#Behavioral Analysis Unit

[inknopewetrust]

𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲

Summary: The BAU finds themselves in the slammer with no memory of the night before and unbelieving cops not realizing that you all are truly FBI Agents… not just hungover liars looking for bail.

[BAU Team & Reader; slight implications of Hotch x Reader, Reid x Reader] [WC: 2k]

Warnings: questioning on drugs, not to be taken too seriously. It’s a fluff piece—fluff!! This is just a lil fic.

Quick Links: Masterlist

You’re not really sure how you ended up there.

Sitting, knees pulled to your chest and head in your hands, the concrete floor of the jail cell was much more rough than you anticipated it being. Jail.

Your head pounded at the thought but it could have been the flickering light above or the incessant task your friends had taken on—attempting to convince the officers that this was one giant, completely absurd, mistake.

“Oh, officer, please,” Penelope’s distressed whine carried farther the longer the hangover sat. “I really want to go home.”

“We were just at the bar. We didn’t have anything to do with that—“

“Christ,” the officer mumbled and cut off Emily’s supportive inclusion on Penelope’s behalf. “You are the chattiest people I’ve ever had in the box.”

You wished they just stop doing that, chatting. There was a rave happening every time you lifted your head; a consistent thrum of a heartbeat stressing the sides of your temples and you’d kill, hypothetically, for an Advil or two right about now.

And against your better judgement, your kept on thinking: how the hell did you end up here?

There was no real remembering the situation. All you really knew is that it started early, after a case in Utah had brought you all back at a reasonable hour but also wore each soul thin. The break was suggested by Derek in an attempt to lighten the mood and the only one who decided against it had been Rossi because he said he had “better things to do then spend extra time with all of you.”

He meant it affectionately, you thought.

But that break had led you all to a hole-in-the-wall bar on the southwest side of Arlington not far from the airport and it had quickly devolved from memory to imagination when you drank your second vodka soda of the night.

And maybe everything wouldn’t be a big deal if it was just a few of you; some variation of Penelope, Emily, JJ, Derek, or Spencer but the kicker lay with Hotch. He made all of you realize that this wasn’t some late night rouse to forget woes, but probably something a little worse. But hey, at least you all experienced it together, right?

It was the leader’s disheveled appearance that raised the flags high. No sign of a tie, his jacket’s pocket square ripped to the point where it hung downwards, and Aaron Hotchner was missing a shoe. A shoe.

“Listen,” he was as calm as he always was. “You’ve got the wrong people. We’re FBI, not criminals.”

It sounded so unconvincing. Yet you’d heard it all night. Reid tried it, Penelope tried it, and none of the officers even budged to go to a computer and check it out. To make matters worse, there were no sign of your badges because as you’d been frisked outside of the bar, the arresting officers had taken them as “fake identification and possible impersonation of federal employees.”

You weren’t under the belief that all types of law enforcement were brainless but these cops were.

After one last plead, Aaron backed away from the bars and sighed with his hands on his hips. You lifted your head with a squint.

“Shit,” Derek mumbled from his spot beside Penelope on the cot. “You look like shit.”

You gave him a forced, dazzling smile. “Thank you. You’re a real charmer, you know that, Morgan?”

“Muscles doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Penelope brushed off his commentary.

Derek laughed and winced as the contraction of his stomach reminded him of the food he needed and the drinks his body wished to reject. “Goddamn.”

“I’ll try Rossi again,” Aaron informed. “It’s almost five-thirty.”

“Maybe he had a hot date.” JJ smiled from beside you on the floor and Emily sat next to her. Spencer was situated at the end of the cot with his head resting cooly on two of the metal cell bars.

“I don’t want to think about Dave on a hot date,” you scoffed. “I don’t want to think about anything other than what the hell happened. I can’t… I can’t piece any of it together.”

“Then let’s backtrack.” Aaron, still amusingly unorganized, tried his best to help retrace steps. “What’s the first thing we remember?”

“When we landed, I asked if we could get drinks. We took two cars—Spencer should’ve had the keys.” Derek looked down at Spencer’s mop of a head.

“I did have the keys.”

