Jackalack

21+, Rodimus prime is my wife, reblog 18+ stuff mdni, cringe but free, robobfucker broke as fuck, self shipper and multishipper

[jackalackqwq]

about me: any pronouns are fine, I’m a multi-shipper and self shipper, I’m anti censorship.

my writing blog where I barely get any writing done

My art

contains some NSFW minors please go away.

Also, some of it is old and might look wonky compared to my art now

Art tag: jackalackqwq

Rodimus

Boothill

Genshin Impact

oc

Transformers

oc/cadet au

DC

[honeyrosepetals]

do you wanna see the west with me?

[titojefie]

ghost rider was my childhood and now that im goslingpilled you can tell how boggled i was over the announcement

[bitonio]

Saw Ryan Gosling is gonna be the next ghost rider, so i drew him in the jacket from Drive

[stuckinreversemode]

RIDE OR DIE (2026) | Trailer

[doveysalt]

FUNNY MOUTH // sam winchester

summary: a demon possesses you and leads the winchesters to your door. all you can do is watch. word count: 8.0k tags: dead dove; do not eat. graphic depictions of SA, body horror, blood/gore, vomit, & violence; gn!reader (they/them) is possessed by meg; mixed 1st pov (meg - bold) + 2nd pov (reader - italics); heavy angst, little comfort; sam/reader are neither romantic nor platonic but a secret third thing (mutually traumatized). a/n: ok so i did cry multiple times writing this bcus i felt awful torturing my beloved sam (here i go acting like the victim) so i hope that serves as a warning in itself lol

You had a fascination with horror movies growing up. A morbid little party trick of yours at childhood sleepovers consisted of abruptly stiffening your body, tossing your head back, and rolling your eyes to show only the whites. You’d speak in garbled tongues, convulsing and spitting, scaring the ever-loving shit out of your friends. It was never funny for anyone but you — not in the moment, at least. You could weed out your true friends this way, though, testing which ones could handle your freakishness while the others called home, crying over the phone to their mothers about demons and exorcisms. 

Would you still have this same obsession if you knew your pranks weren’t all fiction? 

You are a dull, weak-minded thing. No amount of plastered smiles or feigned confidence could ever change that. That’s not your fault — most humans are just as weak, if not weaker. You should count yourself lucky that you’re not as mushy-brained as the other bodies I’ve inhabited. Most humans are sludge; lumpy little meat sacks who can hardly think for themselves. Minions molded from clay, puppets on a string — they’re easy to manipulate, yes, but boring. 

You, however — you’re an interesting one. Most humans shrink to the back of their minds when they’re possessed, cowering and sniveling in the darkest recesses, but you press right against my presence, squirming for space. All humans long for control, I’ve come to realize, but you are of the rare breed that starves for it. You’re desperate, pushing against me at every turn — even when I found you, jumping into your brain for the first time just a block away from your home, you fought me. A futile attempt, of course — such a silly thing you are, thinking you could bat me off like a fly — but an impressive one nonetheless. 

You’re quiet now. Still nudging your way around, trying to find an opening, but you’re exhausted. It’s almost like being half-asleep, don’t you think? Like those nights where your body hits the mattress to rest, but your mind is still turning? Or do you find this experience closer to sleep paralysis, I wonder? Your body is unmoving, no longer yours, and you get to see every little thing I use you for. Is this as scary as your party trick? Are you laughing now? Your heart is racing — that much we share. You can’t hide your frantic mind from me. It was hardly ever yours to begin with.

You’re just his type. I’ve crept up inside his mind, too, so I’d know. The moment I found you, I knew you’d be the perfect vessel. This time, the Winchesters won’t escape so easily; Father did tell me I was always too impatient. My mistake — I see that now. I know better. The brothers can wave around their little anti-possession charms all they want, but I don’t need to use their bodies to get to them this time. I don’t mind playing with my food, either; you’re a cute little piece of bait. Might as well make good use of you. 

. . .

When your best friend and next-door neighbor is murdered in his sleep — stabbed to death thirty times, throat slit for good measure — the cops question you first. You’re a shaking, sniveling mess, crying into the palms of your hands as you’re questioned at the precinct. You garble out what answers you can manage between sobs, and the officers send you pitying looks. Not the suspect they’re looking for. Just someone who happened to be out of the building on that night, someone who keeps finding themself at the center of a tragedy. They release you, sending you on your way, and I leave the police station still wiping snot from your nose. Disgusting. 

I have to tell them it was me. I have to go back.

No, you don’t. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

It’s my fault. You made me turn fucking crazy.

Oh, wouldn’t it be so much easier if that were the case?

I return you to your apartment building, red-eyed from all the tears. I didn’t have to work those out of you — they’re all yours, no prodding at your weak brain necessary. Easy work. 

The Winchesters show up to your door the next day like flies to shit. 

When I swing your door open, they’re dressed in black suits, looking perfectly respectable for a pair of shithead hunters. “We’re with the police,” Sam says, greeting you first with a fake ID. 

The brothers are posing as detectives today, investigating the string of murders that have occurred in and around your building for the past three weeks. Three bodies — well, four now, with your little friend out of the picture. Only your neighbor down the hall, Nadine, survived the attack, but she’s in the hospital now. (The brothers already tried to speak with her, but she’s comatose. Nothing to get out of her.) 

Dean similarly flashes his badge, then flicks it closed before I can read too far into the fake name on the card. Probably some rock star’s name. His words come out with practiced professionalism: “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“But I was just at the station,” I say for you, allowing a bit of your actual trepidation through.

“It’s just a bit of follow up,” Dean clarifies. “It’ll help us get a clearer understanding of the situation.”

His voice is grating. If I didn’t already have a plan in mind, I’d rip out his vocal cords and eat them in front of his dumb little brother. Unfortunately, I need him to keep them — long enough for me to hear him screaming for his poor brother, at least. 

“…Okay,” I say, taking a few tentative steps back. “Come in.”

Dean enters first, nodding once in acknowledgement, then Sam. They look around your apartment curiously, seemingly searching for some clues of a demonic presence. It’s silly how they don’t notice what’s right under their noses. 

“Can I get you anything, detectives?” I ask. “Coffee, water?”

“Coffee, if you don’t mind,” Dean answers, taking a seat at your two-person dining table. Sam opts to stand beside him, giving you the chance to sit if you’d like. He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?

With a nod, I head to your kitchen, searching the cabinets for a mug. 

“Can you tell us where you were on the night of the incident?” Dean asks, calling to you from several feet away. 

“At the hospital, visiting my neighbor Nadine,” I call back, plucking a mug from the shelf above your head. “She was the last person to be attacked before River — my friend. She lives down the hall from us.” 

“So you spent the night at the hospital?” Sam clarifies.

“Yes, I did. She’s been comatose for a few days.” I pour the coffee into the mug, then pause. “Do you take cream or sugar, detective?”

“Neither. Did you notice anything off about your friend? Maybe he mentioned someone he knows behaving strangely?”

I glance to my side to make sure neither of the men can see when I lean over, spitting in the ceramic mug with a smile. A surprise touch of sweetener, if you will. 

You’re disgusting.

I return with the coffee in hand, walking slowly as I pretend to think. “Well… Now that you mention it, he did say something like that. Our landlord has always had an attitude with us — Nadine, too — but River said he’s been extra creepy, I guess. Irritable and nosier than usual. I came home one day and he was just… standing outside the building, staring at me.” 

Sam tilts his head curiously, like a puppy tempting its owner for treats. “Does your landlord live nearby?”

“In the building, yeah,” I answer. “He’s sort of our handyman, too. He’s always fixing something.”

“So he must have a key to all the units,” Dean suggests, more statement than question. He shares a look with his brother, communicating in that silent way that siblings do. Dean nods, then, leaning forward on the table. “Do you live alone?”

“I do,” I say, shoulders sinking. I fix your expression into one of wariness, eyes darting between the brothers. “Am I… going to be safe?”

Sam’s pity is apparent. He looks down at your worried face, those eyebrows of his pinched upward with his own sense of concern. “It might be a good idea to leave your apartment for a few days. Just to be cautious.”

I make your body slump forward against the table, anxiously chewing on your lip for good measure. “I don’t know. I can hardly afford this place, and that was with River helping me on rent. I don’t have anyone left to stay with, no extra money for a hotel—” I manage to make your voice crack, and your eyes become glassy. “Everyone’s getting anxious. They think I had something to do with it.” I swallow, dropping your eyes to your hands, fiddling with your fingers. “I don’t want to die here.”

Dean’s eyes dart to your mouth, to your lip stuck between your teeth — he can’t resist your sweet face either, apparently. “One of us’ll stay here with you,” he decides. “Don’t you worry.” 

Sam doesn’t have any qualms about this, it seems. “Yeah. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

My gaze shifts to Dean, who lifts the mug to his lips, finally taking a sip of his coffee. I almost let a smile crack across your lips when he hums gratefully — the added saliva must be delicious.

“Thank you, detectives,” your voice says, and I wipe your eyes with the end of your sleeve. 

The brothers excuse themselves, then, insisting upon searching the apartment. I pretend not to listen as they discuss the sulfur the found on your friend’s windowsill (intentionally left behind by yours truly, of course). They argue over who’s going to watch over you for the night, too, playing a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors to solidify their decision. Thankfully, Dean is a notorious loser, so my plan remains intact; Sam is appointed as babysitter, and Dean is relegated to stalking the landlord for the night. 

Sam isn’t sure of what to do with himself once he’s alone with you. He spends the longest time pacing your apartment, poking his head out the window. I watch him, pretending to do chores while he hovers all around the room. 

“You can sit, if you’d like,” I call on his behalf (and yours — I can feel your own anxious thoughts stirring against my consciousness). 

He lifts his head up, smiling shyly, and takes to sitting on your couch. He sits at the very edge of the cushion, so afraid to relax that it might as well kill him. I linger in the kitchen for a while, thinking up all the ways I can torture him before Dean gets here. I’ve already determined that Dean wouldn’t kill his own brother under any circumstances, so that leaves the task to me. I could cut Sam up like your friend, perhaps, but slower this time. Maybe I’ll even chop him into small enough pieces, fry them up, and feed Dean a batch of Sammy sandwiches. 

You squirm inside your head, disconcerted by the imagery I inject into your brain. I nearly laugh aloud; you’ve been so squeamish ever since I chopped your friend up and beat your neighbor half to death. You can take two more. There’s no other option. 

I fill a glass full of water and bring it out to Sam, finally ready to play with him for a bit. I hold it out to him, putting on one of your best smiles. 

“Water?”

Sam looks up at you. He was watching the news on your television, boredly idling time away. Your presence alone is enough to fluster him. 

“Oh, thank you,” he says, reaching to take the glass.

Then, without my permission, your hand trembles. Before Sam can grasp the water, your fingers twitch of their own accord, jerking back. The glass drops, shattering to the floor between our feet. 

“Fuck,” I hiss, white-hot fury flaring up. 

What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

Oops. It was an accident.

Liar. If you don’t get your shit together, I’ll—

“Are you okay?” Sam asks worriedly, already standing. He’s careful not to step on the glass, looking down to make sure you weren’t injured. 

“Fine,” I lie easily, playing at being embarrassed. “Muscle spasm. It happens a lot.”

Sam nods, thinking nothing of it. “Don’t move. I don’t want you stepping on any shards.”

He hurries off to your kitchen, retrieving a towel and, with a bit of instruction, he locates a dustpan. Sam kneels down alongside you, working together to clean up and dispose of the shards. I let your hands brush against his a few times to make him blush and smile at you. Your stupid little “accident” wasn’t such a terrible waste of my time, it seems. 

“Thanks,” I say, molding your voice into the perfect level of warmth. “Sorry for spilling it all over you.”

