#case files

gator tillman x reader

warnings: physical and emotional abuse themes run heavy throughout this entire story - if this is not suitable for you please don’t read , smut (eventually), substance use, strong language, morally grey actions, dark themes, threats, high stakes danger, violence, mentions of murder, trauma, ptsd.

synopsis (lovers to enemies to lovers, i can fix him, submissive!gator in the bedroom)

Tasked with stopping Roy Tillman, the corrupt sheriff of Stark County, you know the easiest way to him is through his son, Gator. Your mentor’s words echo in your mind: “Are you sure you can handle hurting this boy?” You already know the answer. Yes.

a/n: helllooo, i’ve had this idea floating around so am aiming for a five parter fic. this is the first time I have written aaanny fanfic since I was 14 so please go gentle. Chapter 1 is written but I’m going to stagger posting until I’m halfway done with the next chapter so please expect the first part to come out next week! looking forward to going on this journey with you <3

Part One: The Assignment

Part Two: Too Close

Part Three: Don’t Fall Asleep 18+ mdni!!

Part Four: No Way Back 18+ mdni!!

Part Five: Untitled

Part Six: No Winners

Fic Playlist:

In between the lines

Relationship: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Tags: One bed trope, romantic feelings, older man/younger woman, postHaley!Hotchner, no smut.

Word count: like 1-2k?

A/N: this took way too long guys I’m sorryyyy I’m also not posting this on AO3 BECAUSE IVE EXPERIENCED THE CURSE IM SO FR !!! So yeah ❤️‍🩹

Edit: go vote in my poll so I can decide if this turns smutty or not 👀👀👀

————————————————————————

One of the first things you and Emily bonded over was your shared love for cutting bangs when stressed. After one particularly hard case that had left you with a bitter feeling throughout your body, you went home and immediately chopped your hair off. When you came into work the next day to find that Prentiss had done the same, you knew that you had found your soul sister.

So when you were faced with the jarring realization that you were developing feelings for the worst possible person in your life, you had no choice but to cut your hair off. In fact, you were so shaken up you even considered dying it, which you had not done since your last breakup years ago.

Logically, you knew deep down that your feelings had been snowballing over a longer period of time. A series of smaller instances that had left you with a similar warm feeling in your belly, perhaps the entirety of the two years you had now been at the BAU as a profiler. But there was one moment that you could pinpoint as the exact moment that you knew you were screwed.

It was just a few weeks before, when the team was called out to New Orleans for a case involving what the team deduced to be a female unsub. Men in the area were being mysteriously poisoned and then positioned in public places. When the team finally apprehended the unsub, who was revealed to be a woman who was raped by a group of drunk men at a bar when she was 16, she was cagey and ready to shoot.

You watched tensely as Hotch talked her down and showed her a kindness she had probably never experienced before from an older male figure. In that moment, seeing him treat her with such kindness, your heart swelled with a uniquely familiar warm type of admiration that put everything into perspective. A feeling that you did not have to be a profiler to identify as a crush. It feels stupid and childish, but for lack of a better term, it is how you feel toward the man who is also your unit chief.

Once you had been made aware of what you had subconsciously known was present, you couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of every second you spent near the man. Your mind was constantly buzzing with anxious thoughts from every possible angle.

Working as a profiler at the BAU was your dream. You have been hooked since you were a teenager and read your first novel by David Rossi. Only more so when you attended a lecture by Dr. Spencer Reid while in the later years of your bachelor's degree. You were almost certain that collapsing into a blubbering confessional mess in front of your boss would end your entire career at the FBI that you had worked so hard to secure. You were the second-youngest member to join the BAU, and even then it was only by a tiny margin. You were only a few months older than Reid was when he joined.

Needless to say, at the revelation, you panicked. Panicked enough to make the big chop.

The first person who noticed that you cut your hair was Reid. Of course.

The second that you walked into the BAU’s office, biting your nails anxiously, exhausted from not sleeping well, and cutting your hair at the ripe hour of 2:36 AM in your bathroom, Reid clocked you. You walked to your desk, and as soon as you put your bag down, he spoke.

“You’re biting your nails again.” You turn and give him a sidelong look. “And you cut your hair.”

You simply nod. You are not in the mood to discuss your emotions, nor do you have any intention of letting on what triggered the sudden midnight haircut. So instead, you pray to the gods of Penelope Garcia, and they answer your prayers. She calls everyone up to the conference room. Spencer must sense that you don’t want to talk about it because he drops the subject and goes on to chatter about some recent biological discovery that he read about. You let yourself focus on him until you guys make it to the table and Penelope begins presenting the case. When you sit down and make eye contact with Emily, she just smiles a knowing smile, and you can’t help but grimace back.

Your attention is suddenly pulled towards the sound of Hotch and JJ walking in. JJ smiles and compliments the haircut. Your eyes meet Hotch’s for a mere second before you both look away. But before you do, you swear you see an odd look in his eyes. You notice that Rossi isn’t with them, and you’re about to ask Morgan where he is before Hotch answers, telling the team that he is under the weather and will be on sick leave for the next few days.

