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notsopersonalcharlie · 4 months ago

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Work Divorce

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader angst/fluff

Summary: Aaron and you come to a realization when you get into a fight about a case.

Warnings: Cannon typical descriptions of violence, alcohol, mentions of divorce, aaron being cuddly, no use of Y/N

Notes: I thought of this (and wrote it) at the airport so sorry for mistakes! Read more of my hotch stuff here and the angsty interlude to this here Gif isn't mine

“Absolutely not. You are not going out there.” Hotch’s mouth was a straight line, and his features read anger to anyone but you. It was his eyes that gave him away. Pure panic and fear.

“Hotch, I built a rapport with him over the phone. I can-“ You tried.

“That’s final.” The whole room was tense, the police officers who didn’t understand the implications and your team, who felt like they were watching their parents get into an argument.

“You have to let me do my job.” It hung in the air, and Hotch didn’t respond.

The tension followed the team onto the plane. The case had ended badly. Yes, the team had managed to rescue four of the five hostages, but not all of them and the unsub was dead. And it had become abundantly clear that Hotch had made the wrong choice. You could have saved them all.

You were kneeling on the dirt floor of the cave the unsub had dug, holding cloth to a bleeding hostage. The other four had been able to walk out on their own and you were waiting with her for the paramedics who had to make their way through the forest. She was crying, tears leaking down the sides of face and dragging clean lines in the dirt and blood that had been caked there.

“He wanted to talk to you. I could hear your voice. I cou-“ she hiccuped, “Why didn’t you come?”

Your lip trembled and you swallowed trying not to think of the memory as you curled yourself into a seat beside Derek, using him as a barrier against Aaron. He had sat down in his usual seat, the one beside it occupied by JJ who usually sat where you were now.

“You did what you could, kid,” Dave said, patting your shoulder on his way past you.

You tried to sleep on the flight, closing your eyes and staring at the back of your eyelids. You had no idea how much time had passed since the plane took off, but you heard an exchange beside you and Derek moved, replaced with the familiar warmth you knew as your husband.

“I-“

“I don’t want to talk right now,” you responded, eyes still closed. The scene of her body being carried out of the hole, limp hand sliding out of yours, was replaying on a loop. Aaron’s hand rested lightly on your calf where you’d pulled it up to make yourself smaller. It was his form of an ‘I’m sorry’.

-/-/-/-/-

Derek and Emily were whispering over the dividers between their desks when Spencer got in. He tossed his satchel in its usual spot and leaned over.

“What’s going on?”

“Their stuff is gone from their desk. Hotch got here alone,” Emily hissed, nodding to where you usually sat. All of your trinkets, colorful pens, and most importantly your wedding photo were gone. It had been a week since the last case, and the last time the team had seen the two of you together was the day after you got off the jet. You had gone into Hotch’s office, door closed, and from the expressions visible through the noise proof window, it looked like you were yelling at him.

You had left, stormed off was more like it, and not been back over the week. And now this on a monday morning. Hotch was visible through the window, frown prominent as he read over a case file. All three younger agents averted their eyes when he looked out, but Spencer managed to scan over the expression when Hotch looked at your empty desk. Melancholy was the best way he could name it.

-/-/-/-/-

Another week and another case passed without a single mention of you. Hotch had never been one to wear a wedding ring, not after his first divorce, so there was no indication there. Still Hotch’s expression flickered to sad when he looked anywhere you usually were, beside him on the jet, in the bullpen, at the round table, and even in moments when the team was used to your quips against him.

“Whatcha got, babygirl?”

“Is everyone there?” Garcia asked, uncharacteristic of her. All ears turned in that direction.

“Everyone but Hotch and Rossi.”

“Good. They are still married! Legally at least. Hotch put in the transfer papers two days after the fight for them to move to the counterterrorism team.”

“Three whole floors?” JJ joked.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Jennifer!” Penelope’s voice shrilled, “This could be serious! The fight was real!”

“Baby girl, let’s not get all sorts of spin up.”

“They drive to work separately!” Reid cut in. All eyes turned to him.

“What?”

“Wednesday and Thursday I saw both their cars in the garage on my way in.”

“And you kept it to yourself?” Emily complained. The door to the conference room, turned BAU office opened admitting the other two members of the team.

“Thanks for the heads up, baby girl. We gotta go.” Morgan ended the call before she could give them away.

“What was that about?” Rossi asked, taking one of the seats.

“Just warning us about weather patterns,” Emily said at the same time as Morgan said, “She was telling us about another case to keep an eye on.” The two agents glared at one another.

“Smooth,” Rossi joked, “Can we get back to work now?“

-/-/-/-/-

The case didn’t end up being too horrible or difficult. They made it out without another killing and the unsub was caught without a firefight.

Emily picked up her phone, the ringtone distinctly Garcia.

“Hey, we’re almost-“

“Stall! I don’t want to see them fight!” Emily’s eyebrows knit and she frowned. JJ gave her a questioning look.

“Who?”

“The Hotchners! Just stall!” The call ended. Emily looked at the team, who were slowly getting out of the SUV, a few protesting groans since they all had to run through the streets of Cincinnati a little bit longer than they would have preferred. She huffed to herself and quickly unclipped an earring, dropping it between the seats.

“Shit!” The whole team turned to look.

“I dropped my earring.” Hotch looked exasperated, but he turned the car back on so they could turn the lights on and climbed in the back with Emily to hunt it down.

Upstairs the other SUV of the team was standing in the hallway talking to you.

"How was the case?" You were carrying a few things from Hotch's office, the blanket from the back of the couch and one of the photos of you and Jack that sat on his desk. Spencer was documenting the items in your hands and cataloguing them, JJ could tell based on how is eyes scanned over the items twice.

"Not bad. We were just talking about celebrating." You gave a tight smile and your eyes flickered to the elevator coming up from the garage.

"I'll talk to Hotch. I gotta go." You rushed for the stairs, the door closing just before the elevator doors opened to reveal the rest of the team.

"They seem like sturdy earrings," Morgan sighed, "but whatever." JJ and Spencer were staring at Hotch openly before Emily coughed.

"What?" Hotch asked, looking down at his suit.

"Nothing. We were just talking about celebrating today. We haven't all hung out for a while. Rossi, can you host?" The older agent rolled his eyes.

"You know you could at least ask me before asking in front of the whole team," he griped, "But yes. I can host. Make yourselves scarce. Drink some water. See you at seven." The agents scattered to their desks, but once Hotch and Rossi were in their offices, they stood with their heads together, occasionally glancing up at Hotch's office to see if he noticed the missing items.

Aaron walked into his office and immediately noticed the lack of blanket on the couch. Additionally a spot in the dust on his shelf and an absent little plastic dinosaur that sat next to the Captain America figurine on his desk gave away your recent presence. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the rest of the room before deciding everything else was in place. With a sigh, Aaron tossed his go bag by the door and removed some files from his briefcase before picking both bags up and heading for the door.

The agents in the bullpen were whispering and Aaron rolled his eyes at them. They were terrible profilers sometimes.

"See you soon," he called, hiding his smile when they all jumped apart.

"It must have been so bad! For them to be avoiding each other! And stealing stuff out of Hotch's office? That's crazy!" Emily hissed.

"We'll find out tonight." They knew you would never miss an evening at Rossi's. You two were always there first and left later than everyone else.

The younger agents nodded in agreement and dispersed, a continuous drone of concerned texts in their chat as they got dressed for the evening and stopped for snacks, wine, and beer.

Spencer, who was chronically punctual arrived first, the driveway conspicuously empty. He jabbed a message into the chat 'no one's here yet'. The responses of shock were followed by 'go inside and ask dave about it!' from Emily.

The front door was always unlocked when he knew they were over, given Dave's chronic laziness and the access to a firearm in basically every room in his massive house.

"Rossi! It's Spencer, don't kill me."

