#behavioral analysis unit x reader

[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

[yondiii]

SPENCER REID FIC RECS

i’ll sort them by category but prepare yourself this is gonna be a long ass list

im gonna keep updating with new fics regularly so stay tuned

thank you to all these authors for supplying these amazing fics and for feeding my fixation

ly all bbys tysm

pls like and reblog xxx

WIPS

out of convenience 2 - @qlossytbh

she blinded me with science - @whiskeyghoul

my mind turns you into folklore - @samuel-de-champagne-problems

SERIES

right kind of wrong - @incognit0slut

longing glances masterlist - @radioactiveinvisible

ANGST

the great gig in the sky - @mcntsee

chloe or sam or maria or marcus - @mariasont

don’t walk out - @railingsofsorrow

false god - @clementinegreye

doubt comes in - @/street-smarts00

FLUFF

isn’t she pretty daddy - @reiderwriter

take my breath away - @atlabeth

spencer babying reader - @/reiderwriter

nicknames - @pathologicalreid

sunflowers - @baubarbz

after getting hurt on a case - @womanmanipulator

strange perfections - @nereidprinc3ss

SMUT 18+

beyond the limit 2 - @incognit0slut

decoy (16+) - @violetrainbow412-blog

in the dead of night - @/nereidprinc3ss

whiny and spoiled - @/nereidprinc3ss

little angel - @/reiderwriter

HURT/COMFORT

clingy - @street-smarts00

growing pains - @killerlookz

from now on - @aperrywilliams

shouldn’t i want you? - @weird-is-life

OTHERS

stalker - @miley1442111

spencer comforts you (badass reader) - @luveline

don’t think i don’t like you - @/luveline

baby reid! baby reid! - @cowboyspence

so high school 2 - @bellasprettywords

curtain call - @rainydayathogwarts

pretty boy - @/atlabeth

the way i love you - @thegettingbyp2

more coming soon…..

[shardsofmarxx]

Sleep Well | Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Criminal Minds songfic based on/inspired by the song Sleep Well by d4ad. Angst/fluff

Summary: After having an argument with Spencer, you storm to your hotel for the night so you can get some sleep and take your mind off the argument, but you end up having a bad nightmare and you don’t know who else to call… (Told from reader's POV)

Warnings: Nightmares, violence, argument, general CM themes. (Nothing too graphic.)

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: My first fic!!! I'm so excited to start sharing my writing with you guys, and I really hope you all enjoy this fic! I'm planning on making songfics a regular thing on my blog, so feel free to request any songs you'd like me to write about in my ask box! (As well as any other things you'd like me to write about.)

As you were putting on your bulletproof vest in the conference room, you heard someone open the door. You looked over to see Spencer glaring over at you, his bulletproof vest already on.

“What are you doing?” he asked in an accusatory manner, clearly bothered by something. 

You paused for a few moments, confused and taken aback by his tone. “I’m getting ready to head out with the rest of the team. Is something wrong?”

“What's wrong is that you're getting ready to go to the field when you know you're not supposed to.” 

You let out a small sigh, realizing what this was about. Technically, he was right; you weren't allowed to be back in the field for another few days due to the ear injuries you sustained when a bomb went off a little too close for comfort during one of the BAU’s cases about a month ago. However, you were very careful in your day-to-day life, and the doctor said you were making rapid progress in terms of your healing.

“Spence, I only have a handful of days left, and considering the kind of unsub we're dealing with, I'm sure it's fine.” You paused for a few moments before continuing. “Plus, I have earplugs,” you said while turning your head in both directions so he could see them. Unfortunately, he still wasn't convinced.

“It doesn't matter, Y/N; you haven't been cleared by a doctor yet, so you can't go out into the field. You should just focus your attention here,” he said while pointing at all the photos and paperwork sprawled around us in the conference room. “You should look it over; there might’ve been something we missed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him and let out a snort. “That's the best excuse you have, Spence? I appreciate the concern, but I'm going. This unsub is highly dangerous, and we need all the help we can get.”

"No, you're not,” he replied sternly.

“Who died and made you Unit Chief?” you scoffed, feeling your annoyance growing. “I'm going with you guys, whether you like it or not. I'm a grown woman, and I can handle myself just fine.

Although Spencer had a tendency to be stubborn, his behavior right now was foreign. You began walking toward the door, and just as you were about to grip the doorknob, you felt Spencer’s firm grasp wrap around your wrist. You looked over to see him staring at you coldly.

“Y/N, you're not going. I can't let you put yourself in danger.”

You suddenly felt your blood boil. Who did he think he was to act like this? To grab you and order you around? Treat you like you didn't know how to take care of yourself? 

You snatched your wrist away and quickly turned to face him. "Actually, Reid, I'm going to go wherever I please, seeing as you have no authority over me whatsoever.” You were silent for a few moments until the perfect remark suddenly came to mind. “Somebody obviously needs to work on respecting boundaries,” you said slyly, opening up the door to leave, but he spoke up, stopping you in your tracks once more.

"Well, somebody obviously needs to work on following orders,” he muttered.

That was it. Your annoyance and anger finally bubbled over, and you lost it. You both began going back and forth, snapping snarky remarks at one another with no mercy whatsoever, your words piercing each other like knives. 

“You just can't put aside your fucking stubbornness for the good of the team, can you, Reid?”

You could tell that those words hit him hard because from one moment to the next, his whole demeanor changed. “I can't put aside my stubbornness?” He said quietly, breathing shakily as he did. 

He spoke up once more, this time at a much louder volume. “You're the one who can't put aside your stubbornness, Y/N! You can't admit the fact that you're not currently fit to do your job, and your stupidity is putting yourself and the entire team at risk!”

You begin to open your mouth, ready to retort, but he cuts you off. “Face it, Y/N, you're weak!” He was practically screaming at this point, the veins in his neck sticking out as they pulsed rapidly. Suddenly all you heard was a sharp ringing, and you fell to the floor, tightly clutching your ears in an attempt to make it stop. As if on cue, Derek ran in to diffuse the situation. 

Caught up in his anger, Spencer spoke again, still yelling. “See?! This is what I'm talking about. If you can't handle me raising my voice, how are you going to go in the-”

“Reid!” Derek yelled, your whole body wincing as he did. 

“Give it a rest; can't you see she's in pain?” He said harshly, turning his attention back to you immediately. He helped you stand up, and you quietly thanked him before turning to Reid.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you said softly as you removed your bulletproof vest. “Good luck out there, Dr. Reid.” Your tone was full of dejection and defeat as you placed the vest on the table. You didn't even bother looking at him or Derek as you walked out of the conference room, through the bullpen, and out of the precinct.

You ended up walking outside for a while before deciding to actually head to the hotel. The night air soothed your soul and brought you comfort as you wandered the streets aimlessly. However, you knew you couldn't stay out there forever, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you walked into your hotel room, you placed your stuff down on a small lounge chair and flopped onto your bed, letting out a large sigh. You remembered you had turned your phone off once you walked out of the precinct since you desperately needed space, so you grabbed it out of your bag and turned it back on just to make sure you hadn��t missed anything important. 

You had a few missed calls from Derek and Garcia, along with a text from Hotch.