“Alright, my lovelies, it looks like you are off to Buffalo, New York, where there has been a series of not-so-nice discoveries in the past few days…”

As you tune into the information Garcia is presenting, you try your best to ignore the burning feeling that Hotch sitting mere feet away from you ignited in your core. The butterflies that invade your stomach seem girlish and juvenile, but you can’t seem to usher them away. The only thing that drags your attention away from your body’s reaction to the mere presence of the man you are very attracted to is the details of the case. You’re almost thankful to be pulled into the horror and let your mind fully fixate on it. Slowly, the butterflies dissipate, and the anxiousness in your stomach is now replaced with the pressure to catch the killer.

The victims are all women aged 47-58, possible surrogates, Morgan ponders out loud. All of them were found in numerous places around the city with no particular care for how they were left. Based on the crime scene photos, you can tell that some of their limbs were taken.

“What’s the COD?” You ask, looking up from the case file in your hand to meet Penelope’s gaze. She informs the team that it’s hard to determine because the woman underwent such intense torture. You turn as you hear Morgan speak, but your eyes catch on the stern expression molded onto Hotch’s features as he listens to Derek speak. Despite his stern outward appearance, you can tell by the clench of his jaw and his finger tapping in front of him that he is similarly consumed by the pressure to catch the unsub. You don’t even realize that you were staring until you look up to meet his eyes. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you look away.

“Wheels up in twenty.”

–

On the plane, you start to regret having cut your hair in place of sleeping.

You’re on your 3rd cup of coffee, and you still feel your eye bags becoming increasingly more apparent despite the makeup you vigorously patted over them just a few hours prior. You’re jolted awake by something that you read as you make a double-take just to make sure you actually read the correct thing.

“Am I reading this correctly? The latest victim was found with chunks of her hair missing?” Garcia is on the jet’s small screen, and she solemnly assures you that you are correct.

“He could be keeping them as trophies.” JJ speculates, and you turn to nod in agreement from where you’re sitting next to her. The team is all clustered near the screen where Penelope’s image is being projected. Even through the haze of the case, you are hyperaware of the fact that Hotch is standing above you; now and then he leans down to the table in front of you and JJ to grab a case file, and your heart stammers in your chest.

Every time it happens, you try to bully yourself into composure.

You hear a chirp come from Garcia’s end of the call and your stomach sinks differently as you recognise the sound of either a body being discovered or some other sort of horrible news. That sound is never good news.

“Oh! This just came in; there has been a woman reported missing. Her name is Pearl White,” there's some clicking from her end, “and she fits the victimology almost perfectly. She’s 48, and she works as a waiter at a local diner.”

“Garcia, look into how she could be connected to the other victims, and let the Buffalo PD know that we are 30 minutes out.”

She nods before animatedly saying goodbye. As soon as her image disappears from the screen, Hotch begins barking out the team's orders for when they arrive on scene. JJ and Reid to interview Pearl White's coworkers, Morgan to the coroner, and you, him, and Emily to the station to interview family. You all nod, and he walks away to where he usually sits with Dave in the back corner of the plane. You can barely contain your yawn as you try to keep yourself awake.

Derek catches your yawn from where he's sitting across the aisle with Reid, and shoots you a look.

“Someone have a long night?” He raises his eyebrows, smirking, and you narrow your eyes back in response, smiling pleasantly.

“I don’t know, ask your mother.” You smile back. Low blow, but in your defence, you’re not at your full brain capacity.

Morgan simply laughs in response, and Reid perks up, taking the moment to explain in great detail the long history of “Yo Mama” Jokes.

You, JJ, and Prentiss all groan before sitting and listening intently for 30 minutes to Dr. Reid's lecture.

–

The 3 cups of caffeine must have kicked in because you couldn’t be more awake as you piece together the victims on the board that the local PD set up for the team.

That or the interview you just had with the daughter of the latest victim was jarring enough to sober you up.

You’re taping the last victim's picture to the board when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You can’t help but jump; you have never been an avid enjoyer of surprises, much less in a police station, but with the added factor of being exhausted, you’re extra jumpy. What you turn to see is even more harrowing. Aaron Hotcher, smiling softly down at you and holding two cups of coffee.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You swear you can sense a whisper of amusement in his voice. You wave him off, assuring him you're just jumpy, and when you take the coffee from his hands, your fingers briefly brush, and your traitorous heart does another Cirque du Soleil-worthy flip.

“Thank you, sir.” Is all you say, smiling back gratefully.

“Did your interview with the other victims’ families reveal anything new?” You purse your lips, disappointed. Next to you, you catch him tapping his fingers against his coffee.

“No, they were all upstanding citizens, and I don’t see where they could have crossed paths with the unsub.” You take a sip of the coffee he handed you, and your eyes slightly widen in shock. He got your coffee order exactly right, hence why the small gestures of kindness were so easily snowballed, and why you were basically forced to cut your hair.

