Jack’s door after seeing the light peek through the space where the door met the floor. It was nearing ten o’clock, the ten year old should be in bed by now.

Once you heard the quiet ‘come in’, you opened the door to find him tucked in, little lamp on with a few books on his bed.

“It’s getting late, bud. Why don’t you wrap up your last book for the night.” He nodded, closing the book in his hand. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you recognized the cover, and felt your heart drop in your chest.

“Is anything bothering you, honey?” He let out a sigh, and he reminded you so much of Aaron in that moment. Usually, you loved to see the resemblance in your husband and son. But this big sigh was too much for the little boy to go through.

“My art teacher had us make mother’s day cards at school today. All of my friends just stood up and grabbed a piece of paper, but I kind of froze for a second.” You would do anything to bring back Haley, to put this little boy out of the pain he’s gone through at such a young age. “I asked my teacher if I could make three. They were supposed to be a surprise, but I made one for mom, you, and aunt Jess.”

You couldn’t help the small smile on your face. He was such a sweet boy. He was the reason you and Aaron talked about having a baby of your own. Give Jack a sibling, maybe spread some more love in this family.

“I’m just missing my mom a lot today, that’s all. And this book makes me feel a little better about it.”

You took the book from his hands, tracing your fingers down the front cover.

“You know, I’m the one that gave you this book. When my nana died, this book really helped me stay connected to her. I’m glad it does the same for you too.” A smile crept across your face, and you stood up from his bed. “I know you may be a little too old for this, but would you mind if I read this to you? I’m feeling a little sad tonight too, and I think this book could make me feel better.”

He smiled, and scooched closer to the wall to give you some space in his bed. “What are you sad about y/n/n?” You shook your head, not wanting to hurt the little boy any more than he already was.

“I’m just missing daddy. But he’ll be home tomorrow.” You turned to the first page, getting ready to read the short little book.

“I wanted you more than you ever will know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go.”

It had been a while since you read this to Jack, and you were already starting to tear up.

“It never gets lost, never fades, never ends… paint til you’re blue… there’s no place, not one, where my love can’t find you.”

You wanted Aaron to be here, needed Aaron to be here. Especially today.

“And if someday you’re lonely, or someday you’re sad, or you strike out at baseball, or think you’ve been bad… just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair. That’s me, my sweet baby, my love is right there.”

Your hand rested on your stomach, that was full of new life just a few weeks ago.

“If you’re still my small babe or you’re all the way grown, my promise to you is you’re never alone.”

As you flipped to the last page, you quickly wiped away the tears in your eyes. You just have to be strong for another few minutes.

“You are my angel, my darling, my star… and my love will find you wherever you are.”

It was an incredibly sad children’s book, but it was really for the parents more than the kids.

“Okay honey, do you feel a little better now? Do you want to read another book?” He shook his head.

“I’m okay now. I think I’ll just talk to mom for a minute, then go to sleep.” He turned his lantern on, it was what he used to talk to Haley when an adult wasn’t around with the special candle. “Thank you for reading to me, y/n/n.”

You smiled. “Anytime, Jack. Goodnight, I love you.” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Love you too. ‘Night.”

You quietly closed his door and headed down the hall to your own bedroom. Once secure in your own closed room, you let your tears fall free.

It had been a long forty eight hours without Aaron. The team got called on a case in the middle of the night, but you were left behind due to your twelve week scan with your ob/gyn. You assured Aaron you would be okay on your own.

But you couldn’t have known what was going to be on that scan. Or, rather, what was missing.

It was strange to think that only eight hours ago you were still thinking of your baby. How you were going to tell everyone, tell Jack, start thinking of baby names. You should’ve known better than to get so excited so fast.

You don’t know how long you were staring at your laptop screen for, but when you heard the front door open, your heart dropped again.

You’d left a message when you couldn’t get a hold of him, figuring he was on the jet or wrapping up with the local PD. But it was cryptic, you couldn’t tell him in a voicemail.

Once he came into the bedroom, you stood up, meeting his gaze. His tie was already off, undershirt poking through from his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt. He was stressed out. And it didn’t take a genius to know why.

“Hi, how was the case?” He kicked his shoes off, slightly shaking his head before giving you a quick kiss.

“It was just another case. I, I got your message. Is everything alright?”

Just rip off the bandaid, y/n. Quick, as quick as they told you.

You stood in front of him, your husband, holding onto the news that would ruin your future in one second. Wringing your hands together, your eyes began to water again. God, why couldn’t he just have been there with you.

“I lost the baby, Aaron.”

He stopped his miniscule movements, his eyes falling open the slightest bit. Only you ever noticed the change in his eyes.

“They said it was probably right after the eight week scan, that I lost them. It wasn’t anything I did, they say it just… happens.” A tear fell down your face, and you moved to wipe it away. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called you right away.”

“Honey,” He walked over to me, holding my hands in his own. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to form a sentence with all the emotions running through his head. But he couldn’t. You couldn’t either when they first told you. Instead, you saw tears form in his eyes, as he choked back a sob. “Sorry,” He started, trying to be strong for you.

But you wouldn’t let him bury this. Not this pain. You wrapped your arms around his waist, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Your tears were staining his shirt, and you could hear him sniffle every few seconds. But you started to feel whole again with his arms wrapped around you.

He lifted his head after a minute, pressing a kiss to your head before tucking you under his chin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you. You shouldn’t have had to be there alone.”

“It’s not your fault. We couldn’t have known.” Your eyes welled with tears again, and you held on tighter to your husband. “I know it was only a few months, but I really loved them Aaron.”

“I know, I do too.” You untangled yourself from him, wanting to see his face as you talked through another incredible loss in his life.

“They scheduled me for a d&c on monday, just to be sure everything is cleared out.” They had to make everything sound so clinical. As if this wasn’t a human, your human growing inside of you. “You’ll come with me, right?”

“Of course.” He noticed you wringing your hands again, fighting back the next wave of tears washing over you. “Y/n, talk to me.”

You sat at the end of your bed, resting your head in your hands, letting the tears slowly, evenly escape your eyes.

“My whole life, all I’ve wanted was to be a mom. I wanted to have babies running around my house, their toys filling up every room you walk in. It was the one thing I was always sure about. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so excited that my dream was coming true. That we could expand our family, we could give Jack a sibling. But now,” You lifted your head, Aaron leaning against the dresser. “I just can’t help but think this was a sign. That I’m not meant to have my own baby.”

