#hotch tying knots

[kiwriteswords]

possible whump request 🫣 reader getting hurt during a case and having to be hospitalized and hotch feeling off the charts guilty because he feels like it’s his fault so he distances himself? ty ily

The Guilt He Holds [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: Hii! Thank you for the request. I think Hotch owns the emotion of guilt more than any character I have ever read/watched before, lol. But I hope you enjoy this!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon typical violence, canon typical themes, blood, waterboarding, trauma, torture, guilty!hotch, established relationship, potential tbc? (this is becoming my norm because I never know when to stop), Protective and reckless Hotch, BAU Reader

Summary: After a heated argument drives you to seek some air, you are kidnapped by an unsub. This incident forces Hotch to confront his guilt and the torment of nearly losing someone he loves all over again.

As Hotch navigated the cramped corridors of the local precinct, the turmoil in his mind was as narrow as the hallways themselves.

The urgency of the ongoing manhunt clashed violently with his personal conflicts, rendering each step a testament to his barely contained frustration.

"Why are we even discussing this here, at a time like this?" he snapped, pivoting sharply to confront you, his intense gaze burning with a fervor seldom seen beyond the field.

You stood resolute, your voice tinged with frustration. "Because you keep dodging this conversation, Aaron! We need to address it if there's any hope of making this work."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of his dual roles as a leader and a partner pressing down on him. "Look, I care about you, you know that. But we have a killer on the loose, and you want to talk about us? This is exactly why I was against this."

The precinct hummed with activity around them--the constant clatter of keyboards, the sharp ring of phones, the urgent shouts of officers updating one another. Yet, in that moment, their world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, isolated in their bubble of tension.

"I'm not trying to make things difficult," you countered, your voice a blend of pleading and defiance. "But pretending everything is fine isn't working. I need to know where we stand, especially with how closely we work together."

Hotch studied you, his expression set in stone. The risk of jeopardizing both his career and the unexpected relationship weighed heavily on him. "I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words freeing yet fraught with implications. "But I have to be realistic. What if this compromises our work? What if it affects the team?"

You crossed your arms, the hurt evident in your eyes. "And what if it doesn’t? What if we're better together in all aspects? We won’t know unless we try, Aaron."

As the tension escalated, Hotch's frustration crystallized into a biting retort. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this was a mistake--not just us, but assuming you could balance this job and a relationship without one affecting the other.” The words were harsher than intended, and he regretted them instantly.

You recoiled, shock and hurt washing over your face. Silently, you turned and stormed out of the precinct, leaving behind a stunned silence. Hotch remained frozen, haunted by the harshness of his words. He rubbed his face, torn between chasing after you and maintaining his command.

Before he could decide, the precinct door burst open. JJ rushed in, her face pale, her breath short. “Hotch!” she gasped your name, her voice laced with panic. “There’s--there’s blood outside, and her badge…” She held up your badge, smeared with blood, discovered next to a large puddle on the pavement just outside.

Hotch felt the room spin as the gravity of the situation struck him. The argument, his cruel words, and now this horror. Guilt and fear knotted in his stomach. “Show me,” he whispered hoarsely as he followed JJ outside.

Outside, the scene was grim. Fresh blood trailed off around the corner of the building. Hotch's trained eyes quickly scanned the area, piecing together the likely scenario--the unsub might have been waiting, perhaps having followed you from the precinct.

“Get a team out here now! Set up a perimeter, and get Garcia on the line. Check every camera in this area,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the turmoil inside him as he slipped back into his role as unit chief.

His mind raced with the worst possibilities. He had always feared how a relationship could complicate their work, but never like this. His last words to you, so cutting and final, echoed in his mind, haunting him with their potential finality.

“JJ, stay here with the team and coordinate the search. I’m going to check the surrounding area. He can’t have gotten far,” Hotch stated, his voice firm despite the panic gnawing at him. He couldn’t afford to freeze--not when your life hung in the balance.

Following the blood trail that marked your sudden, violent departure, Hotch’s heart pounded against his ribs, driven by fear and adrenaline. He had to find you, had to fix this monumental error. Nothing else mattered now.

