A FBI Agent reader thrusts herself in the middle of the Reaper investigation, leaving the BAU questioning if they need her. Foyet unleashes another layer to his manipulation of Aaron Hotchner and his team. Is this consulting agent trustworthy? Something about her tells Hotch that this case is just as important to her as it is him. Can she work both sides of the law to meet her means? A salacious series of smut and betrayal….
Featuring: George Foyet x Female Reader, Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader
Setting: Season 5
A/N: This is dark and dangerous. Our reader goes by Agent Turner to protect her identity. xoxo Stu
Series
Warnings: Minor mentions of violence, moral repugnancy, and general unsub behavior. Alcohol. Only implied of smut this time.
Your name: submit What is this?
There were days when you felt almost normal: going to work, grabbing groceries, drinking heavily, both coffee and other dark liquids. Then there were patches of time when you felt yourself cracking like a fraying rope, each layer of twine snapping as the two directions you had tied yourself to drew you apart. Splitting you open. The stress had you edgy, the booze made you weepy.
George was angry that you had no sway with the marshals, you told him to go find himself a hole to fill in that agency instead. It was petty, but you weren’t above that at the moment. You needed time to breathe and whenever you closed your eyes you saw Hotch in that hospital bed. It had been twenty days, when your phone rang unexpectedly.
“Turner?” You sat at your desk, mindlessly filling out a report. You coffee cold and your mind unfocused when his gruff voice woke you up.
“Y/N, it’s me.” Aaron Hotchner had all but dropped off the face of the earth since you left his hospital room to give him and his ex-wife privacy.
“Caller ID. How are you?” You kept your voice low and your tone light, each word clipped.
“Been better, apparently being stabbed is a real inconvenience.” He was being glib? Honestly.
“And you call yourself a profiler... So did you need something or just wanted to save me from the mountain of reports I’d rather not do?”
“If you’re busy, Y/N, by all means--”
“Aaron?” You cut him off. “Look, I should be out on time tonight. Do you want me to pick up some take out and stop by?”
“I’m not looking for pity,” He replied simply.
“That’s good, because I don’t feel sorry for you.” You switched ears as you let him work through your bluntness. “Aaron Hotchner, you faced the Reaper and lived to hunt him down. You have my respect.... Now, can I invite myself over or would you rather continue to wallow alone?”
“Call when you’re downstairs, the building’s security has been ramped up.”
You couldn’t help but smirk into the mouthpiece. “7-ish?”
Stepping through the glass doors into the BAU’s bullpen made you feel like a substitute teacher walking in on the wrong lecture. Slowly, the profilers unwrapped their brains from their previous case to acknowledge your presence.
“Sorry to bother you all,” you tried overtly polite as your invitation was getting stale after the attack on their beloved Unit Chief. “Just wanted to check in since, everything.”
Morgan’s eyebrows practically lept off his face, Reid’s mouth drooped widely as JJ froze. Prentiss was the first to break the uncomfortable silence, “Turner, have you been given a copy of the evidence and Hotch’s accounts of the attack?”
“I haven’t received any updates to the case files since Hotch has been out of the office,” you admitted, trying not to take the oversight personally.
“There’s an easy solution and she likes unicorns.” Prentiss smiled without teeth. “Walk with me?”
You fell into step with the raven haired beauty. “Thanks, I didn’t want to barge in, but I want to help. Especially--”
“Since its Hotch?” Her voice wasn’t condescending, it was almost curious. Her wise eyes held a kindness in them, one that you didn’t instinctively turn away from. “Look, we all want to get the bastard, but the others, they sort of circle the wagons when a profiler is down.”
“The strength of the wolf is the pack.” You recited a bit of Kipling.
“Pretty much. I might still be the novice profiler, but I’m not going to turn away an extra brain.” You smiled, appreciating her pragmatism. “Hey, Garcia-”
Prentiss got you squared away with all of the new details and listed on the BAU’s latest communication list with Strauss and the Boston PD. If there was anything more than a blip about Foyet, you’d be one of the first to be alerted. It was time to be a team player.
He woke you by nuzzling your elbow, his nose trailing up your arm as his strong hands found your backside and drew it to him. His breath was warm in the crisp night air, your body melding to his, you clutched his hand in yours, holding it to your heart.