“When we got there, Emily found us a table in the back… near that… stage, thing, that the bar had. It had a good view of the bar and everyone in it,” Penelope informed.

“Hotch and JJ got the first round. It was… three vodka sodas, two whiskey’s, and a mojito.”

“That’s only six drinks?” You told Emily who was racking her brain for the other beverage.

“I didn’t drink at first,” Spencer said. “I had a stomach ache, remember?” No. “From that Korean place we stopped at before we left.”

“I told you the tuna was a bad idea,” you muttered.

“At some point, Penelope and Derek got up to go dance and I went with you to the bar to get round two.” Aaron looked at you expectantly.

“That’s where it goes… fuzzy for me.”

“I thought you went to the bar with Spencer,” JJ turned her head to look at you. “I think you were flirting with each other because lover boy couldn’t stop blushing so hard. You were as red as a balloon.”

Spencer’s body went rigid and eyes had gone wide. Your mouth dropped open slightly; a shake of your head told her that maybe she was wrong.

“No,” Penelope pointed accusingly. “I think it was Hotch. I swear I remember looking away because I didn’t want to be talked to by HR. He had his hand in her back pocket! It was something out of a book!”

Aaron shook his head, eyes closing and a hand wiping over this face in confusion.

“I think,” he clarified, “that that’s all besides the point.”

“I barely remember any of it. Maybe a fight?” Emily tried. “I can hear the sounds of broken glass and yelling but their faces are blank.”

“The cut on Derek’s face might be a testament to that.”

“I don’t know why they’d keep us in here together if we’re the culprits,” Spencer concluded.

You all hummed in agreement.

It was a poor tactic on the departments behalf. If you were the causes of the disturbance, whatever it had been, then keeping you all together in the same holding cell would have allowed you plentiful time to corroborate an alibi.

“Do you think…” Penelope gasped dramatically. “Do you think we were drugged? You know, like they were in those Hangover movies?”

“Garcia, you do know that happens in real life too?” Spencer asked her.

“Yeah, I mean… but this is kind of like the movie? Seven friends all livin’ it up,” you would not consider going out for drinks on a Thursday night ‘livin’ it up.’ “And then bam! Someone slipped us a little something.”

“Or we just got really fucking drunk,” Emily laughed. “Why does everything have to be so dramatic?”

“I’m just saying it could be that. It doesn’t mean it is.”

A part of you thinks Penelope was a little excited to live out a a Hangover fantasy.

“Can you try Rossi again?” Derek implored Aaron and laid back on the firm non-mattress.

Aaron went to the bars and signaled for the officer who begrudgingly walked over again. He let Aaron out and without his shoe, he went to the phone and dialed the one emergency contact everyone had.

And the one who certainly had the money to bail everyone out.

“Rossi” Dave’s voice was static.

“It’s Hotch.”

“What do you want? It’s like, five.”

“It’s five-thirty,” Aaron corrected him. “And we have a situation.”

“Where?”

“Arlington Police Station.”

“I’ll meet up there in twenty.”

Dave barely pulled the receiver from his ear when he heard Aaron’s voice call out: “we need bail money.”

In the darkness of his bedroom, Dave scowled. “What do you mean ‘bail money’? Who needs it? You?”

“All of us—we’re all here.”

“What’s you do?”

Aaron sighed. “That’s the problem. We can’t seem to place anything after eight. There might have been a fight, we don’t know. But they took our badges and have us on impersonating federal employee suspicion—but they haven’t booked us yet.”

“Jesus.”

There was a lull and then, “we’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave dismissed. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

The team sat in a long silence while the clock ticked toward Rossi’s arrival.

The evening’s events hadn’t unveiled themselves completely but it rose an awkward air around the few of you who were the subjects of a line crossing, or blurring, without realizing it. It was too gawky for the prying eyes of gossipers who simply loved to get under the skin of the people they loved most.

You caught Spencer and Aaron’s eyes one too many times in the twenty minutes that passed by.

The officer who initially locked you up had been the one to raise his keys to the cell doors and a hefty bag landed at the closest set of feet which happened to be Spencer’s.

“You’re free to go.”

“Finally,” Penelope shouted. “So you do believe us then? That are badges aren’t fake?”