As hours passed, the team noted their normally composed leader coming undone. The reality of your absence was crushing. Overwhelmed by guilt and responsibility, Hotch moved mechanically, his usual precision replaced by a haunted, distracted demeanor.

His mind replayed the harsh words he had hurled at you, growing louder with each hour that passed without news of your safety. The precinct felt heavier with his palpable guilt, casting a shadow over everyone present. They exchanged concerned glances, deeply aware of his turmoil but uncertain how to help.

Blaming himself for the argument that put you in harm's way and his failure to protect you, his torment grew. Now, potentially facing the gravest consequence, the thought that he might never rectify his mistake tormented him endlessly.

Then, Garcia's voice cracked through the tension, a beacon of urgent hope. "Hotch, you need to see this," she called out, dread coloring her tone. At her workstation, the sight that met Hotch’s eyes was a live stream of you, tied to a chair, visibly beaten, the intermittent waterboarding a grotesque display of your torment.

Hotch's reaction was immediate and fierce. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to furious slits, hands balled into fists, he embodied pure, unbridled rage. The team, taken aback by his intense emotion, rallied to his side, spurred into action.

"Trace it! Now!" he commanded, voice booming through the room. Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard, tracing the digital breadcrumbs back to their source. Hotch's mind was ablaze with thoughts of rescue and retribution, focused solely on saving you, ending your suffering, and ensuring the unsub would pay dearly.

The torture worsened, and your condition visibly deteriorated on the live feed. Blood streaked across your face, each breath a struggle. Hotch gripped a chair, his knuckles white, tension radiating from him like a storm cloud.

Derek stepped up, voice calm but firm. "Hotch, man, we’re going to get her. Stay focused. You’re no good to her like this," he attempted to ground his friend in reality.

But before Derek could continue, Garcia interrupted with a vital update. "I got it! I got an address!" Her words shook with the weight of the situation.

Hotch’s expression shifted from despair to determined resolve in an instant. "Gear up; we move now!" he ordered, leading a swift charge towards the exit. The team followed, each member fueled by a blend of professional duty and a deep personal stake in your rescue.

As they loaded into the SUVs, the tension was palpable. Hotch’s mind sharpened, focused entirely on the operation. Every second was agonizing, each tick of the clock stretching into eternity as he planned each move, driven by a silent vow to bring you back safely.

As the SUV screeched to a halt outside the decrepit slaughterhouse, Hotch was already out the door, his FBI vest barely secured. The building loomed ominously, its walls echoing the horrors of its past and now, the terror of the present. Hotch didn't wait for backup or even the tactical count of three; driven by the raw urgency of your screams piercing through the silence, he charged in recklessly.

He was certain he heard Derek--maybe even Emily’s voice call after him, but he didn’t wait. He just went.

The interior was a labyrinth of dark, narrow corridors, the air thick with the stench of decay and old blood that mingled with a faint, metallic scent of fresh blood--yours. Each cry, each plea that he heard fueled him, tearing at his heart and propelling him forward with increased desperation. The sound of your distress was a siren call he couldn’t ignore, and it guided him through the twisted pathways of the building.

Turning a corner sharply, Hotch came face-to-face with the unsub. The man they had been hunting for what felt like weeks, but it only was days. He stood so much bigger--taller…larger than you. The thought and images of this man taking advantage of you…Hotch couldn’t bare to think of it anymore.

He knew what the other victims went through. He was there were some people out there who would have rathered been dead after being at the hands of this unsub. But you, you fought back as long as you could. 

The man lunged, wild-eyed and frenzied, but Hotch was fueled by a deep, seething rage that had been building since the moment he saw the live feed of your torture. He dodged the initial clumsy swing and grabbed the unsub by the collar, throwing him against the wall.

Hotch’s training was precise, but his emotions were raw and unfiltered. As the unsub struggled, striking out to fend off the attack, Hotch’s response was brutal. He unleashed a flurry of punches, each blow landing with the full weight of his fury and fear for your safety. The unsub tried to shield himself, but Hotch was relentless, driven by the vivid images of your pain that played over in his mind.

