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reiderwriter · 11 months ago

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♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence.

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried.

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly.

“But I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again.

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.”

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter.

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down.

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter.

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise.

“And your name is?”

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body.

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?”

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up.

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub.

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason.

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest.

“Good observation, Spencer.”

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head.

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor.

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again.

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him.

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that.

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election.

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace.

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.”

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you.

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together.

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet.

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway.

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him.

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin.

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him.

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-”

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape.

“I-I'm not a student, and-”

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.”

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist.

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex.

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you, desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you.

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper.

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him.

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley.

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?”

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him.

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.”

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin.

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched.

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him.

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust.

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock.

“Did it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.”

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving.

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for.

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to.

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him.

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure.

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.”

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier.

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you.

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there.

You weren't.

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?”

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today.

There was always tomorrow.

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed.

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder.

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there.

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up.

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.”

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words.

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs.

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?”

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely.

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened.

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs.

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head.

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch.

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out.

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug.

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.”

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer.

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.”

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him.

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.”

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal.

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake.

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.”

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts.

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?”

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?”

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there.

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?”

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct.

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer.

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again.

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning.

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?”

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.”

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest.

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled.

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.”

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again.

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his.

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.”

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?”

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans.

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit.

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut.

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly.

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.”

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him.

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue.

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?”

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them.

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.”

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry.

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again.

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock.

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock.

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so.

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time.

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair.

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.”

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for.

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enderlovez · 13 days ago

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Stay Happy

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 5700+

Summary: In the midst of a case, thinking it's safe after they've caught the criminal, you go into the crime scene alone to inspect the place, only to be taken hostage by a second unsub nobody knew about.

Content Warning: kidnapping, blood, stabbing, gunshot wounds, reader being tied up, broadcasting torture, mentions of death, blood again because there's a lot of it, broken bones, sprains, dislocation, speeding, drug usage (reader is drugged by the kidnapper)

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You're not even sure how it happened.

One moment, you were simply walking around the crime-scene, scribbling notes down as you stepped around shattered glass and pools of blood, and it was peaceful for the most part — except, of course, for the police sirens blaring in the distance.

Perhaps that's why you felt so safe navigating the abandoned house alone, taking one for the team so they could discuss outside. The criminal had already been caught, so surely there was no reason to worry about something bad happening, right?

Wrong.

You were so extremely wrong. The moment somebody reached out from the shadows of a seemingly empty room, wrapping a hand tightly around your arm and slapping a hand over your mouth, you wished more than anything that you could take your decision back.

Spencer had insisted on going in with you. Practically begged you to take him inside with you, but his words about the possible dangers lying inside fell on deaf ears. They'd caught the bad guy. There was no danger, and he was the brains of the team, so surely they would need him more than you would, right?

Wrong.

Nobody hears your scream for help as it's abruptly cut off by the stranger's hand, nor does anybody realize you've been gone longer than would be necessary as you're being tied up and gagged and thrown into the trunk of a car with no more care than you'd give a piece of scrap metal.

You can do no more than screw up your face and beg for mercy as they jab a needle into your arm, then another into your neck, injecting a kind of colorless liquid directly into your bloodstream.

Your mind runs into overdrive, quickly running through all the possibilities as you would usually do when working on cases — except this time, you're the victim, and you're trying to come up with something — anything — before you lose consciousness.

You don't get very far.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

"Reid," Hotch says in a tired voice, not looking away from the paper in front of him, leaning it against the top of the car as he scrawls something down, "will you go in and see what's taking L/N so long? She's been gone almost fifteen minutes, we need her back here now."

Spencer doesn't have to be asked twice for him to make his way towards the crumbling house. Admittedly, he's been counting the seconds since you left, fighting the urge to run in there regardless of everyone's warnings of 'she's a big girl, she can handle herself' and 'she's good at her job, Reid, you need to relax a little'.

He knows you're beyond good at your job, which is why he trusted that you would be okay going in alone... But you typically only take, on average, ten minutes to do a quick search of the house and scratch down anything of importance.

While it might not seem like such a big deal to everyone else, Spencer knows you inside and out, better than anyone else in the world, and he knows that you taking even five minutes longer — especially in such a small house — is definitely a cause for concern.

Glass and debris crunches under his foot as he steps inside the house, flashlight pointed in front of him down the decaying hallway. It's quiet inside, unnervingly so, to the point where a chill runs down his spine. In a house of this size, with everything littering the floor, he should be able to hear your steps as you walk around, but there's nothing, just an ear-splitting silence that he can't seem to shake.

"Y/N?" he calls out hesitantly, pointing the light around in search of you. There isn't a response, not even a hum of acknowledgment from nearby, or a step indicating you've heard something close to you.

Just more of this silence.

He knows something has to be wrong now. Even looking past the fact that you would never ignore anybody, especially not Spencer, he has a horrible wriggling feeling in his gut, a sickening sensation that makes him want to curl into himself and hurl all over the floor.

"Y/N, are you in here?" he tries again, voice slightly louder and tinged with panic as he speeds up his search of the house, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees something sitting on the ground, too clean and white to have been there before, and covered in your delicate handwriting. Spencer's hands shake as he picks it up, eyes scanning over all the things you've written down.

And if he's not already in panic mode now, that changes entirely when he spots the smaller, fresher pool of blood, spreading out on the floor nearby, seeping into the cracks of the withering floorboards.

Without a second thought, he's running outside, notepad gripped in his hand so tightly that the paper crinkles. You're not in there. There's fresh blood on the floor in the same place he found your notepad, discarded.

Everyone turns to look at Spencer as he runs back to the car, lips turning down slightly when they see you're not following behind him.

"Where's Cupcake?" Morgan asks first, eyebrows furrowed as he peers behind the other man in search of you. "Thought you were going in to get her, is she not—"

"We need to get back," Spencer abruptly cuts Morgan off, already making to get in the car. "Y/N's gone. She's not in there, but I found her notes on the floor, next to her blood."

"That place was filled with blood," he tries to push, though the more time you spend in that house, considering you're usually so fast with this part, and without your notes, he's becoming less and less sure. "Maybe she just dropped it and hasn't realized yet?"

"All the blood in there is days old. This, most definitely was not." Something has happened to you — he knows something has happened to you, and every extra second that ticks by, he knows that you're likely slipping further and further away.

It seems that everyone else comes to the same conclusion, as they all immediately jump into action, splitting up and piling into the two cars. They're almost thirty minutes away from the Bureau, and by the time they even get there, who knows what state you could be in?

You could be dead.

Spencer, of course, knows the dangers that come with this job. He himself has been shot and almost killed on multiple occasions, but it never really occurred to him, in all of his 187 IQ glory, that something similar could happen to you.

Emily is on the phone, speaking to someone — telling them to search the area, so it's likely the local police, who were already there before.

"I thought we caught the bad guy," Morgan comments tightly. "How's we even miss a second unsub?"

"Many reasons," Spencer replies instantly, force of habit. "Our primary unsub sits the profile so well that we've overlooked the possibility of a second offender. If they're working together, the second might deliberately mimic the first's MO or play a background role, making them harder to detect. "

"And what are the stats—"

"Twenty to twenty-five percent of homicides involve multiple offenders, and thirty percent of criminal partnerships have this dynamic. Cognitive bias affects nearly sixty percent of investigators."

"We don't know for sure if this is—"

Morgan is cut off by his phone ringing, so he picks it up without looking at the caller ID and puts it on speaker for everyone to hear. Before he can even greet the person on the other end, Garcia's voice, panicked and out of breath, comes through the speaker.

"Something pretty disturbing has come up here," she rushes out, the clicking of a keyboard vaguely there in the background. "You all need to get back here — now."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You realize three things when you finally come to.

The first, is that you are tied to a chair, ropes so tight that every slight movement has your skin raw and chafing. Your ankles feel cemented to the floor, held down by something heavy. Or maybe that's because the sedative hasn't fully worn off yet.

The second thing you realize, when you force your eyes to open against the drowsiness, is that you have absolutely no idea where you are right now. The plain yellow walls have no defining characteristics, and there are no windows to look outside — chances are, you're in a basement, or a room in a storage facility.

And the third and final thing that comes to your realization, is that there is a camera set up in front of you. One of those home-video cameras, propped up on a tripod, and pointing directly at you, little red light indicating that it's already recording.

Sick bastard.

You tentatively pull against the ropes binding you, face screwing up when they only dig into your already raw skin. Tears prick at your eyes as panic surges through you, realizing you're really stuck here, that you're too weak to even try to do anything about your situation.

I am going to die here.

I am going to—

A door opens somewhere around you, footsteps descending a set of stairs. Definitely in a basement, then, but knowing that doesn't really do much good — there are countless basements, after all.

"You're finally awake," a voice drawls from behind you, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "I was worried I'd already killed you back there, pretty girl."

Already.

He is planning to kill you regardless.

"Please, just... let me go," you beg weakly. Though you can't see him, you just know he's shaking his head, rubbing a hand on your shoulder. You try to turn your head so you can get a good look at him, but a shooting pain sparks down your spine at the movement.

"You know I can't do that," he says simply, the smile evident in his voice as he steps around you to adjust something on the camera, clicking a few buttons and zooming in on you some — trying to get the perfect angle, you quickly realize, to do...

"Why are you recording me?" you ask quietly, squeezing your eyes shut against the pain of talking with such a dry throat. You work with the FBI, you know very well about cases where the suspect has recorded their killings for their own sick pleasure.

You just... never thought you'd be on the other end of it.

"I'm not recording," he says after a beat of silence, looking away from the camera to stand at his full height, his smile somehow widening to show all of his yellowed teeth. You take a moment to memorize his face, but with the drugs still clouding your mind, it's hard.

"Well what are you doing, then, if this recording camera isn't recording me?"

"It's a broadcast," he says simply, stepping back around you and squeezing your shoulder so tight you worry it might break, "to all your little agent friends."

Your blood runs cold, eyes snapping to the camera lens. They're probably watching you right this second, tied up and in immeasurable amounts of pain, yet still interrogating the suspect like you're on the job.

"What are you going to do to me?" The question you least want the answer to, but the most important one.

He doesn't say anything more, remaining behind me for a few more minutes before crouching at my side. "You and your friends got my brother in trouble," he begins, reaching up and caressing your face, so gently you begin to wonder if this is even the same person who threw you in the car. "So let's just stick with this: I'm going to put you in trouble."

That doesn't sound good.

And before you can say anything more, he's standing up again, reeling his hand back behind his head, and punching you in the face with enough force to make all thoughts flurry from your head.

Warm liquid fills your mouth instantly, spilling out through your parted lips. Your head is ringing with a sound that's not really there, vision blurring even though you're not crying — or maybe you are. Your world turns on its axis as your head flops to the side, neck unable to support you due to the shock.

Not broken, though.

Thank God, your neck isn't broken.

"Please," you whimper, but the single word sends a peircing pain straight to your temple, and even the single word is slurred. He has concussed you, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"Sorry, Sweetheart," he murmurs, cupping your cheek with his palm, much like how a lover would — much like how Spencer does. Then, with an unnerving slowness that has you trembling, he pulls a tiny pocket knife out of his pocket, one of those little flower ones you'd get online for fifty cents, and brings it close to your face.

He presses the sharp point of it to the base of your cheekbone, and drags it alone your skin, opening a thin, shallow cut on your cheek, and stopping just before it reaches the corner of your mouth.

You cry out, struggling against your restraints. Shallow as the cut may be, and though you've been through so much worse throughout your career, it hurts like hell, and while you're already in so much pain, so vulnerable and exposed like an open nerve...

To say you're scared is an understatement.

Scared for your life that you're most definitely going to lose if your team can't find you. Scared for your future, and the things you so desperately want to do with it. And scared that you will never see the love of your life again — the very one who is likely watching you right now, through the camera.

"Please don't," you choke out through the tears that are now freely streaming down your face, stinging as they run along the length of the open wound on your face.

He smiles and walks over to a little table you didn't notice before, decorated with a variety of scary looking tools, and with the drowsiness still lingering from the drugs and the concussion you've been given, you can't stop your eyes from rolling back as your consciousness leaves you once again.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Everything hurts when you wake up again, your skin littered in a multitude of cuts and bruises and more injuries you think you've ever had at once. A gun sits on the other side of the room on a little table, loaded. It's your gun, the very one you had holstered to you when he grabbed you in that house. You don't want to know when he's planning to use that, but you're sure it's soon.

The man you've since dubbed 'Belial' is gone for now, leaving you alone in the room with half of a kitchen knife jammed into your right thigh and the camera still pointing right at your face. It's hard to tell exactly how long it's been, but if you have to take a guess, maybe a few days.

During that time he's been continually drugging you, this time not with sedatives, rather with things that'll leave you with lasting conditions. You're not sure what it is, but it doesn't necessarily cause you pain at the time. Only after, when the effects are wearing off, and you're left begging for more.

Right now it's all out of your system, and it hurts. Almost more than the deeper cut he left on your stomach, and the discus sized bruise on the back of your shoulder. Almost more than the knife stuck in your leg, and the busted lip and broken nose and—

You have too many injuries to count. You might just die of infection before he gets the chance to leave a bullet in your brain.

Though your hope isn't yet entirely gone — over the last while, you've been slowly but surely wiggling your wrists, stretching the rope and allowing yourself a little bit of leeway.

The indomitable human spirit, Spencer would have commented to calm you down, if he was with you right now, before spouting off some facts about why the human body stays fighting for so long. The thought of him brings a tiny smile to your face, but it's short-lived as something happens.

As you're twisting your wrists around, using your own blood as lubricant, a strange little sound from behind you, so quiet you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so on-guard lately, followed by the sudden and immense release of pressure from your wrists as blood flow is restored.

Your hands are free from their restraints, you only fully realize when you bring them up in front of your face, eyes flicking between your own two hands and the camera. An exhausted laugh bubbled up in your chest, and luckily, you're able to keep it down as you lean around the knife sticking out of your leg and undo the knots around them.

Standing up on shaky legs, you take an even shakier breath, one hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife to keep it in place and the other pressing against your stomach.

Your gun is across the room.

You could probably grab it, if you can manage to get over there.

Smiling into the camera and making a vague gun symbol with your fingers, you shift out of frame, slowly limping across the room towards the little table where your glock 22 is sitting, along with the holster.

Almost there...

Your hand is reaching out towards the gun when a deafening sound echoes off the walls, and an excruciating pain shoots through the left side of your hip. You know that sound, and you know the feeling just as well — you've been shot once, but it was in your leg, and all of the doctors were able to repair the damage perfectly fine.

This time you're not so lucky.