He immediately pushed off the dresser, moving to kneel in front of you. “Y/n,”

You shook your head, wanting to finish before he started. “I love our life, Aaron. I was devastated this afternoon. I was crying in the parking lot of the doctor’s office for thirty minutes, before I went to pick up Jack. But once I saw him, I felt better.” You reached out to hold one of his hands. “He told me today that he made a mother’s day card for Haley, Jess, and me. We talked about Haley, and how he misses her. And then we read the book I gave him after she died,”

“Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You,” He interrupted you, and you smiled. The book seemed to have a lasting effect on everyone in the Hotchner house.

“Aaron, I love being another mom to Jack. I love being your wife, I love my relationship with Jess, I loved our baby, and I love where we are right now.” You brought his hand to your lips, lightly kissing his knuckles before you finished. “Maybe I’m not meant to have my own baby. But I love our son, and our family. And once we grieve the one we almost got, that’s all I want to focus on. At least for right now.”

Once you finished, and he soaked in your words, he gave you a true Aaron Hotchner smile, dimples and all. A stray tear fell down his face, and you quickly moved to brush it away.

“I love you so much, you know that right?”

You smiled in return. “I love you too.”

He leaned in to kiss you, soft and slow. A few stray tears mixed together between the two of you, emotions all over the place right now. But it was going to be okay with Aaron by your side.

You slowly pulled away, giving him one final kiss before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“We’ll get through this together.” You nodded, resting your forehead against his. “Allways.”

****

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #jules writes shit ??

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mdawritings · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 14

II.III

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, violence, rape (pretty canon typical descriptions), mention of PTSD, description of PTSD symptoms

Song(s): “when was it over?” by Sasha Sloan ft. Sam Hunt

Aaron Hotchner is a man who has always been accustomed to loneliness. Not that he lacks in company, all his time is split between work with his team and his son. But he has no one to share himself with. He has no one to open up to. To just say whatever he’s thinking out loud.

He’s grown used to needing to bury his emotions deep inside of him. Feeling everything all at once has become too painful. He needs to be solid and ever-present in his son’s life. He needs to be strong for his team. Though he tells them all, ‘it’s okay to lose it sometimes,’ he will never allow himself to lose it again in front of them. He wishes he could act emotionally, the way Morgan and JJ and Reid do. He wishes he could break down every once in a while without everyone thinking differently of him. But what kind of leader would that make him?

He’s a man who has a deep respect for the chain of command. He understands the need for structure and rules and protocol, yet at the same time, he wonders how much easier his life would be if he just broke the rules a little bit. What if he had taken that deal with Foyet? Maybe, just maybe, Haley would still be alive. Jack could have his mother in his life.

He’s acutely aware of the fact that as a leader he must put others' needs before his own. He follows protocol for a reason. He knows that Morgan sees him a little bit like a dictator. A stubborn, hard ass. Maybe even a little bit of a bully. But he doesn’t follow the protocol or the rules to be difficult. He does it because most of those rules are in place to keep people safe. To keep his team safe.

He’s plenty comfortable with this personality he has to put on. He’s accustomed to this role. He is comfortable in it. The problem is you. You come from the time in his life before all this. Before the shift. You remind him just how much fun you can have by breaking the rules. You remind him of giving in to his emotions. You remind him of feeling. Feeling anything. Feeling everything.

Whatever he once felt for you, it’s not lingering around. It’s been eight years. He doesn’t still harbor feelings for you. He’s had his great love. Haley. Haley was his great love. He’s not sure that his heart has the capacity for any more love, and if it does, he owes it to Jack to give him all the love in the world. The kid has lost enough.

It’s not that he wants you back in any capacity, but he feels this urge to explain himself to you. He knows doesn’t have to explain himself to you. He’s your boss. It would be best to keep everything professional. That’s what he’s been trying to do. He’s been doing a pretty great job at keeping everything bottled up. Not just keeping what he wants to say to you tucked away, but everything he feels— has been feeling— since he lost Haley a few months ago, tucked away.

But when you turned to look at him and asked how he was so okay, that little voice in his head was urging him to spill it all to you. To tell you everything. Tell you how much he cared for you. How much he still cares for you. He wants the best for you. He always has.

You had the potential to be his great love. The feelings were there, but back then he didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know what it meant to give your everything to someone. To bare your soul to someone. He did know, however, that you would’ve given him all of you. No matter the cost to you, you were willing to give him all of yourself. He didn’t know much, but he knew that was unfair to you. He knew he had to put a stop to it because you gave him everything and he gave you nothing.

He wanted the best for you. He was incapable of being the best for you. You deserved better than him, and he was not able to be better. That’s on him. He knows that. That’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve an explanation better than what he gave you.

He doesn’t want you back, but he has been finding new levels of beauty within you. Within this new you, that he’s just meeting for the first time. You’re not a completely different person. The things he once found himself falling for, your wit, your intelligence, your smile, your humor, they’re all still there. Yet there’s so much new to discover, that he can’t help but find himself being drawn into you all over again.

You’re much more confident. You stand your ground. He knows that he is to blame for that. He showed you what it was like to have someone walk all over you. You have this air of wisdom that has clearly come about with age and experience.

There’s something deeply tragic within your eyes. They were once so bright and full of hope in the world. He can tell that the spark has died. Maybe it’s something he resonates with, a loss of belief in the good in people, that has him gravitating towards you all over again. He knows you’ve been through a fair share of tragedies. So has he.

Whoever said opposites attract applies to relationships was dead wrong. There’s nothing more appealing to Hotch than someone who completely understands him. Someone who completely understands his motivations, his mind, his feelings. Yet he believes he will never be able to open himself up to love again.

But you seem to give him hope. You might be just what he needs. He has this intuition that if he opened up to you, you would understand him. You would simply listen to him. You’ve always been good at listening. Maybe you’ve always been the right person for him. Maybe this is the second chance for the two of you.

Hotch visibly shakes his head, as if attempting to shake the thoughts from his head in the way a swimmer shakes their head to free the water from their ears. Every thought of you feels like a betrayal of his love for Haley. A betrayal of what he had with her. One look at the clock convinces Hotch he should be getting home. It’s long past Jack’s bedtime but that doesn’t mean he can’t be there when the kid wakes up. They’ll spend the weekend together, doing something Jack loves.

Hotch looks down at the stack of unfinished case files. He still has to check over the team’s work from the past week and he’s very quickly falling behind the more his mind seems to want to focus on you. He’s going to have to do a lot of paperwork this weekend. That’s not new for him.

He digs around his pockets for his personal cell, getting ready to text Jessica that he’s on his way home. She’s probably already asleep, but a text can’t hurt. The sound of his work cell ringing fills his body with a deep sense of grief and guilt. Guilty for not seeing his son more often, guilty for tearing JJ away from time with her family, guilty for forcing Garcia to see more of the worst of humanity, guilty of depriving Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss of sleep, guilty of depriving Rossi of his weekends, guilty of forcing you to spend any more time with him.