"We're in the kitchen," came Hotch's voice. Spencer peaked in and failed to hide his shock. You were sitting across Aaron's lap, red in the cheeks from alcohol. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and you were in a full body laugh. Aaron was laughing too, his headshaking, eyerolling one when you said something particularly silly. Dave was leaning on the other side of the counter, the grin on his face prominent.

"I can't believe you would betray me like that," Aaron chuckled, "It's my stuff."

"Nuh uh! We're married! It's my stuff too." Aaron's arms squeezed tighter around your middle, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You could feel his smile when he kissed you again and you felt like a teenager blushing. Dave pointed past you to the doorway.

"Don't you dare start texting, boy genius. Let the kids find out on their own." You and Aaron both turned to see Spencer put his hands up, phone slipped back into his sweater pocket.

"Take a seat, Doctor Reid. Have a drink," you joked. Dave poured him a glass of wine.

"So you just switched teams?" You looked at Aaron, who shrugged a little bit. No use lying.

"Kind of. We both realized there was no world in which Aaron could be impartial, no matter how hard either of us tried. And I got promoted." Watching Spencer's gears turn was always fun. You could almost see the puzzle pieces fall into place as they did in a split second.

"You're the new supervisor in the CT unit! That's why you stole your stuff from his office. They were for yours." You nodded.

"Precisely. And it's not stealing! It's mine!"

"It is absolutely stealing, you're a menace."

"Your menace," you corrected, booping him on the nose before reaching for your wine.

"We're here!" Penelope's voice echoed through the house, followed by the cacophony of Emily and Derek arguing. It was about you.

"Just come in here!" You complained. There was a thunder of footsteps running through the front hallway and the three other agents cartoonishly paused in the doorway staring.

"You know people are allowed to get new jobs right?" Aaron asked. He wasn't usually the joker in the group, but sometimes with just the right amount of alcohol his dry humor took over.

"Thank god! I thought I was going to have to start planning two parties!" Penelope gushed, running over to hug you. You laughed, sliding out of Aaron's lap. He was reluctant to let you go. He had been every time you were together, now that you didn't see each other constantly he missed you being beside him.

"Anyway, if we ever separated I would get the team," you stage whispered. Aaron pinched your thigh.

"Absolutely no you wouldn't."

"We will have to write up a contract for your work divorce," Spencer laughed.

"That's not fair! He used to be a lawyer," you whined. Aaron pulled you back into his arms, resting his chin on your shoulder where you stood in front of his stool.

"187 over here can help you." You bickered and laughed and explained yourself to the team once JJ and Will arrived.

"I can't believe you thought we broke up," you sighed once dinner was over and all of you had settled in the backyard under the summer stars.

"I can't either," Dave laughed, "They have no idea how much more of a mess you two would be."

"Hey!" Both of you interjected. The team laughed as you both looked at each other. Aaron pulled you ever closer, nuzzling his nose to your cheek. He was properly drunk now, which is why you both decided ubering over was a better idea so you didn't have to worry about a car.

"He's right," he muttered, his letters slurring together. You chuckled, wrapping your arms over his shoulder and squishing him to your chest.

"I know. I would be too."

#notsopersonalcharlie #charliewrites #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner sluff #hotch x reader #hotch fluff #hotch imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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benevolentbones · 5 months ago

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me before you | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!! kidnapping, graphic depictions of injury, death, female reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: you go missing on a job and spencer goes ballistic

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy a touch of angst! i think this is my longest fic i’ve ever written:) reblogs & comments appreciated <3

“where is she.” spencer’s voice boomed as he bursted into the conference room. every set of eyes in the cramped police department office shot to the loud sound.

spencer stood in the doorway, his fbi vest still strapped to his body. his hair was disheveled and brushed off of his face, his white button up was half buttoned and the sleeves were messily rolled up to his elbows.

his eyes scanned the room, flickering over the local police force until they landed hotch. he stormed into the room, his face contorting with rage. before hotch could even utter a word out, spencer’s hands were on him, gripping a handful of the older man’s shirt.

“where is she, hotch.” he snarled, hotch using his hands to create a distance between him and spencer.

derek immediately jumped up, pulling spencer’s flailing form off of his superior. everyone watched in shock and horror, spencer had never acted like this, and certainly not on a case.

“we don’t know.” hotch stated, a calmness to his voice, but he was as just concerned as spencer was.

“why- get off of me-“ spencer fought back in morgan’s strong hold eventually breaking free after lashing around.

“why did you let her go in without back up- are you out of your fucking mind.”

“outside. now.” hotch breathed, he didn’t want complete strangers to witness whatever was about to occur. he walked calmly through the doors, his oxfords thudding against the marbled floor.

spencer followed suit after shaking derek off, his steps messy as he fumbled behind hotch, who made a turn into a private empty office.

“reid-“

“no. don’t go there- what were you fucking thinking hotch-“

aaron leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. spencer stood a few feet across from him, pacing the room.

“we didn’t know what we were in for, the house was clear..” he trailed off, recounting the events that took place an hour prior.

you, derek and hotch were staking out the potential unsubs house, it was a bungalow in the suburbs and a pretty run down one at that, sitting behind the van you had driven in.

“morgan, take the front. y/n, follow me around the side.” hotch spoke, his dark eyes landing on you.

you nodded, following the older man to the side of the house. from your position you could hear derek shout.

“FBI open up-“ followed by the sound of the door slamming open.

you continued to follow hotch to the back entrance, which he swiftly broke down and then entered the house.

he held his gun up, doing a sweep of the back room. “clear” he yelled out,

from the next room over he could hear morgan yell back. “hotch look at this-“

the dark haired man quickly walked to where morgan was.

they stood in the middle of the living room, the place was run down and smelled like mold. on the weathered coffee table laid a videotape recorder and a note.

hotch bent down, picking up the note. the words ‘i got you, your turn.’ were etched onto the page, hotch turned his attention to derek who beared the same confused expression.

“what does that even mean? l/n get in here.” he yelled out, attempting to get your attention to see if you could help make sense of things.

a few moments passed before he called out again. “y/n?”

hotch walked to where he had left you, the back door was still wide open, he eyes trailed down to the ground, which was when he saw it.

your gun.

from outside the sound of a engine starting up rattled, the tires screeched as the vehicle pulled onto the road.

fuck

“morgan, take the camera and the note- she’s not here.”

“what so you’re telling me you left y/n on her own? knowing that she fit the description of all the unsubs victims- you can’t, you can’t be-“ spencer cut himself off, letting out a choked sob.

“reid i am sorry. we will find her.” hotch reached a hand out to touch spencer’s shoulder, a wave of sadness washing over his body as he watched spencer begin to break down.

with hazel eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall, spencer sunk into hotch’s embrace. letting out shaky breaths in between cries.

“you- have to get her back- i need her- she-i can’t let her- go first.“ hotch rubbed soothing circles on spencer’s back, which proved to be hard through the bulletproof vest.

“we will find her, reid. let the team work, go home. you need rest.”

hotch was right, it was nearing two in the morning and spencer had not slept for almost thirty six hours. the circles under his eyes were noticeably more dark, looking nearly hallowed out.

spencer pulled away from the hug, his doe eyes red and puffy from the crying.

“i’ll send morgan with you, we will notify you when we find something. and we will.”

“okay. thanks.” the younger male sniffled, his tired eyes meeting hotch’s as he walked out of the office.

your eyes blinked awake, a slight grogginess to your vision. the florescent lighting above you hurt your eyes and your head ached.

you attempted to move but felt your hands and legs bound, your eyes darted around the room. you were tied up, sitting on a wooden stool, the room was practically barren except for a pile of sheets in the corner, a table lined with tools and a camera on a tripod. the red light blinking intermittently.

you spotted a small rectangular window at the very top of the wall, it was covered in weeds from the outside. i’m in a basement.

you wriggled, attempting to break free but only causing yourself to get rope burn, you hissed in pain.