With each punch, Hotch felt a mix of satisfaction and horror at his own loss of control. The man beneath him was the source of his worst fears made manifest, and in that moment, Hotch was not just an agent of the law but an avenger, a protector whose love had been weaponized by his terror.

His fists were numb at this point--his entire body, honestly. If he had to think back on the only time he felt rage like this, it was when…it was when he found Haley. But he was too late. 

He couldn’t be too late for you. 

He couldn’t. 

The sounds of the altercation echoed through the empty spaces of the slaughterhouse, a stark and grim symphony that underscored the violence of the confrontation. Hotch’s breaths were heavy, his face splattered with the blood of the man he was punishing. It wasn’t until he heard the shouts of his team, echoing down the hall and approaching fast, that he realized how far he’d gone.

“Hotch! Hotch, stand down!” It was Derek’s voice, firm yet filled with concern, cutting through the haze of Hotch’s red-tinted vision.

He paused, his fists still raised, hovering over the now barely conscious unsub. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled with the adrenaline and aftermath of his onslaught. As his team restrained the unsub and called for medical help, Hotch stepped back, his gaze shifting around, searching for you, needing to see that you were safe, to reassure himself that there was still something left to save.

Rossi's voice barely registered as he tried to intervene, his hands reaching out to grasp Hotch's bloodied fists, an attempt to bring him back from the edge. "Hotch, wait!" he shouted, but it was too late. Hotch was already barreling through the next set of doors, his focus singular and unbreakable.

Inside the grim room, the sight that greeted him was one of stark horror and desperation. You were slumped over in a chair, your body limp with exhaustion and pain. JJ and Emily were by your side, quickly working to untie the wires that dug cruelly into your wrists, their edges slick with your blood. Each movement they made was gentle yet urgent, trying to minimize any further harm.

Hotch froze at the threshold, his heart hammering in his chest as the scene unfolded before him. The room was cold, the only sounds were your soft groans and the quiet reassurances from JJ and Emily as they freed you from your bindings. The air was thick, tinged with the iron scent of blood and the stale mustiness of abandonment.

As Hotch stepped closer, the full extent of your injuries became painfully clear. Bruises in various shades of purple and black marred your face and arms, and blood had stained your clothing. Seeing your once vibrant presence reduced to such a state unleashed a wave of guilt so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. He had seen countless victims, had steeled himself against the worst of humanity, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of you, so broken and vulnerable.

The bile rose in his throat as he approached, his steps faltering. The guilt of knowing his last words to you before this ordeal were steeped in anger and frustration made him feel responsible for every mark on your body. He felt as if he had failed you in the most fundamental way.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," JJ was saying softly as she carefully cut the last of the wire. Emily supported your weight, helping you to lean forward as the final restraint was removed.

Hotch's breath caught in his throat as you looked up, your eyes meeting his. Even through the pain and exhaustion, the relief in your gaze at seeing him was palpable. It was a look that pierced through the chaos, through the guilt and the rage, grounding him in the moment, in the necessity of being there for you now.

"I'm so sorry," he managed to choke out, the words barely a whisper as he knelt beside you, his hand hesitating before gently touching your arm, afraid of causing more pain. "I'm here now. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

The room seemed to contract around him, the walls echoing back his whispered apologies. As JJ and Emily continued to tend to you, Hotch remained by your side, his presence a silent vow to protect and make amends, no matter what it took.

As the medics flooded into the dim, grimy room, their presence was clearly a blur to you, their movements too sudden and intrusive in the vulnerable state you were in. Even as they reached out to drape a safety blanket over your shoulders, your instincts kicked in--raw and frightened like a cornered animal. 

"Don't touch me!" you managed to rasp out, your voice hoarse and strained from the ordeal.

The medics paused, taken aback by the intensity of your refusal but insistent on their duty. "You need medical attention now," one of them pressed, his tone both firm and clinical.