In an instant you drop to the floor, the blade of the knife shoving itself the rest of the way into your leg as you hit the concrete. The tripod holding the camera topples over as the man rushes across the room towards you. It doesn't break, and just to your luck, the way it falls has it angled in a way where all of you is on show to anyone watching.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

You're entirely correct in thinking Spencer is watching everything, chest tightening and nausea rolling in his gut with every little pain inflicted upon you. He's seen things during his time in this job — mutilated bodies and such, things many others would deem so much worse than what you're going through — but in his mind, this is most definitely the worst thing he's ever been forced to witness.

Still, he can't seem to make himself take his eyes off you for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Nobody has tried to make him leave Penelope's office, despite the fact that everybody has access to the video footage, nor has anybody reprimanded him for being so distracted.

"How long is it going to take you to track him down?" Spencer demands, his knee bobbing up and down and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Garcia glances at him before looking back to her work, typing furiously on her keyboard.

"I'm trying my best, Spencer," she says back, calmly despite the frustration and worry burning inside her. "He's using a masked signal, I think. There's no way for me to easily get their location."

The man nods. He understands that Penelope's trying her very best, especially with him sitting right there, but as he looks back at your bruised and bleeding body, he can't help being more irritable than usual. Not as the man — Avery Kane, they were able to identify him as — stuck another needle into your arm and injected you with God knows what.

"We have to go out and find her," Spencer decides after a beat of silence, his lip now bleeding from how hard he was biting it. "They can't be that far, realistically, if he was trying to avoid being pulled over. At most thirteen minutes away from the crime scene."

"Spencer, you of all people know that probably won't work," Garcia answers back, eyes never straying from the screen. "There's nothing to go off of in the video, and she definitely won't know where she is."

Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Kane drives the sharp end of a kitchen knife into your thigh, pushing it in an inch before pulling it back out. "You heard him, Garcia — he's going to kill her. She'll be dead by the time we find her at this point."

The thought has her grimacing. She knows that he isn't just saying things — these are surely real statistics. You will be dead by the time they find you.

Spencer stands up and starts pacing the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest, mind reeling like a fishing line. They have to be missing something, otherwise they would have found you by now.

Garcia's gasp draws his attention, and he finds her staring at the screen with you on it. He rushes back and practically falls back into the chair, watching as you manage to free your bloodied hands from their restraints, smiling and making a pistol symbol with your hands as you shuffle out of frame.

Your gun is in the room.

A sense of half-relief washes over Spencer, and Garcia's shoulders relax ever-so-slightly — at least, that's until they hear the painfully familiar bang of a gun going off. Not your gun, but the one belonging to the man now standing in frame.

Everything happens in a rush. Kane rushing forward and knocking over the camera. Said camera being focused on you on the floor, knife sticking fully into your leg, pool of blood spreading out around you. Avery huffs and drops the gun on the ground, too far for you to reach, and walks out of the room muttering to himself.

Within seconds Garcia is frantically speaking to who Spencer can only assume is Hotch, and he is pulling the video feed up on his phone before rushing out of the room. His heart is nearly beating out of his chest, stomach in his throat and tears pricking at his eyes.

You can't die — not yet. Not for a very long time, after you've lived a very happy life together, not until he's gone. You're the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to him, he can't possibly live without you by his side.

And then, as if his guardian angel was leaning over his shoulder, listening to his silent prayers, Penelope starts yelling out about how she's got the coordinates, and she's forwarding them to everyone.

Spencer looks down at the video feed again, watches as you roll onto your back and cry, pressing your trembling hand to the wound on your hip, murmuring pleas about how you don't want to die —you're not ready. Your body is already weak from being beaten and cut for three days straight, nobody is sure how you'll handle being shot.

The odds aren't looking good.

There's a less than ten percent chance you'll survive this, and that's if they can get there in the next two minutes, with the wounds you've acquired. Spencer tells the team as much, as they speed down the road at three times the speed limit, lights blaring on top of the car to signal an emergency.

You make a little sound, barely audible through the video, so Spencer turns up the volume as far as it'll go. "Sleep, my love, the stars are dim, the night is soft, and the world is thin," he hears you choke out.

"What's she doing," Morgan asks from beside Spencer, peering over his shoulder and cringing at your bloody form. "Is she... singing?"

"It's the song her mom wrote for her when she was a child," Spencer replies in a broken voice. "She was so scared of the dark, and her mother wanted to make the night seem a little less scary. She sang it to her when she was in the hospital."

"Rest your head, and close your eyes, where dreams are sweet, and time is kind," you continue in a hushed voice, voice shaking from the effort of staying alive. You have to keep living. "The winds may call, the shadows dance, but here you're safe, inside my hands. Though I must go, I'll stay with you, in every breath, in all you do."

"She's not dying, Reid," Morgan says softly. "We won't let her. She can't get away from us that easily."

It was his attempt to lighten the mood, but it only earned him a quiet scolding from Hotch.

"Sleep, my love, the night will weep, but I'll be with you, in your sleep," you continue quietly, voice getting softer and softer with each word as you slowly bleed out on the floor. "And when you wake, the world will shine, a piece of me will always be mine."

They come to a forceful stop outside the house, ambulance already there in preparation for whatever happens and three police cars stationed outside the house.

"This man is armed," Hotch comments matter-of-factly, glancing around at everyone. "Morgan, you go in with the police to detain the guy — Reid and Prentiss, you run in immediately after with the paramedics..."

You've stopped singing, the only indicator that you're still breathing, and your unmoving. Eerily still with your eyes closed and a the tiniest smile on your face. You must hear all the commotion outside. Spencer slips his phone into his pocket, though he doesn't want to take his eyes off you, and nods.

So does Avery Kane, it seems, as he runs out through the front door and attempts to make a run for it. Someone tackles him, and just as Hotch said, Emily and Spencer are immediately running into the house with the paramedics hot on their tails, searching desperately for the basement.

"Y/N!" Spencer yells out, opening every door until they finally find one that leads down a set of stairs — where they immediately find you attempting to crawl across the floor towards them, hand clutched to your gunshot wound, movements sloppy as you continue to bleed.

He doesn't get a chance to touch you, or talk to you, as you're placed onto a stretcher and rushed back outside, or as he sits with you in the ambulance while everyone works to suppress the bleeding and keep you alive. You're all that's on his mind as he and the team sit in the waiting room of the hospital while you're in surgery.

Survival rates for gunshot wounds to the hip vary based on a lot of factors, but generally speaking, if the bullet didn't hit anything vital, there's about an eighty to ninety percent chance you'll survive... but that isn't taking into account that it very much might've hit something important, and it's not taking into account your already sustained injuries.

Everyone else seems to realize this, too, but they don't comment on it. Nor do they say anything when a nurse comes out and tells them the surgery was a success, and Spencer actually cries from relief. They don't push it when he asks if they can stay behind while he goes in and sits with you, just until you wake up.

That's not to say they leave the waiting room, though, except for Hotch, who says he has a lot of work to do. Everyone knows he's always had a bit of a soft spot for you, so this upset him more than any regular kidnapping case.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The feeling of someone holding your hand is the first thing that comes to your attention, their thumb rubbing gentle circles onto the back of it. You already know who it is without opening your eyes, but you open them anyway, wincing at the bright white fluorescent lights shining down into my eyes.

Spencer's forehead leans against the edge of the bed, his breathing even as he sleeps.

He hates hospitals, is the first thing that comes to mind when you look at him, the way his mop of brown hair falls down either side of head, like a curtain hiding his lovely face.

You can barely remember what happened to you, why you're in the hospital — only that you were in more pain than the human body should be able to comprehend, and that you're still in pain now — but the sight of him sleeping so peacefully in a place he hates so much has every thought eddying from your head.

You carefully reach your other hand across your body and run your injured fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as he begins to stir from his slumber. You almost feel a little bad waking him up, but you just couldn't resist the opportunity.

He's just far too cute for you to not want to touch him.

When his hazel eyes meet yours, you're suddenly filled with a sense of worry. They're red-rimmed, like he's been crying — a lot, and there are heavy bags under his eyes, due to lack of sleep.

Jeez, am I really that terribly injured?

"You're awake," he murmurs quietly, bringing your hand to his mouth and pressing a gently kiss to the back of it.

"You know," you start off with a teasing tone in your voice, "your hands are dirtier than your mouth. You're more likely to get sick from touching my hand than you are if you were to kiss me on the lips."

He hums in agreement, a smile on his lips, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes, the way it normally does when you start talking nerdy to him. "How could I forget?" he whispers, leaning forward and leaving a delicate kiss on your lips. He doesn't let go of your hand, continuing his ministrations of rubbing circles.

"So, what's the damage?" you ask when he's fully seated again, both of his hands holding your one to his mouth. "What happened to end me up in the hospital?"

His eyebrows furrow. He looks puzzled, and silver lines his eyes, tears building up and begging to be dropped.

"You don't... remember?" he asks softly. You shake your head and look down at yourself — you've never been in worse shape, casts and bandages littering almost every inch of skin.

A sob builds up in his chest, and he can't stop it from escaping against your hand. You frown and use your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheek, caressing it as you run your thumb along the skin under his eye.

"Are you okay, Spence?" you ask quietly, worriedly, like him crying is the worst thing in the world. In your mind, it actually is.

He laughs bitterly, but nonetheless leans into your touch. "You almost died, Y/N, and you're still looking after me?" he asks, sniffing. "You're too soft for this world, my sweet girl. I'm alright, you don't need to worry about me. Just glad you're alive is all."

You smile and gently pinch his cheek. "So, are you going to tell me what happened? Or at least, the injuries I sustained?"

He nods dejectedly and leans further forward. "You had three fractured ribs, a cracked sternum and a cracked scapula. Three broken phalanges, a broken nose. Dislocated mandible, left shoulder and both your wrists. Sprained ankle," he stops for a moment, simply watching you absorb the information he's feeding you.

You don't seem too worried, but he can see the confusion and panic in your eyes.

"Is... that all?" you ask hesitantly, as if you don't really want to know, and Spencer has half the mind to not tell you. But it's your body, and you're the one in the hospital, so you deserve to know regardless.

"Those are only the breaks, you're all bruised and cut up, like a piece of meat," he says, at least bringing a slight smile to your face with his 'joke'. "You sustained a full-length stab wound from a kitchen knife, a grade two concussion, and a gunshot wound on your hip. It's a miracle you're even alive."

Your mouth hangs open with a goldfish. "No kidding," you breathe, squeezing his hand, your eyebrows furrowed. He can't help but remove one hand from yours to smooth out the little crease, lingering as you leaned your cheek against his hand.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, in a voice so quiet, you can barely even hear it.

You're silent for a second, nuzzling your face against him despite the ache in your neck. "I'm wondering how I possibly could have gotten all these injuries, and I'm thinking that I'm glad you're here with me. And that I love you so much, and I'm glad you love me enough to stay with me in a hospital, even though you're a germaphobe."

He leans forward and leaves a kiss on your taped-up nose. "I love you, too. Do you want me to tell you what happened?"

You think for a second, the crease between your brows making a reappearance, but you ultimately shake your head — slightly, because you have a raging headache and more movement will only make it worse. "This seems bad, so... I'm not so sure I wanna know."

Spencer nods and leans back, getting to his feet. "There are some people who wanna see you, if you're up for it?" he suggests gently, watching as a smile makes its way onto your lips.

"I think I'd like that very much."

Spencer knows you'll need to know at some point, but right now, while you seem relatively happy, he won't tell you about how you were kidnapped and drugged with ketamine and heroin, or how your torture was broadcasted to everyone at the BAU.

For now, he'll let you stay happy.

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reidsdimples · 7 months ago

Text

When Everything Changed | Part 1

Enemies to lovers | Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Angst 🖤

Spencer isn't a fan of the BAU's new genius (you).

You didn’t have a particular like or dislike for Dr. Spencer Reid. For the most part you felt fairly neutral. He was a colleague, one of the team. The two of you weren’t super close but Garcia says that’s because there’s not enough space in the BAU for two genius’s.

He didn’t seem to care for it when you blurted out facts that Hotch asked for or knew a statistic down to a closer decimal than he did.

“If you would do your reading on rapidly updated internet databases instead of printed out media, your statistics wouldn’t be a month behind,” you sniped at him after he sassed you.

Hotch gave you a pointed look.

“He said 13.6% and you said 13.2%- that discrepancy is not one I’m concerned with. 13% would have been fine,” Hotch said and looked back down at the case file before him.

The jet hummed softly, Rossi raising his eyebrow at Reid who seemed to have something to say.

“Reid what do you know about sharp force injuries to the ears?”

“The ear canal is a sensitive and vulnerable part of the body, often associated with communication and hearing. The criminal may have chosen this specific method as a way to assert control or power over their victims by targeting a vital sensory organ. Depending on if he wound it into the brain slowly, it may have been a sadistic killing,” he answers rapidly.

“You think this was torture? It looks more like an instant death,” you answer.

“Ancient torture methods focus on the ears as a way to deal pain by shattering the ear drums and rendering the victim deaf. Given the amount of blood in the right ear I’d say it was done antimortem as a form of torture while the pick through the left ear was the killing blow. He even angled this ice pick upward and into the brain,” he runs his long fingers over the crime scene photos to show you.

You’re almost in awe that he was able to deduce that before seeing the bodies but you say nothing.

"The first two only had an ice pick to the ear which killed them," Hotch said.

"Maybe he hadn't learned yet that he enjoys the torture," Rossi adds.

“Either way this unsub has a fascination with ears,” JJ says.

“Maybe he’s deaf himself?” Morgan chimes in.

You accidentally kick Reid’s ankle while adjusting in your seat across from him, he snaps his head up and narrows his eyes on you.

The conversation spurs on all the way to Portland, Maine where the smell of saltwater invades your nostrils as you step off of the plane.

The following day you’re partnered up with Reid to sort through a series of clues left by the unsub. Two more bodies dropped in twenty-four hours, leaving 8 riddles on 8 bodies that needed to be decoded.

“I can take care of this myself,” Reid argues with Hotch.

“I know you can but an extra set of eyes can’t hurt, we’re on a time crunch. Monica Dentz went missing four hours ago. If he sticks to his MO, she only has ten hours left,” with that Hotch exited the room.

Reid rather aggressively tossed his should bag on the table before snatching up copies of the riddles from the table and pinning them to the board.

“I’m not trying to get in your way,” you sigh. You watch him organize the riddles on the board.

“Try harder,” he snaps.

You scoff but your eyes scan over his tall frame as he puts the board together. Nope.

“I think the first one is talking about a ship, same with the third and fifth,” Reid says as he flips a pen in his fingers.

“If you’re taking it literally. ‘Alone in the tide’ could just be a metaphor for loneliness,” you point out.

“And what do you make of ‘the bow takes charge, towards the arctic waters where she sleeps’?” He asks. He’s less condescending this time, more curious but still annoyed.

“That.. that’s probably about a boat,” you accept.

“If you look at these as a story, where you read them from the first lines strung together and then the second lines… it reads like a book. I think someone he loved died at sea,” it seems to click for Reid and he starts scribbling on the board. “And here… I think this means there was an explosion. A boiler room maybe?” He’s moving around the two boards quickly, talking fast, pushing his hair back from his eyes. For a moment you almost find it adorable.