He reaches for the phone, “Hotchner.”

————

You don't get stuck in place. The instinct to call Hotch and tell him what’s going on has to be suppressed. You can’t tell him. The threat of the letter seems real. The picture is enough evidence of that. It’s not a picture of him at work, or on a case. It’s personal. He’s walking out of the coffee shop. A coffee shop you assume is close to where he lives. Close to his son. Close to a wife? A girlfriend? His son’s mother? You still haven’t heard the details of that whole situation.

It’s something you’re not sure you want to hear anyway. At first, you feel pathetic. For god's sake, you’re still hung up on this man from eight years ago? Get a grip.

But you’ve come to realize you’re not hung up on him. It’s not about the love you felt for him. It’s not a feeling of still being in love with him. It’s not about rage. It’s not about holding a stupid grudge. Yeah, he broke your heart. It was the worst relationship you’ve ever been in. But none of this is about love or rage. It’s about the way he made you feel. This feeling of worthlessness. A feeling that you can’t— won’t ever forget. A feeling you plan to avoid at all costs for the rest of your life.

You turn the photograph over in your fingers a few times. You don’t want anything to happen to Hotch. You’re not sure how you feel towards him. But you know this much is true: you want to keep him and his family safe. You have a sinking feeling that you know exactly who is behind the threat. It’s always been a possibility that he survived, no remains were recovered among the rubble. You’re quick to get to work.

You walk to your bedroom, flipping on the light in the closet and pulling out some of the remaining storage boxes you have yet to unpack. Your eyes fall on the safe in the back of the closet. Pushing everything out of your way, you crouch down, turn the dial and pull a box out. You walk by the door, checking the locks again. He knows where you live.

You open the small box, removing the manilla folder from inside. You pull out the contents: a photocopy of the incident report. The date on the top is just over a year ago. You haven’t looked at the photos since the accident. Your therapist warned against it, telling you it would likely trigger an episode. She wasn’t wrong. The anxious feeling builds in the pit of your stomach, nausea washing over you as you look through each of the photos.

There has to be something here. Something to tell you how he survived, why he did it, why he’s back. You find the transcripts of each of your calls with him. You think about how much easier this would be to decode with the help of the team. Reid would find some specific markers in the language he used when talking to you that would help demonstrate his obsession with you and why it took nearly a year for him to make contact again.

You set up a small workstation on your kitchen table, spreading all the information out. You tape the note and the photo up on the wall. You’re on your own for this one. Speaking to anyone, about anything, would be too risky. You’re not willing to risk Hotch’s life.

One thing is certain, you’re not getting much sleep tonight. You place a defensive hand on your gun holster that you haven’t taken off. You walk to the window lifting it up to study the fire escape. You see no one outside and squeeze through the open window back inside. You close the window, double-checking the lock. You place a small glass on the edge of the window, so that if someone does open it to break in, the glass will fall, alerting you of an intruder.

You never turn your back to the door as you work. The gun stays close to your side. You make a cup of coffee to keep you awake. Your profiling skills are getting better by the day, but you still know that you’re not well enough equipped to handle this all on your own. You pull the profiling handbooks off the shelf. You open Rossi’s books, poring over the words, again and again, noting anything you think might help you, noting any statistics.

It’s nearly two in the morning when your phone rings, startling you. You’re on edge. You reach for it, looking at the caller on the screen. “Agent Hotchner?”

“The team is meeting in an hour on the jet. It’s an emergency.” As much as you wish it didn’t, his deep stern voice soothes your anxiety ever so slightly. It’s nice to hear that he’s okay. He’s safe for now.

“Okay. See you then, Sir,” As you say it, you realize that the trains don’t run at this hour. You have no way of getting into the office or to the airstrip for that matter, “Hotch?” You say quickly before he can hang up. His name slips from your lips. You don’t mean to call him that.

“Yes? Something wrong?”

“I would just call another team member but I assume you haven’t left the office yet… I uh,” You’re embarrassed. Do you really want Hotch to see the shit apartment you live in? Do you really want him to know you don’t own a car? “I don’t have any way of getting into the office or to the airstrip. Usually, I take the train but… they don’t run at this hour.”

There’s silence on the other line for a second. For a moment you think the service has gone dead. You open your mouth but just as you’re about to ask him if he’s still there he speaks up, “Send me your address. I’ll come and pick you up.” This time, you freeze in place. You half expected him to say he would send Anderson or a car service, but the gesture isn’t surprising for Hotch.

At least not surprising for the Hotch you seem to be meeting all over again. Not all the traces of who he was long ago are gone but there are so many new layers to him you find yourself discovering. He’s immensely regimented. He follows rules. He respects authority. He’s the most giving leader you’ve ever seen. He manages to balance the right amount of rigidness and emotional detachment from the job while still acknowledging that his team is inherently composed of human people. People who deal with emotions and grapple with a myriad of different flaws and obstacles to their success. He always knows the right thing to say to each person.

You know that despite tearing his head off a few hours ago, Hotch is still the type of leader to drop everything to help you. If that means picking you up at 3 AM so that you don’t run into the possible dangers of taking a taxi cab this late, then he’s going to pick you up.

It’s equally unsurprising when you hear a buzz through the intercom to let him inside the building and up the stairs. Hotch doesn’t half-ass anything. If he’s going to pick you up, he’s going to come directly to your door instead of sitting outside in the car waiting for you.

You buzz him up, looking around at the disarray you have managed to cause. The case files are scattered across the kitchen table. The picture of him from outside the coffee shop still hangs on your wall. You don’t have time to hide it all. You know Hotch would never force himself inside your apartment, but you worry about what the consequences would be if Hotch found out about the note.

His knock at the door is firm, pulling your attention away from the photo and all the case notes. You shove a few of the case files into your bag and rush to the door. “One second!” You call yanking a jacket off a hanger in your closet and hurriedly sliding your boots on. You wince a little, your feet sore from wearing the shoes the entire day at work but you fight through it and open the door just enough for you to squeeze out without letting Hotch glance into your apartment. He gives you a weird look but doesn’t attempt to look around you into your apartment. “You didn’t have to come to pick me up, you could’ve sent a car or something.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Do you always take the train?” He reaches down, taking your go-bag from your hand, carrying it down the stairs of your apartment for you. You appreciate the gesture yet resent it all at the same time because of who it’s coming from.

“I didn’t need a car while in New York. Public transit got me everywhere. Now that I’ve moved here, I’ve started saving up for a car.” As soon as you step out of your building, Hotch instinctively moves to stand behind you, looking both ways around the empty early morning streets. He has your back as if he’s keeping a lookout.