“About time.” You mumbled, letting his huff of amusement fall against your hair. There was something oddly comforting about him lying beside you, his murderous hands stroking your body while at any moment he could end you. Sleeping with George was like sleeping with a boa constrictor, the pressure hurt so good, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Before long you were both asleep, relaxing in the fake safety of your circumstances.
It was just before dawn when he started with the questions, each one pulling you closer to consciousness until his voice was desperate.
“Y/N, are fucking Hotchner?!” It was a strangled plea. You sat up blinking, staring at George as if he was a figure from a dream come to life.
“What’s going on? What are you talking about?” Your heart banged against your chest, the shock of being woken and accused in the same instant adding to the adrenaline. He stood over your bed, dangling your work phone above your face like the proverbial carrot on a stick.
“Lots of calls for someone on medical leave... look here a winky emoticon.”
You rolled over and hid your head in between your pillows, there was nothing he could have figured out from that phone anyway. He was jumping to conclusions and all you had to do was maintain a perfect level of annoyance before he would drop the subject entirely. You kind of hated how much you could predict his moods at this point. Narcissistic ass.
You groaned dramatically and pulled the duvet up to your chin, leaving him to stew in his search. He plopped down at your feet not ten minutes later, almost sheepishly. “Done with your little tantrum?” you asked, not bothering to open your eyes.
He had stripped in his sleep, wearing just his shorts. His tawny body hunched over as he licked his teeth at your sass. “God, there isn’t anything better than making you eat your words, Y/N.”
Your head perked up, catching his drift.
You knew he was ready to get back on that jet, ready to be the man he was before he was broken and robbed of his family. But you didn’t want him back at Headquarters, not yet. You were far from a poster child of healthy coping habits, but you could spot the anger and bitterness before it slipped from his mouth. The stress of profiling would only exacerbate the resentment, but, naturally he passed every interview and clearance exam.
He was set to start in the morning, the files and photos covered his dining table. You had only been over a handful of times, just meals and movies. You made it clear that you wouldn’t overstep and he made it clear that he wasn’t ready to be with you, yet. That strand of possibility that brought you back and kept you at arm’s length.
“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh?” You made small talk, glancing briefly at the images you had memorized.
“Has the team kept you up to date on the case?” Hotch was in his concerned teacher mode.
“There hasn’t been much to update, unless--”
“Unless he kills again.” You pursed your lips at the stalemate you both felt. “Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you and before I do, I want to assure you that this stays between us, unless it is absolutely necessary to the case.”
Your stomach fell through the floor, his tone was methodical as if he was walking you through a cognitive interview. It made your skin crawl.
“Shoot.” You tried blase.
“Were you ever going to tell me who you were?” He watched you with those tar pit eyes, waiting for you to slip up.
“I was waiting for you to remember me. We met.” You bobbed your head, “Before.”
“Y/N Y/L/N, daughter to George Foyet’s fifth and sixth victims.” Hotch recited your past stoically, as only he could. “I remember a devastated teenager telling me to do my damn job. Contacts?”
“And Botox.” You shrugged. “Where does that leave us?”
Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader/ George Foyet x Female Reader
Setting: Season 4
A/N: A/N: So I got an unsub fmk-type ask and this came from that. This is going to be darker than any other series I have done. Hope you guys like it! The reader character has a name because she is protecting her identity.
If you haven’t seen the episode Amplification, the BAU team helped take down a homegrown terrorist who was trying to release a strain of Anthrax in a train station. This is a rather long chapter for this series. xoxo Stu
Warnings: Smut. Moral repugnancy.
Series
Your name: submit What is this?
It wasn’t your department or your business, but something big was happening in the BAU. You stepped out onto your floor with the box of pastries in your hand. Shit, now who were you supposed to give your apology donuts to? Improvising, you went to your Chief’s office. If anyone knew anything about what was going on downstairs, he would know.
“Chief? I brought food in and figured you’d like first dibs.” You never sucked up, this would alarm anyone else, but luckily your boss was a bit on the thick side. Physically and mentally.
“Thanks Turner, didn’t peg you as a sharer.” He appraised his choices without getting out of his seat.
“Yeah, well, I was going to try and butter up the BAU, but the floor was a little crowded this morning. If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, best to give them some space, besides we’re working on random sweeps of public transportation for the rest of the week. Hope you brought yourself some coffee.”