“Maybe he went deaf in a boating accident that killed someone he loves…” you add, standing to look at the board.

He calls Garcia and then Hotch.

“He’s killing them on a boat, it’s symbolic for him. We think he was a victim of a boating accident and lost his hearing…” he continues to speak but you become distracted.

Why were you becoming attracted to him? He was never ugly but you had never noticed him this way before. He was too busy infuriating you with his attitude. Yet he was growing on you in the last few months. Weird.

“Now what?” You ask him.

“We wait for them to get names. Hotch will tell us where he needs us next, we’ll continue to work the profile from here,” he places the pen in his mouth and flips through the victim profiles again.

“Don’t you have an eidetic memory? Why do you keep going through those…”

“Helps me deduce the information,” he shrugs dismissively.

You frown.

“Ya’know,” you sigh and pull up a chair across from him. “I have no intention of overshadowing you.” He glances up from the file.

“So why do you go out of your way to correct or narrow down my answers?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question. You didn’t know why you did it.

“Habit? I’m used to being the smartest person in the room,” you admit.

“Right,” is his only response as he opens another file.

You don’t know what else to say so you take a look at the profile the team has built.

2 hours pass in awkward silence before Hotch calls the two of you to meet them at the east harbor for a raid of the now named suspects boat.

Once you arrive, Morgan and Prentiss greet you while you’re fumbling with your vest. After a moment and a frustrated sigh, Reid steps behind you.

“Here the strap is twisted up,” he says.

His fingertips graze your hip where your shirt is riding up. Your breathing hitches but you try not to appear affected.

“Thanks,” you tell him.

“Sounds like a plan,” you answer Prentiss who had been explaining the entry points.

“The two of you friends now?” Morgan asks Reid.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Reid answers stoically with his hand propped on his gun. You scoff and shake your head.

“What?” Reid turns his head to you.

“Nothing, let’s just do this,” you snipe. Morgan and JJ exchange an concerned glance.

The man was impossible. You understood if he had walls up, if he didn’t like new people or the competition. But he’s not even trying to welcome you in the slightest.

The scent of ocean air and dead fish fills your nostrils as you follow behind Morgan down the dock. Reid and JJ creep onto the stern of the considerable sized old yacht while Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss took the bow. You and Morgan are entering through the main entrance of the cabin with deadly stealth.

You hear varying 'clears' come from your coworkers before you point Morgan to a hatch leading below deck. You think you can hear shuffling of some kind happening but it's hard to tell with the sway of the ship.

The rest of the team enter behind you but its Morgan who insists on jumping down first, forgoing the small ladder.

"Randy Lional, put your hands up," he's shouting as you drop down behind him.

You raise your gun as you take in the scene, someone else drops down behind you, it's Reid based on the silver revolver in your line of sight.

The man is crouched over an unconscious Monica Dentz, one of her ears bleeding and her wrists bound. You think she's still breathing.

"Put the gun and the ice pick down man," Morgan yells and then Hotch is next to him.

"He can't hear you," you tell Morgan when Randy drags the barrel of the gun over the girl's half naked body as though he's lost in a trance. His burly back is turned to the team and the situation is so unique that none of you know how to intercept him.

You push between Morgan and Hotch to slowly approach him. It's Reid who grabs your arm and shakes his head, something like concern playing in his hazel eyes. You take your arm from him and turn to the unsub.

An idea strikes you so you pull off your earring and toss it in his direction, it slides across the floor into his line of sight, causing him to jump up and turn around.

The man's eyes are wide, dark bags below them. He's frantic as he shakily points the gun at you. His stringy strands of hair are oiled to his chubby aged face and he appears to be shocked by the FBI's presence. He's aiming the gun at Monica's head.

"Put the gun down," Morgan yells again, gesturing at the weapon.

You begin to use sign language, after putting your own gun back in its holster. Reid steps closer to you, his revolver still raised.

"I know that you're hurting. I know what happened that night. I'm so sorry about your parents," you begin to sign. "But torturing others this way is not going to change what happened to you."

Reid glances at you, seemingly impressed by your use of ASL.

"She's trying to talk him down," Reid informs the rest of the team.

"Please, drop the weapons," you sign to him again. He looks more sad, defeated than before and you're hopeful.

"Does he profile as suicidal?" You ask the team.

"Yes," Hotch answers. You swallow hard.

Just then Monica stirs awake and begins screaming against the cloth gag in her mouth.

What happens next feels like slow motion, you don't even know how to process it.

Randy raises the gun and fires at you, three shots in rapid succession before you can blink. And then Reid has stepped nearly completely in front of you, firing two shots along with a barrage of shots from the team.

You hit the floor in a daze and chaos ensues.

"We need medics!" Prentiss is screaming into her ear piece.

"Two agents hit, one victim, subject deceased," Hotch is speaking into his mic as he rushes over to you.

The blinding pain is in your shoulder, the blood hot as it oozes out of you.

"Reid," you search for him.

"Ah, I'm okay. I'm okay," he doesn't sound okay.

And then you see it, the wound in his neck, the blood pouring from his mouth. Reid is grabbing at his throat for the wound, blood coating his hand. Crimsons running down his slender wrist and long fingers. Then Morgan is applying pressure to the wound while JJ is tending to you.

You wince in pain as she is pressing down on your shoulder. You can physically feel the metal bullet sitting inside of your body, sending pain radiating in all directions. People are talking all around you, JJ's eyes are full of tears as she tries to get you to stay conscious.

"Come on kid, look at me," Morgan is pleading with Reid. no no no.

"Why did you..." you try to ask why he stepped in front of you but the room begins to spin. You start to see double and you don't know if its you or Reid groaning in pain. Reid's eyes are rolling back in his head and he's starting to go limp in Morgans lap.

Reid took a bullet for you, and it may kill him. What if he dies thinking you hate him?

A blur of paramedics enter the space before you lose consciousness murmuring Reid's name.

A/N- Hope you guys love this. I'm already working on the 'lovers' part.

#mgg #spencer reid #mgg pics #criminal minds #spencer reid one shots #dr reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction

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touchtheinvisiblestars · 11 months ago

Text

Imagine Spencer looking after you when you get hurt on a stakeout

You'd been paired with a local officer, tasked with a night stakeout at a farm. The pair of you were supposed to watch for any activity, and report back any movement.

Which of course went pear shaped when the young, ambitious man you'd been placed with identified a missing person being led out of the main building. Faster than you could react to stop him, he'd thrown himself out the door, gun raised and ready and attempted to subdue the men.

Instead of impulsively running after him, you chose to stay back and call for help. Simultaneously pressing the distress button on the device Garcia had rather ingeniously insisted you all carry.

It pinged your location to all members of the team, and alerted them that whoever pressed it was in trouble.

Reaching the sheriff's department, you reported the activity and the officers mistake. Watching as they turned on him, you let out a gasp when one of the suspects didn't wait for him to finish the rest of his demands. Instead in the blink of an eye shot him, three times.

"Agent? Agent? Can you hear me, what's going on there?" The Detective who'd answered the phone asked you.

"They just killed him." You breathed, watching as they dragged his body away, the missing boy cowering against the side of the house. Before another one of the suspects grabbed onto him and dragged him away.

"Have they seen you? Are you compromised?"

"Maybe... I don't know. They-" you were cut off by the passenger door opening, revealing one of the men you'd been watching earlier that night.

Before you could reach for your gun, which was stupidly placed on the dashboard, he grabbed you by your hair and dragged you out of the car. Slamming you down onto the ground roughly, even your kevlar vest couldn't stop the air being knocked out of you.

Promptly followed by a hard kick to your stomach, making your chest go into spasm. Gasping in air, you could barely focus on where the next hit was coming from.

***

After what seemed like an eternity he finally let up, shoving you back into the gravel of the driveway and stalking off. Barking orders at the other men who had appeared from the shadows.

"Let's go boys, we need to ship out to location Tango. Got it?.. Let's go then. Her buddies will be here any moment." He called out, sparing a glance back to you.

Feeling entirely too conscious, you dared not move, not fancying another punch to the face.

Multiple cars started up and disappeared over the hills to the back of the property.

You curled onto your side, and tried to breathe in some even breaths. Trying to not focus on the pain all over, you managed to get yourself on all fours. Realising at some point he pulled your bulletproof vest off.

Maneuvering yourself so you were slowly leaning back against the tyre of the truck you were doing the stakeout in. The light from the houses and extra that had been switched on gave you a good look around. And also at yourself. Seeing there were blood splatters on your shirt. You tried not to imagine what you looked like.

Closing your eyes for a moment, taking slow deep breaths in to try and calm your racing heart.

Hearing the sound of gravel under tyres, you instantly panicked. A unexpected wave of adrenaline coarsed through you, giving you the energy needed to get yourself off the floor and in a better position to defend yourself in.

"Y/n?" Hotch's concerned shout fell of deaf ears as you scrambled to get into the car and grab your gun.

"Hey, no, no, no. It's us, calm down." A familiar voice soothed. Intercepting you and stopping your hand before it could pick up your weapon, that you hadn't had the chance to grab.

You hissed and winced as he touched you left wrist, a sickeningly sharp pain shooting up your arm.

"I'm sorry. What hurts?"

"Spence?" Seeing his face relaxed you instantly, "we need to be quick, they literally just left. Over that ridge up there. If we go now we could catch up with them."

Leaning down to get a look at you, some of his wild hair falling out of place as he fussed over you.

"You're not going anywhere, okay? You need to be seen to, what the hell happened? We got the distress ping and ran out the door."

He intercepted your attempt to grab the keys in the ignition. Taking them from you and putting them in his coat pocket.

"That stupid boy got himself killed. He ran over there, gun out, demanding they gave up the boy and that they were under arrest... There were three of them! To one of him, he was never going to subdue all of them."

"You did everything right, okay? He should never have tried to go after them. This group is far too organised for that."

"But I just sat here. I watched it happen, I-"

"Stop. I won't let you do this to yourself. Did you see the person who attacked you?"

"Yeah, he was young. Green eyes, bit of a beard. Around six-five. Probably mid thirties. Um- he was wearing a yellow plaid shirt with a puffer vest jacket. He had.." You trailed off, a piercing headache making you double over.

"That's amazing, y/n. Come on, the ambulance is over here." He said, curling his arm around your waist and helped you out of the car.

Spying Hotch looking over a map, you pulled away from Spencer and limped over to him. Spencer following close behind holding onto your wrist.

You looked at the map to get your bearings, finding the circled area you were in. You pointed at the hills behind the house.

"Y/n, have you seen a medic?" Aaron asked, frowning at you, one of the few facial expressions he had.

"No she hasn-" Spencer started, but you cut him off.

"They went over this ridge," you paused, steadying yourself on the bonnet of the truck, "if we leave now we could catch them."

"Okay, but you aren't going anywhere until you've been checked out. Reid. Make sure she gets medical attention." Hotch spoke to you and then to Spencer who was hovering worriedly.

"Hotch, please. We might not get another chance like this again." You tried, refusing to move from the car.

"Y/n that's not a suggestion. It's an order. Go." Hotch finalised, nodding to Spencer who supported you as he lightly pulled you back.

The medics met you halfway and started asking you an endless list of questions.

A suspected cracked rib and multiple bones in your wrist, concussion, and bruising all over. You were told to visit the hospital once you were back in the city. They strapped you up and gave you some painkillers.

"Where's Hotch?" You asked as Spencer helped you get down from the ambulance, "I've been checked out, I want to help."

"They've headed back to the station. We can't just go roaming across the hills looking for people in the dark. Y/n, it's too dangerous."

"Spencer, come on. We won't get another chance like this."

"We will, okay? I promise you they won't get away. You think any of us will let you go out like this? You need x-rays, anti-inflammatory medication, potentially a CT scan, and most of all rest. Hotch wants you on two weeks leave, after you leave the hospital."

"No," you exclaimed exasperated, "I need you to do a cognitive interview on me."

"Okay. But not now." He spoke softly, brows furrowed as he looked down at you.

"Why not now?"

"Because you've spent the last ten minutes digging your nails into your palm. And you only do that when you're in pain."

You instantly released your clenched fist. Not realising you'd even being doing it.

Releasing a deep breath, you were finally ready to admit defeat. Nodding, you let him lead you back to the car you'd come in.

The drive back was comfortably silent, Spencer looking over to check on you occasionally. You sighed on arriving at the closest hospital.

"I know okay. But do you really want me lecturing you about all the reasons you should follow the medics advice and get to the hospital immediately?"

Shaking your head, you sent a small smile his way.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu.

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it.

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes.

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes.

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name.

You barely blink.

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out."

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back.

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements.

"It's okay," Spencer says.

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship.

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring.

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute."

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that.

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried."

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you."

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now.

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you.

You turn away from him.

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain.

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself.

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out.

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay."

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back.

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…"

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt.

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back.

You wrap your arms around his waist.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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love2reid · 5 months ago

Text

Stop pretending you’re not in pain

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Overview: in which reader secretly gets hurt on a case, and in which Aaron knows her better than she realises.

Word count: 920 words

Warnings: mention of injury, general criminal minds case talk.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing a piece of work for a character but I’ve wanted to for a while so I thought I’d give it a go!

You move your position for the 3rd time, battling the urge to try and be somewhat comfortable and the need to not disturb the other members of the BAU who were currently resting in their respective seats across the jet.

“Are you okay?”

Shit. Clearly not as quiet as you thought.

You look up to see Hotch staring at you, brows furrowed in concern as he scans you for any sign that you may in fact not be okay.

“Yeah yeah, I’m okay just can’t get comfortable today for some reason. I swear they’ve changed these seats since we arrived in Michigan.” Your attempt to laugh off your pain falls on deaf ears as Hotch approaches the seat next to you and settles into it comfortably, placing his case file on the shiny oak desk in front of him.

“We’ll talk about this when we are off the jet. For now try and get some sleep.”

He lifts the armrest separating the two of you and moves his arm back, beckoning you to lean into his side. You follow his instructions, immediately breathing a sigh of relief when the new position eases some of the aches currently present in your side.

“Y/n, Y/n.” You hear a voice gently whisper through your sleepy state.

You open your eyes and do a quick scan of your surroundings, to see that the jet has been completely emptied except you and Aaron.

“Why has everyone already gone?” You ask.

As you ask Aaron the question, you stretch your body in an attempt to get out of this drowsy state you’re currently in however quickly regret your actions as intense pain courses through your side making you wince.

The alarm on Hotch’s face is clear as day at the sound of you wincing.

“What happened?” Hotch asks gently but firmly, trying not to let his concern override the need to keep calm if he wants to find out what’s troubling you.

“You can’t get mad”

He lets out a low chuckle. “You know when you have to say that it’s probably not a good sign. But I promise I won’t get mad.”

You take a deep sigh before explaining.