JJ, always the nurturing presence, tried to soothe you, her voice soft and motherly. "Sweetie, they're here to help you. We need to let them do their job." Her intentions were good, but the words felt like another layer of constraint, another set of hands trying to control you.

"No! Just--just give me a minute, please," you snapped back, the room spinning slightly as you struggled to maintain some semblance of control over what was happening to you.

Caught between his role as a leader and his personal feelings, Hotch watched helplessly for a moment, torn by your evident distress. Seeing another medic reach out to touch you again, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Give her a minute!" Hotch's voice boomed through the room, authoritative and commanding, halting the medic's movements instantly.

He turned to JJ and Emily, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Can you give us the room, please?" he asked quietly, the gravity of his tone conveying the seriousness of his request.

JJ and Emily exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of concern and reluctance, but they nodded, trusting Hotch's judgment. They slowly exited the room, their steps retreating into the echo of the hollow, abandoned building.

Now alone with you, Hotch approached cautiously, his movements deliberate and gentle. He crouched down to your level, keeping a respectful distance to not overwhelm you further. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the commanding tone he used with the others.

"Hey," he started, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might need from him. "I'm here, okay? No one's going to force you to do anything you're not ready for. We can take this as slow as you need." His gaze was steady, offering reassurance without the burden of expectation.

Your bottom lip trembled, the fear and relief mingling into a raw, vulnerable expression as your eyes locked with Hotch's. The familiarity of his presence, a stark contrast to the chaos and pain of the last hours, cracked the last of your composure. 

"Aaron," you whimpered, your voice breaking with the weight of everything you had endured. The sound of his name--the voice he feared he may never hear again--it almost completely broke whatever was left of him. 

"I know, I know," Hotch murmured gently, his voice low and soothing. Carefully, he reached for the safety blanket discarded by the medics. His movements were slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt no threat, only the promise of comfort. He unfolded the blanket with a tenderness that seemed to fill the cold, harsh space of the slaughterhouse.

With the blanket open wide, he leaned in slightly, giving you space to decide. Sensing your readiness, he gently wrapped the soft fabric around your shoulders, enveloping you in a warm embrace that felt like a shield against the harsh world. The blanket was a simple piece of fabric, but under Hotch's careful handling, it became a cocoon, offering the first touch of safety you'd felt in what seemed like forever.

As the blanket settled around you, your defenses crumbled, and you leaned into Hotch, your body instinctively seeking the reassurance of his physical presence. It was a silent plea for comfort, for a sign that it was truly over. Hotch responded without hesitation, his arms opening to receive you. You fell into him, your body heavy with exhaustion and emotional overload.

Hotch held you close, his arms strong yet gentle around you. He rested his chin on the top of your head. He didn't speak; no words were needed. His presence, the steady beat of his heart against yours, spoke volumes. 

As the ambulance doors slammed shut, Hotch took a seat beside you, his presence a silent vow of protection and support. His team had given him a nod of encouragement, understanding the personal stakes involved, and affirming his decision to accompany you. The ride to the hospital was a blur, with the sirens cutting through the bustling city noise, yet inside the ambulance, there was a bubble of strained silence.

Hotch watched every move the paramedics made, each one meticulous and aimed at stabilizing your condition. His guilt was a tangible presence in the cramped space, each bandage they wrapped, each wince you couldn't suppress, felt like a direct indictment of his failure to protect you sooner. He kept his gaze fixed on you, his eyes tracing the lines of pain etched across your face, the consequences of his decisions written on your bruised skin.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the flurry of activity intensified as medical staff quickly took over. They moved you to a triage area where the stark fluorescent lights seemed to highlight the severity of your condition. Hotch remained by your side, a silent observer to the flurry of activity. As doctors and nurses cleaned your wounds, their gentle swipes at the blood and grime felt to him like strokes of accusation, each one whispering of what had happened under his watch.

You sat through it all, the shock still enveloping you like a thick fog, your voice lost somewhere on the floor of the slaughterhouse. You were responsive only to the touch of the medical staff, a nod here, a slight move there, as they stitched up your wounds and ran a series of tests to assess the damage not immediately visible.