“fuck sake.”

the metal door in front of you swung open, revealing a tall man dressed in black. he had an eerie grin etched on his face, his striking blue eyes staring at you like you were something to eat.

“hello agent l/n, nice to see you’re finally awake.” his voice sounded rough, as you ambled into the door, closing the door over leaving it a few inches ajar.

“thomas wilson.” you spat out.

“you have a smart team, y/n. you managed to find me just after five kills. bravo.” his voice laced with a mocking tone.

“it’s a shame they didn’t have your back.”

you stayed silent, eyeing his form as he began to circle the stool you sat upon.

“but i fear- this may be my last kill, so i’m going to be thorough.”

you felt your stomach drop. you were hoping, praying that maybe the team was on the way, that they would be able to get here in time.

you tried your best to read thomas, you could tell by the way he limped around you that he was injured, and he didn’t seem a hundred percent confident in himself. maybe you had a chance.

“how’d you get hurt? i’m a medic, i could help you thomas. you don’t have to-“ your attempt at empathy was cut off by a strike to your face.

the man pulled back his fist, as you slowly recoiled your head. you could feel your eyes swell, staring intensely at him through wisps of your hair that fell over your face.

“silence. we don’t have much time. i need to prepare.” he muttered to himself, walking towards the table to your right.

you racked your brain, trying to think about the other victims and their similarity to you. hair colour, eye colour, frame and stature, age. but they were all single women, involved in prostitution in one way or another. maybe you could convince him that way.

“i’m engaged, thomas.” you spoke, trying to get his attention. “i know your other victims were all single- i have a fiancé.”

“where’s the ring.” he didn’t bother looking back at you, your empty hand flexed into a fist. you never wore your ring on the field.

“i can show you photos- my phone, it’s in my jacket pocket.” you were trying to delay whatever he had planned, you were grasping at straws.

thomas limped towards you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. it was turned off, but he rebooted it, unlocking it and going straight for your camera roll.

he caught the bait.

“sir- y/n’s phone just turned back on.” garcia practically shouted.

“can you track it? -emily alert the swat team now.”

“on it sir.”

the majority of the team piled into cars, fbi vests strapped to their bodies. garcia sent the location to hotch and the cars sped off, it was just twenty miles from where you were taken.

“you sure this is the right place?” hotch spoke out into his phone, a slight anxiousness to his voice which didn’t go unnoticed by penelope.

“yep. i quadruple checked, the satellites picked up the van dropping the unsub and a victim at this exact address.” garcia stated from the other end of the line, faint clacking of the keyboard could be heard from her side.

“thank you, garcia. keep me posted.” he muttered before ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“did anyone tell morgan?” hotch spoke, morgan had brought reid home and was told to stay with him incase of any updates.

“just now sir.” emily spoke, shutting her cellphone.

“see- that’s me and my fiancé, spencer. he works with me.” you stated as thomas scrolling through thousands of pictures of you and spencer.

you could tell this caught him by surprise, you were sure his other victims probably pleaded for their lives, saying they had families and partners to get back to. it made you feel sick.

“it’s not too late- thomas please let me go, i don’t want to leave him.” you mumbled out, fighting back tears at the thought of how distraught spencer must feel right now.

“i- i cant it’s too late. i have to do this.” he stuttered out, still scrolling through pictures on your phone, his face frowning when he came across your engagement photos.

“can i call him, can i say goodbye?” your eyes met his pale ones, you could see from his expression he was thinking things over.

“fine.”

he searched up spencer’s name on your phone, pressing the call button and holding it beside your ear.

spencer was in a car when his phone started to buzz, morgan had received the call about your location and immediately told spencer who refused to let the older man leave without him.

spencer picked up immediately once your contact came up on his phone.

“y/n- are you okay- are you hurt?” he blurted into the phone, putting it on speaker so derek could listen in. he felt a sudden relief at the sound of your voice.

“spence. i- i’m not hurt.” you paused briefly, eyeing the man next to you. he was listening in. “spence, i love you so much.” you mumbled out, white hot tears staining your cheeks.

“baby? what’s happening.” spencer questioned, his hazel eyes beginning to well up.

“i love you- and i’m sorry, i don’t think i have much time left.”

“no. no no no- you promised- me before you-you can’t leave me“ he rambled out, his heart sinking as tears began to flood from his eyes. derek gripped the steering wheel, pressing his foot down on the pedal, they were nearly there.

“i know baby- i tried-“ you choked out a sob, hearing spencer crying broke you.

thomas was getting visibly frustrated, his grip on your phone tightened. “that’s enough.” he muttered out.

“i have to go spence- i’m sorry i love you so much.” and with that, thomas had ended the call. tears streamed down your face as you tried to muster up the ability to stop.

the older man ambled back to the table, he had laid out a number of weapons. you recalled the details of how the other victims died, each one exactly the same down to the last cut. thomas likely suffered from remorseful ocd.

the man turned back to you, a knife in his grasp. he could tell he was battling within himself, he didn’t want to do this, but he felt like he had to. you could faintly hear the sound of cars passing the house, praying that someone would show up.

“i’m sorry” he muttered out as he brought the knife to your collar bone, pressing it into your skin and dragging it across.

you screamed, a wave of pain engulfing you. blood quickly began to trickle from the laceration, staining your white shirt a crimson hue.

if this was how you were going to die, you were going to make sure it haunted him forever. your eyes locked onto his, forcibly making eye contact as he switched to your left side, beginning to slice the other side of your collar precisely.

you gritted your teeth, feeling the cool metal of the knife drag across your skin. he pulled back, now pressing the bloodied knife to your throat. he was behind you, all you could do was stare straight ahead at the door in front of you.

suddenly the door burst open, hotch standing before you with a swat team piling into the room.

“drop your weapon.” he commanded, his voice booming as he pointed his gun at unsub. you have never been so relieved to see aaron hotchner in your life.

“i can’t, i have to do this.” thomas muttered out, his hand shaking as he pressed the knife to your throat. he began to press it firmly against your skin, you winced out at the pressure.

hotch immediately fired a shot, the bullet sinking into the unsubs shoulder causing him to fall back and shout in pain. a member of the swat team rushed to thomas, restraining the male as he put a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

hotch was by your side in seconds, unbinding your hands and legs. “are you okay?” he questioned, concern lacing his usually stoic voice.

you nodded, rubbing your throat once your hands were free. you attempted to stand up, wobbling as you placed your feet on the ground, you felt weak, the bleeding around your collars had slowed but you were still losing blood.

“let me.” hotch scooped you up in his arms, carrying you up the stairs and out of the house. it was dark, and there was a swarm of swat cars and an ambulance waiting for you.

a car pulled up to the scene, the passenger door swung open and spencer stumbled out, barely getting his seatbelt off.

“y/n?!” he called out, scanning the area, once his eyes landed on your form in hotch’s arms he sprinted over.

“spence-“ you began before you were engulfed in a tight hug, hotch passed you over to spencer, making his way to the ambulance to alert the medics.

“i thought- you were-“ he blubbered out, his eyes puffy from crying.

he fell to his knees, his hold on you not wavering. you wrapped your arms around his neck to the best of your ability. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, rocking you in his arms.

“i’m going to get blood on you-“ you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.

he let out a short laugh, followed by a small cry.

“i’m okay spence- i love you, i’m okay.” you reassured him.

“i’m never letting you go again.” he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath.

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst

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pathologicalreid · 6 months ago

Note

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x y/n #margot's requests

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

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Taking Calls

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever a man who makes you feel uncomfortable asks for your number, you give him your boyfriend’s number instead. Whenever he texts him all day and finally decides to call, Spencer plans on taking care of it.

Content/Warnings: Minor case details (nothing explicit), creep officer, loving boyfriend Spencer, intimidation mention, kissing, unprotected sex, Spencer answers a phone call in the middle of sex (I didn’t know how to word that so it works lmao.)