Nice to know that the shitty living situation you have is not going unnoticed by him. He puts your go-bag into the back and opens the side door for you. Then something happens. As he opens the door for you, his hand drifts to your lower back, gently guiding you into the car. That’s when you feel it. A warmth that spreads throughout your body from where he touched you. You’re quick to move away from his touch and the expert profiler that Hotch is, immediately sense that he’s put you on edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” He rushes out and averts his eyes from yours, moving around to the other side of the car. You reply with a curt nod as if to tell him that it’s okay but not to do it again. Or do you want him to do it again?

The only thing you’ve felt for the past year is numb. And when you aren’t numb, you’re angry. Not at Hotch, just at the world, at yourself, at the FBI, at the way your life has turned out. So the warm fluttery feeling stirring around your stomach is comforting. It’s comforting to be reminded you can truly feel something, yet this isn’t the kind of something you want to feel right now.

There’s a moment of silence as Hotch starts to drive the two of you to the office.

“What—”

“I—”

Both you and Hotch start speaking at the same time. You fumble over your words as Hotch speaks up, “You go first.”

“What’s the emergency case?” You look over the lines in Hotch’s face and his side profile as he drives. Hotch presses his lips into a thin line and tilts his head down a little, wringing his hands around the wheel.

“It’ll be better to explain to the whole team but if I’m honest… it’s not good.” He sighs and looks over at you. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it, switching his focus between you and the road.

“You were saying something?” It’s so dark in the car that you can barely make out his features. The only time you can clearly see him is when you drive past a street light, which illuminates the whole car. He doesn’t immediately answer you. You watch as he seems to run over things in his head like he’s preparing his words before he says them.

The car pulls to a stop at a red light right outside the FBI building. Hotch finally looks over at you, “I’m sorry.” The bright red light on the side of his face somehow seems to soften his features and the way his voice is soft, hushed almost, keeping the conversation trapped in the car between the two of you, “For being so callous with you earlier and for pushing you to talk and for…” The light changes to green. Like a switch, he focuses on the road again.

“For?” You raise a brow, unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s utterly enchanting. Aging has done something wonderful to his features. The lines next to his eyes tell you that though it doesn’t seem like he does now, he did at one point do a lot of smiling.

“For hurting you. I am truly sorry,” He breathes out. It’s relieving to hear him finally say the words. To finally own up to what he did. You always thought about this moment, when he finally apologizes for everything. You thought it would feel much better. You always pictured you would look him in the face and scoff lightly, acting as if you had gone on to so much bigger and better things than he ever expected from you.

But right now, you don’t want to be pompous. You feel no urge to throw the apology back into his face. You almost, almost, feel bad for him. It never slips your mind how beaten down Hotch looks. You’re sure you don’t look your best right now, running on minimal hours of sleep over the past few days, but from the minute you started this job, he looked exhausted. Exhausted from what? That’s what you want to figure out. You have this strong urge to reach over and take Hotch’s hand as if you’re the one apologizing to him, not the other way around.

You don’t touch him but only force another nod, “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. It was unprofessional of me.”

Hotch laughs softly, opening the car door and getting both of your go-bags from the back seat, “Nothing about this whole situation is professional.” His breathy laugh brings a smile to your face. Did Aaron Hotchner just make a joke?

You both walk in silence into the building, flashing your badges at the night guard, who recognizes the both of you from when you left earlier in the night. The two insomniacs of the BAU. Both too proud to admit to the demons haunting them when they close their eyes, chalking up their late nights to an excessive amount of work.

Any friendly, playful attitude that Hotch had in the car with you dissipates as soon as you step onto the BAU floor. You can feel him tense up, standing a little taller. His face sinks into that unmistakable frown. You smile at the team as you step into the conference room, ignoring the screwed-up confused glance Rossi gives at the fact that you and Hotch enter the room at the same time.

“Hotch, what’s the emergency?” Morgan asks, standing to make himself a cup of coffee.

Hotch walks to the front of the round table by the monitor, “Columbus PD just contacted us about two recent murders.”

“Okay?” Prentiss glances up at him, “Why does it necessitate immediate BAU assistance?”

“They entered the information into the database and came up with a match, to the case we just closed.” He reaches for the remote to turn on the monitor, “Two college-aged girls on Ohio State’s campus were stabbed to death,” He clicks through the photos.

“The mutilation of their hands,” Rossi nods, almost knowingly.

“Did we get the wrong guy? Has he crossed into a different state to avoid connecting him to Indiana? Columbus, Ohio and Bloomington, Indiana can’t be that far apart. ” Prentiss points out gesturing with the pen in her hands.

“228 miles apart to be precise,” Reid interjects.

“But how is that possible? Everett Wilson, we arrested him, he’s detained, awaiting trial as we speak.” You shake your head. “He confessed to the crimes.”

“The rate of false confession is much higher than you might think,” Reid leans forward in his chair, sitting up straighter as he does, “27 percent of people accused of homicide give false confessions. That number skyrockets to a hefty 81 percent when you isolate it just to people with intellectual disabilities and/or mental illness accused of homicide.”

“So we either have a copycat or we caught the wrong guy,” JJ deduces, sounding altogether defeated.

“That’s what Columbus PD needs us to figure out.” Hotch nods, “I think our time will best be spent split between Ohio and Indiana.”

“Indiana?” You look up from your tablet.

“Someone has to interview Wilson,” Rossi fills in the gaps.

Hotch confirms with another small nod, “We’ll fly into Ohio. I think two of us should drive to Indiana to interview Wilson for a few days. Wheels up.”

———————

Hotch reaches forward, turning down the brightness on his laptop, attempting not to disturb his coworkers, who are currently attempting to get a little bit of sleep during the short flight to Ohio. There are only two other sources of light on the jet. One comes from Dave’s tablet. He’s looking over the details of the case again. The other is from the opposite side of the jet. You have the overhead light on, your eyes scanning quickly over the pages of a novel.

Hotch finds himself distracted from the work in front of him by you. You let out a long yawn. The overhead lighting is not doing your under-eye bags any favors. He wonders how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Really slept. A full night of uninterrupted sleep.

He thinks of the neighborhood you live in. He thinks of the apartment complex. He worries about your safety, living alone in a place like that. Do you live alone? The way you slinked out of the door, barely opening it, not allowing him a view inside, makes him think you were shielding someone from him, hiding someone from his eye line.

Or maybe you were just worried about his wandering judgmental eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if you made every attempt to keep your personal details completely secret from him. He knows he has no right to that information, but he can’t keep the curiosity at bay. No matter what the reason, your secretive behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You pull your feet up under you in the chair. He watches as you shiver slightly, reaching up to turn off the air vent above you. He feels an urge to offer you his jacket that sits on the seat across from him. He doesn’t, but he wants to. It’s a strange compulsion. Is it possible these urges to care for you, keep you safe that were put to rest eight years ago are still ingrained in him?