Hotch found himself floundering under the weight of helplessness as he watched. The hospital's antiseptic smell, the constant beeping of machines monitoring vital signs, and the soft murmurs of the medical staff discussing your condition, all seemed to echo in the hollow space of guilt inside him. Each stitch they placed was a reminder of every moment you had spent waiting for rescue, every moment he had failed to prevent your ordeal.

Amid the clinical detachment of reports and assessments, Hotch felt an overwhelming need to do something, say something that could bridge the gulf of trauma and guilt between you. But the words were lodged in his throat, stifled by the realization that no apology could undo the pain you endured, no words could erase the scars that would mark this day. 

So, he stayed, his hand finding yours, a silent communicator of his commitment and remorse, hoping that his presence could offer a sliver of comfort in the sterile, cold environment of the hospital.

The doctor motioned for Hotch to step into the hallway, a request he followed with a sense of dread tightening in his chest. The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor cast a stark glow, making the seriousness of the conversation even more palpable.

"Your partner will need extensive care, both physically and emotionally," the doctor began, his tone professional yet empathetic. "The trauma she's experienced is significant. It's clear she's been deeply affected by what happened."

Hotch nodded, his expression grave. He knew the road to recovery would be long and fraught with challenges, but hearing it so plainly stated by the doctor hammered home the reality of the situation.

"We'd normally recommend a 24-hour psychiatric evaluation under these circumstances to better understand her needs and ensure her safety," the doctor continued. "However, given your relationship and her response to your presence, it seems she might benefit more immediately from familiar support."

Hotch felt a mixture of relief and immense responsibility at the doctor's words. The idea that his presence could offer you some measure of comfort, that he could play a direct role in your recovery, gave him a focused purpose amid the swirling guilt.

"If you’re willing, your support could be crucial right now," the doctor added. "She’s clearly traumatized, and having someone she trusts by her side can make a significant difference in how she copes with these initial hours."

"I'll be here. Whatever she needs," Hotch affirmed without hesitation. The decision was simple in his mind; there was nowhere else he would be, no other role he would rather fill than to be there for you, to try and mend the sense of safety that had been so violently torn away.

The doctor nodded, seeming satisfied with his commitment. "I’ll arrange for a comfortable environment where you can stay with her. We’ll still need to monitor her closely and start working on a treatment plan that addresses both her physical injuries and psychological trauma."

"Thank you, doctor. I appreciate everything you’re doing," Hotch said, his tone sincere. The gratitude he felt for the medical team's efforts was profound, though shadowed by the ongoing concern for your well-being.

With the Unsub in custody and your discharge papers signed, the BAU could take you back home from the case.

As the jet sliced through the skies on the way back home, the interior was filled with a subdued silence. The rest of the team made quiet, gentle attempts to comfort you, but you remained mostly silent, your eyes closed, seemingly retreating into a cocoon of solitude. 

Despite the hum of the engines and the occasional murmurs from the team, the atmosphere was heavy, laden with concern for you and the unspoken tensions of the recent ordeal.

Hotch sat stiffly in his seat, his gaze intermittently shifting from the reports in his hands to where you rested across the jet.

He wasn't in his clear mind to be doing bureaucratic paperwork, but here he was, acting like a coward, afraid to face your reaction to the events he felt he caused.

Each glance was a mixture of concern and self-reproach. The harsh words he had hurled at you before your abduction haunted him, echoing in his mind with relentless persistence.

He was wracked with guilt, convinced that his actions had somehow contributed to the horror you endured, fearing that you would see him now as part of the nightmare rather than a source of safety.

Emily, observant and intuitive, noticed Hotch's troubled demeanor and the distance he maintained. She approached him quietly, her expression serious. "You need to knock it off and go sit with her," she urged, nodding subtly towards you.

Hotch looked up, his frown deepening, a mix of defensiveness and confusion in his eyes. Emily didn’t flinch; she held his gaze steadily. "Right now, I don’t care that you’re the boss, Hotch. She needs you, and you need to make things right."