“Take the night off. We'll talk first thing tomorrow morning.”

You let out a groan, knowing what that message entailed. You decided to shower before heading to bed, hoping the water would cleanse you of what you were feeling.

You step into the shower and are welcomed by warm water, instantly feeling at ease as it falls on your cool skin. Unfortunately, the feeling doesn't last long as your mind wanders back to the argument. You didn't understand why Spencer was so frustrated, so stubborn, and so mean to you. His words continued to echo in your head, and you eventually broke down, bawling your eyes out from the sheer pain you felt inside. The fact that he called you weak shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces. You guys had been close friends for years, and that's what he thought of you? Really? You felt stupid and betrayed, especially because you've had a huge crush on him for years now. All that love, care, and admiration felt like it amounted to nothing now.

Wanting to just put this awful night to end, you turned off the shower and continued getting ready for bed. You grabbed your pajamas out of your go-bag and lazily went through the rest of your nighttime routine. You then walked out of the bathroom and dropped on the bed in defeat, falling asleep as soon as you slipped under the covers.

You and Spencer walked quietly through the dark warehouse, the cool, eerie air causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. You scanned the hallway with your flashlights and guns in hand, only to be met with nothing in each room you had checked. You reached the end of the hallway and slowly moved your hand over to twist the doorknob before you heard Spencer yell from the room behind you.

“Y/N!!! Hel-!”

You raced to him only to find the unsub holding him at gunpoint. Spencer had a few cuts on his face, probably from being pistol whipped.

“Drop the gun right now, or I will shoot,” you said sternly, aiming your pistol right at his head.

“Ah, not quite! Place your weapon over on that table, or your lovely partner here gets a bullet to the brain,” he spoke, motioning his gun over to the small wooden table to your left. Having no other choice, you walked over and placed your gun on the table, turning back around to face the unsub.

“Good girl! Now, allow me to take care of one small thing before we begin,” he said, directing his attention to Spencer. He hit Spencer over the head with his gun, using as much force as he could muster. Spencer immediately dropped to the floor, and you screamed.

“Shhh, don't fret, darling; now the real fun can begin,” he said as he slowly walked over to you. His ominous tone sent chills down your spine. 

“You see, the only reason any of this happened..." He paused for a few moments, looking you dead in the eyes as he said his next words, “is because you're weak.” Immediately, he swung his gun across your face, causing you to fall to the floor. He began kicking you, yelling at you as each kick landed.

“You're” kick “just” kick “a weak” kick “bitch.”

Your whole body writhed in pain, praying one of your teammates would come to rescue you and Spencer. As the unsub continued, all you could do was look at Spencer and feel flooded with guilt. 

After what seemed like forever, the unsub brought the beatings to a halt and proceeded to walk back over to Spencer.

“And now, the grand finale!”

You used all your force to croak out a small “no” as you watched him stand behind Spencer and inch the gun towards his head, preparing to shoot him. He cocked the gun and then turned to face you.

“Remember, this is all happening because you're a weak FBI agent who couldn't do her job,” he said coldly. “The only reason I'm keeping you alive is so that you can watch this and know that it's nobody's fault but yours. Your weakness is to blame, and your consequence is to live with the guilt of your mistakes.” You watched him bring the gun to Spencer’s head and pull the trigger as you wailed. 

Suddenly, you were back in the hotel room, your clothes soaked with sweat. You were shaking like a leaf and rapidly hyperventilating, feeling like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from how hard and fast it was beating. 

You instinctively reached for your phone and called Spencer, your heart rate increasing each time the phone rang.

Suddenly, it stopped.

“Hey Y/N.”

As his words echoed through your head, you felt a sense of both relief and dread. You realized that you had just had a terrible nightmare and that Spencer was completely fine. However, you were also immediately reminded of the argument you had with him earlier and suddenly froze. 

“Y/N? Are you there?” Spencer spoke once more, only to be met by silence.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

Not knowing what to do, you hung up the phone and threw it across the room, sinking back into the covers almost immediately. You couldn't believe that this night had somehow managed to get worse. You wanted to scream as you felt the tears creep up behind your eyes, feeling absolutely helpless and worthless.

You felt weak, just like Spencer said you were.

You let out soft sobs into your pillow, not knowing what else to do with all the emotional turmoil stewing inside you. You thought about calling Garcia or Derek, but quickly realized they'd be either working or asleep, and bothering them was the last thing you wanted to do right now. You continued to cry, hoping you'd tire yourself out and eventually fall asleep between sobs. 

Surprisingly, you actually ended up falling asleep, but it didn't last long. You were suddenly awoken by a series of knocks on your door, the noise causing you to sit up in bed. You sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the door and wondering if you had just imagined the noise. You knew you were wrong when you heard a few more knocks, along with Spencer’s soft voice.

“Y/N?” knock. knock. knock. “Please let me in; I want to talk.”

You were in shock. Why was he at your hotel room so late at night? You felt your heart race and your body shake as you tried to figure out what to do. You knew you two had to talk at some point, and you did really miss him, but you didn't want him to see you. Not like this. Your eyes were red, puffy, and swollen from all the crying; your hair was messy; and you were wearing an old baggy t-shirt and shorts. 

Basically, you looked like crap.

Despite all this, you knew you had to let him in. You reluctantly got out of bed and approached the door, twisting the handle and slowly opening the door to meet Spencer’s eyes.

He quickly rushed into the room, his urgency taking you by surprise. Once he was inside and had put his stuff down, he began examining every inch of you with an intense, worried gaze. He could tell you were in pain, and the worst part was that he knew it was his fault. 

"Reid,” you croaked, clearing your throat before continuing your sentence. “What are you doing here?”

He began fidgeting with his fingers, thinking of a reply. He looked so meek compared to the argument earlier.

“You called a little while ago,” he said softly. “I spoke multiple times, and you never said a word. I had tried calling you afterwards, and you wouldn't answer.” His eyes met mine. “I was worried about you.”

“Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine, so you can leave now.”

“Y/N, please-” You cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Reid, it's late. You need to leave” you said sternly, swallowing your tears as you practically pushed him toward the door.

Before you could open the door, you felt him wrap his arms around you, causing you to freeze. He began to speak, practically whispering in your ear.

“Y/N, please. I can tell you're not okay, and I know I'm to blame. Let me make it right, please."

Maybe it was how distraught and desperate he sounded as he spoke, or maybe it was because you were finally in his warm embrace after missing him for so long, but you couldn’t hold back your tears any longer. Spencer just held you as you cried softly, trying to comfort you any way he could while he waited for you to calm down.

“Can we go to the bed, please?” you requested softly.

Spencer gave you a small nod with a weak smile. “Of course, Y/N.”

You walked over and laid down on the bed, shifting your body away from the edge of the bed and then patting your hand down on the empty space, urging Spencer to follow suit. He took off his shoes and gently laid down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you placed your head on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat soothed you as you listened to its echo in his chest. 

“So why did you end up calling tonight?” He asked softly, running his hands through your hair as he spoke.

You took a deep breath before answering, doing your best to maintain your composure, or whatever you had left of it.