When you turn to look at him, he’s watching you with a searching look in his eyes, which you assume is attributed to the mysteriousness of the case. You return it with your own as you try to think where the women could have been taken from. Your gaze is torn away when you hear a voice at the doorway. It’s Emily.

“We’ve got a problem.” You and Hotch exchange one last sidelong look before listening to what Prentiss has to say.

–

“So we have a medium telling our victims’ families that their loved ones aren’t gone?” JJ repeats in disbelief.

“‘Aren’t gone from the spiritual plane’” Morgan corrects, quoting the family member that Emily had just interviewed.

It had been a few hours since Emily’s interview with the victim's family, and the team was now gathered in the station. Morgan returned bearing the news that the official cause of death for the victims was blunt force trauma that came from a series of blows to the arms, neck, and head of the victims, and even slight blood loss from the limbs being sawed off ante-mortem.

“It’s actually not that unbelievable that this case would have some spiritual ties.” Reid begins. “Buffalo, New York is close to Lily Dale, which is famously the spiritual and psychic hub of the East Coast…” he starts to ramble about the history of the city and its spiritual origins, but is cut off by a phone ringing.

“Talk to me, baby girl.”

“I come bearing bad news…I was unable to find any link between our victims; they didn’t run in any of the same crowds or frequented any of the same establishments, or even hospitals. I’m sorry.” Morgan hangs up the phone after rattling off his usual affectionate remarks.

“So we have a sexual sadist who is kidnapping older women and severely torturing them.” You think out loud.

“With this much pent-up rage and such a specific victimology, these women must be surrogates for some form of a mother figure.” JJ continues your train of thought.

“So how much time does Pearl White have before the unsub’s rage overcomes him?”

–

You truly feel like a Victorian child burning the midnight oil as you comb through the files Garcia sent over on each of the victims' lives. You’ve been in this conference room for so long you feel like the smell of the room will forever be ingrained into your clothes.

You’re so locked into the unique kind of tunnel vision that you get when working on a case that you don’t realize the rest of the team is gone until you hear a voice coming from next to you. You look up to find Hotch holding a pair of keys and telling you it’s time to go. You check your phone and see that it’s 9:37 PM. The daytime officers are long gone from the station, replaced by the night shift. You grab your bag and follow Hotch to the car. You stop in your tracks when you look around and see that no one else is with you guys. Once you’re in the passenger seat, you turn to him, confused

.“Where is everyone?” You study his face and stop when you see him slightly flush.

“They all left an hour ago.” At that, your eyebrows raise in slight shock, but his eyes remain trained on the road, his hands tapping on the steering wheel as he drives.

“Why’d you stay?” Maybe not the best question to ask your boss you also have feelings for. Oh well.

He stays silent for a second, and you start to deeply regret your life choices and your inability to have any awareness of your surroundings when you’re consumed by a case.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “You just seemed so…focused.” His words are delicate and poised like everything he does. “I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you.” At that, he actually turns to look at you, and your eyes soften.

“That’s…very considerate of you, sir”

“It’s Hotch.”

“Right, sorry.” Two years and you can’t bring yourself to call him Hotch, especially during work hours.

“Well, I fear that your gesture was ultimately pointless because I didn’t find anything.” You sigh, rubbing your temples as you feel an incoming headache.

“We’ll find him.” He assures you. His tone is stern and determined like he always is when the team is working.

You just nod. You don’t have any doubt, but with the unsub having a woman in custody, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing enough.

When you guys arrive at the hotel, he tells you to wait by the elevators while he gets the keys, and you nod. You’re so exhausted you can barely move your legs, so you’re grateful for the respite from human interaction.

If you weren’t so out of it, maybe you would have the brain capacity to identify the feeling in your chest. A feeling that feels eerily like the one that led you to cut your hair in the first place.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you see Hotch turn and walk back towards you with an odd expression on his face. An expression that in your two years of working together you had never seen before.

“Sir?” You look to see him holding one of the small card holders they give you for the room. His eyes on yours are guilty and slightly hesitant.

“So it looks like when Penelope called ahead to cancel Dave’s room, the hotel staff accidentally cancelled two rooms.”

Your heart drops.

“And the hotel is booked because a convention is being hosted this week.”

You must be delirious. You blink, trying to ensure this is reality and you don't fall asleep. Unfortunately, it is reality.

Neither one of you seems to want to admit out loud the implication of this and simply walk to the elevators together. He holds his hand out, offering to carry your bag, and to your surprise, you let him.

-

An entity found within the universe of my book; Boogeymen: Fates Schism.

TRUMP WAS COMPROMISED BY ISRAEL BTW!! ITS A DIRECT QUOTE!

The worst part is the republican meat swallowers saying that "its all allegations" and how "women always lie about rich guys bc they want money and attention" or the good ol "she wanted it." They dont look at the files, and when they do, they claim its all just ALLEGATIONS because thats all a complaint it.

And if you guys look at the first image, Im not sure who's talking to who since its redacted. But theyre talking about eating murdered babies's intenstines. I feel like rape is such an easy thing to be mad at, because its horrendous, but then you go deeper. Its satanic at best. All that money and they'll still up burning in hell.