He needs to control himself, to remain composed and professional. He knows you don’t want anything to do with him. That much is clear from the way you moved when his hand landed on your lower back. He didn’t even consciously intend to touch you. He just opened the door to be polite. As you got in, he instinctively placed his hand on your back to help guide you into the car. It gave him that feeling again. The small sparks at the contact. The same small sparks from just over a week ago when he welcomed you to the team.

His eyes are lingering on you too long. Dave slides into the seat across from him, cutting off his clear line of sight. Rossi notices that Hotch’s focus is not on the laptop in front of him.

“So you’re going to Indiana to interview Wilson?” Rossi nods, leans forward on the table, folding his hands.

Hotch lowers the screen of his laptop, darkening the jet and shielding his features from Rossi’s profiling gaze, “He’s expecting higher-ups from the FBI. He’s not going to talk unless we fuel his ego. Make him feel important enough that I want to come and talk to him.”

“You know he’s not going to give you everything you need just with you there.” Rossi’s mouth forms a thin line as he shakes his head, “You need to throw him off. You need some behavioral cues as well.”

“I know that,” Hotch sighs, rubbing his fingers together on top of the table. “Prentiss is an intimidating female presence. I think she can elicit the right responses from him.”

Rossi pauses and glances off to the side at Emily who has fallen asleep, leaning her head against the closed jet window, “Emily has a lot of experience. She’ll be good.” He glances back at Hotch. Hotch knows what he’s leading to. It’s a fact Hotch is not oblivious to in the slightest. He knows exactly who the best partner for the interrogation will be. He knows exactly which team member will make Wilson the most uncomfortable.

Hotch shakes his head, “She’s not an option, Dave. She needs more profiling experience with the team.”

“She’s the youngest on the team. She’s not far behind Prentiss in age but she could easily pass for a student. That’s exactly his type,” Rossi argues, “I know there’s something going on between the two of you, but you can’t let that get in the way of this case.”

Hotch keeps his voice hushed so you can’t hear them, “Dave, I can’t do that. What if she breaks down? What if something happens to her?”

“What’s going to happen with you there?”

“To get what we need out of him we need to let him say everything he wants to say. We need to see his honest reaction to a challenging female presence. I don’t think she’ll be able to remain composed,” Hotch argues back with Dave, realizing his voice has raised a few decibels. He shoots a look at you, making sure you haven’t caught any part of the conversation.

“You think she won’t be able to remain composed… or you won’t?” Rossi points out. The old man is always capable of seeing right through Hotch. He goes silent and Rossi finally sits back in his chair, a smug smirk on his face, “There’s always something about your first.” He teases.

“Stop,” Hotch practically cuts him off, “There’s nothing between us.”

That smirk never leaves Rossi’s face. The lights flick on in the jet. Hotch feels the jet start to make an attempt to land. He knows what has to happen when you finally land, yet he is dreading it more than anything.

————

The team rouses from sleep as you land. You close your book, not having made much progress on it, your mind focused on the way Hotch’s eyes kept darting over to you. The shift between the two of you has rattled you. Maybe getting some of the feelings out there in the open has permitted a change in dynamic.

You were honest with him. He was honest with you. You didn’t necessarily want to hear any of his side of the story, but he answered your questions. There’s no doubt in your mind that he told the truth. Unit chief Aaron Hotchner is brutally honest, almost too honest. There’s a callousness to his honesty. He knows that truth can hurt, but sometimes you just need to hear it.

Sometimes you think it’s fate that has brought you back together. Destiny, maybe. But you’ve never believed in fate nor in destiny. You like to think you have some form of autonomy and you get to dictate how your life runs. The problem with not believing in destiny is that there’s no higher power or greater being to blame when your own reckless and stupid decisions end up hurting the people you love.

“Agent Y/L/N and I will drive to Indiana to interview Wilson. I’ve already made the necessary hotel arrangements. The rest of you will run the investigation from the Columbus PD headquarters. We’ll keep you updated and join in on the investigation by tomorrow.” Hotch nods and your head shoots up to look at him. He couldn’t have told you that earlier?

As soon as you step off the jet, there are three SUVs waiting for you. Hotch leads you to one, once again taking your bag from your grip and putting it in the back.

You find yourselves in the same position as just a few hours earlier, Hotch at the wheel, you in the passenger's seat, except this time, the sun is just rising as you start the three-hour drive to Indiana.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” He looks over your face for the split second that he’s able to take his eyes off the road.

You nod, lying, “I got some sleep before you called us all in.”

He hesitates, wringing his hands around the steering wheel. He’s always been fidgety with his hands. When he’s not driving, he still does that little finger rubbing thing at his side. Sometimes he twirls a pencil in his fingers when he’s thinking. He’ll rub his hands over his face or continually place them on his forehead, rubbing at his skin a little. When he drives, he rubs his hands over the steering wheel. It’s even more obvious when he’s thinking. He’s debating whether or not to call you out on the lie.

He clearly decides against it, “Get some sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you up to brief you before we get to the detention center.” And that’s the last thing he says to you for a while. You would reach for your book, to soothe your anxiety, but Hotch put the go-bags in the trunk.

Most of the drive is spent in silence until you’re about 20 minutes out from the prison. You attempted to get some rest but the fact that you’re about to practically be bait for a serial killer isn’t really the most calming pre-nap thought.

Hotch begins to brief you, “Wilson has an ego. He’s a narcissist. This is a game to him. He’ll turn every question back to you or me as another question. He’s going to try and trip me up. Tell me that I’ve gotten something wrong about him.”

You nod and Hotch continues, “Then he’s going to turn all of his attention on you. You’re a young, attractive, successful woman.” You try to ignore the small warmth in your stomach when he says the word attractive, “You’re his exact victim type. He’ll hate you, but he’s also going to want to impress you.”

“That’s why you picked me,” You reach for your tablet, looking over the details from Wilson’s case. You wrote the case report, yet you still want to feel as prepared as possible.

“It’s likely he remembers both of us from his arrest. He’s going to want to describe to you in graphic detail every violent thing he did to those women. How he planned to kill them, how he followed them, how he felt killing them.” Hotch’s voice is steady but you see a slight sheen on the steering wheel from his clammy hands. He’s nervous. Does he not trust you to do a good job? Does he think you’re going to screw up?

“To freak me out?” You glance out at the window as you pull down a long windy road towards the detention center.

“To have control over you. To draw you into his fantasy. Don’t let him know it gets to you. Remain charming with him. Don’t get antagonistic with him. It’ll cause him to shut down.” Hotch pulls to the guard tower, flashing them his credentials. You reach for your own and do the same. The gates open, letting Hotch drive through and into the lot.