The cop shrugged. “You met bail. Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. We took pictures of your badges and we will be checking them with the database.”

“You do that,” Aaron grabbed the bag from the door and pushed by the officer.

The others were quick to follow but JJ linked arms with you as you exited.

“So,” she drew out. “Spencer… Hotch… that must be a story there.”

“Oh God,” you laughed at her grin. “Maybe I don’t even want to know.” The two of you walked to the doors and became blinded by the sunlight beginning to break the early air.

Dave stood like a father angry at his children. But he wavered briefly, eying his entire squad in disappointment as each lined up along the sidewalk outside the station. The state you were all in made the anger subside into amusement.

The ripped clothes, the missing shoe, the mascara trails, chipped nails and a missing earring.

“So,” he breathed out. “We might have a case on our hands.”

A/N: I literally just needed to get this off my chest so I can write my more angsty fics 😂 but you CANNOT tell me that the only person that’d be able to bail any of them out isn’t Rossi. He’s the only one.

Also, I didn’t proof it yet.

[whoisspence]

requirements to be in the bau: have a beautiful smile

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

The BAU on a commercial flight:

EMILY: Stopped and searched at the security checkpoint because she forgot she was wearing an ankle holstered gun. Is the person who kicks your seat and hogs the armrest because gay people do not know how to sit on a chair properly.

JJ: Is the one having her armrest hogged by Emily. Opens a packet of peanuts and gives someone an allergic reaction. Should have stuck with Cheetos…

TARA: “It’s okay, I’m a doctor! Not a doctor of medicine, but I’m sure I can figure it out!”

PENELOPE: Watches movies on her tablet and eats M&M’s like the little iPad kid she is, eventually falling asleep on Morgan’s shoulder during ‘Legally Blonde’.

MORGAN: Shamelessly flirting with the flight attendants and trying to hide the fact that he is watching ‘Legally Blonde’ over Penelope’s shoulder—and loving it.

HOTCH: Reading FBI case files in his sunglasses, not noticing the kid who has been staring at him the whole time thinking ‘damn, James Bond be on this flight.’

SPENCER: Talking to that same kid and his mother, explaining aerodynamics and discussing plane crash statistics. The kid’s mother requests a seat change.

ELLE: Lets Spencer explain aerodynamics to her instead. She swaps her red jello for his orange jello from the airplane meal because red is his favourite.

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.��� Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[piqtescue]

this photo is rewiring my brain

[guilty-cheese]

Aaron Hotchner x nanny!reader

author’s notes// Hey gang! I know you guys mostly know me for writing for one piece but I’m doing a re-watch of criminal minds and have become obsessed again. Need this grumpy old man so effing bad.

Synopsis: you are Jack’s nanny and Jack gets sick at school. Hotch is grateful to have you there to take care of him

content: age-gap (20smthn reader), sick kids, mentions of case, fem-bodied reader in mind, mentions of Haley

—————————————————————

You had been working for Aaron Hotchner for a couple months now. Ever since his wife passed and Haley’s sister moved back home, he needed extra support to take care of Jack. In need of employment and a place to stay you were thankful for your friend, Penelope, who put you two in touch.

It was awkward at first when you moved in after only a week of knowing about the family, but Jack took a liking to you almost instantaneously. That made the transition into your work life much easier.

The dynamic between the three of you was simple. You tended to Jack when Hotch was at work. Took care of all the chores, making sure dinner was made and Hotch’s suits were pressed and ready. When he came home you listened poured him a small drink and heated up his dinner. He never divulged any work details just hoping to keep work at the bau.

The day was pretty much normal. You woke up at 6 to make sure you were up in time to make Hotch his breakfast and coffee. He woke up got dressed and took his breakfast with him sparring a “morning” and a “thank you” before heading out.

You made Jack his breakfast and noticed he didn’t seem as cheery as usual. Shrugging it off you dropped him off and school and went back to do laundry.

In the middle of preparing the stew for dinner you got a call from Hotch. He never called you while he was at work so you picked it up confused.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

You waited until his voice came over the speakers, cool and quiet, “Can you please pick up Jack? The nurse called saying he was sick and needed to go home. I told them you were coming to get him.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Yes of course. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you. Please text me with updates on his condition. I’m on a case in New York right now and hope to be home by early tomorrow morning.”