“I, um, had a nightmare. We were on a case and…” Your voice trailed as the nightmare flooded your thoughts. “It was a bad one. I had to make sure you were okay, so I called you as soon as I had woken up. Once I heard your voice, I was reminded of our argument from earlier and realized I just had a nightmare, and I froze.”

You then explained the entire nightmare in detail, a few tears escaping your eyes as that horrid scene replayed in your head. Spencer just listened the whole time as he held you, stroking your hair or holding you a little tighter at times while you spoke.

Once you finished, he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N… I'm so sorry. I never wanted to argue with you; I just couldn’t handle the thought of you getting hurt again, and I snapped.” His voice was shaky as he spoke. 

“I thought I had lost you in the bombing, and I couldn't let you get hurt again, not if I could do something about it. I care about you too much to let you get hurt again.” He paused for a few moments before continuing. "But I spiraled, and I was wrong. I ended up hurting you anyway.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he began talking again before you could even get a syllable out.

“You're not weak; you're one of the strongest people I know. You're strong, brave, and courageous, and I admire you so much.” His voice began to choke. “I never wanted you to think you're weak because you're so far from it. I'm so, so sorry."

Now, you were both crying in each other's arms, holding each other tightly as you each whispered words of comfort into the other’s ear in between your sobs. At one point, you both coincidentally lifted your heads up and locked eyes with each other, causing both of you to laugh at how much of a wreck both of you looked.

“We look like shit,” you said, catching your breath from that sudden fit of laughter. 

“Yeah, we sure do.”

Spencer’s gaze suddenly changed, and he had a similar look of sadness from earlier as he spoke his next words. “Well, I should probably get going, shouldn’t I?” He got up, but you reached for his wrist before he could go too far.

“Um, this is probably wildly unprofessional and all, but could you spend the night with me, Spence?” You could feel the blush on your face burn your skin as you waited for his response. 

“Of course, Y/N. I’d love to stay the night,” he replied warmly, bringing a smile to your face.

You both went into the bathroom and got yourselves cleaned up. Spencer changed into his pajamas and quickly joined you in bed. He laid down and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your shoulder, right by your ear. Just as you were dozing off, you heard him murmur something into your ear.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You suddenly felt your whole body get hot and instantly turned around, wondering if you were just hearing things.

“What did you say, Spencer?”

“I said I love you. I love you and care about you so much, and from now on, I’m going to spend every second of every day loving you, no matter what.” He planted a small kiss on your forehead after he spoke, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you tightly in his long arms. He felt so warm, so comfortable, and so right. You felt like you could just melt into his arms and become a part of him. You knew you belonged in his arms. 

“I love you too, Spencer. Sleep well,” you whispered softly, nuzzling your head deeper into his chest before finally drifting off to sleep.

Thanks so much for reading!

[tereresrock]

early seasons reid? i wanna kiss him

late seasons reid? i want HIM to kiss ME

know the difference.

[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!

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title: A Cozy Night In

(Spencer x reader x Derek)

The BAU had been relentless for the past few weeks. Case after case, the team was feeling the strain, and you, Spencer Reid, and Derek Morgan were no exception. So when the team finally got a weekend off, you jumped at the opportunity to relax and unwind at Spencer’s apartment.

The three of you had grown incredibly close over the years, forming a bond that was deeper than friendship. You were a tight-knit trio, often teasingly referred to as the “dream team” by the rest of the BAU. Though there were occasional jokes about who your favorite was, you loved both Spencer and Derek equally, each bringing their own unique charm and comfort into your life.

Friday evening arrived, and you found yourself standing outside Spencer’s door, arms laden with bags of snacks and a couple of DVDs. The plan was simple: a movie marathon and a night of pure, unadulterated relaxation.

Spencer answered the door with a soft smile. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly stepped aside to let you in. “Hey, (Y/N). Come on in. Derek’s just getting the blankets ready.”

You stepped inside and immediately felt the warmth and coziness of Spencer’s apartment. It was filled with bookshelves and comfortable furniture, making it the perfect place to unwind. As you made your way to the living room, you could hear Derek’s deep voice from around the corner.

“Come on, Pretty Boy, do you really need all these blankets?” Derek teased, though his tone was affectionate.

“Of course we do,” Spencer replied earnestly. “We need to be comfortable if we’re going to watch movies all night.”

You laughed at their playful banter and entered the living room to see Derek spreading out a mountain of blankets and pillows on the floor. His muscular frame contrasted sharply with Spencer’s slender build, but they both had a look of determination on their faces as they set up the perfect movie-watching nest.

“Need any help?” you offered, setting the bags down on the coffee table.

Derek grinned at you, his dark eyes twinkling. “You just sit back and relax, (Y/N). We’ve got this covered.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, already focused on arranging the snacks. “We want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

You couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for both of them. They were always so considerate, always looking out for you. It was one of the many reasons you adored them.

Once everything was set up, the three of you settled into your cozy nest. Spencer, ever the organized one, had created a meticulous list of movies to watch, starting with a classic: "The Princess Bride."

As the movie played, you found yourself sandwiched between Spencer and Derek, their presence a comforting reminder of how lucky you were to have them in your life. Derek’s arm draped over your shoulders, his warmth radiating through your side, while Spencer leaned against you, his head resting lightly on your shoulder.

“You know,” Derek said softly, his voice rumbling pleasantly, “it’s nights like these that make all the hard work worth it.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his head to look at you both. “Agreed. It’s nice to just be able to relax and spend time together.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “I couldn’t agree more. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

The movie continued, but your mind drifted, basking in the simple joy of being with two of the people you loved most in the world. You couldn’t help but reflect on how special your relationship with Spencer and Derek was. It wasn’t always easy, balancing the dynamics of a three-person relationship, but the love and support you shared made it all worthwhile.

As the night wore on, the three of you talked and laughed, sharing stories and memories. Spencer, ever the genius, regaled you with fascinating facts and trivia, while Derek’s infectious laughter filled the room, making you feel light and carefree.

When the second movie started, you found yourself growing drowsy, the combined warmth of the blankets and the comforting presence of Spencer and Derek lulling you into a state of utter relaxation. You shifted slightly, nestling closer to Spencer, who responded by wrapping his arm around you.

Derek chuckled softly, his hand gently stroking your hair. “Getting sleepy there, (Y/N)?”

You nodded, unable to suppress a yawn. “Yeah, it’s been a long week.”

Spencer’s voice was soft and soothing. “Why don’t you rest for a bit? We can pause the movie if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling sleepily. “No, keep it going. I’m just happy to be here with you guys.”

Derek leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re happy to have you here too, (Y/N).”

The three of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie playing in the background. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the love and support of Spencer and Derek. They were your rock, your safe haven in a world that could often be chaotic and unpredictable.

In that moment, with Spencer’s arm around you and Derek’s hand in yours, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. And that was more than enough.

[ivyflowers13]

Muse 📷

[reidiot]

spencer reid and his silly little passport pic

[med-ex]

𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚜

[1]

[cloudy-em]

Prom: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

summary: after working on a case involving high school students, BAU!reader casually mentions on the jet back to Quantico that they never went to prom. Spencer plans a surprise for when they return home. Can be platonic or romantic!!