Sam looks down at his wet pant leg as if noticing it for the first time. He shakes his head, glancing back to meet your gaze. “Oh, that’s alright. It’s just a little water.”

“Still…” I offer him a fresh towel, shooting him a sweet, apologetic smile. 

He takes it from your hand, grazing his fingers over yours and lingering just a moment too long. “Thanks,” he murmurs, all softspoken and shy. He sits on your couch again, dabbing at the damp fabric. I follow after him, sinking into the cushions and gearing up for what’s to come. 

“You know… Don’t shoot me if I’m wrong, but you’re not actually a detective, are you?”

Sam freezes in the middle of drying off. He falters too long for him to reasonably play it off, but he still tries anyway. “I— Well, I am. In a way.”

“Right,” I muse coyly, watching him squirm and blush. “But you’re not a real cop.”

He sputters for a moment, then grins sheepishly. “No, not a real cop.”

“Uh-huh. I knew it.” I face him on the couch, leaning closer with a feigned dose of curiosity. “What, then? A private investigator?” 

“Of sorts,” Sam answers. 

He’d never tell a stranger that he’s a hunter, of course — not even you — but that’s not the point of my questioning. It’s the intimacy of it, the playfulness. Human laws of attraction at play. Ask him a few personal questions and he’ll fall into your lap like a dog. 

“So what’s really going on here?” I wonder, eyeing him. “Have you and your partner—”

“Brother,” Sam clarifies, cutting in. “He’s my brother. Dean. And I’m Sam.” He pauses for a beat at my bewildered expression. “We, uh, use fake names. Just to keep us safe from any snooping.”

It’s not the best lie, but you’d believe it if I weren’t here to set you straight. I nod, accepting his word without question. 

“Okay, Sam. Have you and your brother figured out what’s happening?”

Sam is slow to answer. He’s trying to find some way to explain the case without saying “a demon possessed your grouchy landlord,” but once he has his head on straight, he starts talking: “We think that, uh, your landlord has a grudge against his tenants so he’s trying to pick you all out one-by-one. Dean’s keeping an eye on him to make sure you’re not the next victim.” 

I melt your expression into one of concern. “So… what about the mood change? Is he on drugs or something?” If I were a human actor, I bet I’d be a star by now with the work I’m putting in. 

Sam seems pretty thankful that I managed to give him an out by mentioning possible drug usage. It saves him from having to come up with another shitty lie on the spot. “Yeah, yeah. Something like that. We thought he might have left traces at the crime scene.”

“Wow,” I sigh, leaning your body against the couch. “I never would have guessed. This is so… messed up. I can’t believe it. That asshole.”

I can feel your anger flaring up at that line — good. I can borrow it for my performance. It’s helpful when you let a little bit of yourself shine through so I can gain a few extra sympathy points with this puppy-eyed freak. 

You’re fucking cruel.

It’s what I do best.

“It’ll be alright,” Sam assures you, wholly unaware of our little conversations. “We’re gonna catch him. He won’t hurt anybody else.” 

“But he already got River,” I say, managing to amp things up with some waterworks. “And the doctors don’t know if Nadine will wake up. Even if she does, she might never walk again. It won’t be the same, all because of him.”

My Oscar-worthy monologue strikes a chord within Sam. He looks you up and down, taking you in with a mournful stare.

“I get where you’re coming from,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry about all of this. But I swear, at the very least, I’ll keep you safe. Okay?”

I swallow, blinking at him through your wet lashes. “Okay.”

Sam nods once, grateful for the confirmation. He glances out the window; the light is fading fast as night draws in, dimming your apartment. He seems flustered all over again, clearing his throat. 

“It’s late, you know. You should try to get some sleep. It could be a long night.”

What a gentleman. I can tell he’s itching to get his hands on you — when he was talking alone with his brother earlier, I could hear Dean going on about how, if Sam has to be the one to watch you, he might as well get lucky, too. Sam got all nervy about it, but Dean wasn’t wrong to assume his brother is in need of a tender hand. I could have him any damn way I want — I’ll keep myself occupied with Sammy here, and come morning, Dean will waltz in to find his little brother’s intestines painted across the walls. 

Don’t.

Your little voice knocks against my presence — firm and immediate — but I ignore it. It’s not your decision what I do with your body, anyway. 

“I don’t really wanna be alone right now,” I murmur, looking at your feet. A fresh tear springs out, slipping down to your chin right on cue. 

Sam takes pity on you, gently laying a hand upon your back. “It’s okay. I’ll be here all night.” He leans towards you, providing a comforting shoulder to cry on. I lean your head against him, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He’s blushing — how cute. 

“You promise?” I ask, looking up at him through your lashes, batting them innocently. Sam shares a similar look of innocence — he’s so naive. You’d think the guy would know better than to trust the first sweet thing that falls into his lap by now. 

“Promise,” he answers, his voice rough. He’s breathing a little heavier, flustered from every point of contact. Let’s take it a step further, shall we?

I move your hand to touch his knee, causing Sam to stiffen. Your fingers twitch, thumbing at the outer seam of his jeans before traveling higher, grazing his inner thigh. Sam jolts under your hand, shifting an inch away from you. 

“Woah,” he breathes out, eyes flitting up to your face. 

Retracting your hand, I gnaw at your lower lip with feigned nerves. “Oh,” I gasp, looking at him with wide eyes, then putting on a shy look and averting my gaze. “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought— I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sam cuts in, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and your head drops into your hands rather pathetically. Your shoulders shake as you weep. “No, that was really dumb. I’m so— so stupid.”

Sam squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, inching closer to you again, turning to face you better in the process. “Hey, stop. You’re not stupid.” It takes everything in me not to grin into your palms when he puts his arm around you, tugging you closer. “I think you’re just… feeling a lot right now. I get it. Seriously.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to…?” I trail off, voice muffled.

His cheeks burn bright red at the sound of your suggestion. He swallows thickly, licking his lips. 

“I… I’m not sure. I think—”

I lift your pretty head up, still teary-eyed. With a weak smile, I search his expression. “You think I shouldn’t.” It’s a statement, not a question. He catches that much. 

Sighing, Sam shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you should.”

I purse your lips, observing him. The weak, sniffling shit is dropped in favor of a teasing air. Leaning into his arms, I bring your hand back to his thigh. 

“You think I don’t know what I want? Is that it?” I ask, sending him a sultry look from up close. His breath hitches as your hand lightly massages his thigh, picking at the loose threads on the seam of his slacks. “I don’t lose all sense of desire just because I’m grieving, Sam. I can decide for myself.” 

You’re feeling squeamish inside your own head, now. I can feel it. While Sam is bracing his hands on the couch cushions, you’re holding onto the edges of your brain, pulling yourself up and trying to shove me out. You can’t. You won’t. 

Stop it. Stop touching him.

Your hand skims down the inside of his thigh, tracing the seam up to his crotch. 

Leave him alone. Please.

But he likes it. Don’t you see how he shifts, how his breath quickens? 

I don’t want to do this. I want my body back. I have to stop.

Boo-fucking-hoo. 

Your hand grips Sam’s groin, squeezing his length through the denim. He’s not hard just yet, but the blood is beginning to rush down now, making him twitch under all the layers. Sam’s hand flies down to squeeze around your forearm, gently pushing you away even though some part of him surely wishes to pull you closer. 

“Hold on,” he rasps, lashes fluttering as I start to climb into his lap. Your hands are already reaching for his belt buckle, leaning in to press a firm kiss to his mouth. That’ll shut him up for the time being.

He takes a second to halfheartedly kiss you back, clearly uncertain about how fast you’re moving. I yank his belt off, tossing it beside him on the couch — I’ll be needing that later — before hastily unbuttoning his pants.

“Sam,” I breathe, kissing him hurriedly, trailing your mouth down to his neck whilst unzipping his pants. “Please. Get me out of my head for a little while.” 

That’s a sick fucking joke. Psycho.

I know, right?

“I— I don’t know,” Sam stammers, putting his hand on your hips — not to pull you, but to gently nudge you back. He’s tense, conflicted. “I think I need a second, okay? Can we just— Ah.”

He cuts himself off when I abruptly shove one of your hands down his boxers, curling your fingers around his cock. Sam jumps beneath your weight, bucking his hips before shying away from the touch, but I refuse to relent so easily. I squeeze your hand around him, feeling him up and rubbing the pad of your thumb over a thick vein on the underside of his length. He chokes on air, trying to push you off more urgently. 

“I— Stop it, stop,” he pleads, even as he twitches in your hand.

Leave him the fuck alone. For the love of God, just leave him the fuck alone. 

God isn’t here right now. Stop being a little bitch. 

I mouth at his neck, teeth skimming the underside of his jaw, then below his ear. His breath catches despite all of his struggling — isn’t it so pathetic how he doesn’t want to hurt you, even now? — and I can’t help but grin, stretching your lips across your face where he can’t see. I bite down on his neck a touch too hard, making him yelp. The sound makes me giddy. I sink your teeth in even harder, pulling at his skin, ripping into it to make him bleed. The taste of iron fills your mouth, and — oh, I’m sorry, but I have to indulge a bit here. I laugh, lapping up the blood that dribbles down his neck, until Sam finally gets the good sense to shove you off.

“What the fuck,” he gasps, clamping a hand over his wounded neck. 

Your body hits the floor with a heavy thud, and it stings a bit, but I’m still cackling, licking the blood off your lips.

“Oops. Guess I got a little too excited, Sammy.” 

He looks scared. Startled. Confused. Realization dawns upon him. 

“Meg,” he says gravely. It’s hilarious how fucking terrified he sounds with his dick hanging out of his slacks. He shoots up, hastily tucking himself into his boxers, and I push your body up to your feet, a cocky grin still painted across your face. 

Your voice comes out deceivingly sweet. “Did you miss me?”

Sam doesn’t move for a moment. His eyes dart to his belt on the couch. So do mine. 

Two bodies launch themselves at the couch in sync. I grab the belt first, pulling it out of his reach, but Sam tackles me to the floor. He wrestles me for it, grunting and scrambling above me. I knee him in the crotch, and he winces, giving me just enough time to shove him off of your body. It’s my turn to be on top of him, pulling the belt taut and pressing it against his windpipe. 

“That’s better,” I say, grinning wildly. “You like being on the bottom anyway, don’t you Sammy? Maybe I’ll just play with you like this while we wait on your brother, huh? I know you like this body. They’re your type, right? I picked them out just for you.” 

I move your hips, grinding them against Sam’s while he struggles beneath your weight, scratching angry red lines down your forearms in an attempt to push your hands away. Having a demon inside you does wonders for your strength, don’t you know? 

Go fuck yourself.

A little hard to do, honey. I’d technically be fucking you. Unless that’s what you want? I can pencil it in after I kill Sammy’s big brother. 

You nudge against me in your brain. Squirming, slithering, pushing and shoving. Hilarious. Your hands press down harder against Sam’s neck, hard enough that his eyes are starting to roll back. By the time Dean makes it back, his little brother will be gutted like a fish on the floor beside your couch. 

I’ll kill you.

That’s cute.

Get out of my body.

No way.

Fine. I’ll kill us both, then.

You give me a good, hard shove inside your brain. Hard enough that your head aches with a sharp, pinching pain that makes my control over your hands falter against the belt. It’s not enough — I take over again, grunting, but your work isn’t over yet.

You feel your way around in your own mind, shoving through memories and brain matter. You stir everything up, rifling through the finely filed drawers of your head and tossing out every document. It’s all suddenly scattered — memories from your childhood, of last week, of beating Nadine down the hall, of your roommate’s blood on your hands. 

What do you think you’re doing?

You focus on that memory, on the blood. The knife in your hands, the way River’s scream was muffled into his pillow. How the blade went through him so fucking easily. The blood that bloomed under his clothes, soaking the fabric, then his sheets. Meg’s laugh coming out of you, and the blood that sprayed into your mouth when she took hold of your limbs, possessing you and scraping your whole being from the inside out, hollowing you into her vessel. You taste River’s blood, and Sam’s, and your stomach turns.