You nodded, “Yes, of course sir. Stay safe.”

“I will. Goodbye.” And with a beep the call ended.

You put the phone down and went to go wash your hands and put away the cooking supplies.

When you got to the school and saw Jack looking miserable on the medical bed your heart sank. You went up to him and lightly shook him awake.

You smiled softly, “Hey Jackers. Let’s get you home.”

He groaned as he opened his eyes and saw you. He whispered your name and shivered. You frowned and picked him up in your arms and grabbed his school bag. You thanked the nurse and brought him to the car.

On the way back to the house you looked in the rear view mirror, Jack was slumped against the window.

“Jack how are you feeling bud?” You asked concerned.

Jack whimpered and with a weak voice said, “Head hurts, I feel cold, weak.”

“I’m so sorry buddy. We’ll be home soon and I’ll get you some medicine and soup okay?” You cooed.

“Mmkay,” he murmured.

Once at the house you brought him inside, “Go change into your warm pjs.”

Jack nodded and weakly walked over to his closet. You closed the door and went back to the kitchen to make some chicken broth. As you heated it up you knocked on his door and peaked in. He was curled up in bed and shivering. You went into his bathroom and got a cool washcloth and laid it on his head. Then you put another blanket over him and tucked him in.

“Jack, you think you can stay awake for 10 more minutes so I can get you soup and medicine?” You asked as you pushed his hair off his forehead.

He nodded and you got back up and went to the kitchen. Looking through the cabinets for medicine and coming up with nothing you found that Hotch probably had it in his medicine cabinet . You tentatively went into his room and into the connected bathroom. You nervously opened his medicine cabinet and avoided looking at any of the yellow pill bottles.

When you saw the brightly colored pink packaging of kid’s medicine you grabbed it and went back to the kitchen. You mixed the syrup in some juice and poured the soup into a bowl.

As you went back into Jack’s room you saw him resting his eyes. Gently kneeling down and tapping him, he looked up and noticed the juice and food.

“Here’s some chicken broth and some juice to hopefully make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” He said weakly.

You helped him sit up and held the bowl of soup as he slowly took sips from his spoon. Once he finished most of the soup and all the juice he leaned back.

You got up and grabbed his dishes.

“Can you stay?” He murmured.

Your eyes widened slightly, “Yeah of course. I’ll be right back.”

Once you rinsed the dishes you went back in his room and knelt back by his bed again. You took the now damp and warm washcloth off of his head and onto the nightstand.

“Book?” He asked.

“Want me to read to you?” You asked as you ran your hand through his hair.

He nodded.

“Any requests?” You asked as you continued to pet his hair.

“Mm..Holes”

“Holes?” You chuckled.

He nodded.

You stood up and looked for the book on his shelf. You found it and crouched back down by his bed and began reading.

Two chapters in Jack was asleep. His shivering quit and his chest rose normally. You were about to get up but Jack’s hand remained wrapped around your wrist. Not wanting to wake him up you set the book down on his nightstand and laid your head down on his comforter.

———————————————————————

Hotch had arrived home that same night. The case wrapped up quickly than anyone thought it would. He walked into the house and saw medicine packets and left over broth left out in the kitchen.

Setting down his duffel and hanging up his suit he walked into Jack’s room. As he walked into and saw you holding Jack’s hand and resting with him, his heart swelled.

He walked over to you and kneeled gently tapping you. You woke up with a sharp inhale and looked up to see him.

“Mr. Hotchner. You’re back.” You said as you rubbed your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N. How is he?” He asked.

Shaking the sleep from your head you put your hand on his forehead. “Fever seems to have gone down. And he’s not shivering anymore.”

“Let’s let him rest.” He said and offered you his hand. You smiled and grabbed it as he hoisted you up.

You followed him out of the room and into the kitchen. “Sorry for leaving the mess. I’ll get right to cleaning it up.”

“No, no. I couldn’t possibly ask you to do more right now. I’ve got it. You go and do what you want,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

You waved your hands, “No sir, you just got home from work. I just took a long nap. I should be cleaning this up while you relax. Please, I insist.”