“He’s still awaiting trial but he’ll be in handcuffs. I won’t let them uncuff him when he’s alone with you,” Hotch parks the SUV.

“Alone?” You have to admit the thought terrifies you.

“He’s going to want to tell you more without me there,” Hotch turns off the engine. You see a guard exiting the front doors, walking towards you two. You give another wary nod and reach for the car door.

Hotch reaches for your arm, grabbing it gently. Your first name slips from his lips as he does. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s just enough to stop you from getting out, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You look down at his hand on your arm, the feeling sending tingles all the way through your shoulder and down your back. He tracks your gaze and removes his hand, “And if it ever is too much and you feel overwhelmed, you just leave. It’s okay to need to take a breath. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Your shaking voice gives you away. You open the car door and extend a hand to introduce yourself to the detention officer. He leads both you and Hotch inside. You take off your gun holster and Hotch does the same for both of his guns.

A loud buzz signifies that the door is unlocked for you two to enter the center. Two armed guards lead you and Hotch down rows of cells holding prisoners that are all awaiting trial. A few of them call out, hollering and catcalling as you walk by. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around your body to shield yourself from them.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” Hotch speaks up from beside you. “He’s going to want to see the crime scene photos.”

“We can’t show him,” You argue. “We’re not here to give him a gift.”

“We need him to cooperate with us.” The next door is locked and you both stand there waiting for it to open. You finally catch a glimpse of him. His face is furrowed into that stern interrogation look of his, but his eyes are warm as they look at you, “You don’t have to do this.”

Another loud buzz. The guards push open the door. “Yes, I do.”

You step into the interrogation room. Everett Wilson stands to greet you. “Aaron Hotchner,” He smirks and just his smile sends a shiver through your body. That’s when his cold, steely eyes turn to you, “And you… I remember you.” He grins, speaking your name in a much more dulcet tone than he uttered Hotch’s. “I would shake your hand but,” He lifts his shackled wrists.

“Sit down,” Hotch is solid, unmoving. The way he speaks almost terrifies you. He slams a file down in front of Wilson.

“I assume you’re here because of my wonderful admirer,” He snickers and reaches for the file.

You place a palm on top of it, dragging it away from him, almost teasingly. You open it up, but keep it shielded from view, “You already have admirers?”

“Did one of those exclusive interviews with a newspaper,” Wilson nods his eyes running over you at a slow pace, as if he’s attempting to savor every last inch of your appearance, “The letters are already pouring in.”

You know he’s lying. He’s exaggerating the truth already, just like Hotch said he would. He’s only been detained for about 10 days. There’s no way he’s gotten that much attention in such a short period of time. You also remember Hotch told you to play into his ego as much as possible. “I’m not surprised. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit fascinated by you.” You raise your voice a few tones, letting a small smile grow on your face.

Immediate disgust at your actions fills you. You’re flirting… with a man who brutally stabbed multiple women.

“It’s not possible that you know who is committing these crimes,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the tension between you and Wilson. Wilson doesn’t bother to look away from your eyes as Hotch speaks. You want to tear yourself away from his chilling gaze, but it's almost as if you’re having a standoff and you don’t like to lose or give up.

“It isn’t?” He finally breaks eye contact. He’s questioning Hotch, just as expected. “And how are you so sure of that, Agent Hotchner?”

“You haven’t had any visitors,” He argues, “And according to the guards, very little correspondence.”

“And you don’t believe this imitation could’ve reached out to me?” He tuts and shakes his head, condescension oozing from every inch of the man, “So frequently incorrect, Aaron,” He turns to look at you again, “But how could anyone focus on anything when working alongside such a beautiful, young woman?”

You’re not sure how to act. Do you smile? Do you nod? Do you scoff? What you want to do more than anything is reach across the table, grab him by the neck and slam him up against the wall, demanding answers, “Can we see these letters?”

“No.”

“No?” You ask incredulously, glancing at Hotch for guidance.

“Not until I see those photos and confirm it’s my acquaintance from the letter,” He nods at the file you have trapped under your arms.

Hotch reaches an arm across you for the file but you stand up from the chair, picking the file up, “A word?” You mutter, looking down at Hotch. He nods and stands, following you out.

“If you can’t handle this just step away,” Hotch starts and reaches again for the file once you’re outside the room.

You move it out of his grip, “No I can handle it just fine. I just… this feels like a reward for him. I want him to give us more before we give it up.”

“What else are you expecting from him?” He crosses his arms across his chest.

“I want to know why. Why those girls? Why the hands? If we can identify the differences between his murders and these, we can figure out where the motivation stems from for these. “

Hotch hesitates, “Okay but if—”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to lose it. I can handle this,” You roll your eyes. You appreciate his consideration, but it’s starting to feel less like he cares about you and more like he doesn’t have faith in you to be able to do this.

You step back into the room, this time, alone. “Uncuff him,” You nod at the guards. They look to each other, then to you again and you nod. Wilson stands so they can remove the shackles from his wrists. He lets out a contented sigh once they’re removed and rolls his wrists around a little to loosen them up.

“Ready to show me what we’re dealing with?” He cracks his knuckles, almost threateningly.

“Not just yet,” You emphasize placing your hand flat on the file, holding it close. You talk a lot with your hands, “You see, I don’t get you. Or maybe I do. That’s the problem. Those women, what drew you to them? Was it their beauty? Or was it their age? You took pride in preying on younger women. You’ve always had a preference for them haven’t you?”

Wilson maintains that smug look on his face, but you notice that his eyes dart6 down to your hands often.

“That’s why your first run-in with the law was with your wildly underage girlfriend. Isn’t that right? Statutory rape. That will put a real damper on your career goals, won’t it?” You tsk softly, “Poor Amanda Reinhardt.”

“I loved her. We were in love. It was her parents’ fault,” He argues. You can tell his anger level is rising.

“I think your defense went something along the lines of this,” You open the file, pulling out some of the notes from Wilson’s history, “It was her fault. She was always teasing me, ruining me with those looks. With the way her hair smelled and the way her hands felt on my body.’ You remember saying that?” His jaw tightens as you recite the words back to him. “You didn’t love her. You grew to hate her. Her accusations ruined your career.”

“She loved me back. I swear she did.” His tone gets sharper.

“So when you killed those women, you really were thinking of killing Amanda, weren’t you?” You push him, finally sliding the file across the table to him. You open it, turning to one of the photos of the newest victims.