You vomit. It’s abrupt, splattering onto the floor and splashing onto Sam’s face. He has the last minute sense to close his mouth, at least, turning away from you and scrunching his nose.

Fucking disgusting — what are you doing? How—?

“Get out,” you cry, spitting saliva and vomit from your mouth. Your throat burns from the stomach acid that came up. It’s your own voice, your own control, that takes over for a brief moment. Meg seizes it back, but by now, the belt is already loosened.

“What the fuck?” Meg growls in your throat. She glares down at Sam — and the vomit now covering you both — and before she can go back to suffocating him or gutting him or whatever the fuck she wants to do, you scramble your brain again, remembering everything: birthday parties, the smell of fresh laundry, the time you tripped on the stairs and totally ate shit in front of your friends, the blood and your family and last summer and burning yourself on the stovetop.

Meg is assaulted by your thoughts, distracted by all the little inconsequential nuggets that slip into her share of your head. She tries to thrash against it, but it only leaves your body crumbling to the floor, rolling around and convulsing. It’s not so unlike the prank you used to pull as a naive child — but this time, it’s the real thing.

Sam coughs, gasping for air the second you collapse beside him. He scurries away from you, watching in horror as you seize against the hardwood floor. Your eyes roll back in your head, and blood is starting to trickle out of your nose and ears. He watches for a split second before scrambling to get his phone, hands trembling as he calls Dean. His brother answers with something snarky about how he’s supposed to be getting laid right now, but Sam’s raspy voice quickly puts the comment to bed.

“It’s Meg,” Sam cries into the phone. “Dean, you have to— It’s Meg, she’s back!”

You’re still on the floor, back arching into the air, limbs stiff and jerking about. Spit foams up at the corners of your mouth. Meg is fighting to keep your body — or maybe she’s trying to jump ship — but you won’t let her go. You won’t let her hurt anyone else. 

I’ll rip him apart, then his brother, then you, if you don’t stop. 

Fuck you. You’re scared.

Don’t be stupid. 

You are. You don’t want to go back to Hell.

I could scratch your eyes out right now. 

Try it.

You let out a groan that turns to nearly a shout. Sam watches, eyes wide as you manage to get to your feet. He braces himself for a fight, but to his surprise, you start walking to the window. Your limbs keep jerking every which way, and you stumble and trip, but you somehow slap your hands against the glass.

What the hell are you doing? Quit it.

You first.

I won’t die from this, you little idiot. I’ll jump into somebody else. 

But I can still hurt you, can’t I?

You unlatch the window, climbing out and rolling forward onto the fire escape.

Dean bursts through your door at that moment, the Colt in hand. He lifts it to you, aiming it at your back. Before he can pull the trigger, Sam skitters to his feet, rushing to his brother.

“Wait, wait!” Sam shrieks, standing in the way. 

“Move, Sam,” Dean hisses, already advancing toward you. He barely glances at his brother, but he can surely smell the vomit. 

“Dean, just hold on a second!”

There’s a clatter as your body clamors against the fire escape. Sam jumps into action, running across your apartment to climb out the window after you. He grunts as he lands on his shoulder, reaching out to you. 

“Please, wait. Don’t,” he warns you, watching you grip the railing. You’re seven stories up — it would be easy to jump over the ledge and get rid of this thing inside you. It would take you with it, but at least that would make up for everything it made you do.

You fucking imbecile. Fine — jump. You fucked everything up, anyway.

You’re starting to climb over the edge of the railing when your head is suddenly thrown back. It almost feels like you’re vomiting again. Something heavy is released from your body, funneling out and trembling through you as it escapes past your wide-open mouth. Your skin burns all over, white-hot pain that seeps out of your pores like boiling water being squeezed from a sponge. Sam watches beside you as Meg hastily escapes your body, retreating to who-knows-where. 

The second she’s gone, you collapse against the fire escape in the fetal position. You’re shaking like a leaf, rattling the metal beneath your weight. Sam gets closer to you, touching your ankle, and you whimper, curling in on yourself and away from his touch. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Sam says, his voice soothing despite how it trembles when he speaks. 

“It’s still— still in me,” you stammer, muttering to yourself. You’re hyperventilating, lightheaded and dizzy, but you still shove yourself onto your hands and knees. “It’s still in me. I have to— have to—”

Your hand grips the railing, dragging your body upwards. Dean pokes his head out the window just in time to see Sam crying out your name, holding you back from jumping over the side. 

“Stop, stop,” he says in your ear. “It’s okay. She’s gone, okay? It’s just you.”

“No, no,” you mutter, clinging to the railing like a cat that won’t retract its claws. “It’s in me, it’s still there, I feel it.”

“It’s not. It’s not. I promise. I’ve got you,” Sam assures you, forcibly tugging you back from the edge. He hugs you against his chest, restraining your arms and refusing to let you go. The lack of fight left in you is reassurance enough to him that Meg truly has left your body.

Dean tucks the Colt into the back of his jeans, watching Sam rock you back and forth with a grimace. You’re both bloody, covered in your vomit, and — as much as it makes him sick — Dean notices that Sam’s pants are hanging wide open. He doesn’t want to think of what he might have missed before his little brother managed to call him, much less speak it aloud. 

“Sam,” Dean calls, his voice deceptively steady, “we have to go. The neighbors are gonna start asking questions.”

Sam nods, but he doesn’t let you go yet. He keeps his voice low and calm, speaking directly into your ear so only you can hear.

“We’re gonna go, okay? Together. I just need you to hold on to me, that’s all.”

You want to tell him that you can’t, how you’re afraid that the second you move, that thing — whatever it, or she, is — will take hold of you again. Her roots are still in you, winding down each limb and wrapping around your spine. Broken away, yes, but not gone forever. She lingers like the vomit in your mouth, bitter and acidic, sworn to keep growing inside you long after she’s gone.

. . .

You can still recall the exact moment it happened in crystalline quality. 

You were on your way home from work, walking down the crowded sidewalk as the sun was setting. It is, and has always been, one of your favorite sights: when the sky is pinkish-orange and the gooey sun melts into the horizon. Some days, you stopped to stare before crossing the road, taking it all in. The sky always looks like one of those pretty Bob Ross paintings. You can imagine the brush strokes, the cadmium yellow and bright crimson that spill into the scenery. 

It was while you were stopped that it came to you. It felt like a tap on the shoulder. You turned your head, thinking someone was behind you, probably about to tell you to cross already — but there was nothing, no one. The streets were suddenly emptier than they were a moment ago. That wasn’t so unusual — there tends to be less traffic near your apartment building — but that tap on your shoulder felt so real. You figured your senses were playing tricks on you, so you brushed it off and crossed the street. When you reached the corner across the road, the back of your neck went cold. The little hairs stood on end, and you stumbled when a freezing gust of air whistled past your ears, strong enough to nearly topple you to the ground. 

The last thought of your own was, What the fuck?

Then that chilly air wrapped around you, slipping into your ears, your nostrils, your parted lips. It wriggled inside through your tear ducts, clawed beneath your clothing, slipped all around your limbs and absorbed itself into your pores. You gasped, knees buckling. A new weight suddenly inhabited your body, phasing into your skin and taking hold of you. An intrusion. A theft. Your hands started to move of their own accord, fingers twitching without your consent. Then your legs did the same. Your spine straightened, and your expression was molded into perfect neutrality. 

What the fuck, you thought again, what the fuck is happening?

Hey there, pretty. Don’t be scared.

It was dreamlike, the feeling that came over you. A strange sort of dissociation, watching the world pass as you made your usual way back home. You thought you were having some kind of episode, a sudden out-of-body experience. You became a passenger to your own body, riding along. With every other step, you thought it would finally be over, that your body and mind might catch up to each other, that you might feel your limbs as your own again. 

But it didn’t end. You didn’t wake up. You weren’t allowed control. That strange, cloudy voice inside your head held an air of amusement, eating away at your brain, a parasite to your motor functions.

Oh, honey. You don’t have a clue what’s coming.

. . .

The sheets are soaked beneath your back. You’re frozen against the bed from the second you wake up, disoriented and panicked. Every breath you take is labored; it feels like there’s a physical weight on your chest, like hands pushing down on your ribcage, pressing you into the mattress. Your mouth is wide open, poised to speak or scream or something, eyes darting all around wildly. 

Unfamiliar ceiling. Snoring several feet away. An uncomfortably warm room. A stuttering air conditioner.

A full two minutes pass before your recollection catches up to you: You’re not at your apartment anymore, but a motel. Dean is sleeping on the pull-out couch across the room. Sam sleeps on the queen bed six feet to your right, close to the front door. They brought you here to hide you from the cops and, more importantly, to make sure they’ll be ready if Meg — the demon that previously possessed you — decides to come back. You’re still reeling from that information, still grappling with the truth of demons and monsters being real. If you hadn’t been possessed, you’d think the Winchesters were crazy, too. 

Still, neither the truth nor their presence is a comfort. Sure, you can breathe a little easier now, but only by an infinitesimal amount. You manage to sit upright but remain stuck in the bed as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that commanding voice to return. You can almost feel her even now: like a warm breath on the back of your neck, like hands on your shoulders. A cold chill runs down your spine, your breath picking up all over again. You squeeze your eyes shut, clamping a hand over your neck where the tiny hairs are raised.

Nothing. Quiet. Just the metallic rattle of the air conditioner and the breathing of two near-strangers. 

Still unsettled, you slide out of bed, silently padding across the dark motel room. You don’t like the darkness. You don’t like not knowing if she’s here, somehow, maybe inhabiting a new body, waiting to jump into yours again. The shadows on the walls bend toward you menacingly, leering at you until you find the safety of the restroom. You close the door and flick the light on, sighing only when the tiled area is illuminated. The fluorescent light above the mirror buzzes, and the new noise is an added comfort. 

You avoid your reflection, too afraid to find someone else looking back at you. Instead, you move to sit on the toilet lid, and then the floor so you can lean against the smooth outer side of the bath tub. It’s more comfortable, and you prefer having the ground beneath you. The solidity of it is a relief; you splay your fingers across the cold floor tiles, staring at every corner of the small bathroom. You want to memorize the grout, the obviously painted-over mold on the ceiling. You could spend hours staring at the cracks in the fixtures, the dead and dried up bugs behind the encased tubes of fluorescent light overhead. At least this memory might be better than the whole entire last week of your life. 

You have your cheek pressed against the lip of the bath tub when the rapping of knuckles sounds at the door. You startle, picking your head up, staring at the door. 

“Hey,” Sam calls, voice low and muffled through the thick layer of wood. “You okay in there?”

When you try to speak, your voice rasps. Too dry. Dehydrated. You swallow what little spit you can produce and try again.

“Yeah,” you reply. One word, and that’s all. A sustained beat of silence drifts between you and Sam, long enough that you expect to hear his footsteps retreating. 

Instead, he speaks again: “Can I come in?”

The thought of being alone with him terrifies you. You haven’t been alone with Sam since that last day in your apartment, with your wandering, traitorous hands and vomit on your chin and his blood that you can still taste even now. The shame inside you has festered into a physical knot in your stomach, pulling itself taut, tensing your muscles. Whatever short-lived peace you had within the enclosed space is quickly shrunken down. 

Sam calls your name, gently prodding for a response. Your jaw tenses, and you think you might be sick when you, for reasons you’re unsure of, say “Yes.”

The doorknob turns slowly, and Sam pushes his way in with the air of someone approaching a startled animal. He’s so tall, towering over you when he clicks the door shut behind him. He looks down to see you huddled on the floor by the tub, appearing utterly exhausted. The pity in his expression makes you glad that you didn’t look in the mirror when you walked in — do you really look that bad? It’s a ridiculous thought to have, but you’re self-conscious of it nonetheless. 

