Crying Lighting (Hotch x Reader)// ✔

1.Deep End

Summary:

TW: mention of sexual and physical abuse
(and no this isnt inspired by Seaver lmao)

Notes:

Hey y'all! did i start another story without finishin the first fic? yes i did
and hopefully somebody would want an actual enemies-to-friends-to-lovers story bcs i literally dreamt this shit it's insane. was just thinking how crazy would it be to see hotch in that kind of situation. And yes it takes place when Baby Hotch first appears in criminal minds bcs he still has hope for the future - but will leap to season 3 Hotch.

This story is  already continuing in archive of our own (20 chapters deep already lol) but next chapter will show what the main story is gonna be about. the premise will be her helpin Hotch in the future on a case (but!! let's see)

(and pov will switch from Hotch to y/n)

(and yes inspiration from Ozark bcs ive been watching a lot of it- and elementary too lmao)

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Hotch has been in all parts of the country – from large cities with skyscrapers filled with smog and traffic, to the smallest of villages with a population of 80. Nothing surprises him anymore. Yet stepping out of the FBI-mandated SUV after turning off the car engine, he's struck from the gloominess of this part of the globe he'd found himself in with Gideon.

He glances at the lake on his left, not far from the gravel road he'd driven them on. The surface of the water is a brilliant aquamarine, clean and inviting as it hits the green patched shore. A few boats line around, unfinished and dusty. And that's about the nicest looking part of this place. Gideon lets out a whistle, as he pauses in front of the car. There are a few clouds up head that cast everything into a gloomy state – blue and grey at the same time. His eyes peer at last to the old trailer they'd arrived here for. It's beaten down, a window aggressively duck taped shut for lack of a glass. And the white color it used to have is a meek yellow, from the rain and god-knows-what. There are a few lawn chairs up front all forming a circle around the remains of a campfire. And a small motorcycle that he doubts even works in the front steps leading to the door of the trailer.

"You sure anybody is even here?" he hears himself ask and Gideon doesn't deign him a look.

"Doesn't hurt to ask" he says at last and climbs the steps, hand tucked in the inside of his jacket, taking out his badge. Hotch stops below, brandishing his own credentials – a ritual they always did whenever they showed up at someone's doorstep announced.

Gideon knocks and the door flies open from the other side.

Hotch's hand is quick to his gun – unstrapping it at the sight before them –

A young woman that can't be older than Reid (or maybe even younger – he thinks) stands before them. You have short light hair arriving to your jawline, tucked behind your ears, and you're wearing jean shorts and a tank top, appropriate for the weather they're on, and a deep scowl on your face. Yet it's not your appearance that had made him reach for his gun. You look innocuous, smaller in frame and size than the two men. But you're holding a big knife, directed pointedly at Gideon, eyes darting like a wild animal from him to Hotch. And the way you move – quick and jarring, knife bumping deftly from one hand to the other – signifies you know how to do more than just threaten them.

However, Gideon is not alarmed.

"We are federal agents" he says calmly, while Hotch's fingers linger over the gun, "From the FBI"

"Like I haven't hear that before-" you snap, your eyebrows pulled angry downwards, "y'all scumbags will say anything to get a girl to let you inside her house alone "