“Remember when you sent me and Reid to the unsubs house that we thought was derelict?”

Your mind casts back to the events of the past few days as Aaron responds, “Yes, I also remember you telling me you weren’t injured and that you hadn’t hurt your leg when I asked why you stumbled.”

“Well technicallyyy the second part is true, I’ve got no issue with my leg.” You glance up at him, giving him an innocent smile that instantly makes the frown lines on his face soften.

Aaron reaches over and takes his hand in yours, gently rubbing it with his thumb. Your relationship was somewhat new, with the team remaining unaware, and due to that, all signs of a relationship were strictly off-limits around the team.

However, in the empty shell of the jet, the unspoken moment brings comfort to your troubles and prompts you to continue as you begin to recount the events to him.

“So when we arrived it seemed almost certainly empty so we decided to split up” Your mind flicks back to the event.

You and Reid had just pulled up to the suspect's house, Roy James. The Michigan air is thick with humidity, leaving you much more tired than usual.

“Well it doesn’t look like anybody is living here, or at least not very well.” Reid observes, getting out of the passenger seat of the SUV and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

You cautiously walk towards the house, gun safely in your holster.

“Yeah, best stay slightly cautious though, the guy we’re looking for is a suspect for a reason.” You both do your job of checking the outside surroundings and looking through the windows before deciding to split up.

Spencer speaks up, “Hey, I’ll go look in the outhouse whilst you start with some of the house”.

“Yeah, no problem!” You shout back as you watch him descend into the outhouse, and you twist the rusty door handle to the main house to find it unlocked.

“And so we split up, I’d searched the kitchen, living room and dining room when I heard a bang from upstairs.” Aaron is watching you intently as you take a pause. “I checked the first two rooms and they were clear, but when I got to the last room I got a sudden slash to my left-hand side and fell down a few of the stairs.”

You recall the events to him as though it’s just a casual day-to-day event and as though you hadn’t been attacked by a serial killer.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?” Aaron whispers.

“We’d caught him, rounded up the case and honestly the last thing I wanted to think about was going to hospital and dealing with more technicalities about the incident.” You pause then make an admission that would be out of place if not for the level of vulnerability of the conversation, “ I just wanted to get home to you.”

Aaron’s face softens as he helps pull you to your feet, wrapping his suit jacket around your shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s go home, I’ll sort you out there. Jack will be happy to see you tomorrow anyway.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #comfort #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #love2reid

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specialagentlokitty · 2 years ago

Text

Reid x Deaf!Teen!reader - translation

reid x teen/child!reader who is deaf but no one realises till he starts signing to her - Anon💜

A/N: sign language will be in bold

Sitting in the interrogation room, you frowned a little as you stared at the two older men in front of you, they were talking but you had no clue what they were saying.

Looking around the room, you found a clock and decided that if you stared at it long enough maybe they would let you go.

“Can you give us anything? Did you see anything?” Rossi asked.

You didn’t reply and he turned to Hotch who sighed and shook his head, gesturing for him to leave and they did.

They stood on the other side of the glass watching you.

“Are they just ignoring us?” Derek asked.

“I assume so, but they’re the only one what was in the area. Surely they must’ve heard something, we can’t even get a name out of them.”

“Partners with the unsub?” Emily asked.

“I don’t think so, the profile points to the unsub working alone. Unable to work with a partner.” JJ replied.

“Maybe they’re protecting the unsub then.” Hotch said.

They all looked at you, they had no clue what to do.

They couldn’t find any ID on you, no address or anything, you didn’t have a phone with you, you weren’t coming up on their system and you didn’t match any missing persons report.

So if you did have a family they didn’t notice that you were missing.

“Hey Reid, come here.” Derek called.

Reid looked over from where he was sat at the table doing some research.

Getting up, he walked over.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“What’s with the kid? You’re the only one who hasn’t talk to them maybe they’ll talk to you.”

“We’ve all tried, we’re not getting anywhere.” JJ sighed.

Reid turned to look at you through the glass, you were looking at the clock on the wall.

“We haven’t gotten any response, they won’t even look at us most of the time unless we touch the table.” Hotch explained.

Reid watched you, raising a finger but stopped himself.

Instead, he walked into the room, noticing how you didn’t look at him as he quietly closed the door.

What did make you turn was when he tapped once against the table and you looked at him.

“Hi, I’m Dr Spencer Reid, can I sit?” He asked.

You blinked, staring at him blankly.

He smiled a little and raised his hands.

Can I sit?

You quickly nodded and waited for him to sit down before raising your hands.

You can sign?

He nodded.

Yes. I learned in high school, my team think you’ve been ignoring them. Are you mute or deaf?

Deaf. Since birth. My parents only sign so I never learned to lip read.

He smiled his head and nodded in understanding.

Can you tell me your name?

(Y/N) (L/N). What’s yours?

Spencer Reid, can I have someone come in to ask you questions? I’ll be right here to translate.

You nodded and he left, you sat patiently waiting for him to come back.

It was one of the same men from not long ago and he smiled at you.

This is Hotch, he’s going to ask you questions and I’ll translate for you.

Go ahead.

You were asked all sorts of questions, did you see anything, was there anything unusual, why were you out so late.

They were trying to get as much information they could to find anything that could help and when you saw Hotch ask something and Reid stop translating giving him a deadpan look at Hotch smiled sheepishly you smiled.

You tapped the table getting their attention.

He asked if I heard anything, didn’t he?

Yeah. Sorry.

You laughed a little, and shook your head.

I heard a massive mole man wondering about.

Reid laughed at this and told Hotch what you said and he laughed a little bit as well, smiling at you.

Do you have any family we can call?

You shook your head a little.

No. They passed. You can just drop me off where you found me.

Reid frowned and turned to Hotch.

You watched them have a conversation that seemed to last a few minutes and finally Reid turned his attention back to you.

You can stay at the station with us for now, just to be safe. Is that okay?

You shrugged a little.

Yeah beats my crap motel room.

Reid smiled and nodded, gesturing for you to follow him and you did.

He showed you where you would be able to sleep, and got you some food and something to drink and he sat talking with you most of the night.

When you did fall asleep, Reid covered you up with his sweater and went back to helping with the case.

He knew they’d have to cal CPS eventually, when the unsub was caught and you were safe, but he felt protective over you. He felt he had to keep you safe

#criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x y/n #Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

Note

hotch being protective after a bullet grazes Y/N’s ear causing her ear to bleed and to have trouble hearing??

JJ's talking but you're not listening. Well, you're listening, but you're not hearing. There's a dull ringing in your left ear, brought on by the bullet that had whizzed past it hours earlier. The EMTs had let you go with copious amounts of bandages and a warning to stay away from loud noises as much as possible, but here you are on the jet, straining to hear your teammates converse.

"She said she caught Michael drawing on the bathroom wall," A deep voice from beside your right ear startles you, the only clear words you've heard for an hour. Hotch has leaned himself down to hover beside your ear, lips a centimeter away as he fills you in.

"Oh," You breathe, a chuckle lost in the sound, "Thanks."

"Mhm." He nods once, you know from the way his nose grazes your ear. "Does your head hurt?"

"A bit."

"I figured. Ears are sensitive, when we land you should go straight home and sleep. Set your phone to vibrate instead of ring, and stick it under your pillow. Trust me, alarms won't work."

Your brow furrows, "How do you know so much about this?"

"A while ago," Aaron starts, hesitant, "Before you joined. A bomb went off next to me, and it damaged my ear. The only time I've ever been late to work was because I couldn't hear my alarm."

"That and the time you got stabbed," You grumble, "I never knew a bomb went off next to you."

"It's not exactly small talk," He reaches for your hand, using the edge of his short fingernail to scrape dried blood out of the bed of your nail, a remnant from when you'd grasped your ear after the gunshot.

"This job sucks," You sigh, knocking your head against his shoulder. You've caught Rossi's attention, and he offers you a fond smile while you use Hotch as a pillow.

"It has its drawbacks. How's your ear?" Morgan lifts his chin in your direction, and though you've heard him clearly, you decide to tease him.

"What?" You lift your head from Hotch's shoulder, leaning in like you can't hear him. Prentiss snorts, and you double down.

"How's your ear?" Derek taps his own, and you scrunch your nose.

"Huh?"

"Stop," Aaron chuckles, elbowing you in the side. Derek finally catches on amidst his team members giggles, and kicks you softly under the table.

"It's okay," You groan, burying your face in your crossed arms on the table when JJ leans into your side. One of Hotch's large hands comes up to rub against your back in soothing circles, and the tension in your shoulders loosens.

Conversation resumes after a sympathetic moment of silence for you. You aren't roused from your drowsy snooze when the plane lands, unable to hear the rough rumbling of the engine, but Aaron gets close to your ear to let you know you've arrived.

"Y/N," He brushes hair away from your face, hand heavy on your shoulder, "We're here. I got your bag, can you drive?"

"I'm deaf, not blind," You huff, grumpy when awoken, "I can drive."

"Okay," Aaron chuckles, familiar with your post-nap grouchiness, "Here. Your bag is on the table, okay?"

"Mhm," You nod, rubbing sleep from your eyes as he heads for the door, "See you tonight, Aaron."

You don't need to hear him to know that he tells you he loves you when he steps off the jet, but you see the blush on his cheeks just fine when you return the sentiment.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

Text

A Big Misunderstanding

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of being tortured, your partner is killed because of it, your coworkers blaming you for their death, migraines, deaf in one ear, feeling less than by hotch, fluff at the end

Request by anon: Read the request here!

Summary: You're a new transfer to the team without Hotch knowing about it You needed to escape harassment and tragedy from your other job, so Strauss places you as the new techy girl alongside Penelope. Everyone welcomes you with open arms but Hotch, and it's starting to affect your physical health.

Square Filled: guilty conscience for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

This is it. This is the first day of your new career, new life, and hopefully with a new family to call your own. The last one didn’t end up so well for you. You’re hoping to start something new with all new people and a brand-new attitude. You walk into work with your purse slung over your shoulder and enter the bullpen. There are so many people busting their asses, moving about the large area, and doing work at their computers. A black man walks past you with coffee in his hand, and you quickly stop him.

“Hi, where can I find Agent Hotchner?”

“Up the stairs. His office is right in front of it.”

“Thank you,” you smile and walk past him.

Agent Hotchner is sitting in his office looking over one of the files Spencer sent over to him when you knock on the door.

“Come in.” You knock again when you don’t hear anything. “Come in.”

This time you do. Hotch is floored by your beauty when you walk in but he remains stoic. He doesn't want to give away just how beautiful he thinks you are.

“Hi. My name is Y/N. I am here about the technical analyst position available.”

“There is no position available. I’m sorry, you must have the wrong department.”

“You’re Agent Hotchner with the BAU, correct? I was sent here to start with Penelope Garcia.”

“Who sent you?”

“I’m sorry?” you ask when you didn’t hear him speak. You move your right ear closer to him so you can hear better. “Can you repeat that?”

“Who sent you?” he asks more sternly.

“Cheif Strauss.”

Hotch doesn’t say a word and picks up his desk phone to call the Chief. She never told him she would be sending anyone over, and he never requested for a new person to join the team.

“Hello, Agent Hotchner.”

“Chief Strauss. I have Agent Y/N here saying she’s going to be working with our technical analyst. Am I hearing this correctly?”

“Yes, I sent her over there to be transferred.”

“Without talking to me about it?”

“I don’t feel like I have to tell you everything I do. She will be joining your team. I assume you’re perfectly capable of training her?”

“Yes ma’am.” Hotch hangs up and looks at you with a sigh. “The team and I are meeting right now to go over a case. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

You bite your lower lip nervously. You hate coming across as dumb but you really can’t hear what he’s saying when he speaks in a low tone or mumbles.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said you can join us. We’re about to be briefed.”

He gets up and walks out of his office with a hard look on his face. He hates himself for thinking you’re so beautiful when he’s going to be your boss. Dating you or even thinking about dating you is inappropriate, so he’ll try to keep this as professional as possible. You haven’t even started your first day and you’re already off to a bad start. Still, you chalk this up to a rough start and follow him into the briefing room where the rest of the team is at.

“Team, this is Agent Y/N. She will be starting today as a technical analyst that will be working side-by-side with Garica. Y/N, these are Agents Prentiss, Reid, Morgan, Rossi, Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.”

“What’s your name again?” you ask the blonde and sit next to her.

“Penelope Garcia. You’ll have so much fun working with me. I like to keep it cool in the office,” she smiles.

You can tell you’re gonna get along with her easily.

“Let’s begin,” Hotch says and looks at JJ.

JJ places crime scene pictures on the screen for everyone to see. Some are of a crushed vehicle and others are of victims who have been crushed by a vehicle. Penelope gasps and looks away so she can keep some decency while you look on in curiosity.

“An unsub that kills with his car? I haven’t seen that before,” Emily says.

“Neither have the police in Bend, Oregon which is why they need our help. There have been two victims in the last twelve days. The first victim is Maria Delgado, twenty-three. She was hit on a morning jog. The second victim is Shannon Makely, forty-three. She was stranded on the side of the road when her car broke down.”

“What makes the locals think that they were connected?” you ask, trying to be part of the conversation.

“For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact. This wasn’t an accident. Plus, they matched treads in both scenes. They were large wheels for all terrain. Their wounds also indicated a raised bumper, so they’re thinking a large SUV to a truck. When we land, I want a list of everyone who owns a vehicle for all-terrain.”

“What?” you ask and look at his lips to read what he’s saying.

He shoots you an annoyed look which makes you sink into your chair in embarrassment.

“Garcia, get me the list.”

“Sure,” she nods and looks at you.

“Do they know the make or model?” Derek asks, moving the conversation along.

“No. The tires are made for multiple kinds of vehicles.”

“Were there any witnesses to either incident?”

“No, both victims were attacked in secluded areas.”

“Two tons of metal make a hell of a weapon,” Derek says.

“Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles. Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname. Murder Mac,” Spencer explains.

“Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There's no sign of torture here. This sounds like thrill kills for easy targets randomly selected. We need to think about if they’re not random. We need to see if there is a connection between the two victims.”

“With this type of impact, the vehicle shouldn't be hard to pick out of a lineup. There should be significant front-end damage.”

“Somehow I don't think it's gonna be that easy,” Rossi shrugs.

“Well, I think it's safe to assume our unsub is male,” Emily states. “A big car is phallic like he’s overcompensating for something. Maybe he’s impotent. If the unsub sees himself as physically defective, the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield.”

“Maybe a way to avoid physical contact?” Hotch asks.

“Now we’re going in a different direction. Power, control, and female victims equal up to a rape profile.”

“Rape and thrill kills are two very different profiles. What does victimology tell us?”

“Nothing, yet. Shannon Makely was a white, married, commodities trader. Maria Delgado was a Hispanic grad student and a competitive tri-athlete.”

“So far, gender's our only link. Hopefully, the crime scenes will tell us more. Garcia, Y/N, I want you with us on this one. Y/N, do you have a go-bag?”