“Hey,” he whispers first, halfway to crouching down across from you. 

“Hey,” you echo, not meeting his eyes. You note that he’s about to block the door, and it makes you uneasy. The comfort of an escape is the last thing keeping you sane in his presence. Where else would you go if she came back? 

“Not by the door,” you say, forcing the words from your throat.

Sam blinks once, then changes his trajectory without question. With what little space remains in the restroom, alongside his broad frame, there’s nowhere else to go but beside you. You didn’t quite think that part through, but you suppose it’s the lesser of two evils.

“I saw the light on,” Sam explains unprompted, sinking down to sit on the tiles several inches from you. He pulls in his long limbs as much as he can to give you extra space — or maybe that’s meant for himself. You can’t blame him if that’s the case. Either way, you appreciate it. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, looking down at your hands. You’re not sure what you’ll find there, but you’ve exhausted staring at all four corners of the restroom, so your palms will have to do. 

“Weird dreams,” you mutter, embarrassed to admit it. It feels juvenile. 

Sam holds not an ounce of judgement in his kind eyes. You can only meet his gaze for fractions of a second at a time, or else the guilt and shame within you will grow large like an untreated cancer. 

“What about?” he asks. Sam has a feeling he already knows the answer. 

Lips pursed, you shrug, tucking yourself into a tighter position. “It’s the same thing every night. About when it— when she found me.” Your thoughts stray to the past week all over again, prompted again to drown in your misery: a week of sleepwalking, conversations that aren’t yours, hands that hurt and kill and take without warning. A painful knot forms in your throat, bobbing with every swallow. 

“I still feel everything,” you say quietly — like sharing a secret. “I don’t know where I start and she ends. I don’t know which parts are mine,” you mutter, voice rough and trembling. 

Sam nods solemnly, sitting tightly beside you. He’s close, but not too close. He’s not sure if he can stomach being touched by you, even though he knows Meg is far from you now. It makes him feel guilty just thinking that; you, the real you, wouldn’t hurt him. At least, he’d like to think so.

“I know the feeling,” he replies, matching your tone. “What Meg did? That wasn’t you. Even if it feels that way, it wasn’t you.” 

His voice is soft, kinder than you believe you deserve. Your heart aches at the sound of it. You chew on your lower lip, hard enough that your teeth peel back a scabbed layer of skin. Blood seeps onto your tongue. You grimace, but you can’t stop worrying the skin between your teeth. At least the blood is yours and not someone else’s.

“Did she make you do things, too? When it happened to you?” you wonder, hesitant to ask but morbidly hoping he suffered, too, so you don’t have to feel so alone or crazy. 

Sam swallows, looking down at his lap. He wrings his hands. “Yeah. I don’t remember most of it, but… yeah.”

His troubled expression makes your heart sink. How someone as tender as him could still carry on and be so, so trusting of you is nearly unfathomable. He has a blind, unwavering faith in others — that much is obvious. 

“For what it’s worth,” you start, eyes darting between his face and his hands, “I’m really sorry.” 

Sam doesn’t respond at first. He swallows, jaw set as memories flash in his mind: a bloody knife, a slit throat, your hands touching him so roughly, vomit on his cheek. 

He shakes his head, daring to meet your flighty gaze. “You don’t need to apologize,” he reminds you, “but thank you. I’m sorry, too. That it happened.” 

It’s been a while since you last cried. You haven’t been able to work out the tears even though you’ve come close more times than you can count in the past week. Even now, the most you can manage is a pair of misty eyes. Most people would probably sob themselves to sleep after this kind of thing, wouldn’t they? Does your own lack of reaction mean something is well and truly wrong with you? Is Meg still lingering inside you, slithering up your insides again, violating some part of you that you can never get back? 

Sam sees it: the self blame. He’s hardly able to let go of his own shame these days, but your reaction — subdued as it may be — is enough of a mirror for him to lean in, hesitantly holding his hand out to you, palm up. He feels safer when he’s the one to extend his touch first. It takes a minute for you to see it; when you do, your eyes dart to Sam’s as if asking for some kind of permission. He nods once. 

You take his hand, and it doesn’t heal you, but the ache inside you finally turns loose. 

> masterlist. > main.

tag list . . . @ravenhood2792 @fuiabarcelos @midnightblossomss @angelicentity98 @babyspiceeeeeeee @greencircuit @whhtlle @leena-bee

[crowdedimagines]

The Academy Days Series

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Summary: It was well known within the team that there was one other person back in the day that had captured their team leader's heart. You knew Aaron back when he and Haley took a break from their relationship and he went to the academy and met you. What the team doesn’t know is that you have been with the FBI ever since, working the west coast mainly until you get requested to join the BAU. 

an// the timeline is a little different in this from the show, Aaron spent longer as a prosecutor before going to the academy and joining the FBI for this to work and to make the reader younger than Aaron. This is also a world where Foyet never happened and Haley is still alive. 

-

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII *

Part VIII

Epilogue

[crowdedimagines]

Relative Attraction

Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: Sean Hotchner was your high school ‘sweetheart’, however his older brother Aaron always insisted you were too smart for him. Years later you find yourself landing at the BAU, it doesn’t take long for you to realize maybe you had the wrong Hotchner all along…

word count: 10.3K warnings: BAU cases and the violence and creepiness that comes with them. squint when looking at Aaron’s career timeline in this lol

-

The BAU was not known for being welcoming. It wasn’t always intentional, but it came with the skillset required for the job. They spent their days studying monsters, chasing killers, and delivering bad news. Which is why when everyone was called to the conference room first thing this morning, they were preparing for the worst. 

Aaron waits until everyone sits down, he remains standing at the end of the table with a file in hand. 

“We have a new agent joining the team.” 

“Really?” Morgan asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“A transfer.” Hotch confirms. 

Prentiss looks up from her coffee, “A good transfer or a political transfer?”

“Good transfer.” 

Hotch’s immediate and positive answer got everyone’s attention. He was the last person to willingly alter the team dynamic by throwing someone new in the mix. Hotch wasn’t one for compliments either. If he said someone was good, they were good. 

“Who is it?” Reid asks. 

Hotch opens a file and sets it down on the table. The room skimmed the highlights. Top of your class at Quantico, fluent in three languages, multiple commendations and a highly decorated agent. You’ve spent recent years a part of the counterterrorism task force and hostage negotiation before that.

Morgan whistles, “Okay.”

“She’s twenty-eight?” JJ asks. 

“That’s annoying.” Emily sighs. 

Rossi smirks, “She’s making the rest of you look lazy.” 

The conference room opens and before anyone can continue, or hide the evidence of your career on the table, you walk in. Everyone glances up and Aaron forgets to breathe for a second. He simply stares. The woman in front of him looked different than the teenager he still had in his mind. 

You looked more confident and polished. It looks dangerous. But your smile is exactly the same. It is still warm, bright, and familiar. 

“Aaron!” 

The entire room stills, hardly anyone called him Aaron. Morgan looks between the two of you and his jaw actually drops when Hotch smiles. An honest to God smile that the team hadn’t seen from him in months. Maybe years. 

“Y/n.” 

You break into a grin of your own. 

“Aaron Hotchner!” 

Hotch stands tall still, somehow the smile got bigger. 

“I think the last time I saw you was your high school graduation.” Aaron admits quietly.

You roll your eyes and nod, you step forward and he gives you a careful hug. You turn back to face the team and two of them look like they could fall out of their chair.

“Wait,” Morgan holds up his hands, “you didn’t know he was gonna be here?”

“You know, they said it was his team but I didn’t really believe them.” You tease.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at you fondly. 

“Hold on,” Rossi points at Hotch, “you know how to smile?” 

He shoots him a look, immediately dropping the grin which causes you to laugh. 

“Oh, so that hasn’t changed?” You bite. 

He does a poor job of trying to keep his smile to a minimum. 

“Does he still do that thing where he stares at you until you feel guilty?” You ask. 

“Every day.” Prentiss answers quickly. 

Hotch sighs and the room erupts into laughter. 

“You haven’t changed much.” Aaron comments, a lie.

“That’s rude.” 

“You still talk too much.” 

“Definitely rude, I’m so contacting HR.” 

“Shut up.” 

The teasing came naturally, it was effortless. The team watches it with way too much joy for nine in the morning. They had never seen Hotch interact with anyone like this. Ever. 

Even Rossi looked surprised. 

“So,” Rossi breaks in, “one of you explain.” 

“I dated Sean in high school.” 

“Sean Hotchner?” JJ clarifies and you nod. 

“Little Hotch?” Garcia shrieks. 

“All throughout high school.” Aaron shakes his head, a teasing smile still creasing his face. 

“Aaron thought I was too smart for Sean.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, you did end up here.” 

“Aaron!’ You scold, the big brother side coming out on rare display, “He was the scary one-”

“I wasn’t scary-” He defends. 

“Oh, the stories I could tell-”

“Y/n.” He warns and your smile grows even wider. 

It had been years, but you practically lived at the Hotchner house. You and Sean dated for years on and off in high school, it was never great but he was your first real boyfriend. Aaron was ten years older than the two of you so he wasn’t always around. You remember him studying for law school and then eventually bringing home case files but somehow he still had the time to help you with your college applications. 

Back then he always seemed so impossibly grown up. Catching killers during the day, but still finding a way to come back home for a weekend every month to see his brother. But now you’re standing in the same room and you’re older than he was then. It feels familiar in a way you can’t place. 

“You did well, Y/n.” 

His words are simple but they mean a lot. You knew Aaron did not give out praise easily and you feel your smile soften. 

“So did you.” 

“So, are you going to introduce the rest of us?” Morgan asks, gesturing to the entire team at the table. 

Everyone laughed and with burning red ears Aaron introduced the rest of the team. Everyone explained their current case load and the ones they are monitoring, everyone is on standby for a case if a call comes in. 

Judging by the way the team kept staring at Aaron’s rare smile, you learned something very important. No one on the team knew the version of Aaron Hotchner you knew long ago. The one that laughed and teased. Somehow that made joining the BAU feel a little less intimidating. 

-

Eventually everyone broke out into the bullpen, settling in at their desks and you follow Aaron to his office to finish up the last of the transfer paperwork. 

You glance around his office while he gets everything in order. It’s exactly what you could’ve expected. Minimalist. Organized. Awards and commendations lining his shelves as well as pictures of Jack. There’s still one picture of Jack and Haley, she’s wrapping him up in a tight hug. You step closer, your finger dancing over the edge of the frame. Aaron clears his throat behind you and you turn to face him. 

You glance back at the picture frame briefly before focusing back on him, “I’m so sorry to hear about Haley.” 

His expression remains calm, years have passed. Jack was older now and life had moved forward but it was clear that the pain would never disappear completely. 

“I appreciate that.” 

You open your mouth to speak and his expression shifts. 

“How’s your father?” He changes the subject, handing you paperwork and turning back toward his desk. You groan and sit down in one of the chairs facing him. 

“There he is.” 

“What?” 

“The classic Hotchner deflection.” 

His mouth twitches. Barely, but you catch it clearly. Changing the subject to avoid being vulnerable was something both him and Sean were masters at. 

“My dad is good.” You eventually offer, “Retired, but still finding a way to complain about everything.” 

“That’s reassuring.” He smiles. 

“He’s proud.” 

“He should be.” 

You smile, “Look at you giving out the compliments today.”

He rolls his eyes, focusing back on the paperwork in front of him. 

“It was one compliment.” 

“Two.”

“It was one-”

“Defintley two-”

“Red alert!” Garcia walks right into the office, teetering on her heels. She freezes looking between you and Hotch. 

“Oh, were you guys having a moment?” She grins, her eyes shooting higher than the frames of her lime green glasses. 