He opened his mouth to protest, perhaps to say that his presence might not be what you needed, but Emily continued, her voice firm yet filled with compassion. "Look at her, Hotch. She looks broken and shouldn’t be alone. Whatever happened before, whatever was said--it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re there for her when she wakes up."

Her words cut through his hesitation like a knife. Hotch knew Emily was right; his role as a leader was not just to command but to care, to mend the fissures that trauma had wrought in the team, especially in you.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch stood up, his resolve firming. He moved across the cabin, taking a seat beside you. As he sat down, the proximity to you, the sound of your quiet breathing, brought an aching mix of relief and renewed guilt. He watched you, your features relaxed in sleep but still reflecting the shadows of recent pain.

Gently, almost hesitantly, he reached out to take your hand, his touch tentative as if testing whether his presence was welcome. His other hand brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, a gesture tender and protective.

When you finally opened your eyes, the weight of the entire ordeal reflected in your gaze, Hotch braced himself for any reaction--hurt, anger, or worse, disgust. However, what he saw instead was relief, a softening around your eyes that eased some of the heavy guilt anchoring his heart.

Sensing your need for comfort, Hotch tentatively opened his arms, an unspoken invitation for closeness. With a small, almost imperceptible nod, you moved closer and cuddled into his side on the jet's couch. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you gently against him, providing a warmth and security that only his presence could offer.

As you settled against him, a quiet sigh escaped you, one that spoke of burdens shared and the beginning of healing. Hotch's heart responded with a surge of protectiveness and affection, his own relief mirroring yours.

In that moment, with the quiet drone of the jet’s engines in the background and the softness of your presence beside him, Hotch felt a profound clarity.

The rest of the team, ever observant, watched this quiet exchange with a mixture of contentment and happiness.

It was more than just seeing one of their own safe; it was witnessing a bond reaffirmed under the harshest of tests. Their expressions held smiles of gentle approval, knowing too well the challenges both of you faced, both personally and as part of the team.

Hotch, holding you close, felt a deep-seated realization settle within him.

Despite the complications and potential risks of intertwining work and personal lives, being together and supporting each other was infinitely better than being apart.

The love that he had tried to compartmentalize away from his professional duties was not a vulnerability but a strength, a cornerstone for both of you to lean on in times of crisis.

Conversations would come later, but for now? This would do.

[heartbeat-side]

Hotch/Anderson one-shots #1

Prompt: Tying each others tie (sfw)

Words: 473

My little challenge of writing short one shots and eventually posting them to ao3

The soft chime of the alarm clock stirred the quiet of the bedroom just after six. Light was barely starting to creep through the curtains, casting a faint glow on the two figures tangled beneath the sheets. Aaron was the first to move, reaching out to silence the alarm with a practiced swipe before turning toward the man beside him.

Grant was curled slightly toward him, his face still tucked into the pillow, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks. Aaron smiled faintly and leaned down to press a kiss to his temple.

“Time to get up,” he murmured gently.

Grant made a sleepy sound that might have been a protest, or a plea for five more minutes.

But eventually, they were both out of bed, padding softly around the apartment in comfortable silence, trading small touches and quiet conversation as they began their routine. Hotch was already in the kitchen making coffee by the time Grant wandered in with damp hair and a dress shirt draped over one arm.

“You didn’t start without me, did you?” Grant asked, eyeing the steam curling from Hotch’s mug.

Aaron handed him his own freshly poured cup. “Never.”

They stood close while sipping their coffee, the kind of silence between them that felt easy and content. After a few moments, they moved into the bedroom to get dressed. Grant was halfway through buttoning his shirt when he looked over, tie in hand.

“Will you?”

Hotch, already slipping his blazer on over a crisp white shirt, stepped forward without a word. He took the tie from Grant’s fingers and looped it around his neck, fingers moving with careful precision.

As he worked, their eyes stayed locked, Grant’s expression soft, warm despite the early hour.

“You always make the knot better than I do,” Grant murmured, voice quiet.

“That’s because you get impatient halfway through,” Aaron replied with a faint smirk.