Word Count: 1.2K

Anon Request: I had a spicy idea where a creepy cop tries to get readers number for “work purposes” and instead she gives him Spencer’s number and the cop happens to call Spencer and reader while he’s in the middle of fucking reader or the reader is in the middle of giving him a blowjob and the cop sort of hears her in the background? I just thought you’d be the perfect person to write this 😍

Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request

🏷️ @kr-1-sta @iluvreid @nervousmoongiver @multifandom-on-the-side @ferrjulie @lov1ngreid @sobbingcryingattsizzles @doriantomybasil @thegluesong @rosiehale23

Spencer had his number given out before due to a prank on Derek’s end that had so many people blowing up his phone. It was something he vowed that he would get the man back for and specifically state that it could never happen again.

The team was on a case in Manhattan, a standard killer who had an awakened blood lust was terrorizing the city. After six victims, the NYPD felt it was best to invite the BAU onto the case, which seemed to be too little too late due to the man going dormant.

Every lead was buried so deep that you’d need an excavator to dig them up, still the team persisted. You were currently on day three, staying back at the police precinct along with Dave to interview the families of the deceased, hoping to dig up any leads.

You had currently stepped out for a brief break, standing by the coffee machine as you were getting one of the disposable cups, filling it to the brim with a healthy mixture of coffee and sugar. “Hey, Y/L/N, correct?” A voice came from behind you, making you turn to look over the person addressing you. Officer Laslow. “Hi, yes. That’s me. How can I help you?” You asked, eyebrows raising.

You didn’t like to judge people, however you had a very uneasy feeling around him. The way he was looking at you was a good enough reason to be uncomfortable, the man seeming to mentally undress you as he stared into your soul. “I was just wondering if your team had any leads? I mean, I’m sure the families know something,” He spoke, making you sigh as your shoulders slumped. “Nothing, unfortunately.” You spoke while sipping from the coffee cup in your hands.

“Nothing? What a shame. I was actually wondering if you and I could exchange numbers? No funny business, I’m just wanting to make sure we can stay in communication throughout this case. You know, share intel.”

He could’ve just asked Aaron for updates. However, in the moment of being uncomfortable and not knowing what to say, you were clearing your throat. “Well. Okay.. Just for intel though.” You murmured, slowly taking the device from his hands to put in Spencer’s number instead of your own. You’d explain things to your boyfriend later. Until then, you were doing the next best option. Spencer could handle this. You were sure of it.

As another day passed and there was no leads, the team was retreating to the hotel for the night to try and get some rest, even if they were overly focused on trying to catch the murderer running around freely. “Honey, I have a question.” Spencer began as he was walking from the bathroom, a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a white t-shirt clinging to his lanky frame. “I’ve just had a lot of texts today. The person is addressing you by name. Wanna talk about who you gave my number to?” He asked softly. He knew it had to be a big deal if you wouldn’t give someone your number.

“Some creep on the NYPD team. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me, Spencer. It made me so uncomfortable.” You shivered while looking over at your boyfriend. “I’m sorry that I gave him your number. I didn’t know what else to do.” The feeling of his hand rubbing your shoulder caused your body to relax, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“I’m not upset with you by any means. I just wanted to ask. He didn’t try and touch you or force himself on you, right?” He asked, slowly letting his arm wrap around your shoulders as you shook your head. “No. Nothing like that. He was just twice my size and intimidating. I mean, he could’ve hurt me if I rejected him.” In this job, Spencer saw cases like that far too much, so he believed it.

“Come here.” He spoke while slowly pressing a few kisses against your cheek. “It’ll be okay. I’ll speak with Hotch about it tomorrow. It’ll get taken care of.” He smiled, the back of his knuckle gently caressing your cheek. “How did I get so lucky to be with you?” You asked softly, offering a smile as you leaned against his touch. “I’m the lucky one.” He mused, now moving to press a sweet kiss against your lips.

However, the kiss was only cut short whenever he could hear the ringtone on his phone designated for texts. “This guy is a real piece of work.” Your boyfriend muttered against your lips, opting to ignore the incessant sounds coming from his phone as he carried on your shared kiss. As the kids deepened, his hands were working to push your shirt over your head before his hands were working on your work pants. You hadn’t changed just yet, so he felt like he was definitely helping you out in the grand scheme of things.

Once you were undressed to his liking, it wasn’t long until your own hands were pushing at his clothes to bring him to the same level of unclothed as you were. “Lay down.” Spencer breathed as he broke the kiss, watching you push yourself back in bed before he was crawling on top of you to attach your lips once more. You were both eager, a lot of stress from this case as well as your own yearning for pleasure making things go just a little faster than usual. He used one hand to bring one of your legs around his waist, which prompted you to mirror your actions with your other leg.

Pushing your panties to the side, your boyfriend wasted no time pushing his cock inside of your eager cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as the hand propping him up was gripping the sheets. “Fuck. I love you.” He whispered, pressing a few sweet kisses to your lips. For once today, you felt like you could forget the officer from earlier, to enjoy the moment. Until Spencer was getting a call. “Are you kidding?” He huffed out of frustration, hips still thrusting at a slow pace as he was reaching over to take his cellphone from the bedside table.

“W-we should stop.” You breathed, knowing he had to take the call judging by the look on his face. “No. No, just lay there and take it, pretty girl. I’m gonna settle this once and for all.” He murmured. Before you could object, he was swiping to answer the call. “I don’t appreciate being ignored.” The male on the other end of the phone huffed. Just hearing his slimy voice had Spencer cringing. Using his shoulder to hold the phone up to his ear, he let out a soft breath. His hips thrusted into you at a faster speed, your lip tucked between your teeth as you really did try to keep quiet.

“She’s busy but I can take a message.” Spencer answered as if he wasn’t jackhammering you into the mattress right now, whines and moans slipping from your lips as you couldn’t hold them back anymore. “Who is this?” The officer asked, now his annoyance being clear as day. “Spencer!” You gasped out, answering his question without even being aware of it.

“You heard her. Tell the nice man on the phone who has the pleasure of fucking you.” Spencer grunted, making you red in the face as you gripped his upper arms. “You!”

“My name, baby. Tell him who gets to take you home every night.”

“Spencer!” You panted, head tossed back as he was pounding into your sweet spot.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to. I hope you get the hint.” He murmured.

#spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid smut #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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How the NYPD defeated bodycams

Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop. When American patience for racial profiling in traffic stops reached a breaking point, cops rolled out dashcams. Dashcam footage went AWOL, or just recorded lots of racist, pretextual stops. Racial profiling continued.

Tasers and pepper spray were supposed to curb the undue use of force by giving cops an alternative to shooting dangerous-seeming people. Instead, we got cops who tasered and sprayed unarmed people and then shot them to pieces.

Next came bodycams: by indelibly recording cops' interactions with the public, body-worn cameras were pitched as a way to bring accountability to American law-enforcement. Finally, police leadership would be able to sort officers' claims from eyewitness accounts and figure out who was lying. Bad cops could be disciplined. Repeat offenders could be fired.

Police boosters insist that police violence and corruption are the result of "a few bad apples." As the saying goes, "a few bad apples spoil the bushel." If you think there are just a few bad cops on the force, then you should want to get rid of them before they wreck the whole institution. Bodycams could empirically identify the bad apples, right?

Well, hypothetically. But what if police leadership don't want to get rid of the bad apples? What if the reason that dashcams, tasers, and pepper spray failed is that police leadership are fine with them? If that were the case, then bodycams would turn into just another expensive prop for an off-Broadway accountability theater.

What if?