You groaned, but the desk work was better than having to worry about suiting up for field work. By the end of your shift you knew that whatever the BAU was working on dealt directly with Homeland Security and the NSA. The surveillance your team had been assigned suggested an active terrorist threat, but nothing was leaked or narrowed down beyond general sweeps for suspicious packages or behavior in crowds. It was extremely anticlimactic.
Even after a day like the one he had, Jack’s little voice warmed Aaron Hotchner from the inside out. Haley had been considerate, letting him wake up their son for a late night phone call. He listened to an enthusiastic story that quickly got derailed by a question and then talk of what part of dreams can come true. Aaron wanted Reid’s memory in that moment, to just save this, this fleeting chat with his boy. Soon enough Haley was coaxing the phone out of Jack’s little hands on the other end of the line. Hotch half-smirked and sighed; the world kept spinning despite everything the job threw at him.
Your eyes hurt and your neck ached from the surveillance, constantly watching civilians didn’t ease your natural paranoia. You decided to lay low and keep from drawing any attention, from your co-workers or from George. You had a few places you knew well enough that could be an escape for a day or longer if you needed to disappear. The loft was one of those precautionary hideouts, though it was technically still leased in your name, you hadn’t been back since you started your “interactions” with the fugitive serial killer.
The lock groaned with the force you wrenched the key clockwise. The old wood warped near the floor causing you to kick at the door as you stepped inside. The smell of dust and the old cedar chest in the massive single room greeted you as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a small space, but it held such comfort. This was a safe place, a place that reminded you who you were before you met George Foyet. Even if that person didn’t exist anymore, it was almost like you could feel her here. A ghost of your former self welcomed you home to mourn her. Taking solace in memory, you fell quickly onto the large makeshift bed of discarded pallets and stacked mattresses, along one corner of the floor.
The ringing of your work phone woke you from the fog of forgotten dreams.
“Turner.”
“Hey.” Hotch’s voice held a soothing note after the bleating ringtone.
“He lives,” You curled in on yourself, letting your eyes droop closed yet again. “That was some -* yawn* - case, huh? The cavalry arrived and everything.”
“Did I wake you? We can talk later if-“
“No! Well, yes, but I don’t mind.” You sat up, as if your unseen position could convince him of your wakefulness. “I guess this means we’re even.”
A deep exhale shuddered through the earpiece, “I wouldn’t say quite even.” Hotch’s voice dropped to conspiratorial levels, your stomach tightened at his suggestion.
“Well, then, you better pay up.” You smirked, waiting for him to back out.
“What’s your address?”
Fuck.
You flew into panic mode, quickly wiping down the small breakfast table and chairs. You grabbed a quilt out of the hope chest and threw it over the bed, the lack of pillows a blatant reminder than you didn’t usually sleep here. You muscled a window open to let in fresh air, the old paint chipping in the sill. Hotch had said he would bring over dinner, leaving you to try and clean up all the dust while hiding the starkness of the one room loft.
After two minutes of straightening the little furniture you had, you turned on your laptop and put on some music, the sound rattled through the terrible built in speakers. Finally, you glanced in the mirror. The sleep had left your face better than you had hoped and you quickly touched up your make up. Pushing your fingers through your hair as you tried to get it to lay just right. Your phone buzzed as well as the call box next to the door.
Hotch was there, you tried not to run to let him in, but the butterflies in your stomach helped carry you across the room.
How had this happened? One minute you were hiding from life and the next you’re having Pad Thai with a handsome man, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened. Hotch chuckled against your mismatched glassware, luckily the corner market sold wine and beer. There was something lighter about his posture tonight. His eyes twinkled at you across the dim room.
“Thanks for bringing over food, Hotch,” You stretched your arms and rolled your shoulders. “I don’t remember if I had lunch today.”
“Perks of the job, right?”
“Something like that,” You sipped your cheap white, letting the liquid coat your tongue. It was such a subtle drink compared to your usual whiskey. “I wanted to apologize for the other night, but you had your hands full when I stopped by.”
“Sorry to have missed you.”
“Well, you missed pastries, so it’s your loss really.”