“No.”

Hotch sighs in annoyance but Penelope saves the day.

“Come on, I’ll show you where I keep my go bag.”

You don’t mean to be a pain in the ass especially on your first day, but you’re really trying to fit in here. You used to be an active agent that was really good out in the field. You passed every test with flying colors and were up for a promotion within your field.

Until one day when you and your partner went undercover.

You two were captured by a well-known drug lord who was known for torture and gang violence. He knew one of you was FBI but didn’t know exactly which one. He tortured both of you until one of you confessed, but it’s not like you two were going to give the other one up. If only you had told him you were the FBI agent then he wouldn't have killed your partner. Your partner died because of you, and when your team busted in to try and save you two, the explosion from the blast they used shot your hearing so bad you became deaf in your left ear. If you get stressed too much then you start to get migraines and Strauss knows this.

Seeing Hotch behave this way starts a small headache you know won’t go away if he continues. You would have recovered and stayed with your original team if they didn’t harass you every day and blamed you for your partner’s death. Strauss knew it was a problem when you came into her office crying because of them.

You hope this team isn’t going to be like your last otherwise, you’ll have to find a new line of work.

“Are you sure I should come along?”

“You’ll do great,” Penelope encourages.

You and Penelope meet everyone on the plane. They discuss the case some more but you only listen this time. You want to see how each person is just by observing instead of butting in and trying to be like one of them. Plus, you’re not a profiler so you’ll leave this one to the team.

Your only focus is the computers and the technical world. When you were recovering from your accident, you taught yourself how to code and hack since you were bedridden for months. You got to the point where you impressed Strauss with your skills which is why she put you on this team. They don’t necessarily need you but this is the only team she can put you on without having to fire you altogether.

When the plane landed, you and Pen elope set up shop in the police station surrounded by laptops. One of the crime scenes happened near a security camera which is what Penelope is working on. You’re getting that list for Hotch of everyone who owns an all-terrain vehicle and cross-referencing if they still live in the state or not. This is what you like to do post-kidnapping. This gives you a different kind of comfort than being out on the field.

“Garcia, anything?” Derek asks.

“Not yet, sugar. Give me a few more minutes.”

“Y/N, I have a list of suspects PD already has in mind. Cross-reference those who are already on your list,” Hotch orders.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Hotch starts listing off names from your left side so it’s kind of hard to hear him. You don’t want to make a scene and ask him to move so you try your best to put in the right name. Hotch watches as you type in the names and sees you’re typing in the wrong names.

“No, I didn’t say Millie Bael, I said Lily Ball. Are you not listening to me?”

You’re trying really hard not to cry right now and your head hurts so much. Derek sees the look of despair and pain on your face and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hotch, take it easy. It’s her first day.”

“Sorry, Lily Ball,” you mutter and type in the name.

After twenty minutes of almost wanting to cry, you narrow down your list to ten suspects. Penelope didn’t find good coverage on the security footage so she is looking into half of the men on the list while you get the other half.

“Look into the history of each suspect. I don’t want any stone unturned, understand?” You’re staring at Hotch’s mouth to read what he’s saying. Ever since becoming deaf, you’ve gotten good at reading lips. “Do you understand?”

You jump at the sudden change in tone.

“Yes, sir. I will look into the history of each ma and cross-reference them with accidents they might have been in.”

“That’s not at all what I said. I don’t even know why you’re on this team. We never had an issue with having just one technical analyst.”

Tears brim the surface of your eyes but you won’t let them fall. It’s only the first day. I’ll get better. Hotch walks away with a scoff and a shake of his head, and you fall onto your chair with a sigh.

“I don’t know why he’s being so hard on you. He’s never like this,” Spencer says.

Emily, Derek, and Rossi are out right now leaving you, Spencer, Penelope, and JJ alone in the conference room.

“I don’t mean to be this way. I was never like this.” You explain your past to them--the drug lord, getting kidnapped, tortured, injured, and harassed every single day. “I needed out of that job. I was so excited to be put here but Hotch is only reminding me of my coworkers. Hopefully, he’ll ease up on me.”

He didn’t.

For the rest of the case, Hotch continued to be hard on you even when the team defended you. Every little thing you did Hotch criticized, even if what you did was completely right. He always had something to say about something, and by the end of the case, your headache is at an all-time high.

While on the plane ride home, you tried to get some sleep. The migraine plus the stress Hotch is putting on you is enough to send your mind into a nightmare. A nightmare about what you could have done differently to save your partner. Hotch sits in his chair and watches you without anyone noticing him. He knows he’s been hard on you but he hates anyone new coming in and ruining the dynamic between the teammates that are already here.

You gasp awake and scare everyone from the sudden noise, and Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“Are you okay?” JJ asks.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Y/N. When we land, you and I need to have a conversation with Chief Strauss about your future here.”

“I’m sorry,” you say as a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Hotch,” JJ says to defend you. However, you’re already getting out of your seat and going into the bathroom to have some time alone to yourself. “Why are you being so hard on her?”

“Have you not been with her the entire time? She always asks me to repeat myself and she can’t follow instructions.”

“She was in an accident. She used to be a really good agent. I looked her up,” Spencer says.

“Her former team blamed her for the death of her partner, and she became deaf in her left ear after being tortured for information,” JJ finishes.

Now Hotch feels like shit. His face doesn’t give away how he’s feeling but deep down, he’s feeling like the worse piece of shit ever. He tries to talk to you when the plane lands but you escaped to grab your things to get the hell out of there. You’re almost at the elevator when Hotch stands in your way.

“Sir?”

“I want to apologize for how I’ve been treating you. I’ve been completely unfair to you without understanding who you are as a person and as an agent. I’ve always been reserved with new people on this team which is something I know I need to work on.”

“I don’t mean to do this on purpose. I’m assuming JJ and Spencer told you what happened to me?”

“Yes. If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll work on making you part of this team as if you started here on day one.”

“That’ll take months, I’m afraid, but apology accepted,” you smile.

Yup, you’re going to be the death of him. Your smile is too damn beautiful not to see in his office every day, and he’s gonna do everything he can to keep it there.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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mschievousx · 5 months ago

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i wish you love | a.h.

pairing: aaron hotchner x ofc

summary: francesca sainz knows her interests. she likes the dark, crime, profiling, medicine, military, guns, and suits. imagine her surprise when these things come as a person... granted, a "fourty-something unit chief" person, but a person nonetheless.

series masterlist

prologue

penelope garcia, despite loving her womancave, cannot resist spending time at the bullpen where her family is. yes, her office is her place of comfort, but the bullpen has always been more fun—fun in terms of the banter of her friends, their plans of vacations that never really happen because of the nature of their job, and of course, her chocolate thunder, derek morgan.

she loves morgan dearly—as dear as colleagues can love each other without ruining their respective romantic relationships. however, for the past ten months, morgan's life has been nearing hell-like. reid, he can manage. but, the arrival of another proved to be challenging. and garcia should really not love the way her chocolate thunder is outnumbered as much as she does.

but hey, what can she possibly do when the enemy comes in the form of a young trainee who she equally loves?

"i am not a kid."

francesca sainz playfully glared at morgan, crossing her arms as she sat on a desk across reid's. the three, along with jj and penelope, gathering for their daily banter.

derek chuckles at that, gesturing to the resident genius who was sitting on his seat with an amused smile, "reid's 34 and he's a kid, kid."

"i do not have an iq of 187." she retorted plainly.

he scoffed as he tossed his baseball and caught it again repeatedly, sporting his incredulous look with everyone before settling to her.

"what does that have to do with it?"

she slowly stood up and smirked as she presented her case, "false equivalence, like you did. you compared reid and i. while your point in age could be taken, comparing spencer and i is not acceptable at all since our nature is not the same. hence, your point, as a matter of fact, does not have a point."

they all looked at her in silence for a good couple of seconds before jj crossed her arms, as if in thinking as she voiced an observation.

"there's no false equivalence at all."

"my point stands." morgan pushed with a smug grin.

franz narrowed her eyes to each one of them before glaring to morgan once again, "just so you know, this is my annoyed face, derek."

he leaned forward as if to observe her closely before speaking in a sarcastic tone.

"really? looks pretty much the same, kid."

she rolled her eyes at him before grinning herself, fixing her hair to tease him, "what did you say? i look pretty? thanks."

the older agent scoffed once again as he leaned back with a smirk, "deaf."

"you being this chaotic tells me the boss-man is not yet around."

emily's voice made them turn towards the entrance at her arrival, rossi following closely behind as they chuckled.

"where is he?"

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

"where is he?"

aaron hotchner, more known as hotch and the unit chief of the behavioral analysis unit or bau, asked as he gestured the paper to the course professor of the class they just lectured.

she looked at the paper to see who the agent is referring to.

"this student? oh," she raised her head to the entire room, scanning the area for any sign of the girl, "she left already."

he tried to hide the look of slight surprise in his face. after all, franz sainz is a very misleading name. it has certainly nothing to do with what emily has previously said before during her first cases with the team when he asked what is his worst quality. he does not trust women as much as men.

hotch neared rossi, giving the paper to him as the latter read the contents.

"what do you think?"

the italian man read her answer for the situational case they gave earlier. his brows slowly raised inquisitively as he reached the middle and commented, "quite perceptive."

"so?" he asked monotonely. dave already knew what he meant and nodded in agreement.

he turned to where penelope was, chatting with the rest of the team before looking at him.

"garcia, i need you to run details as soon as we get back in quantico."

and with that, it was imperative that they returned the next day, having learned more about the student.

francesca was calmly walking down the hallway, having just finished taking a special exam after she missed her written exam yesterday by attending the bau's lecture. chewing on her gum with earpods in, she disregarded the bandage on her left wrist and hand which served as her 'valid reason' for missing yesterday.

however, she could not miss the the contrast of that bright blonde hair and imposing suits against the figure of twenty-year-olds in the hallway just meters away. she immediately slowed down her steps as she lightly chatted up another student, who she does not know, and casually turned away to walk back where she came from.

only to find the italian already closing in on her too. she shrugged resignedly at that as he finally reaches her, sarcastically smiling as he placed an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to walk where she was originally going to.

"walk with me, kid."

she smiled sheepishly at him, removing her earpods and looking at him, "sir, great to see you. i'm a huge fan."

rossi lightly chuckled in amusement, "i don't have the best experiences with 'huge fans'."

she looked ahead at that, exhaling impassively as she remembered his book about a fan-turned-serial killer, "evidently."

as hotch and jj accompanied their sides, francesca tightly smiled in acknowledgement as the lady smiled back, "sir, ma'am."

"do you have anywhere to be right now?" hotch monotonely asked as they all continue to walk towards the exit.

she looked at him on her left with a sarcastic grin, to which he only returned with a look as if trying to figure her out, "i have a really good feeling you already know the answer to that."

dave interjected with his usual playful tone, "good, because you're going to be at quantico in a few minutes."

with her in the middle of fbi agents, francesca sainz could do nothing but look at him with wide eyes and mouth agape in shock.

"is this about my search history? i promise i did not kill anyone. i write books."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

"ask and he shall appear."

the trainee commented as the unit chief passed the doors just after emily and dave did. however, when hotch came into full view, she could not stop herself from gaping once again.

"oh my, sir! that is illegal."

he paused at the bottom of the staircase at that, turning to the group as the others slowly distanced themselves from the girl.

"excuse me?"

she grinned at him, her voice full of exaggeration, "you took my breath away with your usual white long sleeves, but now, you're simply killing me with that dark one."

"sainz," hotch pointedly called, trying to contain his exasperation even though the day has just begun.

"i'm serious," she opened her arms on chest level, feigning ignorance before grinning widely once again, "are you looking for wife number two? i volunteer as tribute!"

he narrowed his eyes at her, almost glaringly, before closing them. regaining his composure, he continued to walk upstairs, "i'll pretend i didn't hear that."

noticing the team's amused looks at her as dave and jj shook their heads with small smiles, franz raised her eyebrows at them.

"what? dave's already working with number four."

"what is wrong with you?" derek said in a higher pitch than his normal, seemingly unbelieving of the girl's antics.

penelope grins at the exchange, jabbing to her jokingly as well, "you know he hates you, right?"

before entering his office, he looked back at the team downstairs, voice strict as usual but without serious intensity.

"and refrain from saying phrases like taking your breath away."

as they all hear his door closing, she turns to garcia with confidence and a bright grin, nodding reassuringly.

"he likes me."

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #i'll freely thirst over hotch here no shame #spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #dave rossi #penelope garcia

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slutforsilverfoxes · 1 year ago

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Oliver and His Company

[A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but if you want context on Aaron & reader’s relationship, find their story here and here! Enjoy 🖤]

4 times Aaron Hotchner refused to admit that he’s a cat person…

1) A Spicy Upgrade

“I swear, Em, it was like an out of body experience,” you tell your best friend through the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you balance grocery bags in one hand and fish your keys out of your pocket with the other.

“So everything was just backwards?” Emily laughs.

“Yes!” you cry, equal parts miffed by your dream and excited to have somehow slotted the key into the lock in the correct orientation without looking. “Pen was, like, fifty shades of beige, and everyone else was super bright and colorful! Hotch was wearing a suit worthy of Elle Woods herself,” you assert.

“I would pay a stupid amount of money to see that,” your best friend snickers. “Can we please get him a pink suit?”

“Not gonna lie, he looked pretty hot,” you muse quietly as you shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. “I’ll work on…that…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, sorry to have worried her. “Just found my man in an interesting position. Call you later, love you, bye,” you rush out in a whisper, ending the call and snapping a photo for your personal album before the opportunity disappears. Clearing your throat, you place the last of the grocery bags on the counter with a solid thud. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

Aaron’s answer is muffled given the fact his head is currently in the spice cabinet, the rest of his tall form tucked under him, ass comically up in the air for better leverage. You bend down with a groan and open the adjacent cabinet to pop your head in, meeting his sheepish smile and reddening cheeks. Pressing your lips to his, you murmur, “I didn’t quite get that.“

“I said-” He pauses to capture your lips in another sweet kiss, and the butterflies that have taken up residence in your belly since the first day you met Aaron Hotchner stir to life. “I read online that it’s easier for cats to open doors with handles than knobs, so I’m fixing all the doors before you move in.”

“You’re what?” You bump your head against the top of the cabinet in shock, letting out a harsh curse that you’re glad Jack isn’t around to hear.

“Oh, honey,” Aaron tuts softly, unfolding himself from his spot to help you out and delicately rubbing the tender area on the back of your head.

“You- by yourself- you’re swapping out every single handle in this house for Oliver?” You don’t mean to sound incredulous, but there’s no way this man is real. Then again, he bought this house six months into your relationship so that you could each have an office space and ample room for Jack and one or two additional little Hotchners to grow up- although he hadn’t divulged the latter part of that plan to you when he gifted you a key.