“No.” Aaron answers immediately. 

“Absolutely.” You answer at the same time, saying anything to get Aaron riled up. 

“Don’t get Garcia started, she’ll never drop it.” Aaron warning, pointing an accusatory finger at you. 

You hold up your hands in mock defence, “Noted.” 

Aaron can tell you don’t mean it one bit. 

She squints her eyes looking between the two of you, “I knew it.” 

“Garcia.” Hotch warns. 

“Right. Horrible murder.” 

The mood in the office shifted instantly. Aaron stands from his desk and reaches out to take the file from her hands. 

“Montana.” 

Aaron starts looking through the case file and images, everyone else in the bullpen looking in their direction catching the news. 

“Three victims in twelve days. Rural county, the closest neighboring town is forty miles away.” 

Aaron continues to scan the report, “Victimology?”

“Different ages and occupations without any obvious connection. They actually called us in because every four days someone goes missing, and that same day the previous missing person is found.” 

Aaron closes the file, “Wheels up in thirty. Tell the rest of the team.” 

Garcia nods rapidly and leaves the room as hurriedly as she had burst in. 

“You’ve got a go bag?” He glances at you. 

You give him an offended look, “Do you really need to ask?” 

Thirty minutes later the team settles onto the jet. Garcia is coming with too, looking deeply unhappy to be there. 

“I don’t belong in nature.” She huffs, crossing her arms and looking out the plane window. 

“You’ll survive.” Morgan nudges her shoulder. 

“Will I?”

The case photos appear on the screen, everyone has the file in front of them with the details. 

“Let’s start.” Aaron announces. It’s weird having him as your superior and seeing him manage a team, but you know it’s what he was best at. He was bossing around Sean as soon as he could walk, you witnessed it first hand for years. 

“Remote location suggests he’s comfortable with the area.” Rossi offers. 

“Local hunter?” Morgan raises his brows. 

“Maybe.” 

“Most serial offenders operate within a comfort zone. Rural offenders generally hunt closer to home.” Reid vocalizes. 

You study the map and something bothers your gut. Screaming at you to correct it. 

“What if we’re looking at this backwards?”

Several heads turn toward you, Aaron watches silently. 

“The bodies were recovered here,” You point out each spot on the map.

“So?” Morgan questions. 

“What if that’s not where he hunts?”

Reid frowns, “The distance would be inefficient.” 

“Unless efficiency isn’t the point,” The jet cabin goes quiet while you continue, “Everybody assumes remote offenders want privacy-”

“Which is statistically true.” Reid interrupts. 

“Usually.” 

You put a little more emphasis on the word when you say it and it makes him pause. 

“What if he’s moving them intentionally?”

“Why?”

“Control.” Rossi answers, immediately catching onto what you’re theorizing. 

“Exactly.” You smile, “These sites aren’t random.”

Aaron notices it, his eyes narrow. 

“Water.” 

Every body had been found near a water source. Streams, creeks, even a small river. 

Reid leans forward, “Interesting.” 

“Thank you.” You smirk. 

“I’m not agreeing with you.” Reid argues. 

“You will.” 

Aaron hides a smile and Reid continues on unphased now. Aaron can remember you trying to debate him while you were in mock trial and he was a practicing prosecutor. You somehow held your own back then and it would appear that hasn’t changed now.

“If water is important to our unsub it could represent cleansing.”

“Or disposal.” Emily adds. 

“Or symbolism.” JJ jumps in. 

“Or all three.” You shrug. The debate continued back and forth between everyone for the rest of the flight. You held your ground every step of the way, but easily meshed with the group's ideas. It was exactly the way a group of experienced profilers should operate. 

“She’s fitting in fast.” Rossi leans in toward Aaron to say it quietly. It goes unnoticed by everyone else, still exchanging ideas. 

“Mhm.” Aaron doesn’t look up at the older man. 

Aaron wasn’t surprised with your intelligence. You said it yourself, he knew you were too smart for Sean and he made that known back when the two of you were dating. He was still a little surprised with how well you were slipping into a rhythm with everyone. The challenge and the willingness to defend a theory without taking disagreement personally. 

Outside the jet windows the vast Montana wilderness stretches below. Somewhere out there was someone dangerous, the case would be difficult but you felt certain of one thing. You were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

-

Five days. 

Five days in rural Montana and the team was no closer to catching the unsub than when you had first arrived. Everyone was exhausted, small town cases were surprisingly difficult. The sheriff’s office had become a second home to everyone, coffee cups littered every open spot on the table. 

Morgan doesn’t hesitate in giving you a hard time, making you feel more welcomed than it should by annoying you. Prentiss demands embarrassing stories about Hotch and has invited you out for drinks whenever the team gets back. JJ seems genuinely relieved to have another woman in the field. Garcia adores you and wants details about everything early twenties Hotch. Reid was somehow fascinated by the fact that this was your third FBI specialty before thirty and enjoyed debating with you. Rossi found you entertaining, loving the new side of Aaron that you seem to bring out. 

Dozens of interviews and countless hours in the field had turned up nothing. The unsub was still out there, and as of two days ago the fourth victim was found and he had someone new. Eighteen year old Madison Cooper was taken from a gas station, her car still waiting at the pump. Victim photos stare back at you from the board ahead, your brain replaying the past few days over and over. 

The newest body was discovered mutilated by a shallow creek twenty miles from where she had disappeared. She was clean, no traces of DNA or anything else left behind. The pattern continued and no one could kick your water theory from the table. 

“I’ve searched every registered hunter, fisherman, trapper, and landowner in a fifty mile radius.” Garcia reminds, still typing away rapidly at her keyboard. 

Morgan sighs and runs a hand over his face. 

“And?”

“Nothing.”

You continue to pace in front of the boards, unable to sit still any longer. 

“Every fishing license and criminal record known in Montana state.” Garcia continues, “I’ve reached the stage where more people look suspicious than not.” 

You turn away from the boards to face the team again. 

Reid squints, “You’re smiling.” 

“You’re about to disagree with me.” 

“I am?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” You grin. 

He shakes his head. 

Emily leans in closer to JJ, “She fits in way too well.”

“Yeah, she’s already annoying.” Morgan jokes, turning in his chair back and forth. His eyes jump over to you with mischief. 

“Annoyed that I’m already right more often than you?” You smirk, “Get used to it.” 

Hotch chuckles at the far end of the table and everyone notices. You look back to study the map again, thinking about all of the disappearances and the amount of time he’s with them. 

You grab a marker, “The water.”

Morgan sighs, “You’ve been talking about the water for five days.” 

You circle all of the locations where bodies have been recovered. 

“Look.”

Everyone turns their attention onto you and the board. 

“We’ve been assuming these were disposal sites-”

“They are.” Reid interrupts. 

“Not just that.” You argue and the certainty in your voice makes the room go quiet, “I think these are the closest locations he can get to.”

Aaron frowns, “Explain.”

“What if he isn’t bringing them there because of convenience? It’s a necessity to him.”

Rossi picks up on what you’re saying before anyone else, “He needs the water?” 

“Exactly, the bodies were cleaned and for whatever reason he doesn’t have access to do that privately.” You nod.

The room froze. 

JJ blinks and crosses her arms, “Cleaned?”

“The forensic reports mention minimal trace evidence every time but we don’t have any idea what he used.” 

Reid’s eyes widen, “He washed them in the water.” 

The pieces start to click together for everyone. 

“The water isn’t of the fantasy,” Emily discusses, “It’s part of the disposal.” 

“Garcia, instead of looking for properties can you look for RV titles?” You ask. 

“Oh yes I can!” She begins tying more rapidly, talking to herself as she filters out her search, “Oh my god. Joseph Dixon has an RV for his primary address and has lived in the area for the past thirty years. His wife drowned at the beginning of the year,” Garcia frowns, “He lost the house a few months after and has been in the RV ever since.”

Ten minutes later FBI SUVs tear down a dirt road with lights flashing. Garcia had found all of the RV campsites in town and eliminated the previously occupied locations, narrowing it down to one stream. 

It was a remote site, surrounded by tall trees that creak and sway with the evening wind. You get out of the car and Aaron circles everyone together before approaching.

“Remember, Madison is likely still alive if he is still following his timeline.” Aaron looks between everyone with sharp focused eyes. 

Everyone acknowledges him and moves to surround the RV with weapons drawn. Morgan breaches the front door and half the team floods inside behind him. The smell hits your nose immediately, strong with bleach and moisture. 

Joseph is standing toward the back of the RV with Madison barely standing in his arms. He holds her up as a shield with a knife held to her throat. 

“FBI!” Aaron shouts, “Drop the knife.” 

The man looks wild and desperate which is never what you want to talk down. 

“You don’t understand.” Joseph shouts back, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. 

You could see the grief and obsession all over his face. The loss of his wife and then his house has created this delusion. 

“They have to be clean.” He whispers, the room going still, “They have to be clean.” 

You keep your voice calm, “Let her go.” 

He shakes his head, “She isn’t ready.” 

You step forward carefully, making sure not to block anyone’s line of fire. 

“You couldn’t save her.” Your voice is soft, and more tears flood his vision, “And you think you’re saving them now, but you’re not.” 

His expression breaks, just enough to lessen his hold. He closes his eyes briefly to wipe at the tears and Morgan moves instantly. The takedown happened in seconds and you have Madison before she can reach the ground. She was safe, and now the unsub was in custody. 

A nightmare was finally over. 

You help Madison over to the back of an ambulance and return to the team once EMTs start checking her out. Morgan puts Joseph in the back of the sheriff's car. 

“Not bad.” Rossi calls out as you approach. 

You smile tiredly, “High praise from the founder of the BAU.” 

“You called the water on day one.” Reid has a confused look on his face. 

“Of course I did.” You smirk, some energy returning to your eyes, “You guys are going to have to get used to it.” 

Emily groans, “Oh god.” 

Aaron just smiles, shaking his head and following you and everyone back to the SUVs. For the first time in nearly a week the entire team looked relieved. The case was closed and the victim was alive. 

He finds himself watching you without being able to help it. You were a new agent to the team, but you were still a familiar face. You walked into the BAU less than a week ago and somehow it felt like you had been there for years. You look back and catch his eyes, when your eyes meet you smile. He smiles back and this time, no one on the team seemed surprised by it. 

-

Four short months, and several cases later, you finally had become one of them. Not the new agent. Not the transfer. Not the girl who knew Hotch. You were just one of the team members of the BAU and it was impressive considering how difficult it was to truly earn your spot with them. 

Aaron was impressed with it as well, but he wasn’t surprised. It was part of your skill. You were smart enough to challenge Reid without being intimidated. Confident enough to stand your ground with Rossi. Capable enough in the field that Morgan trusted you at his back without hesitation. 

You make people laugh, and that was surprisingly valuable in a unit that spent most days facing humanity’s worst moments. You brought energy into rooms. Life. A little chaos. It was the kind that reminded everyone that there was still good in the world. Even Aaron. Especially Aaron. 

Which is why everyone was becoming increasingly suspicious. 

“Tell me I’m not crazy!” Morgan holds up his hands, looking around at everyone sat at their desks in the bullpen. 

JJ doesn’t even look up from her paperwork. 

“You’re going to need to be more specific.” 

Emily leans against her desk, glancing back to where you and Aaron are standing in the conference room still talking after the morning meeting. 

“The way Hotch looks at Y/n.”

JJ finally looks up and peeks back to where Emily is still looking. 

“Oh.”

“Right?” Morgan claps. 

“Definitely.” JJ nods. 

Aaron was smiling as he was standing in front of you. Again. Not a full smile. Not the rare surprised laugh they occasionally managed to pull from him. Just a little crinkle around his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“I’ve been saying it for weeks.” Derek shakes his head. 

Emily points at him dramatically, “Thank you!” 

Reid finally looks up from his book, “I don’t understand.” 