In "How Police Have Undermined the Promise of Body Cameras," Propublica's Eric Umansky and Umar Farooq deliver a characteristically thorough, deep, and fascinating account of the failure of NYPD bodycams to create the accountability that New York's political and police leadership promised:

https://www.propublica.org/article/how-police-undermined-promise-body-cameras

Topline: NYPD's bodycam rollout was sabotaged by police leadership and top NYC politicians. Rather than turning over bodycam footage to oversight boards following violent incidents, the NYPD suppresses it. When overseers are allowed to see the footage, they get fragmentary access. When those fragments reveal misconduct, they are forbidden to speak of it. When the revealed misconduct is separate from the main incident, it can't be used to discipline officers. When footage is made available to the public, it is selectively edited to omit evidence of misconduct.

NYPD policy contains loopholes that allow them to withhold footage. Where those loopholes don't apply, the NYPD routinely suppresses footage anyway, violating its own policies. When the NYPD violates its policies, it faces no consequences. When overseers complain, they are fired.

Bodycams could be a source of accountability for cops, but for that to be true, control over bodycams would have to vest with institutions that want to improve policing. If control over bodycams is given to institutions that want to shield cops from accountability, that's exactly what will happen. There is nothing about bodycams that makes them more resistant to capture than dashcams, tasers or pepper spray.

This is a problem across multiple police departments. Minneapolis, for example, has policies from before and after the George Floyd uprisings that require bodycam disclosure, and those policies are routinely flouted. Derek Chauvin, George Floyd's murderer, was a repeat offender and had been caught on bodycam kneeling on other Black peoples' necks. Chauvin once clubbed a 14 year old child into unconsciousness and then knelt on his neck for 15 minutes as his mother begged for her child's life. Chauvin faced no discipline for this and the footage was suppressed.

In Montgomery, Alabama, it took five years of hard wrangling to get access to bodycam footage after an officer sicced his attack dog on an unarmed Black man without warning. The dog severed the man's femoral artery and he died. Montgomery PD suppressed the footage, citing the risk of officers facing "embarrassment."

In Memphis, the notoriously racist police department was able to suppress bodycam disclosures until the murder of Tyre Nichols. The behavior of the officers who beat Nichols to death are a testament to their belief in their own impunity. Some officers illegally switched off their cameras; others participated in the beating in full view of the cameras, fearing no consequences.

In South Carolina, the police murder of Walter Scott was captured on a bystander's phone camera. That footage made it clear that Scott's uniformed killers lied, prompting then-governor Nikki Haley to sign a law giving the public access to bodycam footage. But the law contained a glaring loophole: it made bodycam footage "not a public record subject to disclosure." Nothing changed.

Bodycam footage does often reveal that killer cops lie about their actions. When a Cincinnati cop killed a Black man during a 2015 traffic-stop, his bodycam footage revealed that the officer lied about his victim "lunging at him" before he shot. Last summer, a Philadelphia cop was caught lying about the circumstances that led to him murdering a member of the public. Again, the officer claimed the man had "lunged at him." The cop's camera showed the man sitting peacefully in his own car.

Police departments across the country struggle with violent, lying officers, but few can rival the NYPD for corruption, violence, scale and impunity. The NYPD has its own "goon squad," the Strategic Response Group, whose leaked manual reveals how the secret unit spends about $100m/year training and deploying ultraviolent, illegal tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/07/cruelty-by-design/#blam-blam-blam

The NYPD's disciplinary records – published despite a panicked scramble to suppress them – reveal the NYPD's infestation with criminal cops who repeatedly break the law in meting out violence against the public:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/27/ip/#nypd-who

These cops are the proverbial bad apples, and they do indeed spoil the barrel. A 2019 empirical analysis of police disciplinary records show that corruption is contagious: when crooked cops are paired with partners who have clean disciplinary records, those partners become crooked, too, and the effect lasts even after the partnership ends:

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2378023119879798

Despite the risk of harboring criminals in police ranks, the NYPD goes to extreme lengths to keep its worst officers on the street. New York City's police "union"'s deal with the city requires NYC to divert millions to a (once) secret slushfund used to pay high-priced lawyers to defend cops whose conduct is so egregious that the city's own attorneys refuse to defend them:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/26/overfitness-factor/#heads-you-lose-tails-they-win

This is a good place for your periodic reminder that police unions are not unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/28/afterland/#selective-solidarity

Indeed, despite rhetoric to the contrary, policing is a relatively safe occupation, with death rates well below the risks to roofers, loggers, or pizza delivery drivers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/27/extraordinary-popular-delusions/#onshore-havana-syndrome

The biggest risk to police officers – the single factor that significantly increased death rates among cops – is police unions themselves. Police unions successfully pressured cities across American to reject covid risk mitigation, from masking to vaccinations, leading to a wave of police deaths. "Suicide by cop" is very rare, but US officers committed "mass suicide by cop union":

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/12/us/police-covid-vaccines.html

But the story that policing is much more dangerous than it really is a useful one. It has a business-model. Military contractors who turn local Barney Fifes into Judge Dredd cosplayers with assault rifles, tanks and other "excess" military gear make billions from the tale:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#1033-1022

It's not just beltway bandits who love this story. For cops to be shielded from consequences for murdering the public, they need to tell themselves and the rest of us that they are a "thin blue line," and not mere armed bureaucrats. The myth that cops are in constant danger from the public justifies hair-trigger killings.

Consider the use of "civilian" to describe the public. Police are civilians. The only kind of police officer who isn't a civilian is a military policeman. Places where "civilians" interact with non-civilian law enforcement are, by definition, under military occupation. Calling the public "civilians" is a cheap rhetorical trick that converts a police officer to a patrolling soldier in hostile territory. Calling us "civilians" justifies killing us, because if we're civilians, then they are soldiers and we are at war.

The NYPD clearly conceives of itself as an occupying force and considers its "civilian" oversight to be the enemy. When New York's Civilian Complaint Review Board gained independence in 1993, thousands of off-duty cops joined Rudy Giuliani in a mass protest at City Hall and an occupation of the Brooklyn Bridge. This mass freakout is a measure of police intolerance for oversight – after all, the CCRB isn't even allowed to discipline officers, only make (routinely ignored) recommendations.

Kerry Sweet was the NYPD lawyer who oversaw the department's bodycam rollout. He once joked that the NYPD missed a chance to "bomb the room" where the NYPD's CCRB was meeting (when Propublica asked him to confirm this, he said he couldn't remember those remarks, but "on reflection, it should have been an airstrike").

Obvious defects in the NYPD's bodycam policy go beyond the ability to suppress disclosure of the footage. The department has no official tracking system for its bodycam files. They aren't geotagged, only marked by officer badge-number and name. So if a member of the public comes forward to complain that an unknown officer committed a crime at a specific place and time, there's no way to retrieve that footage. Even where footage can be found, the NYPD often hides the ball: in 20% of cases where the Department told the CCRB footage didn't exist, they were lying.

Figuring out how to make bodycam footage work better is complex, but there are some obvious first steps. Other cities have no problem geotagging their footage. In Chicago, the CCRB can directly access the servers where bodycam footage is stored (when the NYPD CCRB members proposed this, they were fired).

Meanwhile, the NYPD keeps protecting its killers. The Propublica story opens with the police killing of Miguel Richards. Richards' parents hadn't heard from him in a while, so they asked his Bronx landlord to check on him (the Richards live in Jamaica). The landlord called the cops. The cops killed Richards.

The cops claimed he had a gun and they were acting in self-defense. They released a highly edited reel of bodycam footage to support that claim. When the full video was eventually extracted, it revealed that Richards had a tiny plastic toy guy and a small folding knife. The officers involved believed he was suffering an acute mental health incident and stated that policy demanded that they close his bedroom door and wait for specialists. Instead, they barked orders at him and then fired 16 rounds at him. Seven hit him. One ruptured his aorta. As he lay dying on his bedroom floor, one officer roughly tossed him around and cuffed him. He died.

New York's Police Benevolent Association – the largest police "union" in NYC – awarded the officers involved its "Finest of the Finest" prize for their conduct in the killing.