-cloudy

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

The team clambered onto the jet, glad to be returning home after a long case. This particular case involved a jealous prom queen who had decided to poison her competitors. Emily was the first to comment.

"I don't know about you guys, but I didn't have the high school experience of the prom court killing off their competition. Is that a regular occurrence?"

The jet collectively let out a lighthearted puff of air.

"No," Morgan responded, "but jealousy is a serious motivator."

"I never went to prom," I blurted out absentmindedly. Cue the shocked faces.

"Really?" JJ asked, clearly surprised. "Prom is one of the defining moments of high school. Dressing up, going with friends and a date, maybe having a shot at being on the prom court...it's fun! Did you really not go?"

"Nope," I replied, popping the 'p'. "I've heard nice stories from others, but I think I'm glad I didn't go. All of my friends had dates; I didn't. I didn't want to seventh wheel." I shrugged. Sure, I was a little bit left out at the time and maybe I had a bit of FOMO from not going, even all these years later, but I stand by my decision not to go to my senior prom.

Everyone nodded, seemingly satisfied with my reasoning. What I didn't know at the time was that the wheels started turning in a certain genius' brain...

A week later, I was at my desk at the BAU. Turning back and forth in my swivel chair, coffee mug in my right hand and a report in my left, I heard an awkward cough behind me. I spun around to see my dear friend, Spencer Reid, standing behind me. Even after all this time, he still hated interrupting me while I was focused.

"You know, you're one of the only people I know who continues to drink coffee after 1pm," he smiled, letting out a small chuckle.

"It keeps me going," I smiled back before posing a question. "What's up, Reid?"

Suddenly, he seemed a little nervous, but I wrote it off as him being himself. It's a little endearing. "I need help reorganizing my library at my apartment. Would you mind helping me with it? I've leant you books before, and you're the only one I really trust to handle my books with the gentleness they deserve," his words spilled out at 40 miles per hour as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sure!" I replied happily. I loved Spencer's extensive book collection; the faux-leatherbound books in various languages lined across the walls.

Spencer's apartment was cozy. I loved the times I'd been invited over to eat cheap takeout and watch original Star Trek reruns or sit in the armchairs and read Wuthering Heights in the sunlight that came streaming in from the windows.

We agreed that I would come over to his apartment on Saturday evening to help him with his organizing endeavors.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

On Saturday at 7:47pm, I pulled my car into an empty spot at Spencer's apartment complex. Locking the door, I began walking towards Spencer's building. When I arrived, I knocked on the door, excited to see my dear friend.

When he opened the door, he stood before me in his mismatched socks, jeans, one of his patterned shirts and ties, and a cardigan. It made me smile; most people thought Spencer's fashion was odd and outdated, but I thought it suited him. He smiled at me before handing me a small bouquet of daisies.

"What's this?" I asked, accepting his gift. I was throughly confused, but smiling nonetheless.

Spencer shifted his weight back and forth on his feet.

"Well, um, you mentioned that you'd never experienced prom. I know it's nothing like real prom, but I wanted to give you the experience. Maybe you'll like it more than what you would've had then," he said, almost shyly.

I hesitated. His actions were incredibly kind. I smiled at him, taking his hand with my free one.

"Of course."

He led me into his apartment, which was dimly lit with soft music playing. I felt the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach and chest.

"May I have this dance?" he asks me softly. I can only nod in response.

"Sparks" by Coldplay plays quietly as he brings his arm up, our fingers still intertwined. He brings his other hand to my waist as my other arm goes around his shoulders and my head falls gently to his chest. I feel a soft on the top of my head before his cheek rests in the same spot.

Dancing with Doctor Spencer Reid in his library was not something I would have on my bingo card, but it was a memory I'd hold dear forever.

[oneshotnewbie]

Deal with the devil

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Authors note: That wasn't a request and it´s short but has been living in my head for a while so I had to write it out to make room and figured I'd post it ♥

Summary: When you make a deal with a dangerous gentleman, you capture the last moments of your life on video for your team and confess your feelings to someone special.

---

"I am afraid!" those were the first words your team heard when they played the video, which was brought into the BAU by a courier, a young boy who was paid extra to do it. "I am going to die.."

You had been swallowed up by the face of the earth for two weeks, your trail got lost in the sand and nobody knew by whom you were taken. But your team did not give up and ransacked every stone of your last place of residence several times.

Without a trace.

"Where is this video coming from? Garcia, can you filter anything out of the background?" Emily's words did not even begin to reach her. Shocked, with her mouth wide open and tears filling in her eyes at how exhausted and devastated you were, she was oblivious to the outside world.

Tears streamed down your thin face and you pressed your lips together to suppress a sob. Your face was sunken, deep-seated circles under your eyes showed the lack of sleep you had to endure.

"I made a deal with the devil to protect you, Em. And now he is come to kill me," you hastily wipe away a few droplets of salty water that have started to flow down your bloodied cheeks. "By the time you got this video, you will already be too late to save me and I know you are looking for me. No matter how hard you try, you will be too late."

The crew felt frozen in place, especially the hands and feet of the person addressed seemed to carry only a remnant of body heat. Her whole body felt like it was being pierced with needles. It did not hurt, but she could feel an uncomfortable and completely paralyzing burning sensation through every pore of her body.

"I am so afraid," you coughed quietly and looked around in the dark room, which was only surrounded by dim candlelight. The cold was gradually tearing your body into a deep tiredness, but with a remnant of your strength, you kept your eyes open with difficulty. From exhaustion, you slowly lowered your head to the side. Trembling fingers stroked your eyelids, which had briefly closed. "I wish you could set me free like you always do"

Emily could not move her arms or legs, they rested still at the sides of her body. Panic flickered in her fawn glassy eyes, her nose flushed from suppressing her feelings. After the first second of the video, she knew who had you.

Ian Doyle; he lured you in with lies and threats and had you in his power now.

Aggression mixed with deep anger, fear and sadness flowed in her head, leaving no room for clear thoughts. She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip frustrated, leaving a small mark on them that spread an iron taste in her mouth.

Doyle would pay for it. She would seek justice for you and wreak vengeance. When the one thing that kept her grounded gets yanked away so ruthlessly by someone she once loved, it was only in her nature to strike him down. That was something she was taught, something she has comforted herself with.

"I am sorry for causing you worry and suffering. But I will gladly give up my life if you keep breathing for it. There is not a day I regret with you, Emily. The only thing I regret is not telling you sooner how much I love you,"

You had to stop, a sea of tears welled up in your eyes. Only slowly did you realized how fleeting life and how powerful a human was. Especially in the hands of a psychopath.

It took a long time before you could pull yourself together and feel ready to continue talking. "You are the love of my life and every day I had to spend without you when you faked your death hurt so much. I love you more than my life, so much that I will sacrifice mine for it."

Frowning with concern, Jennifer stood next to her best friend, slowly leaning towards her and taking her hand firmly but tenderly in hers. Emily´s heart began to soar, dropping into the pit of her stomach while her eyes continued to fix on the screen as she tried to digest the latest information about your avowed love for her.

The black-haired woman leaned trustingly against the blonde and took a deep breath. She became dizzy and extremely nauseous while trying to hold back the tears that were coming. "I will find you, Y/n.." she muttered under her breath and JJ nodded carefully, understanding her sentence perfectly.