“Either way, I’m glad we’re here now.” How could one person be this charming? It was like the role of agent melted away once he took off his suit jacket. Your eyes dragged over him and the images of what could happen when he took more off, teased at your thoughts. His smirk told you he caught you looking. His tongue darted out and your core tightened with anticipation.
A giggle bubbled up from somewhere and you broke the stalemate. Hotch’s smile softened as you finished your glass. You held up the bottle to offer him another, but the few drops left barely increased his portion. You began to clean up when his warm palm found your bare elbow. He stood, his body melding against yours with his height framing you perfectly.
Delicately he took your chin in his hand, coaxing eye contact. Whatever he found in your eyes, he welcomed, his lips raking over your jaw. Your mouth hungered for him, you kissed him desperately. This was an intimacy you had been denied for so long. His mouth was warm and his stubble pricked your skin in all the right ways. His hands roamed your body, securing you against him, until he picked you up and whisked you to the ramshackle bed.
You were used to giving over control, yet with Hotch you had been the assertive pursuer. Now, Everything had changed. You weren’t sure if it was his mood or yours, but every touch was tender. Every moment was unexpected. He tugged off his tie after letting you fall onto the bed top. You leaned back and started unfastening your pants, but his strong hands pulled your wrists back. He nuzzled against your navel and you let go.
His hands scooped your ass off the bed, giving a playful squeeze before removing your pants. His kiss found you again, your legs held him tightly to your body. Your hands threaded through his short locks, as his length pushed threateningly against your slowly soaking panties. You purred into the kiss, his lips trailing over your skin as you let him continue undressing you. When he went to unclasp your bra you sat up in alarm, you couldn’t let him see the brand.
“Just leave that bit on, for now?” You whispered, the fear of discovery sending your pulse rattling.
“Whatever you say, Y/N,” Hotch nodded, his concern fading on his features as you started undressing him in turn. Soon it was settled, he was all pale skin over layers of muscle, dark hair covered him, making him even more manly than his pristine suits or two guns could. You stroked his dick until he backed down your body, his mouth leaving an assault of heat down your torso. He kissed your covered breasts, kneading them through the fabric. God his hands were masterful.
“I believe I have a debt to pay and then we’ll see about the rest of the night,” He taunted above your sex. You slowly unfurled each leg from around his back, leaving your folds open for his taking. He started painfully slow, dragging his nose over your inner thighs. As his tongue began to open your outer folds, your head fell back, letting the sensations take over as your eyes slammed closed.
He didn’t talk, like George would have, if George ever focused on your pleasure over his domination. Hotch was meticulous, every noise or shift he adjusted or continued. Each stroke of his tongue sent you closer, his fingers dipped furtively inside you, applying a ghost of pressure on your inner bundle of nerves. He hummed against your clit, his tongue adding wide swipes as your want pooled with his saliva. He added an internal rhythm as his tongue worked seamlessly with his digits.
Your hands clutched the tattered quilt as your muscles tightened, your pelvis rocking against his face as the build up crested. You rolled your hips inward as you felt your center tighten around him. He rocked you through your finish, all the while watching you with the softest of expressions, but you saw the satisfaction underneath his adoration. He was pleased with himself and you smirked at his arrogance.
You bit your bottom lip as he quickly wiped his hands on the blanket, dragging his glossy face over your thigh, playfully. You pushed him away, with a teasing guffaw. “Just because we’re even doesn’t mean I am going to let you use me like a napkin, Aaron.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” He kissed your cheek, his face lingering at your ear as your body slowly relaxed. You hated having the bra on, but it was completely necessary now. A small discomfort now for hopefully a night-full of pleasure to follow. If you were being honest with yourself, perhaps a few nights to follow. “Now where were we?” His voice was like honey, sweet and sinful.
You rolled to face him, his body folded to meet yours. His thumb caressed your cheek and he kissed your forehead. Shit, this was not something you should be allowing yourself. But the safety you felt in that moment had evaded you for so long, was it so wrong to linger in it? You knew the answer, but you lied to yourself anyway.
You leaned into his touch, letting his need build as your body pressed tighter to him. Suddenly you got lost from the mission, the retribution and the memories and you gave yourself a moment of true connection. Hotch held you closer and eased inside of you. Each inch wasn’t a conquering, but a joining. It was raw and real in a way nothing had been with George and it tore you apart. You hadn’t realized you had tears in your eyes until he was wiping them away.