“Impatient, or distracted?”

Hotch gave him a look, but there was amusement behind it. “Done,” he said, giving the knot a final tug, snug and clean against Grant’s collar.

“My turn,” Grant said, stepping close.

Aaron stood still as Grant took his own tie and carefully smoothed the fabric, looping it around Hotch’s neck with a kind of reverence. His fingers were a little slower, a little more deliberate, not from lack of skill, but from wanting the moment to last. When he was done, he smoothed his palms down Aaron’s chest, letting them linger.

“We look good,” Grant said quietly.

Aaron leaned down to kiss him, brief, but meaningful. “We always do.”

They stood there for another moment, appreciating each other in the gentle morning quiet. And then, without fanfare, they grabbed their bags and headed for the door, stepping out into the world as they always did, together, a quiet force of calm amid the chaos.

[leavemurph]

what i’m working on rn is post-doyle, emily ends up keeping declan. and in the middle of trying to figure out how to parent a kid and not lose her job, she gets a wedding invite from her mother—who, surprise, is tying the knot again. now, showing up to this shindig as a single mom ranks slightly worse than faking her own death. so, naturally, she cooks up a plan. hotch, playing the role of doting, fake husband. because why not? if she's gotta survive the aunts, cousins, might as well bring in the big guns.

[hotch-girl]

THOMAS GIBSON as AARON “HOTCH” HOTCHNER 

CRIMINAL MINDS | 1.16 “THE TRIBE”

[ddejavvu]

Okay but I think hotch knows both the term dilf and the difference between sub and bottom, I think he would've overheard a discussion about bdsm between reid and prentiss 💀 like they'd just be talking about facts about it, things like the most efficient knot to use when tying a sub up or whatever lmao

LMFAOOO see dilf is definitely not a term he'd ever find on his own, but he definitely knows dom/sub top/bottom bc those are pretty basic sex terms. but for sure he'd overhear the most vulgar shit from the two of them LMFAO 😭

[subspencer]

imagine teasing little baby spence in the car. Like the teams SUV bro. maybe you wore a top that did your body some favors, and maybe it’s a v-neck or a scoop neck. maybe you wore pants that make your ass look . and the way you’re driving,,, the focus you have, the confidence you display, the way your hand grips the wheel, it just has him unable to keep his eyes off you. he tries, of course, but his eyes keep drifting back over to you and your body. you see this out of the corner of your eye and see him shuffling and shifting and squirming, but you try to ignore it. you two have been sent to the precinct to start a geographical profile. you have things to do. but he just keeps staring and squirming so you finally hit him with “everything okay, pretty boy?” and he was so preoccupied with how you look and your demeanor that he didn’t even think about the fact that you might be able to see him or that he wasn’t being subtle. and so suddenly he’s just sputtering trying to come up with a good reason to have been staring like he was. He can’t even come up with something before the two of you have arrived at the precinct. however, by the way he was staring and squirming, you’ve got a pretty good idea of what it is he wants.

you make an effort throughout the day to create unnecessary contact. asking him to pass you a pen and sliding your hand over his fingers before taking it. resting your hand on his shoulder to look at the map from behind him. maybe you even tell him he’s got an eyelash on his cheek and “wipe it off” for him (spoiler alert, no eyelash). you spend the whole time getting him all pent up and frustrated. when the night rolls around hotch calls you two from the field and tells you two to head to the hotel for the night.

the drive is silent for the first few minutes but you feel his eyes on you. you decide the two of you have time so you’re gonna put on a show for him. you stretch your body out and let out a little sigh that conveniently could be a moan in a different context. you shift your hips around a little bit. you stretch your neck and let out something maybe a little closer to a real moan. you hear spence let out an involuntary whimper and when you look over his head is in his hands. you look down and see a pretty prominent bulge in his pants, so you decide to take matters into your hands and turn off to find some abandoned back road. he notices and asks why you turned there, but you just stay silent until you find a spot to pull over and turn on the emergency lights and maybe even the police lights, just to make sure nobody bugs you or the car. you look over at him and tell him to be honest with you and tell you what he wants. obvious answers scream through his head but all he can do is blush and avoid eye contact. you can see you won’t get anywhere like this so you take his chin and gently tilt his head so he’s looking into your eyes. you tell him if he wants you to take care of that little problem he’s got for him, he needs to get out of the car and into the backseat, or if he’d prefer to pretend none of this ever happened, he can sit right there and they’ll drive off and never breathe another word of it.