He looks up between everyone and they stare back at him. 

“You don’t see it, Spence?” JJ asks. 

He simply purses his lips and shrugs, Morgan looks horrified. 

“Kid.” 

“What?”

“They’ve got chemistry.” 

“Who’s got chemistry?” Rossi asks, stepping out of his office and down the stairs to lean against the edge of Spencer’s desk. Derek points up in the direction of the conference room. 

Reid shakes his head, “They’re just discussing victimology.”

“Exactly.” Emily nods, “When has Hotch ever looked that happy to do that?” 

Reid studies him for a long moment before letting out a “Ohhh”. 

Inside the conference room you and Aaron are surprisingly unaware of the curious eyes behind you. At least mostly unaware. You were aware of one thing. 

Aaron. 

It was becoming a problem that you didn’t know what to do about. Logistically it was ridiculous. Aaron was older. Significantly older. And he’s your boss. The Unit Chief. The man you have known since you were fifteen years old. The man whose younger brother you dated on and off for years. Every reason possible told you this was a terrible idea. 

Somewhere between Montana and now you started to look forward to seeing him most days. You noticed little things about him you didn’t pay attention to or have the privilege of knowing before now. 

The way he loosens his tie when he is tired. The way he pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s frustrated. The rare smile that appeared when Jack came up in conversation. The new smile that appeared when you were involved. This is dangerous territory. 

So naturally, you’re ignoring it as much as possible, which is becoming harder and harder to do. 

Aaron wasn’t doing any better. He knew every practical reason that told him no. Every professional instinct told him no. Every ethical concern told him no. And yet every time you walk into a room, it is getting harder and harder for him to hide. 

You make him laugh and challenge him. You understand him in a way that very few people do. It wasn’t because you’re a profiler, it was because you knew him before. Before he was in the BAU. Before Haley died. Before Foyet. Before the walls. 

You knew the version of Aaron Hotchner that existed before the grief and you somehow have a habit of bringing pieces of that man back. 

“Sir.” 

He looks over to see a panicked Garcia standing in the doorway with a tablet in hand. 

“What is it?” His brows instantly drop together.

“Florida.” She simply answers, making a face. 

“That’s bad.” You sigh. 

He nods immediately, taking the tablet from her and looking through the case. He steps out of the conference room and stops at the rail. 

“Everyone cancel your weekend plans,” He looks out over everyone in the bullpen, “Wheels up in thirty.”

A chorus of groans pass around the room. It was a Friday and everyone had looked forward to spending the weekend doing various things. It didn't take long for everyone to round up and grab their things. By the time the team reached the jet, it was already fueled and ready to go. 

“Three women missing over the last month.” Garcia explains over the monitor, “All of them taken from touristy parts of Miami.” 

Aaron skims the report in front of him, “Abductions?”

“Likely.”

“No bodies?” Reid questions, looking up toward the screen. 

“Not yet.”

Nobody liked that answer. 

“What about victimology?” You ask. 

“Different ages, backgrounds, and occupations.” Garcia sighs, “I’m looking for other connections.” 

You frown. No bodies and no obvious connections was a rough start. You look out toward the window where sunlight is streaming in. After a minute Aaron’s foot bumps yours and you look back over at the table and then up at him. 

He nods back to the monitor and you roll your eyes before focusing on the case again. Somewhere in Florida an unsub was waiting for all of you. 

-

The second the jet door opens, you are regretting today’s outfit choice. 

“Oh, absolutely not.” You groan. 

Morgan laughs, following you down the jet stairs, “You’ve been here for three seconds.” 

The humidity hit like a physical force the second the air hit your face. You push your sunglasses onto your head to keep your hair away from your face. 

“Who lives like this?” 

“People who live in Florida.” Reid answers and you roll your eyes dramatically. 

“Where are the cars?” Aaron asks, looking out over the tarmac where SUVs would typically be waiting. 

“Oh god,” Morgan sighs, “She’s gonna melt.” 

You bump his shoulder, but regret the physical contact. He practically sticks to you for a second. You unbutton the top button of your dress shirt and fan at your neck. 

Aaron’s eyes automatically follow your hands, watching you pull at the collar of your blouse. The heat was already turning your cheeks a rosy shade of pink. A few loose strands of hair were blowing around, a sheen of sweat gathering from the humidity. 

His gaze lingered, and for a second too long. You look over and catch him, immediately smirking. 

“Hotch, you staring?” Morgan asks, it would seem he caught the moment as well. 

He blinks, looking over at him. 

“What?”

Morgan bursts out laughing and you shake your head, “That wasn’t even remotely convincing.” 

Aaron adjusts his bag on his shoulder, “The heat seems to be affecting your judgment.” 

“Interesting.” You nod, “It would seem I’m not the only one.” 

Emily has to use her hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her laugh. Morgan’s grin was outright dangerous. Aaron shoots everyone a look, landing on you last.

“Good talk.” You walk ahead, noticing the SUVs finally pulling up. 

Twenty minutes later everyone arrives at the Miami police department. The local task force that had requested the BAU was already waiting. The case board covered an entire wall. Three women from three different tourist-heavy areas. No witnesses and no bodies.

You step closer to the board to get a better look at the pictures. The youngest victim was twenty-two, here on a college break. The oldest was thirty-four and was there as a travel blogger. It looked like the unsub was selecting his victims based on opportunity. 

The conference room door opens, a detective walks in carrying a stack of files and copies for everyone. You look up and the detective looks to forget what he was doing. Aaron noticed the sudden falter in his steps. Detective Gabriel Martinez was in his mid-thirties, former military with a good record and a strong reputation. And apparently he was incapable of hiding his attention. 

“Sorry,” He walks toward you, “Didn’t realize we'd be getting reinforcements.” 

Morgan physically bit his lip and watches you smile politely at the detective. 

“Agent Y/FN Y/LN.” 

His smile widens, “A pleasure.” 

Aaron suddenly found him significantly more annoying than he had thirty seconds ago. 

You accept the file from him, “Catch us up?”

Martinez moved happily beside you, Aaron watched the entire interaction closely. The detective points out spots on the map and you nod thoughtfully. The two of you laugh about something and Aaron actually frowns. 

Morgan glances over and sees it instantly. It was very entertaining, for nearly an hour. Everyone was still reviewing evidence and trying to get a baseline for the unsub. You spent the hour exchanging theories with Detective Martinez and trying to get a locals perspective, everything was purely professional. 

“Hey, there’s a coffee cart downstairs...” The detective clears his throat. The team exchanges glances, darting between you and Hotch.

You look up from the file, “What?” 

“Coffee?” 

“Actually,” Hotch interrupts, “The briefing is in ten minutes, we need to prepare.” 

You raise your brows at Hotch, surprised at him interjecting at this. He’s never opposed a quick coffee run on a case before. 

The detective clears his throat again, “Right, I’ll just go. Would you like one?”

You eventually pull your eyes from Hotch to look back at Martinez, “I’d love one.” 

The detective laughs before walking out of the room. You look back at Hotch, who is avoiding your gaze. You shake your head before turning back to the file in front of you. The entire team was watching Aaron and he was pretending not to notice. It was a poor strategy considering it was a team of profilers. 

“Hey, Y/n,” Rossi asks, “Can you call Garcia and give her an update?”

You roll your eyes but stand up anyway, “Even though we’re only ten minutes away from the next briefing?” 

You snatch your phone from the table and walk out of the room to call Garcia. The second you disappear out the door, Morgan strikes. 

“You’re jealous!”

Aaron doesn’t even look up, “No.” 

Rossi laughs loudly, “Aaron.” 

“I’m not.” 

Emily sighs, “Oh, you absolutely are.” 

He finally sets down his file and looks up at everyone. 

“Can you explain why you’ve spent the past hour glaring at him?” Rossi questions.

“I haven’t.”

Emily and JJ laugh, and even Reid looks skeptical. Aaron looks around the room and has no allies, none of them believe him for a second. 

“Let’s review,” Morgan leans back in his chair, “You’ve been glaring, and you interrupted him twice.” 

“Case-related.” He defends. 

Derek shakes his head, “You corrected his profile.” 

“He was wrong.” 

Rossi’s smile widens, “Not entirely.” 

Aaron sighs and now everyone else’s smile gets bigger. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, somehow making it even funnier. 

You walk back into the room and everyone immediately becomes professional again. You stop in your tracks and narrow your eyes. Aaron snaps up to look at you and your eyes scan everyone else. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” JJ shrugs. 

“Nothing?” You question. 

Derek nods enthusiastically, “Absolutely nothing.” 

You look at Aaron, and then Rossi, and then back to Aaron. 

“Why do I feel like I just walked into something?”

Aaron immediately stands, “Let’s get back to work.” 

“Right,” You straighten, “Can’t be late.”

-

The briefing wasn’t great, there still wasn’t a lot of information to go off of. By seven that evening, the case had officially worsened. A fourth woman had gone missing. Twenty-four years old and taken near the boardwalk in broad daylight. 

The good news? Garcia was briefly able to ping her phone before it was ditched, it wasn’t enough to locate her but it was enough to paint a better picture of the unsub’s hunting ground. The bad news? That was all they got and the clock was ticking. 

The conference room buzzes with tension, Garcia remains on speakerphone but she’s uncharacteristically quiet. Reid and JJ are comparing timelines between victims. Morgan and Prentiss just got back from getting witness statements. Detective Martinez is back at your side again while you review the maps. Aaron notices immediately, of course he does. 

At this point, noticing you had become second nature to him. 

“You know,” Martinez leans against the table casually, his eyes drinking you over, “I’ve been thinking.” 

You don’t even look up, “Dangerous.” 

He laughs. 

“I’m serious.” 

“That’s even more concerning.” 

Martinez smiles, god he thought you were flirting. Everyone could see the reality, except for Martinez. You continue reviewing your work, not even paying him any attention. A missing woman had you very focused on the case at hand. 

“We should compare notes after this.” He pauses, “Maybe over dinner.” 

That finally caught your attention, you look up and he’s smiling confidently at you. 

“A real dinner.” 

There it was, any poor attempt at subtlety was gone. His offer was not professional or ambiguous and that made you sigh internally. 

“That’s kind of you,” You say politely, “But no.” 

A beat passes and Martinez blinks a few times. 

“What?”

Your smile remains the same, “No, thank you.” 

“Oh, are you seeing someone?” He questions, relief briefly settling on his face. You won’t let it last. 

“No.”

Somewhere at the table behind you Hotch snorts and coughs in an attempt to cover it in the quiet conference room. Silence fills up the room after that and for a moment you thought that was the end of it. Then his expression changes, and it was the kind that women noticed immediately. 

Martinez laughs, a short dismissive sound, “Seriously?”

Your smile instantly disappears. 

“Seriously.” You say it slowly and nod as you do so. 

The heads of your team members turned, now openly watching instead of pretending they weren’t watching this all unfold. 

“Wow.” He shakes his head. 

Your eyes narrow, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He smiles bitterly, showing how hurt he really is and shakes his head again. It was clear it meant something, “I just figured all the smiling meant you were interested.” 

The room freezes. 

“Detective-”

“No, it’s fine.” His tone was far from fine, “Should’ve known.” 

Aaron’s head snaps over and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. You recognize the look on his face instantly and know it’s not a good one. 

Martinez wasn’t finished, “You BAU people come in acting like you’re better than everybody else anyway.” 

Your jaw tightens, now you are genuinely annoyed. 

“Maybe don’t act interested next time, save a guy some effort.” 

The words had barely left his mouth when Aaron stood. The entire room felt the danger in the shift and Martinez’s confidence vanished instantly. He crosses the room toward him in quick strides, every profiler in the room gives up on working for the next few minutes. 

“She said no.” Aaron stops directly in front of Martinez and he towers over him. His voice wasn’t raised, yet. 