This isn't an isolated incident. A month after the NYPD decided not to punish the cops who killed Richards, NYPD officers murdered Kawaski Trawick in his Bronx apartment:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#Kawaski-Trawick

The officers lied about it, suppressed release of the bodycam footage that would reveal their lies, and then escaped any justice when the footage and the lies were revealed.

None of this means that bodycams are useless. It just means that bodycams will only help bring accountability to police forces when they are directed by parties who have the will and power to make the police accountable.

When police leaders and city governments support police corruption, adding bodycams won't change that fact.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/13/i-want-a-roof-over-my-head/#and-bread-on-the-table

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Tony Webster, modified https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Minneapolis_Police_Officer_Body_Camera_%2848968390892%29.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #impunity #ccrb #nypd #abolish the police #acab #police #corruption #bodycams #body-worn cameras #propublica

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mariasont · 8 months ago

Note

can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist.

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive. Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug.

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x your #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

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avis-writeshq · 8 months ago

Text

hello 😘 aaron hotchner drabble request!

anything with jealousy and possessiveness but in a natural normal way not a joe goldberg way haha

and also - aaron sees you wearing his hoodie/shirt drabble!

thank you and your work is amazing!

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader genre: established relationship, aaron is a little (a lot) upset warnings: misogynistic moron >:( reader wears a skirt, if you get the reference ily a/n: i wrote it and the more i wrote the more i realised that it... really isn't the same at all :( if you want me to redo it, please send me an ask !! thank you lovely <3 wc: 631

“You would think that he would know by now,” Emily hums, her tone disapproving and mostly disappointed as she watches from a distance as Captain Pembroke attempts to chat you up.

“He’s a captain?” Spencer asks in genuine amazement.

“For NYPD’s major crime unit,” JJ confirms, her arms crossed over her chest. “He tried to hit on Emily a couple days ago, and on Amy from the fourth floor. I wouldn’t be surprised it he has some sort of sealed file on him.”

Emily scoffs a little, rolling her eyes. “Sounds like a charmer.”

“The bigger question is, does Hotch know?” Derek pipes up as he glances in your direction.

“Well…” JJ lets out a nervous laugh. “I kind of hope he doesn’t.”

You offer a curt smile in Pembroke’s direction, doing everything in your power to subtly signal that you really should be leaving. Fiddling with the loose threads of your shirt, averting eye contact, taking tiny steps away in hopes that he’ll somehow get the message. It isn’t surprising that he doesn’t.

“I beat my PR yesterday, you know,” he brags, flexing his muscles. You think you’re about to throw up as he continues, “129. Impressive, right, hun?”

“The average amount of pounds an untrained man can lift is 135,” you respond dismissively in an attempt to lean into Spencer’s way of getting people to leave him alone, but Pembroke doesn’t seem to hear you.

“You know, sweets, I don’t think you should even be in this job. You’re far too foxy,” he says with a wink, “You’d be better in a different job. I mean, women aren’t fit for these types of roles. They get too emotional.”

You refrain from punching his face as it will only prove his point. “Listen, Ken–”

“It’s Keith–”

“Kyle,” you amend with a sickly smile. “I do need to get these files to Agent Rossi, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Aw, come on, it was only a joke,” Pembroke says with a laugh. “It’ll be fine–”

“There you are.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more relieved in your life. Aaron’s hand rests flat against your back, dangerously close to the waistband of your skirt and he stands behind you. Aaron is a good couple of inches taller than Pembroke, especially when he stands at his full height, his dark eyed narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“Did you need something from my agent, Captain?” He asks lowly.

“Just pleasant conversation,” Pembroke responds dismissively.

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from your uncomfortable frown to the captain’s smug face. “We have three missing women and you are disturbing an investigation by disrupting my agents. I suggest you get your act together before I report you to your superiors for harassment.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, guiding you by the small of your back towards his makeshift office in the New York Police Office. He doesn’t say a word until the door is firmly closed and the blinds are drawn.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you and curling his fingers by your cheekbone. “I heard what he said. Do you want me to report it?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You don’t mean to sound so honest when you say it and his frown deepens.

“That’s not okay, honey.” Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll report it. You know how it is with cases like these; someone just has to put the first step forward.”

You smile at that, poking at his cheeks. “I thought you were going to hit him.”

“I thought you would’ve beat me to it,” he admits through a quiet laugh, giving you a proper kiss. “We shouldn’t make this into a habit.”

“Tell that to Kimberly.”

“That isn’t even close.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

events page

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #golden : a milestone event #hotch x reader fluff #criminal minds x reader fluff #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds aaron hotchner #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #thomas gibson fluff #thomas gibson x reader fluff

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luveline · 2 months ago

Note

Hi love your work. I was wondering if you could do a role reversal of the bombshell!reader under anesthesia? One where Aaron woke up and has forgotten he's married to reader so is shocked at her affection (not in a bad way), he just can't believe this beautiful woman is flirting with snd comforting him?

thank you for requesting! fem

Aaron is woken by a soft, displeased hum.

He pries sticky eyes apart to peek at the source, a woman his junior with a tray table wheeled in front of her. You have neat hands, clipped nails painted softest pink, a ring on your marriage finger, and a little pearl necklace that’s fallen free of your collar to swing as you pen a letter. No, not a letter. A case file.

You’re a police officer?

He turns the other way, hoping for a more familiar face, but the only inhabitants of the room are you, him, and his pounding headache. A groan slips past his lips unbidden, Aaron watching in real time as you look up like he’s shocked you. You turn sympathetic and softer, somehow, your face plucking a weird string in his chest. It’s almost like deja vu, but Aaron would remember being looked at like this.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

He clears his throat. “What happened?” he asks hoarsely. Clearing his throat a second time proves more successful. “What happened?”

“You were struck hard in the back of the head with a rifle. A few times, actually. Luckily nothing broke, but you have a cut and a bruise like nobody’s business. Try not to touch.”

“What about the team?”

He realises with a start that he can’t remember who he means. Were the team actually with him? Dave had been there, right? Derek?

“Reid sprained his wrist. Everyone else is fine.”

Reid, you said, and not Dr. Reid. Aaron frowns deeply, the headache a full, eye-deep pain that worsens when he props himself up on his elbows.

You watch him carefully. After a moment, you push the table away from you and get up, turning to sit on his bed. He doesn’t let his eyes widen, not even as you place your hand on his stomach, imploring in your gentleness, leaning in to see him better. In that moment, you might be the most beautiful woman Aaron has ever seen; his heart does a great whirl, picking up its pace. He has just enough capacity to recognise how lucky he is to be detached from any observational tech.

“What’s worrying you, Aaron?” you ask, thumb rubbing a line into the skin just below his stomach. A butterfly like a hawk beats behind your touch. “You have that strange pinch between your eyebrows.” You draw a line up his stomach, showing him how they’re pulled up. He must look near tears as you go. “You only get that when you’re scared, but everyone’s fine, I promise.”

He must know you. You clearly know him, your tone alone settling his heart while his mind races.

“You won’t be out of the field long, and you know I can do it for you while you’re gone. I’m capable,” you say.

“You are,” he says. He’s telling the truth, though he doesn’t know how.

You shuffle further up the bed. Aaron sits properly, forcing your hand to fall. You clasp his thigh on instinct, and that tumultuous zing of deja vu washes over him again.

“You have the worst luck, handsome,” you murmur, rubbing at his leg, soothing him without thinking.

“I…” He trails off as he catches sight of your wedding band. Silver-gold, a pear-shaped 3.00ct diamond. He chose it on a whim. Aaron nearly swallows his own tongue as he looks up, the memory of it not quite connecting to you. You.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re being so quiet,” he asks.

“Well, you gave me a bad scare,” you say, leaning in further, unafraid to breathe his air. “I thought I lost you. It was terrifying.”

The breathlessness in your confession is a barb. He grabs your hand where it lays and squeezes accordingly. “That won’t happen,” he promises.