“Good crying, I hope?” He murmured as he pecked at the streaks along your cheeks.
“God, yes, so good,” You moaned as he pumped inside of you. He was on his knees and you were straddling him, somehow he completely supported you. Your toes brushed the wall behind him and you leaned back, adding to his angle. With your newly secured push off point you drove back into him, sending him calling out into the night.
One week later
Jogging through the park you felt his eyes on you, you were only halfway through your route; you ignored him for two more laps. He had texted you randomly saying to keep your head up, but you hadn’t expected an impromptu meeting. You circled up and nodded towards the greasy diner across the street. He was in sunglasses again, his half grin shining at you through the bars of the plastic jungle gym.
You took the last two laps at a dwindling pace, letting George find a booth. This gave you time to compose yourself and get your head back in line. You scooted into the sticky bench seat across from him, a menu waiting on your place mat.
“Took you long enough,” He grunted.
“Being out of breath would have only drawn more attention to us,” You mumbled, flipping the plastic pages.
“I like you out of breath,” George sighed. “It’s getting closer, thanks to all of your surveillance, Y/N.”
“Anything I need to be prepared for?”
“Let’s just hope Hotch keeps coming home alone for a bit longer,” his voice gave nothing away. Your gut churned at the possibility he knew you had slept with his enemy. What the fuck did you think would happen, Y/N?! You kicked yourself, leaving your face as blank as possible.
“Direct attack then?” You flipped your coffee mug over.
“Shhh-” he held his finger up to his lips, the waitress approached with coffee and her order pad at the ready.
You ordered absentmindedly, and were soon playing with your hashbrowns as George enjoyed his short stack and side of bacon. He wouldn’t give you any details, but watched you intensely. You could feel the knife sheathed on his ankle under the table as he played footsie with you. The coffee was terrible, but you doctored it up enough to down two cups. You were not used to small talk, but he kept the conversation flowing to avoid any suspicions.
“I’ll come see you when the job is done?” He asked, waiting for your approval.
“Yeah, that’ll be great, actually.” Your lips hitched, as you swallowed down the bile that was fighting with your breakfast. He nodded, accepting it as a smirk and not distress. George stood as the check was dropped off, patting your forearm as a goodbye. You fully exhaled as the welcome bell signaled his departure.
“He left you with the bill? What an ass.” The waitress tisked.
“Well, I do make more than he does.” You shrugged and gave the older woman a solid tip.
Two days later
You had received a colorful email from Garcia beckoning you to their conference room after lunch. You brought your laptop and a fresh steno pad with you. The BAU was quiet, you assumed they were all eating together. They seemed that type of group. You, obviously weren’t that type of group. The more people in your life, the more you had to be prepared to lose. Despite every logical thought, your mouth lifted at the sight of Hotch in his office.
You bit it back, ducking your head down as you continued passed the other offices. The conference room was just like it was on your first round table session. Your evidence board wheeled to the the side, leaving their regular cases to take priority. You set your things down and inched the heavy display back to the center of the room.
“Early bird gets the worm, right?” Agent Rossi’s wizened voice greeted you as he sauntered in through the door.
“Or so they say,” you replied simply.
“I’m more of a night owl myself. You, Agent Turner? Get much sleep at night?” He settled in a chair across from yours.
“Do I look tired, Agent Rossi?” Your confusion pinching your features, you weren’t sure where this challenge was coming from.
“Not at all, though guilt and an assortment of nighttime, activities, could leave someone like you. Young, pretty, ambitious, up at night.”
“I really don’t think my nighttime activities are any of your business.” You sat down and crossed your arms over your chest like a petulant teenager. He was the original profiler and you had to be careful with each word that escaped your lips.
“Not really. But I’ll tell you what is my business. Catching unsubs. Now, the best way to do that is to have each member of the BAU focused. I’m not sure exactly your angle, and we all have an angle, my dear. But I do know Hotch. He doesn’t deserve the distraction, especially not right now.” Rossi’s dark eyes held yours as the ice ran down your spine.
The interrogation ended as Prentiss’s laugh broke through the air, she and Morgan strolled in followed by JJ and Reid. Time to get back to work.