The detective swallows, “I wasn’t-”

“She said no.” Aaron repeats for emphasis, he remains calm and cold and it’s terrifying. Martinez glances around the room looking for support but doesn’t find sympathy in anyone. 

Aaron takes a step closer, “If an FBI agent politely declines your invitation and your response is to insult her professionalism, that’s a reflection of you.” 

Nobody moved a muscle. Garcia didn’t even utter a squeak. 

Martinez’s face reddens, “I didn’t mean-” 

“No, you did.” Aaron’s voice booms, “You implied she led you on because she treated you with basic professionalism courtesy.” 

The detective looked like he wanted to disappear. You honestly weren’t sure you’ve ever seen someone fold so quickly and Aaron wasn’t done. 

“You are a detective working an active investigation,” The conference room feels even smaller, “And if your ability to work with female colleagues depends on whether or not they agree to date you, you are in the wrong profession.” 

Complete silence. This is Aaron Hotchner angry, which was a rare occurrence. It took a lot to actually make him mad.

“I apologize.” Martinez finally mutters. 

“To her.”

The detective looks in your direction now, “I’m sorry.”

Aaron stares, “I think it’s a good idea for you to find a new case to work on.” 

He nods and actually escapes the room, the door closes loudly behind him. Nobody spoke, took a breath, or even moved a muscle. Finally Aaron breaks his staredown with the door to look over at you, letting out a pant of adrenaline. Your arms are crossed over your chest and it’s clear that you’re still mad. 

You look up at him and point toward the door, “Outside.”

“What?”

“Now.”

You walk out the door and know he follows, the gaze of every pair of eyes in the room watches the two of you go. You walk downstairs and right out the front door of the building to get some fresh air. The sound of downtown traffic breaks up the silence and the heat from the day is lessened now that the sun is down. The look on your face tells Aaron that this isn’t going to be fun. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

His jaw tightens, “He was out of line.” 

“He was.” You nod. 

He looks confused, “Then why-”

“I can handle myself.” You interrupt with the real issue. 

He sighs running a tired hand over his face, “I know.” 

“Do you?”

“Y/n.” 

“No.” You gesture upstairs toward the building behind you, “You didn’t even give me the chance back there.” 

He looks away from you, dodging your eyes which told you everything. Your eyes narrow, reading him better than anyone else. 

“Oh my god.” 

“What?” He questions suddenly looking back and you laugh once in disbelief. 

You take a step closer to him, “So that’s what that was?”

His expression becomes cautious but he lets you continue. 

“So was that protective ‘older brother’ Aaron back there?”

He winces as the words leave your mouth. 

“Or was that Unit Chief Hotch, defending my honor?” 

You pause.  

“Or was that the man who has been staring at me for months and pretending not to back in there?” You raise your brows to show how serious you’re being. 

“Y/n.” He warns. 

“You were jealous earlier.” You cross your arms over your chest again.

The air felt like it disappeared, his expression doesn’t change. You hold his gaze, waiting for him to admit what he knows you can see on his face. 

“Y/n.” 

“Aaron.” 

“Y/n.” He repeated himself but now his tone is a warning, telling you to shut up and pretend this conversation never happened. Pleading with you. Neither of you can look away, you feel drawn closer somehow. Like two magnets fighting the inevitable. Eventually Aaron sighs and it’s a slow surrender, he’s tired of pretending. He relaxes, his head tilting slightly to the side as he melts a little.

“You’re right.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Aaron looks down briefly before meeting your eyes again. 

“I was jealous.” 

The words land and you don’t even crack a joke. 

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He continues quietly. 

Your pulse quickens, “He wasn’t the first.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why now?” 

Aaron laughs softly without any humor because he knew exactly why. This time he cared, far more than he should. 

“You know why.”

Your breath catches and he notices. 

“Say it.” You dare.

Aaron rubs a hand across his jaw, his eyes studying you openly. He knows once he puts it out there, he can’t take it back. 

“I don’t know what to do about this.” 

Your heart softens at the admission. The honesty surprised both of you 

“Aaron…” 

His eyes dart between yours, and he wishes he could hear you saying his name like that on a loop. For the first time since you joined the BAU, he didn’t have any walls up and he takes a step closer to you.

“I know every reason this is a bad idea,” He sighs, “My brother,”

You nod. 

“I’m your supervisor.” 

“True.” 

“The age difference.”

“Yep.”

He sighs again, “And yet… I cannot bring myself to stop wanting you.”

You smile at him softly, “Will you just kiss me?” 

Shock flashes across his face and now it’s his turn for his breath to catch, “That was your takeaway after all of that?” 

Neither of you move to step away from each other. 

“Is that a no?” You smirk, “Because if you-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, cutting you off with his lips. His hand cups the side of your face and you let him deepen the kiss. You melt against his touch and welcome his tongue to explore your mouth. After a few seconds you hum, pulling back while remembering exactly where you are. Directly outside of the Miami PD with your entire team close by. 

“I want you too.” You admit, you hadn’t really confirmed that earlier other than by asking for a kiss. 

“Can we try and figure this out sometime after we get back from this case?” He asks, his hand still holding your face. 

You nod immediately, leaning back in to steal another kiss and a quick peck. You take a step back from his hold, the two of you need to straighten back up again. Just in time too as Morgan bursts out the doors and jogs over to join you guys, “If the sexual tension is gone, we have a serial killer to catch.”

You roll your eyes, but you and Aaron follow him back into the police department anyway. Neither of you miss the smiles on each other’s faces before heading back inside. For the first time, neither of you was pretending anymore. 

-

It's been a couple months since Miami and everything has changed. The team noticed it immediately, of course they did. They were profilers and noticing things was literally the job. You and Aaron were taking things slowly. Kind of. 

It was a few dates after returning on the rare nights that the two of you got out of the office at a decent hour. The team tried to trip the two of you up, placing bets on who would crack first. Neither you nor Aaron had any idea one of Jack’s soccer games would destroy any last denials from the two of you. 

Garcia and Morgan wanted to surprise Jack on their Saturday off, and it paid off tenfold when they saw you sitting on the bench passing out orange slices. Garcia nearly passed out when Aaron lean down to press a kiss to your cheek. 

Things were going really well, even now that the team had been clued in on it for a week now. You would wait in his office after everyone left, it felt comfortable and steady. Aaron would tempt you into coming home with him rather than back to your apartment. It was becoming more frequent for the two of you, and you were loving every second.

“We’ve got a case.” Garcia walks into the bullpen, carrying on all the way into the conference room without stopping. Aaron walks out of his office and you automatically look up and catch him staring. You smirk and he immediately looks away, Morgan catches the entire exchange. 

Everyone settles around the round table and Garcia connects her tablet to the bigger screen to display the crime scene photos. 

“What do we know?” Aaron asks. 

“New York City.” She clicks through the images and you wince instantly, “It’s bad.”

Bad was an understatement because the crime scene photos were brutal. Young women in their early twenties with extensive injuries completely mutilated and found in abandoned warehouses. The killer was deliberate, organized, and angry. 

Emily frowns, “That’s overkill.” 

“Extreme overkill.” Reid agrees. 

Garcia swallows, “It gets worse.” 

Nobody liked the sound of that. 

“All of these have occurred in the last nine days.” 

Six different victims were in the file, meaning there was rapid escalation. This unsub has no intention of slowing down. 

-

The jet had just reached an altitude high enough to cruise, everyone is buried in the case file at this point. You sit next to Aaron, Reid and Rossi taking the spots across the table from the two of you.

“It feels personal, he’s got a serious hatred for women.” You comment. 

“It does.” Reid agrees. 

Morgan leans forward from the couch, “These women have to remind him of someone specific.”

“All of the victims had dark hair.” Emily notices. 

The team continues to work, it isn’t a long flight. Rossi looks up from the file between you and Hotch. 

“Hey,” Rossi starts, “Doesn’t Sean live in New York?”

Without thinking the answer came quickly from you, “Yeah, he does.”

Morgan smirks and leans in even closer, “The brother?”

You roll your eyes and nod before turning your focus on Aaron, “We should call him?”

Aaron looks up at you, a second of panic flashing across his face. 

“See when he’s off work?”

He doesn’t say anything and the smile fades from your face. 

“Aaron?”

He hesitates, “It’s been a few years since I’ve spoken to Sean.” 

You stare at him, completely surprised and convinced you had misheard him. You knew they weren’t as close as they used to be, but you had no idea it was this severe. 

“Years?”

The team exchanged looks and it was clear that everyone else was aware of this fact. Aaron hates how genuinely shocked you look. 

You lean back angling yourself toward him, “You seriously haven’t talked?”

He remains silent. 

“What happened?”

Everyone sits back quietly because this clearly has become more interesting than the case for the time being. The Hotchners had always been close. That was how you knew Aaron so well, he came back so frequently to see his brother even when he was busy with school and work. The two of them were close because of how distant they were with their parents, Aaron’s dad has never been someone they could look up to. 

“He hasn’t seen Jack since he was three.” Aaron sighs, “I haven’t talked to him since he didn’t come to Haley’s funeral.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence envelops the entire jet. 

Rossi breaks it, “Does he know?”

“Know what?” Aaron plays along obliviously. 

Derek gives him a look, “Hotch.” 

“No.” You answer simply, “We haven’t told him.” 

Morgan grins and your eyes narrow. 

“He doesn’t know?” Emily almost jumps up from her seat. 

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose briefly and you close your eyes for a few seconds. 

“We haven’t-”

You can’t finish the sentence. There is absolutely no good way to finish that. 

Morgan still looks delighted, “You haven’t told him.”

You look at Aaron. Aaron looks at you. 

“That’s going to be a fun call.” Rossi leans back in his chair. 

You cover your face, “This is going to be terrible. This is worse than I thought it would be.” 

You and Aaron always knew this was something that would have to be addressed, but both of you had written it off as a future issue. You knew it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but you didn’t know he and Sean weren’t even in communication. 

“You could always do it later.” JJ offers. 

“Yeah,” Derek claps, loving this way too much, “He could always find out on the Christmas card.” 

You roll your eyes, “Such an ass.” 

“Merry Christmas. Also, I’m dating your brother.” 

The team breaks out in laughter, but it slows when Aaron’s glare levels the room. You knew it was something deeper that would keep them apart for so long. Something unresolved and painful, the teasing around the room faced away. 

You hold his gaze, everyone else focuses on themselves again. 

“We should call him.” 

He looks at you, his face void of annoyance or defensiveness now. After a moment he nods and reaches out under the table to grab your hand and give it a squeeze. 

“Together?” His expression is warming. 

“Together.” You nod. 

Unfortunately the heartfelt moment lasted about three seconds. Then Morgan spoke. 

“Oh, this is serious serious.” 

It wasn’t long before the New York skyline slowly appeared out the windows. You were confident that Derek’s rapid texting was updating Garcia back home on the recent revelations. Everyone now had a new mystery to obsess over. 

-

The case has gone one for two more days after the team lands in the city. Three more bodies have been found, the unsub was still escalating. The profile had narrowed, the suspect pool was shrinking. 

You called Sean the minute you landed, you forced Aaron to stand next to you on the tarmac so he couldn’t back out of it. The call itself was relatively easy, you and Sean have been in contact for years. 

“Hey stranger.” He answered. 

The conversation picked up like no time had passed, like it always did. By the end of the call, he agreed to dinner with the two of you without hesitation. The only problem was that he couldn’t get away from work for the next two nights. 

Which gave Aaron days to dread the conversation that was to come. 

Now the dreaded evening has arrived. 

“Don’t forget your date.” Rossi chuckles, looking between you and Aaron. 

Aaron doesn’t even look up from the evidence board, “Not a date.” 

“Family dinner night.” Morgan corrects with a wicked grin.

“God, that’s even worse.” You groan. 