“You sure?” He asked quirking a brow.

You smiled, “of course.”

He nodded and walked off to his room. You ran your hands over your face once more. You’d be lying if you said that he was not attractive. Living in his house didn’t help and sometimes you passed by his room while his door was cracked and caught sight of his bare torso.

Shaking off the thoughts you began your cleaning duties. As your were finishing up cleaning the counter Hotch walked back out into the living room and laid down on the couch.

You wiped down the counter one last time and then joined him on the couch. He was looking over a case file, brows scrunched in thought. “How was the case?”

He soared a glance over at her, “Thankfully quick.”

“That’s good. One less psycho out there,” you commented.

“Mm.” He nodded.

With the coming silence you went on your phone. Scrolling through friend’s posts you were thinking of something to talk about.

“Thank you by the way,” he suddenly said.

“Hm. For what?” You asked as you looked over at him.

“For all that you do for us,” he said simply.

You smiled, “It’s literally my job Mr. H. No big deal whatsoever.”

He looked over at you, “You know you can call me Aaron.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “I’d feel weird though.”

He raised the corners of his lips slightly, “I feel weird when you call me “Mr. H” or Mr. Hotchner.”

You smiled, “Didn’t think of that. Okay, Aaron.”

A rare smile adorned his face before he went back to the case file. For the rest of the night the two of you sat in comfortable silence. All was well in the Hotchner house.

[mousestar369]

How I think the BAU acts when they're sick

Penelope: Feels like shit but doesn't want to make it anyone else's problem/doesn't want to get someone sick because they're helping her

Morgan: Is (jokingly) a dramatic little bitch about it

JJ: Doesn't get sick. Mom powers

Hotch: This man excused himself to pass out from internal bleeding. Next

Reid: "What? No, I'm not sick" while he's visibly on death's door

Rossi: He's Italian, germs know better

Emily: Is the only normal person about it. She just takes the day off

[aa-draws]

WIP of the BAU team as little dolls :>

I already did Spencer and I wanted to draw more of the squad in that style (I'll draw more of the other main characters soon,,,, Just did the usual 7 first. I'm just one person after all, huhu)

I'm planning to make these as stickers or even acrylic charms for myself :D

[esotericcangel]

💭 thinking about… bau!spencer and barista!reader

it’s late, and the case the BAU had been assigned is particularly cruel. a young boy, dismembered and then left on the side of the road to rot. it puts the whole team in a weird air, and leaves them to spend almost the entire night trying to crack it.

so naturally, they need coffee. and unfortunately for spencer, being the youngest means he’s the designated coffee run person. so grudgingly, with a pat on the back from morgan and a few bucks from hotch, he takes the elevator to the last floor, and exits the bau building to the coffee shop just across the street. surprisingly, the light inside is still on.

the door dings as he opens it, and there you are. sweat beading on your brow, your brown uniform cap a bit askew as you wipe down the counter with an old rag. and in this moment, spencer doesn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful girl.

you, on the other hand, feel like this. it’s the your first (and not your last) late night shift that you’ve picked up since you started college, and it’s weighing down on you. you swear you can feel your bones aching as you move. the sound of the bell is heard, but you don’t acknowledge it until the actual customer has walked up to the counter.

“hi, welcome to peet’s coffee, what can i get for-“ and then you stop speaking, expression a bit stunned. it’s the fbi boy. the boy you’ve seen more than a few times exit and enter the BAU building(and have harbored a secret crush on).

spencer smiles, seeing the flush grow on your cheeks, the way your expression is a bit stunned. and sure, he’s not great at picking up social cues despite being a profiler, but in this moment he can quickly tell you think he’s attractive.

“one black coffee with sugar, two with milk, and one with milk and sugar. please.”

you nod slow, as if your brain hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that he’s in front of you. then you snap out of your (embarrassing) reverie, and quickly grab a few paper cups, writing the orders on there.

“um.. what’s your name? i- i mean, the order, the order needs a name-“

“spencer. spencer reid.”

if spencer wasn’t so nervous he’d be happy at the fact that for once, the other person in the conversation is flustered instead of him.