“I know it sounds ridiculous-”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, molding your palms against his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, your lips quirking up in a victorious grin. “It sounds like something a loving cat dad would do.”

Aaron scoffs before muttering, “Just don’t want him getting stuck, that’s all.”

“Right,” you draw out the word, one eyebrow raised playfully. “Totally not cause you’re a cat person. And that’s why I spotted an empty box sporting a picture of a cat tree as tall as you in the garage?”

“I never said I dislike cats, I’m just a dog guy!” Aaron insists, his words falling on deaf ears as you playfully hum a tune from The Aristocats while arranging the groceries in the fridge and he returns to his project.

2) A Sleepy Surprise

Toeing your shoes off in the mud room, you call out, “Boys? I’m home!” The novelty of getting to say those words has yet to wear off even though the last of your moving boxes are piled up on the curb, waiting to be recycled.

There’s no answering pitter patter of feet in the hallway nor voices greeting your arrival, but the sneakers lined up next to yours- one large pair in understated colors, one much smaller pair with Darth Vader on one shoe and Luke Skywalker on the other- tell you your little family is definitely home. You place your car keys on their designated hook before making your way down the hall, pausing at the threshold of the living room with a smile on your face at the sight before you.

Aaron’s lying on his back, his tall form taking up the entire length of the couch, with Jack tucked into his side and an orange ball of fur curled up on his chest, rising and falling with each peaceful breath of his. You let out a content sigh, warmth blooming in your chest from the overwhelming sense of comfort and love these three have brought into your life. Holding your hair back so it doesn’t tickle your darling boy’s face, you press a delicate kiss to his cheek and his mouth turns upward for the briefest of moments. Then you nuzzle your nose against the soft fur between your cat’s ears, and he stirs with a half-hearted chirp before curling up even tighter on his literal man-made bed.

“You’re home,” Aaron murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper with a guilty pout, carding your fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to make dinner.”

He grabs your hand before you can get too far, and you turn back to find just who exactly Jack inherited the puppy dog eyes from. “We can order in tonight. Stay with me?”

You gesture to the full couch and ask, “Where?”

Aaron tips his chin down to see Oliver purring contentedly on his chest, and he taps his head until the cat sits up with bleary eyes. “You’re in your mom’s spot.”

You stifle a laugh as your cat pointedly yawns in your boyfriend’s face, then takes his time using Aaron’s solid body to stretch before flouncing away in search of a bed with less attitude. Aaron looks up at you with a self-satisfied grin and pats the newly vacated space. Shaking your head as you ease yourself down to lay across his body, you chide, “That was mean.”

“Never too young to learn about sharing,” he pontificates.

“Mm, yes, what a poignant lesson from father to son,” you respond, voice muffled against Aaron’s chest.

“Step-cat, at best. And don’t you even say it- I’m not a cat person.”

“Sure, babe.”

3) A New Purr-spective

“Jack-Jack,” you call out with a knock against the doorframe to get the little Hotchner’s attention. He looks up from his latest art project with a smile and says, “Yeah?”

“Daddy washed your uniform so you’re all set for tomorrow’s game. And I wanted to ask you about…this,” you offer hesitantly, flipping the shirt in your hands around so he can see Hotchner displayed at the top and the number matching his jersey. “Would it be okay if I wore this so we can match?”

“Does Daddy have one, too?” His excitement- and nonchalance about you sporting their last name- has relief flooding through you, and you mirror his eager smile.

“Of course! Except his is even cooler cause it says ‘Coach’ on the front,” you respond with a click of your teeth. “I made one for Uncle Dave, too!”

“Awesome. You’re the best!” Jack proclaims.

“No, you are.”

“Nu uh, you,” he insists.

“Nope! You!” You let the word be drawn out as you make your escape down the hall, peals of laughter from Jack’s room echoing behind you.

“I have received official approval to wear my shirt,” you announce as you cross into the master bedroom, only to find the space empty. You can hear Aaron’s voice in hushed tones from the walk-in closet, so you approach quietly thinking that he’s on the phone.

“…not exactly your textbook psychopath, right?” He pauses, then continues, “Right. So there must be a piece of the profile we’re missing, something that explains the evolution of the kills with the alarming disorganization of the crime scenes. Do you think we could be dealing with two unsubs?”

Aaron’s phone is on the bedside table, and he’s using both hands to wrestle one of his dress shirts onto a hanger. Then, you spot his silent partner- Oliver’s sitting in his bed, in the nook that Aaron built into the closet for him, languidly cleaning his paws as your boyfriend theorizes aloud.

“So,” you start, crossing your arms and leaning against the wide doorframe, “you still maintain that you’re not a cat person?”

You can see the back of Aaron’s neck turning red at having been caught, but he studiously carries on putting the clean laundry away. Without turning to face you, he asserts, “I’m just… using him as a soundboard. Animals are excellent judges of character.”

“Congratulations, Ollie,” you offer proudly to your son, “you’re the very first cat to join the Behavioral Analysis Mew-nit.”

“Now that’s bad, even for you,” Aaron chuckles, and you bark out a, “Hey!” with faux umbrage. “When are you going to admit you love this cat?”

“I do love this cat,” your boyfriend counters, finally turning to face you. He curls his arm around your waist to pull you against him and speaks between kisses dotted along your nose and cheeks, “I’m just not a cat person.”

Smoothing your hands across his chest with playfully narrowed eyes, you mutter, “The Hotchner doth protest too much, methinks.”

4) Paw-sitively Whipped

“Bedtime, my little bubbas,” you raise your voice to be heard over the churning of the dishwasher as it starts up, drying your hands on a towel while you walk into the living room. Jack is sprawled out on the floor, flicking a feather toy on a stick back and forth that has Ollie frantically giving chase. You’re honestly not sure which little guy is more entertained by the game. “But I’m helping Oliver get his exercise! Daddy says he’s looking chunky lately,” Jack negotiates.

You and your cat turn to Aaron in unison, the man in question suddenly engrossed in an article on his phone. “Daddy’s lawyer genes certainly passed on to you, huh, Jack?” The little Hotchner grins proudly up at you in response, but even that sweet face doesn’t break your resolve. “C’mon, my love, we left off at a really good cliffhanger last night, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jack gasps, suddenly inspired to get ready for bed. “I’ll be ready in two minutes!”

“Make it three- you need to brush your teeth for a full two, Jack,” Aaron calls as he zooms past you to his bathroom.

“Okay!”

“Alright, Weight Watchers,” you snort, tweaking Aaron’s nose while he looks up at you sheepishly, “who’s on reading duty tonight?”

“I’ve got it,” he declares, tugging on your hand to guide you into his open lap. You settle against him with a sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and pressing lazy kisses to his skin. Aaron turns his head to capture your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly grows more heated, and you let out a whimper when he cups the back of your neck to hold you more firmly to him until Jack’s little voice rings out down the hall.

“I’m ready for bed!”

“And that’s your cue, Daddy,” you laugh, patting his chest fondly before detaching yourself from him.

“We’ll pick this up later,” he declares in a murmur, and you can’t resist a smack to his shapely ass before parting ways in the hall.

You run through your own nightly routine, then make your way back to Jack’s room to say goodnight. You find Aaron with his son settled on his lap as he reads, and Ollie is settled on his favorite boy’s lap, purring up a storm. Your boyfriend is absentmindedly scratching his chin, pausing only to turn to the next page in the book. Then Aaron shifts to hold the book with both hands, and Ollie bats at his arm until he relents and resumes petting him. He looks up to find you standing in the doorway, the ghost of a smirk twitching at your lips, and you mouth, You are so a cat person.

He smiles back and shakes his head in response, refusing to give in.

…and the 1 time he finally did.

When you open the front door, you’re surprised to find the house dark. Given your shared line of work and healthy dose of paranoia, you and Aaron always leave at least one light on when the house is empty. But then you hear Jack giggle, “She’s coming!” and Aaron quietly shushing him, and a smile graces your face at whatever adorable surprise awaits you.

You flip on the light to find the foyer decorated with balloons dancing across the ceiling and streamers hanging down, each one adorned with pictures of you and Aaron, you and Jack, and your little family together. Your eyes immediately well up with tears seeing all the memories you’ve created and thinking about all the love you’ve been blessed with thanks to this family.

You walk through, awestruck, touching the Polaroids and printed pictures as you pass them. By the time you reach the living room and your eyes settle on Aaron with Jack standing pressed against his leg, your little boy holding your cat in his arms, you’re damn near sobbing.

“This is why you sent me to get my nails done, huh?” you ask through a half sniffle, half laugh. “You boys certainly were busy.”

Aaron smiles at you and holds out his free hand, and you grab onto him like a lifeline, letting him pull you in before bending down to press a flurry of kisses along Jack’s squishy cheeks. Ollie lets out a squeak of protest in the same timbre as Jack’s ticklish giggle, and you relent your attack with a pleased grin.

“Jack has a very important question to ask you,” Aaron murmurs, then winks at his son.

Jack raises Ollie up as high as he can, not unlike the scene out of The Lion King, and a glint of light flashes at you from your cat’s collar.

“Aaron,” you breathe out, moments before Jack excitedly asks, “Will you marry us, Y/N?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer softly, looking up at Aaron as if he hung all the stars in the sky to find your adoring gaze reflected in his eyes.

—————

Lying in bed that night tangled up between the sheets and Aaron’s legs, you absentmindedly trail your fingers across his chest and muse, “Mighty interesting that a vehemently self-proclaimed not cat person would use a cat to propose, isn’t it?”

“You’re still on this, hm?” he murmurs from above you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Merely making an observation,” you answer back lazily, then roll over until you body is nestled between his legs, your hands pressed against his chest so you can look at him directly. “I lied, I’m still on this,” you concede with a playful grin. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you’re not a cat person, Aaron Hotchner.”

He hums, then leans up to capture your lips in a series of soft, slow kisses that nearly make you forget your name, let alone the challenge you’ve posed. “Can’t do that, honey,” he finally admits between pecking your lips.

“Cause you are!”

He laughs, his fingers ghosting up and down your spine. Aaron notices you shiver under his touch and pulls the sheets up higher on your body while you settle against the warmth and security of his broad chest. “Honestly, I have been since day one.”

“Oh yeah?” You attempt to goad him, but your sass come out muffled thanks to your lips pressed to his skin.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly as if you haven’t been lovingly arguing about this for over a year now. “He was your cat, and I’m a you person.”

Pushing against him to stretch up and level him with a raised eyebrow, you clarify, “Wait. He was my cat?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now Ollie’s ours.”

“Everybody thinks you’re such a hardass, but you’re really a big teddy bear, Aaron,” you tease before pressing your lips to his.

“I’m admittedly both,” he concedes with a chuckle, pausing to kiss you again before adding, “and a reformed cat person.”

—————

[A/N: I absolutely adored writing these two and I enjoyed getting to sprinkle in a healthy dose of cat puns 😂 Thank you all for reading!]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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hoe-tchner · 11 months ago

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…shouldn’t have hotch been like deaf by the end of the show? Mr. I got bombed but still want to be by loud things?

#hotch #criminal minds

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garciaasfluffypen · 4 months ago

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stand down

word count: 1.7k pairing: jennifer jareau & bau team warnings: jj’s an idiot who refuses to take care of herself, canon typical violence, gun/gunshot mentions, a/n: based off of the bullet list i wrote earlier last year of jj being hard of hearing/partially deaf because she’s all i can think about right now.

everything was fine.

not.

jj adjusted in her seat yet again as she struggled to understand what was going on, the ringing in her ear becoming more and more prominent as the meeting went on. being in rural kansas had it's perks, but the random unit meetings to explain to the whole station what was happening roughly every day was not one of them. she found herself sinking to the back, sitting farther away from hotch so he didn’t jump to her for parts of the profile. everyone else could deal with it. and if she were being honest, the room was getting a bit stuffy and everyone’s voices were getting muffled.

air. that’s what she needed. she needed air.

knowing that she only had a few minutes before the team and the rest of the unit went out to find the guy they were looking for. garcia had worked her magic that morning, and it was only seconds before she had pinpointed his location. she was hoping nobody could tell that the ringing was bothering her, but considering that she’s had her airpod in all day and had to take it out, she wasn’t sure how easy that was going to be. the listening feature had become her saving grace over the past few months, using it to help hear things around her. it helped that she wore her hair down a majority of the time, so she was able to cover it. but when they went out on missions, it became harder. the volume only went up so high on the ear pieces, and she’s sure she’d be found out lickety split if they happened to look at how high she kept the volume.

out of the corner of her eye, she saw emily poke her head out of the door, her words mumbling together. something along the lines of are you okay? if only she still had her airpod in.

“yeah, sorry, needed air. i’ll be there in a second.”

she took a big breath and made sure she looked mostly composed before heading back inside, silently following the team to where they had stored their gear that morning. she went through the steps like a zombie, knowing that something rough might happen if she didn’t pull her a-game out of her ass. that was, presuming it was in there at all. she hadn’t seen it lately, and it was beginning to bother her. it was probably the fact that instructions had been going in one ear and out the other recently, but she frankly didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. she just wanted to curl up in the hotel bed, catch up on the news and go to sleep before the team flew out back to dc. that wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

out of habit, she put the earpiece on her right ear, the volume going all the way up. she stuck the mic pack in her back pocket, clipping the chord to her fbi vest as hotch rattled off instructions. she had started to realize she was getting every other word, but that was probably because her bad ear was occupied with the ear piece, making it so she had to listen out of her left. a majority of what hotch was saying was pretty standard, stuff she already knew. did she maybe miss a key point or two? probably. she needed to get herself into gear and pretend everything was fine. even though it wasn’t fine and she probably was putting herself at a greater risk of being hurt while going out to the field with hearing problems. but that was a problem for future jj.

the ride to the farm where the unsub was hiding was relatively short, giving jj the smallest amount of time to mentally prepare for what she was about to go through. instructions were being rattled off left and right, words barely registering as she watched everyone go around her. she once again stayed towards the back, hoping that it would help her feel less seen. she felt a pair of eyes on her, but brushed it off. now was not the time to be worrying about her. hotch split everyone up and got the ransom phone ready, about to press the call button when jj heard the sound of gunshots. everyone ran out, jj following emily and morgan towards one of the cars and ducking down. from what she was gathering, one of the local unit members had made a commotion and startled the unsub, causing him to start shooting. that left her team in a very compromising position, considering ransom requests hadn’t even been made yet.

“what are we going to do?” morgan looked back to jj and emily. “i don’t like not having orders.”

“just wait for hotch to say something. we technically don’t have to listen to bitch ass mcgee over there who’s making all the wrong calls.”

jj nodded, agreeing. “em’s right. just wait for hotch to say something. we’re ready to go if need be.”

as if on cue, more gunshots rang out. the three jumped into position, waiting for the hand signal from rossi to start shooting. the local units were running all around them, almost as if they were chickens with their heads cut off. as more gunshots flew around them, jj could feel the ringing coming back, inwardly cursing at the horrible timing. she started concentrating hard, making sure she could pick up noises with her good ear to make sure she had somewhat of an understanding as to what was going on around her. everything was a blur as they waited and waited for the cue to come. finally, hotch’s voice cracked through the earpiece.