"I do not want the last of you to see me like this, but I am having a really hard time pulling myself together, uh.." your voice trembled as you smiled wryly, pulling yourself together as best you could. But no matter how hard you tried to smile for her, it just did not make it into your eyes. You stroked your long, brittle and tousled hair, that was plastered on your forehead and bare shoulders quickly, trying to put away the nervousness.

"Do not mourn for me too long, but briefly and intensely to live on afterwards. All I every wanted is for you to be happy. Even after my death. I will choose a cloud near you and always watch over you. And I hope that I will always live on in your heart."

You could hear footsteps getting closer to your position. Sobbing, you looked back at the camera with a lost and terrified look. A single tear, which was particularly noticeable because of it´s size and the light shining on it, ran down your cheek and wet the shirt that fell loosely from your body. "I love you, Em. I always did,"

You tried to position a sincere and wholeheartedly smile on your lips before you blew the camera a hand kiss and the video cut off, leaving the team without air in their lungs to breathe, collapsing in an emotional chaos they had never experienced before.

[piqtescue]

dad!spencer has taken me hold omg

[dad!hotch]

[mazelicious]

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Season 7 Episode 1 spoilers, Canon divergent, angst, faked death, funeral, fluff, nightmares, comfort.

Requested by @wanhedaskaiprisa and Anonymous

The eggplant painted fingers of Penelope Garcia were wrapped tightly around your back as she guided your steps through the field. On your right Derek Morgan's strong hand was clutched around your forearm, bracing you, prepared to pull you up at the slightest shakes in your knees.

Your eyes were clouded with tears as you glanced around your surroundings, blurs of people who were here for the political capital, conveniently a lack of Emily's mother who never approved of your relationship from the one state dinner you shared, and most importantly the BAU, surrounding you, protecting you, they were truly a family, a broken family who lost a member.

You were supposed to give a eulogy, you were supposed to rattle off the list of her accomplishments, you were supposed to display the correct amount of tears and say you would love her forever. Instead JJ took one look at you and took the notes out of your hands.

She was the better griever between the two of you, she was the one who got over cases quicker, but still there was something uncanny about the way she handled her speech. It didn't phase you, you were frankly a mess, a loss for words, a hopeless case. It's funny how hard it is for the human brain to empathize with loss, because before you had known what it was like to fall for Emily Goddamn Prentiss, you could never feel the victims wives and husbands pain, but with the scorching tears swelling your eyes and burning your skin you appreciated a new understanding for them. Too bad it took you weeks to be back in the field.

The first days were the easiest, you were in shock, you were fine. Penelope came to check on you every morning, you had Sergio, you had Emily's apartment.

On the fourth day you woke up and didn't get out of bed. When Penelope came to check on you Sergio had broken into the bag of cat food, and she decided to take him home with her when you couldn't look her in the eye.

After a month you came back to work, only to help Derek with finding Doyle, to be honest it wasn't work, it was Reid holding back his genius so you could feel like you were helping and Penelope showing you pictures of cats while you hung back from the field in her office.

That was until Hotch decided the team needed a little more help on the Doyle case.

His suited figure stepped away from the door frame and there was Emily Goddamn Prentiss.

She looked around. She mumbled something about how much it killed her. She hugged Spencer and Derek, and finally she made eye contact with you.

Your hands were bitten raw and your eyes were blurred in tears.

"Y/N...."

"Emily."

"I'm so so sorry."

"FUCK YOU. You couldn't give me a single word? A LETTER?? Was it even real, was I just another one of your covers? HOW CAN YOU EVEN PRETEND TO CARE ABOUT ME?!"

"Wait-"

You ran for your life, you didn't even know where you were going. You heard voices yelling back at you, you ignored them. You got coffee, you spilled the cup. You went home and you didn't leave. You didn't eat,

you slept for so long.

Then Emily finally returned, apparently Doyle was dead, apparently she could stay with you now.

It started with cleaning, the apartment was a mess, you two cleaned together, silently. You sang your hearts out to cheesy pop songs and you took care of Sergio after Penelope brought him back.

She slept in the guest room, you slept on her side of the bed.

One night you were dreaming. Dreaming? No, you were screaming and crying in your sleep. You were having a terror, it was the same one as always.

You were woken up by a squeeze in your wrist and a light shake of your torso.

"Y/N. You're okay, you're safe, I'm right here."

You woke up dizzy and exhausted with tears welling your eyes.

"Come here."

She had your head in her lap and your heartbeat rested to line up with hers.

"It helps if you talk about it."

"Ok"

You took a deep breath, you stuttered and your voice shook.

"Me and..

and him we were racing to get to you first, he always won."

"Honey"

"He carved his name into you... And I couldn't do anything."

"It's not your fault."

"I couldn't do anything."

"Hey! I'm right here. I'm okay now. I'm here and you're safe, were safe."

She wrapped her hands around your head, she held you tightly, you had never felt so safe, and you couldn't believe yourself. You were safe in her arms again. You were unbelievably trusting her again. Honestly you wouldn't change a thing.

[zizzlekwum]

Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER ONE

The BAU investigates the leader of a terrorist group in Guantanamo Bay in order to prevent a terrorist attack. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 10 “Lessons Learned.”

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 4,270 (4,009 without the backstory blurb)

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls [if you want to be added to the list, please comment or send me an ask]

Relevant backstory that I don’t wanna write: you woke up in the Criminal Minds/ Bones universe because of a top-secret government project focusing on interacting and communicating with different universes. You’re from the year 2023 (because why the hell not; also that way you have seen all Criminal Minds and Bones episodes up until February of 2023). Your cell phone was in your hand and your wallet was in your pocket when you woke up, which both help prove to the scientists that their attempt was successful. Eventually they realize you know things about the future and put you through the training to be an FBI agent so you can work with the BAU and with Booth, Brennan, and the Jeffersonian team (the idea being you would be an asset because of your knowledge of the future). Only the people directly involved with both teams as well as their direct supervisors (like Strauss) know about your unique circumstances, and you aren’t allowed to tell anyone else because of the top secret nature of the project that led to you being there. You’re 24 years old when you end up in the universe, so the same age as Reid in Season 1 of Criminal Minds. The first chapter will take place when you’re 25, during Prentiss’ first official case with the BAU (so Season 2 Episode 10) and around the start of Season 2 of Bones (so definitely before Season 2 Episode 10 of Bones, which is done purposely for angst reasons I’m excited about for reasons I will not explain but which will eventually become apparent).

* * * * *

Your cell phone wakes you just after six in the morning. You reach for it on your nightstand, knowing it’s probably JJ with a case.

“What?” you grumble, flipping it open and putting it to your ear without opening your eyes.

“We have a case,” JJ tells you.

You groan and roll over onto your back, still not opening your eyes. “But it’s so early!”

JJ sighs. “It’s about a potential terrorist attack,” she says bluntly, causing you to sit up and force your eyes open.