You turn your hand into his, slotting your fingers together deftly. “Do you remember me now, Hotchner?” you ask.

He looks you straight in the eye. He doesn’t remember you, not really. But he remembers the size of your fingers threaded through his, and he remembers how nervous he’d tried not to be when he bought that ring, and he remembers your hand warming his thigh in the car every morning.

“Almost,” he says. His breath catches. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

“You said something similar the first time you woke up. I blamed the morphine for your puppy-eyes, but…” You smile at him fondly. “I don’t think you’re drugged enough to say it and not mean it, now.”

“I mean it,” he says, nodding. “Of course I mean it.”

“I know.” You kiss his cheek.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asks.

You do, and Aaron falls in love with you all over again.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 12 days ago

Text

Fight Back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: angst, talk of being physically abused by a parent, scarring and branding because of the abuse

Request by anon: Could you do where there reader is a part of the Bau and the unsub is kidnapping and killing girls who look like her and it turned out it is her abusive father and when the team finds him the reader and him a a full fight and she gets him back for all the abuse she had to go through

Summary: A case brings up a past you’d rather much forget but haven’t moved on from. A past so traumatic that you have no choice but to take matters into your own hands.

Square Filled: make it look like an accident for @badthingshappenbingo

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

You enjoy traveling to different parts of the country for cases because you enjoy indulging in different cultures and trying new foods. Though, nothing beats being at home. Virginia PD has a case they requested your help on, and you love you can drive home at the end of the day instead of staying in a hotel room.

Detective Banks is already at the scene of a cliff where the body of Justine Frank was located. She was found naked by some hikers who called it in as soon as they got cell service. You and Spencer were tasked to meet with the detective who shakes your hand upon arrival.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t have anyone touch her until I knew you were done.”

“Good choice. Thank you.” Upon first glance and ignoring the fact that she’s naked, you think she could have landed here after a bad tumble off the cliff. “Detective, why call us out here? Surely your men can handle this one, no?”

“There are four more just like her. We thought it was an accident at first, but more than three is a pattern. We’re stumped.”

Spencer leans down to inspect the body closer with gloved hands. He touches the underside of her wrist and notices fresh wounds.

“Rope burns. She was bound.”

“Was she bound when she went off the cliff?”

We seem to think so,” Detective Banks answers, “but the ME will be able to determine that better than I can.”

“You say it’s a pattern. What makes you think it is?” you ask.

“When one woman shows up, another woman is reported missing. Based on that, it’s safe to assume he already has another victim.”

You’re about to leave when you notice something on Justine’s back. You grab a glove and kneel next to her body to get a closer look. You move her hair to the side and notice a mark on her shoulder blade.

“What is it?” Spencer asks.

“There’s a mark here. I’m not sure if it’s a mark sustained in the fall or if she had it before. I think the rocks and tree branches scratched it up a bit.”

Spencer runs his finger over the mark and frowns. “It’s raised. Like a brand.”

You take out your work phone and snap a picture of the mark so that you can analyze it later. Once done, you and Spencer head back to the police station to meet up with the rest of the team. Hotch and Emily just got back from the ME’s office at the same time you and Spencer got back.

“Did you find anything?” you ask as you walk into the conference room.

“All four victims had ligature marks around their wrists most likely caused by ropes, but the ME says the wounds are much older from when they were found.”

“They were probably bound when they were being thrown over the cliffs, right?”

“Could be or they were bound while being held.”

Spencer gathers the pictures of all five women and pins them to the bulletin board along with their names, a few crime scene photos, and other important details.

“Would you look at that? They look similar,” you point out. “Our unsub has a type.”

Derek dials Penelope and patches her through the phone on the desk so everyone can hear her.

“Hey dollface, ready to work some magic for me?” Derek grins.

“Challenge me, you beautiful behavioral analyst,” she giggles.

“We’re looking for a connection with the victims. Did they know each other? Run in the same circle? Go to the same grocery store? Anything you can see.”

“Even the hidden stuff. Uno momento.”

“If they went to the same kinds of stores, we could be looking at hundreds of employees and even more customers,” you say.

“Let’s hope they didn’t go to the same store, then,” Rossi chuckles.

“A connection they had. They all came from different circles and socioeconomic backgrounds, but they all have one thing in common. They all had different work done on their house with the same contracting company,” Penelope says.

“Where are they located?” Emily asks and grabs a pen and pad.

“Sorry, babe, they don’t have an office. Everything is done through a PO box. It’s more of a mom-and-pop contracting company than a big business. There is only a handful of employees who all live in different parts of the state, and I mean I can count them all on one hand. Addresses are already sent.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Derek hangs up the phone. “Looks like we’re splitting up.”

You and Spencer. Derek and JJ. Emily and Rossi. Banks and Hotch. Four different employees, four different groups. You and Spencer pull up to the house but you don’t get out just yet.

“Are you okay?”

“Something doesn’t feel right with this case. Something is eating at you, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Everyone has a case that gets to them. I know I have a lot.”

“It’s more than just getting to me. There was something familiar about the mark on Justine’s body. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

You and Spencer get out of the car and walk up the porch steps to the front door. You knock twice, and a middle-aged balding man answers the door.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Agent Y/N and this is Dr. Reid. We’re with the FBI. May we ask you a few questions?”

“What is this about?”

“We’re investigating a few murders, and one of the leads happens to take us to the contracting company you’re employed with.”

The man steps out and closes the door behind him. “Sorry, my wife and daughter are sleeping. They’re sick with the flu, and I don’t want to wake them. What do you need to know?”

“Where were you on the week of October 14th?”

“At home with my family. They can’t seem to shake his flu. We had our pediatrician come over to check on poor Lily.”

You take out the pictures of the victims and show them to him. “Do you know any of these women?”

“I know her.” He points to Destiny Ray, the second victim. “She called my company for a roof repair. I’m sorry, am I in trouble?”

“No, you’re not. We’re just trying to establish a timeline. Who gets the assignments?”

“My boss.”

“Who is your boss?”

“I don’t know,” he says shyly.

“You don’t know who you work for?” Spencer asks. “How did you get the job?”

“I saw an ad on Craigslist because I was desperate for work. I just got laid off from my other job and I’d have taken anything at that point. I was supposed to meet with my boss but after one text, he hired me. We did all the paperwork online, and he sent me money orders after every job. I go to the bank. They’re legit money orders. Whenever there is a job, he texts me or the other three employees.”

“May we see some of the messages from your boss?”

“Sure.”

He takes out his phone and pulls up the messages. Spencer gets Penelope on the phone and reads the phone number back to her, but no luck. It’s a burner phone. If you had to guess, his boss is the unsub. Your phone rings and you step off to the side to answer Hotch’s call.”

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“There’s been another body. You and Reid are closer.”

“We’re on it.” You hang up and turn to the man. “Thank you for your help. Please call us if you remember anything else.”

You hand the man your card before you leave with Spencer. Detective Banks is already on the scene when you get there. Like with Justine, this new victim was found at the bottom of a cliff. This cliff is much smaller than the last one, and she isn’t naked. Only her shirt is torn to pieces from falling over rocks and sharp branches.

“Her name is Kaylee Robinson. A mountain biker found her not that long ago.”

“That was quick. He didn’t even wait a day before killing another woman.”

You grab some gloves and kneel next to the body. You move the tattered shirt away from her shoulder blade to see if the mark on Justine is just a mark or if it’s on all of them. You don’t know why you do this. Something is telling you to. Because Kaylee’s clothes protected her body, the mark wasn’t ruined by nature.

You gasp in horror when you see the mark for what it truly is.

“What is it?”

“I need to see the other bodies.”

You don’t want to say anything just in case if you’re wrong about this. If you’re not, you have a much bigger problem on your hands. You and Spencer leave Detective Banks at the scene to go to the ME who still has the other four victims’ bodies.