“stand down, everyone.”

she cupped her hand over her ear, attempting to understand what hotch was saying.

“do not engage.”

she scrunched her face. she heard him say engage. why wasn’t anyone moving? without a second thought, jj lurched forward, leaving her spot from behind the car and ducking down as a slew of gunshots rang out. there were a few possible ways to go in- one was more covered, the other wasn’t but had a more direct line to the front door. or, if she felt adventurous, she could go around to the back and head in through one of the windows that had been busted in the midst of everything or the side door. hotch was yelling something in her ear, but the sounds were all muffled as she got closer to the house. she could feel emily and morgan staring at her back, but she refused to turn around. she couldn’t take their stares of confusion as she made her way towards the house, barrel rolling behind a bush before the unsub could see her. more and more words were failing to register in her brain as she tried to figure out her plan of action. she could see the unsub pacing in the front room, meaning if she went in the side door she had a better chance of catching him off guard.

she made her way to the side of the house, slowly opening the side door. in the window she saw emily and morgan aiming their guns while rossi and spencer made their way to the other vehicle the units were using as a shield. as slowly and quietly as she could, she made her way down the hallway, her breathing shallow so she didn’t make too much noise. she paused outside of the room dustin was in, straining to hear what he was saying. she couldn’t hear much, since he was talking under his breath. she rounded the corner, his name barely falling from her lips before he turned around with a handgun pointed at her.

pop! pop!

dustin fell to the floor, his gun flying across the floor as jj moved closer to him. she had missed his heart, going closer to his lungs. that was good. they could get him to the hospital for treatment and questioning. the team had an idea of his motive, but didn’t know the whole story. they probably never would know the whole story, since they were leaving tomorrow. but from what she remembered, some people talked within hours of waking up from the anesthesia. she hoped dustin would be one of them.

the rest of the team filed in, the local units closely following as everyone spread out around the house. jj stood off to the side, recounting every step she took meticulously, as she knew the paperwork would be a bitch since she had to use her weapon. she felt a figure pop up beside her on the left, taking a second to let her know he was there before speaking.

“are you okay?” rossi looked over to her.

“yeah, fine.” jj nodded.

“that was ballsy.”

“hm?” it took a second to register. “i was following orders.”

“orders to not engage?”

he said do not engage.

oh.

“i-”

“it’s okay, kid. everyone is in denial when their hearing starts to go.” rossi patted her on the back. “do you want me to talk to hotch before you do?”

“no i… i fucked up. i need to own up to it.” jj wrung her hands together. “it was my own fault.” i could have listened more closely. i could have done better.

“don’t beat yourself up over it. he’ll be upset, but he’ll understand.”

“but what if he doesn't?”

“i’ll throw him in quantico creek to teach him a lesson.”

jj chuckled lightly before heading towards the front of the house, stepping to the side as dustin was rolled off on a stretcher. she saw hotch standing by the ransom phone, talking to the chief of the local unit. with a breath, she made her way over and waited for him to be done talking.

“rossi mentioned you wanted to talk to me?” she took the earpiece off her ear.

“yes.” hotch sighed. “when were you going to tell me you were struggling with your hearing?”

jj didn’t respond.

“what you did today was pretty fucking dangerous, jj. i gave orders to not engage. you, more than anyone on this team, should understand the importance of ransom needs being met before attempting to engage. i need to know you’re with me.”

“i am.”

“i’m giving you the weekend off, call your doctor and get your hearing checked when we get home. after that, you’re not allowed in the field unless i see fit, are we clear?”

“yes sir.”

hotch’s features softened. “all that aside, are you okay?”

“i…” jj paused. “i’ll be fine.”

at least, that was the hope.

#criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau imagine #jennifer jareau fanfic #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jennifer jareau one shot #jennifer jareau oneshot #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds imagine #an i (queue) of 187 #melly writes

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cmncisspnandmore · 2 years ago

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Silent Moments

Spencer x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, blood, gore, past character death. Mention of dead mom. Suicide.

Request:

Hello, I was wondering if I could make a request? Maybe it’s a Spencer x Reader and the reader is blind/deaf/mute (you pick which one) and the UnSub gets a hold of them and gets angry as they don’t understand why reader can’t answer their questions?

Authors note: This is not cannon, and doesn't follow the cannon timeline. Hotch isn't gone, and Morgan never left (Solely because i am stalling hardcore on finishing criminal minds and haven't really gotten too far into the seasons without Hotch and Morgan being gone.)

~~~~~

Most people believe that selective mute people are faking it. That we are purposely trying to avoid talking to others. That's not the case, at one point we were normal people. Having conversations, making jokes. Living life without taking our words for advantage. Then something happens, this horrid ugly anxiety rears its head, trapping the words inside. For you, it happened when you were 15, and you found your mother in the bathtub, dead as a doornail. The only indication that anything was wrong was the note taped to the bathroom mirror apologizing for the mess. From that day on, it was like your words were stuck in a box, locked in the bottom of your chest.

You managed to finish highschool at home, through online classes, and copious amounts of anti anxiety meds. But for some reason those pesky words never came back. Every once in a while you would find a sound, but never anything intelligible. You got into college, studying criminal psychology. Communicating through writing on papers, and some signed english. Everyone was always trying to get you to talk, often getting frustrated when you didn't. It wasn't that you didn't want to talk, it was that you couldn't. If they thought they were frustrated, they should try living in your head. It had been almost 6 years since you said anything. You missed your own voice, therapy felt useless at this point. Medications were the only thing keeping you from going insane during the day.

Then you met Dr. Spencer Reid in your serial killer lecture. He didn't try to get you to talk, he didn't treat you like you were dumb or that it was fake. He saw you for you. He took time to meet with you and answer the questions you had about his lectures. He would carve out hours of his own time when he was home to just get to know you. He would talk to you about anything and everything when the two of you worked through the entire lesson of the day.

Spencer never once took your mutism as a burden. Eventually the semester came to an end, You was no longer his student, he no longer your professor. So when you stopped into his office almost a year ago, staring at him across his desk. Spencer just smiled, and asked if everything was alright, if i had needed anything. He was stunned when you managed to whisper that you wanted to have coffee with him, your body shaking with anxiety. It had taken you hours of practice and countless days of sending yourself into a sheer panic, to manage to get out those simple words that so many others wouldn't think twice about.

So when you finally looked up at Spencer, and seeing tears openly falling from his eyes, you were shocked. It was in that moment that you knew, your words would be safe with him. After a moment Spencer had walked around his desk, tear stained cheeks and all. To hug you tight as you broke down from the mental and emotional exhaustion those words had caused.

From that day on, you two became inseparable. Over the years you’ve been together, you have managed to open up the box that your words were kept in around him. You could have actual conversations at times. It was still hard and draining, but you could manage, a few words here and there when out in public around his team.

When you had first met them they were nothing but understanding. They never pushed you and often times, would just text you throughout the day when they were on cases to make sure you’re doing okay. They had become your family. They cared for you in ways your own family couldn't after your mothers death.

When someone knocked on the apartment door, you opened it without hesitation, seeing a man in a suit standing there. His hair slicked back, a gun in a holster by his hip. He looked like he could work with Spencer and the team so you didn't think much of it when you saw him through the peephole moments before.

“Are you Y/N?” He asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a FBI badge flashing it at you. You nodded, worry clouding your mind as the man nodded.

“Im here to bring you to the hospital, something has happened to Spencer Reid. I was told to collect you immediately.” He reaches his hand out taking you by arm, you nod silently as your apartment door slams shut as he guides you down the hall.

Your mind is foggy as he helps you into a black SUV and starts to drive. After a few moments you begin to realize youre going the opposite way of the hospital. Your mind is screaming at you that something is wrong, but your words are locked up tight. The crippling anxiety starts to seep into your every muscle.

“You stupid bitch, you're gonna pay for what your precious boyfriend did to my brother.” the man driving pulls the gun out of the holster and presses it against your side as he drives.

“At least you're not a screamer.” He smiles as tears flood your vision, and he presses the gun harder against your side.

~~~~

Spencers POV

Walking through the bullpen Spencers gut is telling him something isn't right. You normally would have picked up the phone when he called even if you weren't able to say anything. But his last 4 calls have gone unanswered. His facetimes as well. The door to Hotchner's office is open, and Spencer walks through the doorway, urgency in his steps.

“Reid?” Hotch sets the stack of papers down on his desk, his brow furrowing.

“Something is wrong, i don't know what but Y/N isn't picking up.” Spencers rushes out, pacing in front of his desk.

“Care to explain?”

“She always picks up, or at least sends me a text saying that she cant talk right now. Not in the selective mute sense, but as in shes doing something and unable to pick up the phone you know. But i called her like 5 times and facetimed her with the stupid phone she made me get, and nothing. Its been radio silence on the other end. Im really starting to worry.” Spencer raked a hand through his unruly hair.

With a nod Hotch stood from his desk, “okay, we’ll figure it out.”

As hotch picked up his phone to dial the rest of the team, Penelope ran into the office, her face horror struck. “I-I just got live video feed…. Someone hacked into my network. Oh god, its bad. So bad… I don't know how they got in. Im gonna have to fix that.” Garcia gushed, her eyes wide.

“Garcia whats wrong? Whats on the live feed?” Hotch urged, placing a hand on her arm trying to bring her back to the whole reason she came into the room. Garcia's eyes flickered to Hotch before she scurried over to his computer her manicured nails tapping furiously on the keys.

“It’s being bounced between a whole bunch of servers so im having a hard time tracing it, but its better if you just see.” She replies as she turns the monitor to face Spencer and Hotchner.

On the screen through a grainy camera feed sat you, tied to a chair, ropes on your wrists and ankles. Your head was down, your hair obscuring part of your face, but spencer would recognize you anywhere. No matter how bad the camera quality was. He spent hours memorizing every part of your face, and body. He knew your mannerisms better than his own. He didn't even need his eidetic memory to know it was you. Your face jerks up suddenly, the videos lack of sound made spencer wonder what you heard on the other end. Your left eye was swollen shut, and your lip was split and bleeding. Your hair was stained red around your temple. You were shaking your head, and suddenly sound crackled through the speakers on Hotchner's computer.

“Are you going talk to me? Tell me why they think my brother murdered those women?!” A male voice seethed, his masked form appearing in front of you as he stepped out from behind the camera. There was nothing to identify him by, he was wearing all black, a ski mask, his voice was distorted. Spencers mind was racing through all the cases they worked, but there were so many unknown factors. How long ago had the case been worked? How many women? Where was the case? How many siblings were there? Just one pair of brothers?

There were hundreds of people who could be holding you captive. They worked so many cases a year, without more context it was hard to narrow it down. But whoever this person was they believed that their brother didn't commit the crimes he was convicted of and he was gonna use you to get to the team.

“S-she cant answer him, he doesn't realize she cant tell him anything.” Garcia whispered as the man yelled at you once again. Causing you to flinch as he struck out with his hand, sticking across your cheek.

“TELL ME!” He screamed, the speakers on the computer distorting with the volume of his voice.

Once again, the demand went unanswered. “Fine, if you're not gonna tell me, then maybe i’ll give them some incentive to look a little deeper at the case, my brother was executed for a crime he didn't commit. Wanna know why? Because im the one who killed those women. I want his name cleared. You have 12 hours, before i gut her like fish. Tick Tock Dr. your time is running out.”

The screen went black as video cut out, a flashing timer appearing where your picture once was, counting down the time the team had left.

Spencers heart dropped, and everything felt cold. How were they going to sift through hundreds of cases before time ran out.

~~~~

Your POV

Your head hurt, you could taste blood, and you’re pretty sure you won't be able to see out of you eye for a month. The man who took you was pacing back and forth behind the camera on the tripod he had set up. He was muttering to himself, talking about how there was no way they would be able to save you.

“You know, your life would be a lot easier if you just talked to me. Told me why, But no you choose to keep your mouth shut. And you know what? You’re gonna die because of it. I hope you trying to protect your precious boyfriend is worth your life.” He smiled, grabbing you by your hair, yanking your head backwards. You could see the camera lens, but you knew that it was off, the red light that was on when he was talking to who you assumed was the team was off.

A small whimper left you as he brushed a gloved hand down your cheek. You wanted nothing more than to scream and tell him that you knew nothing. That spencer and the others didn't tell you that sort of information, they didn't want to risk upsetting you. He didn't seem to care or grasp the concept that you couldnt talk to him.

“Now im gonna go and drop off a little hint for them, make the game more exciting you sit here like a good girl okay?” He patted your cheek before walking away to the computer he was using to live stream to the team. He turned the monitor towards you, starting the stream again.

“I’ll be watching you, so don't try anything while im gone.”

The door slammed shut after a moment. Your head was still aching as you blinked at the screen. You didn't know what was going to happen, and the hopeless feeling got worse as you watched the timer tick down.

~~~~~ Spencers POV

The whole team was gathered around the round table. Morgan was sifting through piles of work, handing the cases that contained male unsub to spencer who was reading them just as fast as they were handed to him. Garcia had set up her computers on the round table, trying to desperately back trace the connection of the live feed.

“Garcia you getting anywhere” JJ asks after a few moments, watching the techs fingers get faster over the keys.

“Actually yes, I was able to back hack him and get into the stream but i still cant get where its coming from.” She muttered as she glanced up at Spencer.

“Wait, you’re in the computer hes streaming from?” Spencers hand hovered over the page he was reading a moment before.

“Yes why?” Garcias full attention was now on the genius.

“Can you get a message to Y/N, she might be able to give us a hint on where she is.” Spencer rounded the table, his stomach clenching at the sight of you. You were staring directly at the camera. Your eyes vacant, much like when your xanax kicked in after particularly bad panic attack.

“I think so but he wouldn't leave this up of he wasn't watching it as well.” Garcias fingers were moving over the keys again. Overtaking the computer remotely.

“Thats fine, just tell her that we can see her, and that were looking for her.” Spencer glanced down at the screen again.

“Okay. i’ll try.” Garcia muttered under her breath, as she brought up a text screen on the computer. Quickly typing out a message, and waiting for you to notice it. The whole team was now watching the camera. Waiting to see if you would respond, after a moment your eyes scanned the text. With wide eyes you looked directly at the camera, more tears flooded down your cheek.

A knock on the door caught everyone's attention, a delivery boy stood in the doorway a visitors pass stuck to his jacket. “Um i was told to deliver this to a Spencer reid…” in his outstretched was a blue box with a white ribbon.

“Who gave this to you?” Spencer asks, pulling the box from the boys arms, ripping open the ribbon and tearing back the flaps of the box. Inside lay 2 identical pins, each a snake with red eyes, and black stripes.