“Shit. Okay, I’m leaving now. See you soon.” You reach your hands up and rub your eyes before getting out of bed, grabbing your glasses, and throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a black T-shirt, also grabbing a plain black hoodie to take with you. You hurriedly brush your teeth and throw on your FBI hat before heading to your kitchen, swallowing your meds with water from the tap. You grab your keys and your backpack and rush out the door to your vehicle, a black 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee, the same make and model your dad had when you were born.

When you get to the office, Hotch is already there, walking in front of you. Morgan and Gideon are behind you as you follow Hotch into the briefing room, where Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss are already seated around the table.

“Everybody, meet Agent Prentiss,” Hotch announces, gesturing toward her. You bite back a grin, excited to finally be able to meet your favorite character.

“The other day,” Garcia replies.

“I’ve been filling her in on protocol,” JJ adds.

Morgan introduces himself with a handshake as you take your seat at the table, across from Prentiss.

You give Prentiss a wave. “Y/N Y/L/N, it’s great to finally meet you!”.

“Y/L/N? You mean, you’re the one who—”

“The government’s pet project?” you finish with a grin. “Yeah, that one. I—”

“We can make nice later,” Hotch interrupts.

“Right, sorry,” you say sheepishly, turning your attention to JJ. “So what do we know so far?”

“The DEA raided what they thought was a hardened meth lab right here in Northern Virginia, but they found this instead.” JJ points the remote in her hand at the TV, pressing a button, prompting a picture of a homemade device to show on the screen.

“Well, shit,” you mutter.

“That could be a dispersal device for a chemical weapon,” Morgan says. “Sophisticated.”

“Homeland Security’s thinking Al Qaeda,” JJ says.

“They’ve developed devices that span the spectrum of sophistication,” Reid offers, “some as simple as soda bottles and paint cans.”

“They’re called al ikhteraa, literally ‘the invention,’” Prentiss adds.

Reid blinks. “Uh, they are,” he confirms.

“Do we know what the biological or chemical agent is yet?” Hotch asks.

Morgan shakes his head. “No, not yet.”

JJ continues. “The cell members bailed out through a tunnel. The DEA recovered a Nextel two-way and managed to intercept a message.” She places a piece of paper on the table, which Prentiss picks up. “That’s not the transcript—”

“No, it’s in Arabic,” Prentiss adds. “Uh… ‘our friends surprised us and eloped. We can no longer wait for the wedding as planned. We can deliver our gift at the next crescent.’” There’s a pause as everyone stares at her. “Uh, I lived in several Middle Eastern countries growing up,” Prentiss explains when she notices everyone’s curiosity.

You smirk. “Told you she was good.”

“Next crescent?” Gideon asks.

“I would assume the moon cycle,” you offer.

Prentiss nods. “Muslims sometimes use a lunar calendar. I’d have to look it up—”

“Next crescent moon is in two days,” Garcia interrupts.

“So whatever they’re attacking, it’s happening in less than 48 hours,” Gideon states.

“It sounds like it, sir,” Prentiss responds.

You sigh, adjusting your glasses. “Wonderful.”

JJ jumps in. “Payment for the Nextel is linked to this man.” She presses a button on her remote, pulling up a picture on the screen. “Jind Allah.”

“Literally ‘soldier of God,’” Prentiss notes.

“That’s pretty poor operational security for a sophisticated plot,” Morgan says.

You nod, humming in agreement. “It almost makes you think they wanted to be linked back to him, but I don’t see what they could possibly have to gain from doing so.”

“Two months ago, Jind Allah was captured leaving the US using a forged Pakistani passport via Richmond International Airport,” JJ explains. “He’s been held as a ghost detainee in Guantanamo Bay ever since.”

“So technically, he doesn’t exist,” Garcia says.

“Soldier of God isn’t a name,” Gideon points out.

“No, it’s most likely a name taken on for the Jihad,” Prentiss tells you.

“Meaning struggle,” you add, causing everyone to turn their attention to you in surprise. “What?” You shrug. “It’s a pretty common word in the future news cycles. Extremists claim it’s a holy war.”

“Yet the words ‘holy’ and ‘war’ never appear together in the Quran,” Reid adds, leaning back in his seat.

“Do we know his real name?” Gideon asks.

JJ shakes her head. “CIA interrogators have gotten nothing out of the guy.”

“They need us to break him,” Gideon concludes.

“We do know from past intercepts that he’s a recruiter,” JJ continues. “He came into this country to assemble the Omega cell, a sleeper cell with an unknown mission.”

“We have 48 hours to do what the CIA hasn’t been able to manage in 2 months?” Morgan shakes his head.

“The CIA doesn’t use our tactics,” you point out. “They specialize in torture, not behavioral analysis.”

“We could be looking at the first attack on our soil since 9/11,” Gideon says ominously. A moment of quiet passes as his words register. “Reid and I will head to Guantanamo Bay to interrogate Jind Allah,” Gideon states. “The rest of you’ll stay here and work the local investigation.” He stands as the rest of you nod. He leaves the room and Hotch follows him as the rest of you file out the door.

“So, you’re really from another universe?” Prentiss asks, turning toward you as you both walk to your desks.

You nod. “Mm-hmm. This was just a TV show where I’m from. Also, it was 2023.”

Prentiss whistles. “It’s kind of hard to believe.”

“I totally get it,” you assure her. “It’s weird for me, too. The last time I lived through today, I was eight.” She looks at you in shock. You laugh. “Yeah, I was technically born in 1998, but my adjusted birth year is 1981, since I’m 25,” you explain.

She stares at you, shocked. “Wow,” she finally manages.

You laugh again. “Yeah, it takes some getting used to,” you tell her. “And it sucks that I can’t tell anyone outside of the BAU and my other team at the Jeffersonian. Not that anyone would believe me, but still.”

“Your other team?” she asks.

“I sometimes work with Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian, because I know the outcomes of their cases, too, since they were also a TV show,” you explain, sitting down at your desk.

Prentiss moves to sit down at her desk across from you, but pauses as she glances up at Hotch and Gideon, who are watching her.

“…only member of the team fluent in Arabic,” Hotch is saying.

“Well, there are other translators,” Gideon responds.

“Yeah, but they haven’t studied behavior,” Hotch points out.

“She even have her ready bag yet?” Gideon asks.

Across from you, Prentiss slowly reaches down and picks up a black duffel bag, placing it on her desk before holding her hands together in front of her. You grin, glancing away.

“My guess is there isn’t much this woman’s unprepared for,” you hear Hotch tell Gideon, nodding toward Prentiss.

Gideon glances at her before walking down the stairs. “Car leaves in four minutes,” he tells her while he walks past.

Prentiss smiles. “Yes, sir.”

You give her a thumbs up, mouthing “good luck” as she follows him with a smile.

“Y/L/N, Morgan, you’re with me,” Hotch announces. “We’re going to the scene of the raid.”

You nod, standing and following him out the door to the elevator.

*   *   *   *   *

When you arrive at the scene of the raid, you exit the SUV and follow Morgan and Hotch into the house.

“Bonnie Ryan,” the lead DEA agent says, holding out her hand to Hotch as you walk through the door.

Hotch shakes her hand. “Aaron Hotchner.”

“DEA team,” Agent Ryan says. “We ran this raid.”

“Derek Morgan.” Morgan introduces himself, shaking Agent Ryan’s hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you add, nodding at Agent Ryan. She gives you a polite nod in return.