Derek cuts you a look, “Coming from the girl dating brothers.” 

“Shut up!” You smack his shoulder. 

“I’ve been waiting for this all week!” Garcia cheers from the laptop. 

You step closer to where Aaron is standing. 

“If you say something about how long his hair is, you’ll sound just like your dad.” You threaten, knowing that will stop him more than anything else you could possibly say. 

“Jesus.” He mutters under his breath. 

“Sorry,” You look back at him and offer a small smile, “we just don’t need to start this off on the wrong foot.”

Aaron knows you’re right, this isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Sean was meeting the two of you at the precinct, you guys didn’t really have time to stray far in case anything developed in the case. 

“Hello, hello!” Sean knocks on the open door and walks into the conference room. 

A smile appears before you can stop it. He looks older than the last time you saw him, a little more tired, but unmistakably Sean. 

“Y/n!’ 

He wraps you up in a big hug, the kind that’s reserved for people who you have known for a long time. 

“Look at you!” 

You laugh and Sean steps back. 

“I can’t believe you’re on Aaron’s team, what are the odds?” 

“What are the odds indeed.” Morgan says quietly enough for most of the room to miss it. 

He shakes his eyes and his eyes finally land on his older brother. The smile on his face fades slightly, but not completely. Aaron steps forward and offers him a hand. 

“Sean.” 

The younger of the two nods and meets his firm handshake, “Aaron.” 

The exchange was civil but definitely awkward. Apparently neither Hotchner knew how to communicate in the presence of the other. Sean starts to notice the group, the famous BAU he had seen briefly a couple times over the years. 

“Morgan, right?” Sean reaches out to shake his hand. 

“Yeah man, good to see you again.” 

He exchanges polite conversation with everyone, making the rounds. You stand at Aaron’s side by the door, his eyes rake over your figure and you can tell he’s nervous. A rare side of Aaron. You give a reassuring nod and small smile to try and offer some comfort. 

Sean clears his throat, the two of you snap up in his direction. His expression slowly changes the longer he stares at the two of you. 

You straighten, “Ready?”

He doesn’t move, blinking a few times. The slow painful realization was becoming clear on his face as he looks between the two of you. 

“No way.” He says weakly. 

Prentiss covers her mouth to hide her reaction and JJ has to turn away. Aaron closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Sean-” You try. 

“No.” 

He walks right past the two of you, straight out of the precinct. You and Aaron both follow behind all the way out onto the sidewalk. 

“Sean.” Aaron calls after him several times. 

He keeps walking. 

“Are you kidding me?” He tosses over his shoulder, not slowing his stride. 

“Sean, please.” You call, his steps falter for a second before he stops and turns around to face the two of you. 

Twenty minutes later the three of you are sitting in a small Italian restaurant. The shock had not worn off at all and the table was quiet. Aaron looks exhausted and Sean looks like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet. 

“This is unbelievable.” Sean shakes his head, breaking the silence that had been sitting with them since the waiter left, “Aaron, you’re dating my ex girlfriend?”

“From high school.” Aaron reminds defensively. 

Sean points in his face, “Still.”

“It was over a decade ago.” 

Morgan would’ve loved this. Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh. 

“How long?”

You decide to answer, “A couple months now.”

“Since you joined the team?” His brows raise and you shake your head. 

“Not right away.” 

“Huh.” He reaches forward and takes a piece of bread that had been sitting in the center of the table the entire time. “And you’re both happy?”

You tilt your head, “That’s it?” 

He shrugs, “What do you want me to say?”

“Aren’t you mad?” 

Sean laughs, “Y/n.”

His expression softens and you and Aaron look at each other unsure and confused. 

“We broke up a decade ago.” Hotch holds up his hands at Sean’s words, but he continues anyway, “We’ve been friends ever since. It’s a little weird, but I’m not mad.”

Aaron looks completely surprised. 

“Aaron did tell you for years that you were too smart for me.” Sean reminds.

You snort loudly.

“I do, however, reserve the right to make fun of the two of you about this.” 

“That’s fair.” Aaron cracks a small smile. 

“Extensively.” 

Aaron sighs, “There it is.” 

For the first time all evening, the tension eased. The conversation shifted to lighter topics. Old stories and family memories dominated the meal. Work was part of it, but it didn’t last long since you had to step on Aaron’s foot to drop the judgement over his career path. Some time after the table was cleared and leftovers boxed up, Aaron and Sean started talking. Really talking. 

Years of distance could never just disappear overnight, but it was a start. You noticed the way the two of them had both relaxed. They would never admit it to the other, but they missed each other. 

Eventually Sean points at you, “You know she’s the one responsible for this?” 

Sean is staring closely at his brother. Aaron would admit that this conversation wouldn’t be possible without you. After the years had passed, Sean missing core moments of Jack’s life, he never thought they could get back to this place. 

Aaron nods, “I know.” 

For a moment the younger Hotchner looks genuinely happy. It wasn’t about the relationship, or even the weirdness of it, but just being happy to see his brother smile again. He knew things had been rough, he wouldn’t deny either of you the happiness you clearly bring each other.

Sean raises a glass, “To questionable life choices.” 

You laugh and Aaron groans. 

For the first time in years, both Hotchner brothers laughed together. 

-

You and Aaron take your time walking back to the hotel. The team let you both know that everyone was heading back to the hotel for the night, hoping fresh eyes tomorrow would help. For a few hours the two of you weren’t behavioral profilers. The warmth of the dinner had almost felt surreal considering how it had started. 

It was a brother reconnecting with his family and two friends reuniting.

The elevator ride up was quiet in a comfortable way. You lean against his side as he watches the floor number flash as you climb higher. 

“Tired?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He huffs a laugh that even sounds tired, “Very.” 

“Emotionally?” You tease. 

He glances down, “Mostly.” 

You smile and the elevator doors open. The two of you were only a few doors apart, standard BAU procedure. Separate rooms and separate spaces were the professional way. The two of you stop outside your door. Neither of you are eager to separate. 

“Goodnight, Aaron.” 

His expression softens, “Goodnight.” 

He waits for you to get into the room and for the door to lock before walking down to his room. You immediately move toward the bathroom to take a shower and wash off the day. After the fact you reach into your bag and pull out one of Aaron’s old law school hoodies. It was something you were quick to claim the first time you came over to his place. 

It was faded and comfortable. You saw him wear it a dozen times all those years ago. 

You’re brushing your teeth when your phone lights up on the bathroom counter. 

Aaron. 

You smile instantly and answer the phone and put it on speaker. 

“Miss me already?” 

He pauses and it’s long enough you look down at the phone to see if the line is still connected. 

“Yes.” 

You freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink. 

“What?”

He sighs and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I’m aware how that sounds.” 

You laugh, “Aaron.” 

Another pause. 

“I do. Miss you.” 

Your smile was impossible to wipe off now. This was not the composed Unit Chief most people knew, this was the one you have been seeing for months. This is your boyfriend being the needy man he is. You move to your bed, taking your phone with you and sliding under the covers. 

“I’m right down the hall.” 

“Yes.”

“LIke twenty feet away.” 

“I’m aware.” He passed out everyone’s keys, of course he’s aware.

You’re smiling so wide it’s starting to pull on your cheeks, “You know, you’re quite needy.”

He lets out a surprised laugh. 

“You’re to blame for that.” 

You laugh loudly, not expecting that. 

“Sneak in then.” 

The line goes quiet for a few seconds. You can practically see him debating it. It’s late enough now, few people on the team would even be up at this point. The two of you have not done this once since the relationship started. 

“They’ll notice.” He eventually says. 

“Not if you’re careful.” 

He takes a few more seconds to debate. 

“You make terrible suggestions.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who called me all breathy saying ‘miss you’.” 

He laughs suddenly and the sound brings another smile to your face. 

“Twenty seconds.” He hangs up and the line goes dead. 

Less than twenty seconds pass and there’s a quiet knock at the door. You chuckle to yourself and walk over to open the door. 

“Aaron.” You smile. 

He walks straight in, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips find yours, pressing hard as he backs you up closer to the bed. He pulls back after a few more seconds pass, pressing a couple quick pecks after. 

You smile and run a hand through his hair. You can see the weight of the last few days lessening. 

“Hi.” He smiles. 

His smiles weren’t rare anymore, they happened all the time now. You still appreciate seeing them every time. The two of you move to get under the covers, he doesn’t miss the hoodie you’ve managed to get ahold of. He’s confident this isn’t the only one you’ve got.

Aaron pulls you in against his chest and reaches out to turn off the lamp. The room goes dark, but you can still faintly see his outline in the moonlight. 

He lets out a deep sigh after a few moments pass, holding you a little tighter. 

“Rough day?” You ask, sensing the tension leaving. You trace your hands up and down his arms that are wrapped around you.

“Long day.” He pauses, “A good day.”

Your expression softens because you know exactly what he meant. The conversation and the relief afterward had been a lot to worry about. You could see that he was carrying it for days. Everything you had been worried about somehow worked out.

“You okay?” 

“Better than okay.” He leans in closer to press a kiss behind your ear, “I was worried.” 

“About Sean?” 

You feel him nod behind you and squeeze his hand. 

“He loves you.” 

“I’m glad tonight happened.” He quietly admits. 

“Me too.” 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” 

The words were simple but they meant everything. 

“Me too.”

For the first time that Aaron could remember he felt completely at peace. Even if it was only for one night and the two of you would likely have to face another crime scene tomorrow. Tonight was all he needed. He has you in his arms and that’s enough.

-

an// a little one shot turned LONG one shot just as a mini break from the Hotch series i’ve been working on! so fun, i love dating brothers even tho it’s so so wrong lmao. the beauty of fiction, my loves! please let me know your thoughts, i’m dying to talk about this!

also

HAPPY JUNETEENTH!!! I love you all

[just4g1rlyth1ngs777]

for a girl who loves sleep so much you think i’d go to bed earlier

[zephyr0x0]

Practicing for art club pt3

Imagine waking up after pulling an all nighter and seeing your best friend kissing your brother.

(different versions on keep reading)

[erinstired]

*stands next to you lovingly*

[sincerelybubbles]

⋆｡°✩ criminal minds ⋆｡°✩

°✩ back to general masterlist °✩

→ || s. reid || it wasn't meant to be this way (angst) || pt 1 || pt 2 ||

→ || s. reid || it's a date (fluff) || pt 1 || pt 2 ||

→ || s. reid || i've noticed you

→ || s. reid || mouthful of sunlight (18+ MDNI)

→ || s. reid || spineless (18+ MDNI)

→ || s. reid || the being (un)known

→ || s. reid || quiet night at home

→ || s. reid || waking up

→ || s. reid || arguments

→ || s. reid || don't shut up

→ || s. reid || i love you

→ || s. reid || sweet daydreams

→ || s. reid || sleepless

→ || s. reid || the being (un)known

→ || s. reid || weightless

→ || s. reid || a helping hand (18+)

→ || a. hotchner || firsts

→ || a. hotchner || crawling through your window

→ || e. prentiss || breathtaking

♡ shy!bau!reader ♡

→ || a. hotchner || shy reader || first date || pt 1.5 || dinner and delights || dinner afterthoughts || reader takes down an unsub || first kiss || getting comfortable (slipping into the light)

→ || s. reid || monday, 9:52pm

♡ alarms!reader ♡

→ || s. reid || everywhere you touch || alarms || an ode to quiet mornings ||

buy me a coffee

[bbybluemochi]

Jennifer's body 🩸

[bbybluemochi]

[OC] new addition to my rock band AU! meet the band leader! ❤️‍🔥🎸

[bbybluemochi]

[OCs] my OCs cotton & puppy as black cat and spiderman

[bbybluemochi]

new OC🎸!

[bbybluemochi]

[Oc lineaup] meet my lesbian rock band! I'm so happy to draw them all together at last