“Um just some guy, i didn't really see him, he was in a dark suv, you know government looking vehicles. It didn't have any plates or anything, all he said was make sure this got to spencer reid in the BAU.” The boy looked between them all.

“Thank you,” Hotch said as he took the boy by the arm, “Agent Morgan, is gonna ask you a few questions.”

With a nod at Spencer, Morgan followed Hotch out of the room. “What significance is a pin?” Emily wondered out loud.

“Ive never seen anything like this before.” JJ murmured, peering over spencers shoulder.

“Its gotta mean something. It was intended for me, so it must be for me to figure out.” Spencer glanced down into the box again. What kind of message was the Unsub trying to send.

“Um shes trying to tell us something!!” Garcia's voice broke the silence that settled over the room as spencer wracked his brain for what the pins could mean.

“I -I cant tell what shes trying to sign, im not very good at it. We usually communicate on paper.” Garcia moved aside, as spencer moved around the table.

Your fingers were moving rapidly, fingerspelling something out, but without your full range of motion, it was hard to tell what letters you were spelling out. “Can you isolate her hand movements?” Spencer wondered.

“Yeah, yeah give me a second.” Garcia’s fingers worked overtime to isolate your hand movements.

“S-c-a-r e-y-e b-l-i-n-d… Scar, eye, blind. He has a scar through one eye, hes blind in one eye!” Spencer announces. The whole team pausing for a moment to think back on the cases.

“Wait wait, you said that there was 2 identical pins in the box? What if hes telling us hes an identical twin.” Emily wonders, walking back over to the pile of cases spencer had been going through.

“The Ashby case! Twin brothers, one has a scar, yes! The Ashby twins, in knoxville tennessee. Jordan was thought to have murdered 3 women on his parents farm. He had an identical twin brother Joesph, but we ruled Joesph out because we didn't think he would be able to commit the crimes with having surgery on his eye after a car accident left him blind in his left eye.” Spencer remembers, the hospital records showed that Joseph had declined his home visit nurses around when Jordan was murdering the women.

“What if Joseph had his brother pose as him, all he had to do was have him put gauze over his eye and refuse the let the home nurses check it. No one would figure it out that it was actually Jordan. Jordan must’ve just been an accomplice, he never actually murdered those women. He still would’ve gone to jail, but he wouldn’t have face the death penality. “ Emily opens up the file, laying it out on the table, the crime scene pictures laid out. Spencers eyes race over the pictures, until something in the top corner of one of the pictures of the living room catches his eye. In a glass hutch is a set of identical snake pins. Just like the ones in the box.

“The pins! They were in the house.” Spencer exclaims, pointing to the hutch, so everyone can see it.

“Okay so now we know who has her, but how do we find her?” Emily looks over at Garcia who is waiting with fingers poised over her computer keys.

“Garcia check and see if Joseph has used a card anywhere in our area within the last week, i want to know when and where he got here.” JJ says, going to stand behind the tech, watching as her finger fly over the keys.

The timer appears over the small window Garcia has open, the count down now saying they have less than an hour to find you. Static crackles through the speakers and Josephs voices pours in.

“Oh no, you didn't play by the rules. I said not to do anything, i saw you though, telling them things through the camera. Now since you broke my rules, im giving you one hour to find her, before i make this dumb mute scream.”

~~~

Your POV

Blood rushing in your ears makes everything sound muffled, as your captor pulls a hunting knife out of his pocket. “You know, I said I’d give them an hour to find you, but I think we can have some fun beforehand, right?” His grimy hand slides across your cheek down your lip.

“I’m gonna have so much fun.” He smiles, trailing the knife up your chest, cutting the fabric of your shirt. He trails the knife down the top drawing a thin line of blood as he increases the pressure, cutting into the skin by your collarbones.

Hot pain sears through you, and bile rises in your throat as he gets closer. Your head is pounding, as he continues dragging the blade across your skin. Almost like he’s painting a sick and twisted picture with his knife. Tears have soaked the front of your shirt, stinging the wounds that decorated your chest.

“C’mon it’s no fun if you don’t scream!” He seethes, just as he raises his knife and slams it into your thigh, right down to the plastic handle. It takes everything in you not to scream. To resist, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. It’s hard to breathe as the pain lingers, gripping you with icy hands. He rips the blade out of your leg, and blood starts to pour out of the wound. Soaking through your jeans and dripping onto the floor. You vision goes fuzzy around the edges after a few moments, only to be brought right back as he proceeds to do it again. Higher up this time, closer to your femoral artery. A cold sweat breaks out over your body, the room tilts slightly, and your head falls forward, black spots dancing across your vision.

Out of the corner of your eye you catch a small movement, a glimpse of dark blue against the nearly black shadows of the warehouse. After a moment you see it again, as your captor picks up the knife again, holding it in his hands, staring at you for a moment before moving towards you again.

“FBI DROP YOUR WEAPON!” Morgan’s loud voice echoes across the building. He emerges from behind a pallet, followed by the rest of the team, sans JJ who appears seemingly out of nowhere, with her gun aimed at his head.

“It’s over Joseph,” Spencer’s voice causes your head to groggily turn towards him. A small whine-like sound escapes, startling Joseph and he drops the knife. As it hits the ground JJ reaches forward grabbing his arms and dragging him to the ground Morgan rushing over to help restrain him.

“Spencer…. Help me.” Your chest heaves as you watch him slide to his knees in front of you. His long fingers press against your jeans staunching the flow of blood from the wounds.

“I got you, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine.” He tells you, resting his forehead against yours as tears flow freely down his cheeks. You can faintly hear Emily calling for an ambulance, as the world fades away.

~~~

2 months later

“Y/n! Oh look at you! Those shoes are ADORABLE!!!” Garcia's cheery voice startles you slightly as Spencer reaches down helping you out of the car. You were attending a party at Rossi’s, the first one after you were released from the hospital after the incident.

Glancing down you take in the low heeled strappy shoes you were wearing. They were the only somewhat fancy shoes you could walk in, you were still going to physical therapy 3 times a week to strengthen your leg. Joseph’s knife had done some serious damage to the nerves and muscles. The emerald green dress you were wearing fell to just below your knees, hiding the compression brace on your thigh.

“Thank you,” You smiled, and Garcia stopped, tears springing to her eyes.

“You know the shoes are great, but hearing your voice just made my entire week. I thought you were never going to talk to us again.” She cried, grabbing you and pulling you close. You had spent almost a full month non verbal, not even talking to Spencer. But after spending a few weeks in a psychiatric care facility you had made amazing progress. You still had your bad moments, but you had been practicing with Spencer all the time, talking to him, working on not letting the overwhelming panic take over.

“You’re doing amazing sweetheart,” Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist after Penelope let go. You both made your way into Rossi’s house, it was decked out in string lights and soft white and gold decor.

After a few minutes of saying hello, and people getting over the fact that you were walking, and talking again. You leaned over towards Morgan, raising your champagne flute to your mouth, “what are we celebrating?”

Morgan glanced down at you, a playful smile on his face. “You’ll see,” he said with a suspicious twinkle in his brown eyes. The music changed to a soft slow song and Spencer appeared next to you, his hand on your elbow.

“Care to dance?” He smiled.

With a nod you allowed him to take your champagne flute, and set it on the bar top. Pulling you onto the dance floor in the middle of Rossi’s, Spencer rested his hands on your hips, swaying softly. The song came to an end, and the next one started.

JJ came over, “Can we take a picture?” She asked, holding up a camera. You leaned into her side and smiled wide.

“Great thanks!” She gushed, taking a few steps back towards Will. You turned around and were momentarily confused. Spencer was just behind you. Then a small movement in your peripheral made you look down. You hands immediately covering your face, Spencer was down on one knee. A beautiful 3 carat round diamond ring with two smaller marquise cut diamonds on the side sat in a red velvet box.

“Y/n, we have been through hell and back, especially this past year: but there is no one I would’ve wanted to go through it with other than you. You have shown me a new perspective on life. You taught me to appreciate the little things, and not take things f

or granted. I know I’m not the one who usually struggles to put things into words. But I don’t think any words could ever describe how much I love you. So would you do me the honor, and marry me?” Spencer’s eyes were glassy with tears as he looked up at you.

“Yes, a million times yes.” You nodded, a smile breaking out over Spencer face as he stood sliding the ring onto your finger and kissing you deeply.

Maybe talking wasn’t always such a bad thing.

#spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mute #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #x reader #reid #x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer x you

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fuckingstrange · 1 year ago

Text

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| Day19: stay awake |

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WARNINGS: Reader gets shot (gsw to neck), near-death experience, bleeding (no shit?)

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WORDS: 1,434

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PAIRING: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

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Ignore the fact that I'm literally procrastinating in making a Pt.2 to the Diana Reid fic..

Next fic gonna be based off that gif bc oh LAWD.

An Unsub stands in front of you, gun against your neck, the barrel cold against your skin. You don't back down, Reids words of warning threats to the Unsub going unheard.

“You fucking pussy.” You spit, the Unsub's face filling with anger as he presses the gun more against your neck, shouting “What the fuck did you just say!?”. You keep a blank stare, showing no signs of fear. “I called you a pussy. What, are you suddenly deaf? Being deaf would make it hard to hear the terrified screams of your victims that you love so much.” You taunt, the Unsub only growing more angry, trembling in pure rage.

Your words seem to be the last string, because there's suddenly a gunshot sounding throughout the room. You drop to the floor just as you hear a second one, Reid having shot the Unsub. Your head smacks against the floor, vision blurring as blood squirts from your neck. Reid is on his knees next to you, without thinking, using both hands to squeeze over the wound as tight as he can.

The bullet luckily only went through the side rather than center of your throat due to the Unsub’s rageful trembling, the clean enter/exit wound getting covered by each of Reids cold hands. He squeezes hard, a whine sounding from your throat when it nearly cuts off your oxygen.

He adjusts his grip, trying to make it so you can breathe better, but it doesn't help much considering blood is slowly rising in your throat. Panic sets in, you smack the cold concrete floor, trying to get Reid’s attention.

He hears your palm smacking against the floor, glancing over at your hand before looking at his own around your neck. Blood spills on the floor beneath your head, crawling into your hair and soaking into the fabric of his pants over his knees.

You whimper fearfully when the room seems like it's beginning to dim, smacking harder as it gets harder to breathe from the panic and blood rising in your throat. Reid’s eyes widen and he leans closer to you, whispering, “Hey, hey, you're okay. That's it. There you go, Flail, whine, cry, do anything you need to, just stay awake.”

You try to respond, though only end up coughing up blood. He loses any bit of fear of the biohazard that is being covered in your blood, instead pulling your head into his lap and keeping his palms digging into the wound from front to back. “It's okay, it's okay. Don't be scared, it's just a little blood. Cough it out, let it out.” He says frantically, much rather wanting you to get the blood out of your mouth than choke on it.

He looks around, wondering where the fuck everybody is, if anybody even heard the shot, because to him it was loud as can be when it went off. He swears that he can still hear it ringing in his ears. He glances over at the Unsub's now lifeless body, not feeling an ounce of remorse for him since he's the reason you're nearly dying in his lap.

His attention is pulled back to you when you reach up and begin smacking him on the leg, your whimpers beginning to get weaker and weaker as you try to alert him that you can feel yourself leaving. His heart sinks as he squeezes tighter, though all it ends up doing is making it harder for you to breathe.

It stops the blood, though. So he takes this as a chance to try and drag you the few feet out into the open, your nearly lifeless body being pulled out into the snow. You can faintly hear him start screaming for the team, and within seconds there's sirens all around. You black out for a minute, waking to see Hotch and Morgan stand over you, lifting you from the snow and pulling you towards an ambulance that showed up at some point.

You keep going in and out, and each time your eyes open, you see Reid right there with you, feel his hands in your hair, a gentle grip to try and soothe you as the paramedics bandage you up and try to keep you awake for longer each time.

You pass out a few more times throughout the five minute ride, once waking to the paramedic when they stick an IV needle in your arm, once waking up when Reid kisses your forehead, once waking when they're pulling you from the ambulance and wheeling you inside.

The next few days seem to blur together, you're basically left alone in a hospital room after your surgery, labeled as “too unstable” to have any visitors just yet. A nurse wakes you up by changing the bandages on your neck every few hours, over the next few days she has to change them less and less because of how it's healing, getting down to twice a day.

Once people are finally allowed to visit you, it's only two people at a time. First Hotch and Morgan came to visit you, spending an hour with you before heading out. Next you saw Garcia and JJ, each spending at least three hours just hugging you and making sure the nurse is treating you gently during bandage changes. You expected to see Reid that day, but he was nowhere.

The next day, fourth day rolls around, and you wake up to a knock on the room door. A doctor walks in, followed by your doctor, Reid. Your eyes immediately light up when you see him, arms flying open in hopes of a hug, to which he gladly accepts. He kisses your cheek, giving you a gentle squeeze while whispering, “Told you that you'd be okay.”. You just smile and pull him in for an actual kiss, hearing the doctor chuckle and comment on your eagerness.

Reid pulls back, taking a seat next to you and letting his hand rest on your thigh. You each look over at the doctor when he starts to explain how to care for your wounds, and you give him a slightly confused look. Then, it clicks. “I'm going home!” You exclaim happily, voice still hoarse from the lack of talking during your recovery. “Yeah, you've been here nearly a week and are healing up nicely, so we're letting you head out a bit early.” The doctor says with a smile, passing you the discharge papers, chuckling when you sign it as quickly as possible.

The doctor clears up a few more things, demonstrating to Reid and you how to change the bandaging and giving him a list on the things you should avoid to finish recovering smoothly. Like having to yell, eating foods you need to chew a lot, no pressure around the wound, can't move your neck too much, etc. He takes the papers and bids you good luck on your at-home recovery, exiting the room so you can get ready to leave.

Reid helps you get out of the hospital gown and into the clothes he had brought you, kissing you wherever he can besides your neck as he tells you how much he missed you during the four days he couldn't see you, also scolding you on your bold choice of words that nearly got you killed in the hands of the Unsub.

Reid slips on your shoes for you, pointing out that he's not gonna let you even lift a finger during your recovery. “I may have gotten shot in the neck, but that doesn't mean my hands are affected.” You groan, giving him a playful nudge. “Don't care, I'm still gonna take care of you. Now, come on. Let's go home.” He grabs a hold of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you out of the hospital room, eventually out of the hospital into the cold, snow-covered parking lot.

He gets you into the car, and before you can even fight back or do it yourself, he buckles you in. You smile at him, deciding to not argue with him on taking care of you, instead thanking him and giving him a quick kiss. He smiles back and makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting the door, running around and hopping into the driver side. He throws it into drive and backs out of the parking space, leaving so quick you might as well think he's running from somebody. When, really, he's just eager to get you home where he can cuddle you and treat you like royalty.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x gn!reader #hotboxed x-mas ficlist #comfort #I lobe gore #this has none (i think)#woohoo #yippee yippee yippee

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