Morgan gestures to the paper covering the windows. “This must’ve slowed you down some, huh?”

Agent Ryan nods. “Well, enough for them to get out through the tunnel,” she says.

“They must have done escape drills,” Hotch notes as Agent Ryan gestures to you to follow her down the hallway into the room with the dispersal device.

There’s another DEA agent in the room already. He smiles when he notices Morgan. “Hey, Morgan.”

Morgan smiles, patting him on the arm. “Hey, Kenny. Been a minute, man.”

“Yeah, it has,” Kenny says.

“We good in here?” Morgan asks.

Kenny nods. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Everything’s been rendered safe.”

You follow Hotch and Morgan to take a closer look at the dispersal device.

“Wow,” Morgan says, bending down. “These guys weren’t messing around.” He observes the device for a second. “Hotch, these tubes surround what would be the explosive charge. And this cylinder right here?”

“Probably where they would put whatever bioweapon they’re using, right?” you say.

Morgan nods. “Bingo.”

“That’s a happy thought,” Kenny says.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Morgan says, sighing.

You follow Hotch and Morgan into the other room.

“Looks like a four man cell,” Morgan notes.

Hotch examines the clothes hanging in the open closet. “They assimilated into the community.”

“Just like any other suburban gangster wannabes,” Morgan adds,  looking through a stack of CDs on the floor.

“Who do you think we’re dealing with?” Agent Ryan asks.

“Most likely Middle Eastern males in their early twenties,” Hotch answers.

“And judging by that device out there, they’re looking at significant targets,” Morgan adds.

“Military installations or government buildings, places like that,” you interject as you begin looking through one of the cots on the floor.

“You know, if these guys were Fundamentalists, you’d think they’d have Qurans, prayer mats,” Morgan says.

“No,” Agent Ryan tells him, shaking her head. “We didn’t find any of that here.”

“Which tells us they at least have one secondary location, if not more,” you note, turning over the cot you were looking through. You find a box with some newspapers in it. Flipping through, you come across what looks to be chemical equations printed on paper. “Guys, you might wanna take a look at this.”

Hotch, Agent Ryan, and Morgan turn their attention toward you. “What is it?” Hotch asks.

You hold up the papers. “Looks like a list of chemicals.”

Morgan holds out his hand and you pass the papers over to him. “I’m gonna check with Garcia,” he says, taking out his phone and dialing. He waits for her to pick up, then says, “Hey. I’m gonna read off a list to you. These are chemicals.” He pauses, presumably waiting for her response. “You’re sure?” he finally says, frowning. “All right.” He hangs up the phone and puts it back in his pocket.

“What’d she say?” Hotch asks.

“Garcia said this looks like a list of additives needed to weaponize anthrax,” Morgan reports solemnly. Agent Ryan and Kenny share a look.

You curse, pulling out your phone. “I’ll let Gideon, Reid, and Prentiss know.” You dial Reid’s number and wait for him to pick up.

“Reid,” he says after only a couple rings.

“Anthrax,” you tell him.

“What?”

“We think they’re going to use anthrax in their attack,” you explain. “We found a list of chemicals in the house and had Garcia look them up.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Nope,” you reply. “We’ll keep you posted.” You hang up the phone and turn back to Hotch and Morgan. “So, what now?”

*   *   *   *   *

Later, you’re in the backseat of the SUV with Hotch at the wheel and Morgan in the passenger seat when Hotch’s phone rings.

“Hotchner,” he says, bringing it to his ear. He pauses, presumably to listen to whoever is on the other line. “Annandale?” Another pause. “I’ll get Agent Ryan to organize another raid. And notify Gideon and Reid. Thanks.” He hangs up and turns the car around.

“What’s up?” Morgan asks.

“Garcia found some chatter about a second location in Annandale,” Hotch tells the two of you. “We’re going to check it out.”

It takes just over twenty minutes to get to the second site. When Hotch pulls the car up, the DEA team is already there, ready to enter.

“Hey guys,” a DEA agent greets us. “We’re going silent tonight, no comms.”

“Let’s be careful,” Agent Ryan adds. “We don’t know what to expect.” She looks to Hotch. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Hotch says, handing you and Morgan each a gas mask before slipping his own over his head. You quickly put it on before pulling your gun from its holster at your hip.

“Let’s do it,” the other DEA agent says, and everyone moves to the ramp of the truck to climb up over the fence. You follow Morgan up the ramp and back down the other side, biting the inside of your cheek in nervousness. The lead DEA agent enters the trailer, gun drawn, and the rest of you follow.

“Clear!” one of them shouts to your left.

“Clear!” someone else to your right calls. Hotch walks back to the door, taking off his gas mask.

“This place is completely empty,” Morgan says, taking off his own mask. “We missed them again.”

Hotch takes out his cell phone and dials a number. “It’s Hotch. We’re at cell location number two. No cell, no lab, no dispersal devices. We’re still looking for escape tunnels.” He hangs up.

You take off your own mask as you and Morgan begin to examine the room. You’ve barely started when Hotch’s phone rings.

“What’s the problem,” he says. Then he tenses. “Everybody out!” he yells. “It’s a trap! Now!”

You curse, rushing to the door. Everyone scrambles to run away from the trailer, but the force of the explosion still almost knocks you off your feet. You stumble and immediately look around for Hotch and Morgan, heart pounding. You let out a sigh of relief when you see them both unharmed. You then look around at everyone else when you see a DEA agent lying face-down on the ground, not moving.

“Shit,” you say, running towards him, but there’s already another agent rolling him over and pressing his fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. He shakes his head. You swallow the lump in your throat and experience a flash of guilt at your previous relief.

Soon after, the fire department arrives to put out the flaming remains of the trailer. You, Hotch, Morgan, and the remaining DEA agents all linger around the scene, not able to do anything else.

Morgan soon gets a phone call. “Yeah, it’s Morgan,” he says after flipping open his phone and bringing it to his ear. “Hello? Garcia, can you hear me?” He pauses, turning away from the burning wreckage. “Yeah, I know. We lost a SWAT agent.” Another pause. “Don’t worry, don’t think you’re gonna get rid of me that easy. Hotch and Y/L/N are okay, too.” A pause, and then he smiles. “No, but I know who to call if I do. Thanks, Baby Girl.” He hangs up.

You and Morgan head over to Hotch, who’s standing next to Agent Ryan near the back of the ambulance. Agent Ryan shakes her head. “Son of a bitch,” she says, her voice shaking.

“I’m sorry about Kenny,” Hotch tells her softly.

“Yeah, me too,” she says, not meeting his eyes.

“The chatter was a setup. They knew we’d be listening,” Hotch states.

“They lead us straight here,” Morgan adds.

Agent Ryan steels herself, grinding her jaw. “Just tell me you know where to look next.”

Hotch sighs. “Not yet.”

Agent Ryan looks away.

*   *   *   *   *

You’re stuck at the site of the explosion into the early morning. You yawn from the back seat as Hotch drives and Morgan answers his ringing phone.

“Talk to me,” he says, then reaches into his pocket to grab a notepad and pen, writing something down as he balances his cell between his ear and his shoulder. “Got it, thank you.” He hangs up the phone.