“It’s not right,” He growls, “He didn’t do it right!” He slams a fist down on top of the file. You jump back a little. Wilson reaches forward flipping to the next photo, “Not right!” He yells and you start to grow fearful of him. His anger level is quickly rising. You have hit a nerve. He shoves the file back across the table, the papers and photos scattering around as he does. “You don’t know! You don’t! You’re ruining everything!” He lunges towards you but before he can reach you the guards grab him by the shoulders. At the same time, two hands reach and grab your shoulders, yanking you out of his reach.

It’s Hotch. Hotch is pulling you away from him, placing his body between you and Wilson. “We’re done here.” He replies firmly.

Just as you turn to leave and follow Hotch out, Wilson yells one last thing at the two of you, “He’s just getting started! This is far from over for you, Y/N!” Ice water down your back as you hear it. Could the copy cat be connected to the note and photo you received? But this is all too up close and personal. The man who haunts your past never got up close and personal with his victims. Bombs. That was always it. Distance from the victims. This can’t be connected to him.

It takes you a second to realize Hotch is calling your name. He places a hand on your shoulder, which seems to draw your attention back to him, “Are you okay? I told you to step out if you needed to.”

“I’m fine.” You reply curtly.

“What was he saying in there at the end? Do you know who this copycat is?” You follow him back down the halls of cells, towards the exit, and out into the air. You take a few long deep breaths. Hotch repeats your name firmly.

“I don’t know what he was talking about. I think he was just trying to get under my skin,” You shake your head. “Something in those photos set him off. It’s clearly a copycat, and it’s clearly not someone who bothered to get to know Wilson’s original motivations.”

“But why are they doing it? To get his attention? To get him released?” Hotch walks with you back to the SUV.

You look down at your watch and realize just how long you and Hotch have been at this. What felt like minutes in there with him was really hours. “God I indulged him.” You mutter under your breath.

“It’s part of the job,” Hotch starts the engine, “We should get back to the hotel. You can get some rest. We’ll leave for Ohio in the morning.”

You sit in silence, running over the whole interaction in your head. You leaned towards him. You smiled back at him. You even laughed at him. You got valuable answers, but what did you lose in the process? Your dignity? Your self-respect? “I don’t think the copycat is even doing it for Wilson. I think he’s doing it for us. To get our attention. To get the FBI involved.”

“You think this unsub has some sort of personal connection to the BAU?” Hotch pulls into the hotel and parks the car.

“It’s the best explanation.” You meet his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have let you go to talk to him.” Hotch lets out and you feel frustration rising in you.

“Will you stop treating me like I’m incapable of handling this?” You open the door and step out, reaching for your bag in the back.

Hotch follows close behind you into the hotel. The man at the front has already checked you in and hands Hotch two hotel room cards. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. I just think you’ve been through a traumatic experience. It’s okay to be fragile after what you’ve been through.”

You push the elevator button with quite a bit of force. “With all due respect, you don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.”

The doors open and you step inside, Hotch right on your heels. You’re praying that someone else will come running, telling you to hold the doors, so that Hotch doesn’t continue this conversation, but the doors close with ease, leaving the two of you alone. “I know I’m the last person you’d confide in, but everybody needs to lose it sometimes.” You reach forward pushing the emergency stop button, “What are you—”

“Do you want me to lose it?” You question him, “Because you act like you actually want to see me lose it like you’re encouraging it.”

“I just care about you. You’re a part of my team,” Hotch speaks as if his line of logic is the simplest, most normal thing in the world. As if there isn’t a whole life you two lived together years ago.

“Because if you want me to lose it, make a scene, blow up on you, I can do that,” You chuckle bitterly. “Sometimes it really feels like you’re trying to push me to the edge and see how strong I am. How long I hold on before I lose it.”

Hotch doesn’t reply right away. You reach forward and release the elevator, feeling it lurch as it starts climbing the floors again. The elevator only rises four more floors before Hotch reaches forward and stops the elevator again.

“Would that help you? To lose it? To let it all out and yell and scream at me? Would that make you feel better?” His voice is eerily level. “Because if you need me to be your punching bag, I’ll do that.”

He’s telling you the elevator is like neutral territory for the two of you, again. Whatever you say in here won’t leave. You can’t look him in the eyes. You don’t start the elevator again. “I look at you and I don’t see you. I just feel the air disappear from my lungs. I feel pain. In my chest, in my head. I feel sick.”

You take a pause. Hotch doesn’t react. He’s giving you the opportunity to let it all out. To tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve tried to imagine how my life would’ve been without you in it. I could, and I felt so much better. The problem is no matter how good it felt to picture life without you, I still wouldn’t choose it over a life with you in it. I hate you, yet I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

Another long pause. Neither of you moves from your spot in the elevator. You keep your eyes trained on the closed elevator doors. "The worst part of this whole fucking situation is that after all these years, you still manage to have a hold on every decision I make."

“What are you talking about?” He’s giving you an opening. He can tell that something is wrong. Something is off about you. He can tell that this frantic, paranoid energy you’re radiating isn’t because of your past with him. It’s something else. That picture, that note, it’s put you on edge. He noticed from the moment he picked you up at your apartment. You can’t tell him about the letter. You tell him and you risk his life.

You reach for the elevator button, bringing it to life once more. It rises the last few floors to the floor with your and Hotch’s hotel rooms.

“Have a good night, Hotch,” You huff out a breath, stepping off the elevator and walking down the halls to find your room. You desperately want to collapse on the bed and sleep until morning. It’s only late afternoon at this point, but you’re so emotionally drained you just might actually get some sleep.

You open your door, tossing your bag onto the chair in the corner of the room. You draw the curtains, quickly stripping off your clothes, muscles aching for a hot shower. What you want more than anything is a drink, but you know Hotch would have your ass if he found out you were drinking while technically on the job.

You walk to the bathroom, turning the shower all the way to hot. The bathroom fills up with steam and you stand around in it, letting yourself get the slightest bit light-headed in the steam. You step into the shower, hoping to scrub away the disgust you have for yourself after today.

You’re not sure how long you’re in the shower, but at some point, you sit on the tiled floor. You let tears well up in your eyes. You don’t know why you’re crying but it just sort of happens. It’s just so much. It’s all so much. This life, this job. It’s so hard.

Your therapist’s voice rings through your head. Your interpersonal skills will take a hit. You’re going to be more irritable. Easily angered. Easily provoked. Almost like angry outbursts triggered by almost nothing. You think about how quickly you turned on a dime, snapping at Hotch in the elevator. You’ll feel like you can’t trust anyone. You’ll have days where you feel nothing at all, just numb. You might have overwhelming waves of sadness or guilt. Your tears start to merge with the soapy water flowing down your cheeks and all over your body. You might struggle to sleep. Sleep deprivation will aggravate the other symptoms.

The steam is so thick in the bathroom you can’t see your hands in front of your face. The glass is completely foggy. You can barely breathe. Your eyelids are drooping closed with exhaustion, so you haul yourself up off the floor and turn off the water. You reach for the towel wrapping it around your body gently.