“You’re freaking me out, Y/N. What did you see?”

“Hold on. I need to check something.” With Spencer’s help, you lift all four victims so you can examine the shoulder blades. Just as you feared, there is the same mark on each of them. “Oh, this is bad.”

“What is?”

“Every victim has a mark on their shoulder blade. It’s a brand as if it was caused by a hot poker or a branding machine. Justine’s mark was mangled from the fall, but it was there. I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

You turn away from Spencer in shame and pull down your shirt to expose your shoulder blade. Right there, on the top, is the same branding mark.

“On me.” You face Spencer but refuse to look in his eyes. “My father put it there. He’s the one who burned it into my skin, and I know he’s burned it into theirs.”

“Your father? I never knew that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I tell my boyfriend that my father used to abuse me? I was ashamed and I still am. I don’t want to be. I’ve put this behind me.”

“You know we have to tell the team, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

You’d hope to keep this side of your past a secret from everyone but who knew your father would do such a thing like this? You’re quiet the rest of the ride back to the station and when you walk into the police station.

“I think we found our unsub,” Spencer blurts out.

“I noticed a mark on Justine’s shoulder blade. I thought it was nothing, at first, until Kaylee had one. The same mark. Spencer and I went to the ME’s office because I wanted to see if the others had the same mark on their shoulder blades. They did.”

“What mark?” Emily asks.

You turn and show them the mark on your shoulder. “This mark. My father put it there after a really bad night.” You turn back around. “My father used to beat me and took his anger out on me with cigarettes. Fortunately, those marks have healed but he didn’t like that. I got really good at hiding the marks he left on my body when he decided to brand me instead. A mark I couldn’t hide. He made me wear clothes that showed off my shoulders so that everyone knew I belonged to him. The mark is his initials.”

“What happened after that?” JJ asks. “I mean, how did you get away from him?”

“He went to jail on a count of theft. A convenience store. My mother had passed shortly after I was born. I was put into foster care, but I was almost eighteen so I didn’t stay there long. I didn’t know he got out.”

“What’s his name?” Hotch asks.

“Peter Kamps.”

Derek dials Penelope, and you sit down at the table in silence. You had to have seen this coming eventually. It was foolish of you to think you had escaped him forever. Spencer walks behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder for support.

“We have a name. What can you tell me about Peter Kamps with a K.”

“Oh, I can tell you a lot about him. For starters, he has an arrest record that’s a mile long. Save for rape, this guy has done it all. B&E, murder, kidnapping, assault and battery, and even drug charges. He owns a contracting company called Big Al’s Crew that only has four employees. He has one daughter… Oh…”

“It’s okay, Pen, they know,” you say.

“I am so sorry, Y/N.”

“Garcia, do you have an address?”

“I have two. One is a house that’s been in his name even after he went to prison. I guess he had someone looking after it.” All eyes turn to you. “Another is a farming property that he uses for his contracting company and other side businesses. That one is in his name but is behind on payments.”

“If you have his addresses, you’re already too late,” you say. “I bet he’s moved on by now.”

“Let’s go.” You get up but Hotch stops you from following them. “You have to stay here.”

“What?”

“You have a history with him. We can’t afford anything to go wrong.”

You’re left alone in the police station like a child, but maybe it’s for the best. You know they won’t find anything at both places. One, you’ve been taking care of your childhood home which is why he hasn’t lost it yet. Two, you’ve been to the farmhouse plenty of times on your own. They’re not going to find anything there.

But you know where you will find something.

This time, you’re going to do something you should have done a long time ago.

Fight back.

You grab your jacket and leave the station in hopes they left one of the cars behind. Luck is on your side because they did, and you find the keys in the center console. Hotch made it a rule to leave all keys inside the car when not in use because he’s had to deal with a few too many locked cars in the past.

You lied to Spencer.

You’re not over it. You’ve been waiting for this moment the first time he laid his hands on you. You drive out of town and to a desolate neighborhood. The only people who live here are runaways and drug lords. You park in front of a two-story house and get out nervously. You might be ready to finally fight back but you’re nervous as hell. The front door is ajar when you approach it, and you kick open the door slowly and carefully. The house is dark and silent, two things that terrify you.

The flashlight on your gun is the only thing that’s lighting your way as you make your way through the house. The stairs creak when you step on them. If he’s here, he knows you’re here now. Most of the bedrooms are empty without a hiding space big enough to fit someone like your father. The last place you check is the master bedroom which has few furniture pieces in it.

“I was wondering when you would find me.”

You freeze from hearing his voice from behind you. Stay strong, Y/N. He’s not going to win this time. You turn around and face the man responsible for destroying your youth and innocence.

“I did.”

He eyes the gun in your hands. “I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”

“You sick son of a bitch. You killed all those women.”

“Call it substitution for the one I really wanted. You.”

“Yeah, well, I’m bigger now. You can’t break me down this time.”

“We’ll see,” he smirks.

You aim the gun at his head. “I could shoot you right now.”

“But you won’t.”

“You’re right. I won’t.” You lower the weapon and toss it onto the bed. “Guns were never your thing, and I want you to feel me kicking your ass.”

All the classes you took on self-defense amount up to this moment. You were picturing the instructor as your father. You were training for this exact moment. Your father rushes at you but you easily block his attempts to attack. You kick his legs and he crumbles to the ground, and you pounce on him before he can get back up. You wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze as tight as you can, but he’s always been more durable than you are.

He bucks his hips and kicks you off him, and you scramble to get away from him. He will kill you if he gets his hands on you but you’re not going to let that happen. You barely get to your feet when your father grabs you and slams you into the wall. He wraps his arm around your neck in a chokehold and puts his dirty mouth next to your ear.

“What are you going to do now, little girl?”

“This.”

You push off the wall and use your father as support to basically walk on the wall. When your feet get high above his head, you swing backwards and punch him to the ground. The door is closer than your gun so you don’t even think about turning and sprinting out of the room.

“You ungrateful little bitch! I’ll kill ya!”

Your father gets to his feet and runs after you. You barely make it to the railing by the stairs when he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you back into him. He uses all of his strength and slams your head nose-first into the splintering wooden railing. You crumble to the ground in a moan of pain. You can already taste and smell metal as your mouth and nose fills with blood. Your father pants and stands in front of the railing, looking down at you menacingly. The only thing to light this place is the dim moonlight.

“Have any last words?” he sneers.

“Yeah. I’ll see you in Hell.”

You kick him where the sun doesn't shine, and he doubles over in pain. His face is right in your line of attack, and you kick his face as hard as you can. He stumbles back in pain and trips over an uneven board. He slams into the wooden railing and it cracks under his bulky weight. He shouts in shock as he falls through the railing and down to the first floor.

You jump to your feet and look over the railing to see him impaled on a broken two by four. You move your eyes up slightly and see the front door wide open and your entire team standing there with guns in their hands.

“It was an accident?” you say, unsure of yourself.

The ambulance is called as well as the police. The front door is wide open so you’re able to see right into the house where your father fell. The paramedic is assessing your injuries while you’re staring at your father’s body. The man who tormented you, beat you, branded you, is dead. You killed him and you don’t even care if they arrest you for murder. You’d happily go to jail if it means he’s dead for good.

“You lied to me,” you pull your eyes away from your dad to look at Hotch, “and you disobeyed me.”

“Am I fired?”

“I’m tempted to do it right now.”

“I’m sorry, Hotch, but I’m not sorry I did it. If you were ever abused by someone and then learned you had the power to fight back, you’d understand why I had to do this.”

“My office when we get back.” He turns to leave but pauses. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay.”

“I’ll ride with you,” Spencer says when he approaches you.

“Spencer, I’m fine.”

“You dislocated your nose at best. You’re going to the hospital,” the paramedic says.

“Fine,” you chuckle.

“Next time, tell me when you’re going to do something like this, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod and kiss him.

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