“o-okay.. spencer. your coffee’s will be out soon.”

he gives a polite nod and another smile, holding back a chuckle at the way another flush spreads on your cheeks.

“thank you…” spencer trails off eyes darting down to the shiny silver name tag, reading your name. he says it out loud before making eye contact with you again, and he can’t help but think about how cute you look with that smudge of coffee ground on your cheek.

within minutes the coffees are done and placed in a cardboard holder. you don’t bother calling out his name since he’s the only one there anyway. spencer smiles and takes it from you, his hands growing clammy when your fingers brush.

“hey uh.. you’re from the fbi building across the street right?” you internally wince at your lame attempt to make conversation. but instead of just brushing off, he nods and answers.

“yeah uhm.. i work at the BAU,” he sees your confused expression. “behavioral analysis unit.”

“wow that’s really cool. so you like.. fight bad guys?”

that elicits a chuckle from spencer’s lips, but he nods anyway, shrugging. “i guess you could say that.”

“well, anyway, guess i’ll see you around more often?” you offer nervously, raising your brow.

“yeah i.. id like that.”

you both smile at each other, holding eye contact like you’re in a cheesy rom com before spencer is off, back to his team to deliver the coffees. when he comes back, dishing out the different orders to the team, he fails to mention about his little meet cute with the pretty barista at the shop.

but fate finds its way to make him spill the beans.

“why is there a number on my cup?” says morgan aloud, peering at the phone number clearly written on the side in black sharpie.

spencer freezes, his expression giving him away as all eyes dart to him.

he regrets not telling you which coffee was actually his.

© 𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 please refrain from copying, translating or claiming my work as yours .ᐟ

[casedclosedbye]

IT'S LITERALLY THEM TELL ME OTHERWISE

[shardsofmarxx]

never forget what they took from you....

[mazelicious]

Criminal Minds is wild cause they'll give Emily Prentiss insane chemistry with everyone except her boyfriend

[whoisspence]

boyband reid appreciation post because it's never too much

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

BAU movie night:

MORGAN: Insists on picking the movie, chooses a cheesy ‘80s action movie, and falls asleep immediately.

PENELOPE: Knows Morgan too well so brought a stack of Disney movies. She is the designated snack dispenser, and has prepared a feast of popcorn, M&Ms, pretzels, and soda. AirPlaying the movie on the big screen from her tablet.

SPENCER: “Did you know that Walt Disney actually pioneered a groundbreaking sound system called Fantasia for the 1940 animated feature ‘Fantasia’? It was a precursor to many modern sound technologies.”

ELLE: Listens intently to Reid’s facts, splitting the blue and the red M&Ms into two piles, the blue for Spencer, the red for her.

EMILY: Annoying everyone because she can’t sit still and keeps spinning in her chair. Puts popcorn up Morgan’s nose as he sleeps and passes a handful of pretzels to JJ every few minutes.

JJ: Goes to the toilet constantly and eats all the pretzels. Keeps checking her phone.

HOTCH: Reading case files in the corner. Also eats all the pretzels.

ROSSI: “What the hell is this movie even about?”

GIDEON: “It’s about the chaotic predilections of man.”

EMILY: “It’s about Mickey Mouse.”

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios

[ssawhatthehell]

Imagine the new member of the BAU has CIP (congenital Insensitivity to pain - doesn’t feel painful stimulus, or extreme temperatures).

After new member nearly gets hypothermia because they forgot their jacket at the hotel in freezing temperatures, there’s a designated “emergency wellness kit” that includes a hoodie/jacket carried by a team member or kept at the station or local precinct.

After any dangerous situation (which let’s be honest, they are in general excluded from or delighted to the rear of the entry team so it’s rare) there’s a near mandatory wellness check in case there’s any cuts.

I’m sorry I just can’t stop thinking about the team leaving the hotel one morning and it’s 40 degrees, everyone is wrapped in jackets and scarves except this one member and suddenly Hotch or Derek or JJ is shoving a jacket into their arms that they fished out of a bag in the back seat.

Edit: this has shot off much more than I imagined it would. If anyone would like some blurbs or something involving CIP/CIPA BAU member, please let me know!

[coppertophomegurl]

You know how to ball

I know Aristotle

(has this one been done yet?)