You walk back into your room but freeze in place when you see a note delicately placed on top of your go-bag. It’s a small white envelope. The front of it has the same writing as the one delivered to your apartment.

He was in your room. Just now. He got into your room. You fumble around for your gun, looking around the tiny hotel room, still only wrapped in a towel. You swing open the closet doors, frantically aiming your gun. You see a breeze from the balcony, blowing the curtains back and forth. You creep slowly towards them and yank the curtains open, stepping out onto your balcony, seeing no one out there.

The envelope is still sitting on top of your bag. You turn back into the room and open it, still dripping water everywhere as you do. Another photo. Another note. This time, the photo is of Penelope and Derek. They look like they’re leaving a movie theatre. Morgan’s arm is wrapped tightly around Garcia’s shoulders. You pick up the note:

Ready to follow my rules? Rule 1: Play nice with Aaron Hotchner. He’s an expert profiler. He’s going to catch on to those mood swings of yours. Enough with the hot and cold with him.

Nausea grows in the pit of your stomach. He’s been watching you. He was in this hotel. He might still be in this hotel. He knows about your fights with Hotch. How?

You keep your gun close by your side even when you settle into the bed. You leave all the lights on. You check the locks on the door and the sliding glass doors every hour. All hope for sleep slips through your fingers.

You and Hotch travel the three hours back to Ohio the next morning in complete silence. You don’t mention the second note. He can tell you didn’t sleep. You don’t care. Your mind is hyperfocused on that stupid fucking note. Now it’s clear the man taunting you has eyes on Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan. They’re all in danger.

The main problem is with the copycat case. The case goes cold. You all stick around Columbus, Ohio for another two days. No new murders. No new leads. Nothing. You have nothing to profile. All the components of the profile seem to be leading to dead ends. Rossi explains that it’s one of the most frustrating parts of the job. Sometimes what you need to solve the case is another body, but another one never comes. It’s a good thing in retrospect, but it means that the team has failed.

You’re not much help to the team the two days you spend grasping at straws because you’ve retreated so far into yourself you barely speak. You do what Hotch asks of you but he notices your change in behavior. Then you realize you’re supposed to be normal. Play nice with Aaron Hotchner.

By day three, the team has decided there’s nothing more you can do. You have to return to Quantico. From the energy of the entire team on the jet, you can tell you all feel as if you’ve failed. It doesn’t seem like the team is used to unsolved cases. Everyone is frustrated and tired and angry.

One by one, the team starts to fall asleep, all thoroughly exhausted from the past two days. You eye the seat across from Hotch, the only bright place left on the plane. He has the overhead light on as he works on his laptop. You keep your book clutched tight against your chest and sit across from him.

He only looks up to smile at you before diving back into his work. You’ve never had a problem existing in silence with Hotch. Until now. There’s so much that’s happened between you. Yet like always, it’s not about the things that you said to him a few days ago. It’s about whatever isn’t being said. And at this moment, across from him, pretending to read, you can tell there’s so much he’s not saying. You look up at him to find he’s looking right back at you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, not sure if you really want the answer.

“Something you said the other day. It’s sticking with me,” He tilts his head down a little, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You said you hate me.”

“Oh,” Did you mean it? You don’t know. You don’t think you’ve ever hated Hotch. You could never hate him.

“It’s sticking with me because,” Aaron takes a slow deep breath, closing his laptop like he’s preparing himself for what he’s about to explain to you. What he’s about to discuss is going to hurt more than both of you can comprehend in that moment. “Because,” He’s loosened his tie, letting it hang crookedly around his neck, “If you’re going to hate me, I need you to see all of me before you do.”

So he tells you everything. He tells you about Foyet and Haley and the events of the past two years of his life. He starts with the deal Shaughnessy made with The Boston Reaper all those years ago. He goes over the case, in detail, describing the process that led them to Foyet. He describes Foyet’s escape from prison. He didn’t stop searching for him after that. Every free minute in the day, he dedicated to tracking anything and everything he could to find Foyet. But he had gone underground.

Then he gets to his attack. The details start to fade out from there. “That’s when—” Hotch pauses as he speaks. He averts his eyes from yours, taking a second to breathe. He presses his lips into a firm line. It’s hard for him to get the words out, “When he attacked me in my home.”

He doesn’t tell you much, besides the fact that Foyet stabbed him and dropped him off at the ER. As Hotch talks, you just simply sit there and listen. You feel your heart sinking further into your stomach. Your first impressions were correct. The man in front of you is a man who has been through a world of hurt. You could see it in his eyes that first day on the job. He’s deeply broken.

You feel bad for him. It doesn’t take away from the hurt he caused you in the past, but you find yourself starting to understand this current Aaron Hotchner more and more with each word out of his mouth.

You don’t know how you feel about Aaron Hotchner. You don’t know what the future of your relationship with him holds, a fact you remind yourself of constantly. But when he starts to talk about the attack, you see him closing off. You can see him suppressing just how traumatic and painful it all was. He glosses over the details, but just the look on his face makes you want to reach for his hand. You want to hold it, show him that you’re listening to him. You care about what he’s saying.

You resist the urge and resign yourself to attempting to demonstrate just how intently you’re listening to him. He explains how Foyet killed Haley while she was on the phone with him. He was too late. He couldn’t save her. Jack was unharmed. He’s not sure Jack fully understands what happened yet. He’s still not really old enough to understand that his mom isn’t ever coming back.

It’s ill-timed, but you can’t help but feel the pain in your chest as he continues to talk about Haley. He was deeply in love with her. She was his person. His one true love. She was able to show him true love. You feel intensely disappointed. You weren’t enough for him to change, but Haley was. He explains that he met her in high school and they separated a few years later as he pursued his career. They were reunited not long after he quit his teaching position. Right when he started his job in the FBI.

Now she’s gone. His true love, ripped away from him, all because of his job. “I lost her to the job twice.”

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can manage to get out after he stops talking.

“What are you sorry for? It wasn’t your fault,” He has to clear his throat a little, his voice getting caught in the back of his throat. You swear his eyes have glossed over with tears.

“For bringing her up the other day. That was cruel of me.” Your voice is small. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so weak, so emotional.

“You didn’t know.” He waves his hand, dismissing your apology.

“Still. I’m sorry,” You pause, “Also I’m sorry for wishing a horrible life on you.”

“When did you do that?” He scrunches his brows up, confused.

You bite back a smile, “Oh just uh… eight years ago?”

Then something beautiful happens. Aaron Hotchner lets out a full-bodied, amazingly childish laugh. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for the two of you after all.

Chapter 15: II.IV →

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