“What’s up?” you ask him.

“Got a lead?” Hotch says.

“And an address,” Morgan tells him, ripping off the notepad paper and handing it to Hotch, who glances at it before speeding up.

Less than fifteen minutes later, you’re stepping out of the car in front of a small, regular-looking house. You squint in the sunlight for a moment while you wait for your glasses to darken before following Hotch and Morgan to the group of SWAT agents standing together on the front lawn.

“How does a terrorist cell exist right here in Mayberry?” Morgan asks, walking beside Hotch.

“Really reminds you how they can be anywhere,” you say.

“Infrared scanning still shows no one inside,” the lead SWAT agent reports as the three of you approach. “We’re doing a soft entry in case it’s booby trapped.” Hotch nods as you and Morgan take a step back. The SWAT team lines up at the door before the lead agent rips it open with a crowbar and they all pile inside.

It’s only a minute later when the lead agent comes back out the door, pulling his gas mask off. “We have five deceased males and what looks to be a crude lab,” he reports to Hotch, where you and Morgan stand beside him. “All shot in the head, execution style.”

“Any anthrax on the scene?” Hotch asks.

The agent shakes his head. “Only residue. There’s also packing and tags from four new backpacks.” He begins to walk away to report to the rest of his team.

Morgan shakes his head. “Backpacks.”

“They’re already on the move,” you say.

“We were too late,” Hotch says, walking back toward the SUV. You and Morgan follow behind him.

*   *   *   *   *

When you get back to the office, JJ meets you at the elevator. “Grand opening of the USA Mall today. It’s the third-largest in the country and it’s right smack in the middle of McLean, Virginia.”

“Let’s move,” Hotch says, turning around. You and Morgan follow him to the car, hopping in. He’s already driving before your door is closed all the way.

You drive in silence, the tension palpable in the air, before Morgan speaks. “What’s going on with you?” he asks Hotch. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost back there.”

Hotch tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Haley’s supposed to take Jack to the new mall to have his portrait taken.”

Your stomach drops.

“Well, go ahead and call her,” Morgan tells him.

“It’s a breach of security,” Hotch replies tersely.

“Who gives a fuck?” you exclaim. “That’s your family!”

Morgan shakes his head. “You lose Haley and Jack, screw this job. You won’t have a life.”

Hotch takes out his cell phone and dials, holding it to his ear. You and Morgan wait, the feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach growing bigger with each passing second. Suddenly, Hotch shakes his head. “I can’t reach her.” The car accelerates even faster.

*   *   *   *   *

It takes almost an hour to get to the mall from Quantico, and you’re aware of how close you are to failing. As soon as Hotch parks, you’re throwing open the door and jumping out, your gas mask under your arm, running to the doors. The SWAT team has just arrived too, by the looks of it.

“Morgan, I’m going to find the security office!” Hotch calls over his shoulder, running to the side entrance.

“Go!” Morgan shouts.

“Morgan!” Agent Ryan calls to the side of you. You and Morgan rush over the where she and a few other agents in tactical armor are standing around a nondescript van, where the front doors are still open. An agent rips open the back of the van, pointing his gun inside, then steps back. You look over Morgan’s shoulder to see another dead man with a bullet in his head.

“Looks like loading dock security,” Morgan notes.

“Should we evacuate?” Agent Ryan asks.

“No,” Morgan says as you shake your head. “No, we’d have mass panic. Let’s go.”

You, Morgan, and the rest of the SWAT agents make your way inside the mall when Hotch’s voice comes over your ear piece. “Morgan, I’ve got four guys on the east end of the roof.”

“This way,” Morgan tells you and the SWAT agents, heading toward a stairwell.

When you’re all starting to climb the stairs, you hear Hotch say, “It’s the air vents."

Morgan stops and pulls his gas mask from his belt, and you do the same. “They’re going to the air vents,” he reports to the rest of the SWAT team. He glances over at you to make sure your mask is on. You give him a nod. “Move,” he commands, and you quickly continue your ascent to the roof.

When you reach the top, you all fan out, looking for the air vents. You follow closely behind Morgan, hurrying across the roof. Suddenly, Morgan raises his gun, and you follow suit as you look ahead and see four men kneeling next to the air vents, fiddling with something inside their backpacks. You, Morgan, and the nearby SWAT agents creep closer as one of the men looks up and notices you.

“Don’t move!” Morgan yells. “Put the devices down and put your hands where I can see them!”

All four of them slowly stand. Three of the men raise their hands as another quickly turns around and grabs a rifle.

“GUN!” one of the SWAT agents yells, and everyone opens fire. Three of the four men fall to the ground, dead, as the fourth makes a run for it.

“Shit!” you yell, breaking out into a run to chase after him, right at Morgan’s heels. You turn a corner just as the man turns around and raises his gun. You and Morgan each fire a shot at the man, who stumbles backwards and falls through the glass ceiling behind him. You rush over and look down to see him on the ground, not moving, surrounded by screaming shoppers and a growing pool of blood. Morgan nods at you before stepping away, holstering his weapon.

“Hotch,” he says into his ear piece. “We got ‘em.”

*   *   *   *   *

When you get back to the office, it’s dark outside. JJ is there to greet you.

“Good job today,” Hotch tells her as he walks to his office to grab his things. You head to your desk to grab your backpack, contemplating waiting for Gideon, Prentiss, and Reid to get back before yawning and deciding to go home instead.

“‘Night,” you tell JJ as you head to the elevator. She nods at you with a smile.

You yawn again as you slowly make your way through the parking lot to your car, eyes drooping. Your entire body is exhausted after not having slept in almost two days. You get into the car and turn the ignition, turning up the radio to help you stay awake. Within twenty minutes, you’re home. Walking inside, you throw your keys on the table next to the door and sling your backpack off your shoulder, heading straight to the kitchen to grab your meds. You neglect brushing your teeth in favor of sprawling out on your bed and closing your eyes, sighing. You’re asleep within minutes.

NOTE: If you think I missed any trigger warnings, please let me know!

[feral-fae-writes]

Power || Drabble

A/N: A small emotional blurb for a very complex character. I don’t want to mischaracterize him; I know a lot of the show’s narrative might lend itself to that happening because of what he experiences. And in rebuttal, I wanted to try to take an honest look at him. What better way than through candid camera? Also, I want to write more for this traumatised federal agent. That is all.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid x BAU Agent!Reader

Wordcount: 100

Type: Drabble

Summary: The new Imaging and Investigations Unit has its uses, both in cases and in candid camera. Dr. Spencer Reid knows this as well as anyone. As such, he wants to use photography as a means to understand himself, and you are all too happy to oblige. You only wish you could frame them -- and maybe him, as well.

Power

You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye; the shadowy stubble and circles gave him away, but he would never admit it. Reid turned your way, raised brows along with his cup; you responded by lifting your polaroid in answer. It was a thing between you two, capturing these rare moments of alone and quiet at his request. He didn’t talk about his mother. All he’d shared was that she suffered from schizophrenia. Deep down, you knew why he wanted to take these shots -- so he could inspect, dissect, understand himself. So he could understand her.

Click!