his eyes go wide, and he hesitates because he’s not sure if you’re being genuine or if this is just to mess with him, but as he looks into your eyes he realizes this is for real. as soon as he confirms that he’s not getting played he rushes to undo his seatbelt and scrambles into the back. you follow his actions, far calmer than him, ofc, and you make sure to lock the car once you’re both inside in the back together. you go to touch his neck, and he leans into your touch with a soft sigh. you move to straddle him and press soft kisses on his face, and ask him if everything you’re doing is okay, and all he can do is nod vigorously. you tell him that if at any point he wants to stop he just needs to say it. he breathes out a soft “I won’t” and looks into your eyes, and something about that just makes you go feral. you start to kiss his lips with a hunger and lust, starting to tour his body with your hands as you feel him submit to you. he kisses back like the sweet touch starved boy he is, running his hands up and down your sides. you pull off your clothes from the waist up and tell him he can touch you however he’d like before you dive back in to kiss him. his hands are immediately on your chest. you arch your back and lean into his touch, feeling his thumbs rubbing back and forth over your nipples, and your lips are forced to disconnect from his by the moan that leaves your body. he begins to beg, “please, more” and you’re more than happy to oblige.

you slip your hands between your bodies to undo a few buttons on his shirt before you let them travel to his pants, which you unbutton and unzip so you can palm him through just his underwear. the way he moans and ruts into your hand is such a turn on, and you know you have to have him inside you. you stop touching him to start to wrestle your pants and underwear down and he hooks his fingers into the waistband to help push them down and off your legs as you lean into him for support to get them off completely. he stares at your body as you shift his pants down just enough so that you can push his underwear off and free his dick from the straining fabric. you take one of his hands off of you and guide it between the two of you and tell him to push his middle and ring finger inside of you. he’s a good boy and does as told, and it feels phenomenal, those long fingers exploring the warm, wet cavern, but that’s not their final destination. you pull his fingers out and help him drag that wetness to your clit, and tell him to rub little circles into that spot. ever eager to please, he does so, and you have to brace your hands on his chest to support yourself after the immediate jolt of pleasure, but once you’ve gotten into the groove of it, you’re on a mission. you guide his length to your entrance and sink down on him slowly, and he has to stop for a second to take in the sheer pleasure he’s experiencing in this moment. once he’s returned to his actions and you can tell he’s ready for more, you slowly begin to ride him, bouncing up and down and getting lost in the mix of it all; the sheer pleasure is overwhelming, and it is only aided by the sounds of both of your moans filling the hot air inside the car. the sound of skin slapping skin and the feeling of spencer moaning and whimpering into your neck as he feels your walls clench around him has your insides tying a knot that will soon come undone. you start to ride faster, come down harder, slipping your fingers into his hair and pulling so he’s looking at you before you lean down to leave a dark hickey right below his collarbone. you feel him twitch inside of you and know you’re both close. you tell him to rub your clit faster as you chase not just yours, but his orgasm as well. he’s dangerously good at following instructions, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge. he feels your walls begin to flutter and wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples and that throws you all the way off the cliff. your sudden orgasm triggers his, and you two ride out your highs together in absolute bliss. as you slow down to a stop, you’re both breathing heavy and leaning into one another for support. you peel yourself off and collect your underwear and pants and begin to redress yourself. as you reach for your bra and top he mutters a quick “uh.. thank you for that” as he fixes his shirt, pants, and underwear. you hit him with “anytime” as you finish putting yourself back together and exit the back of the vehicle. as you hop back in the front you back at him and ask if he plans to ride back to the hotel back there. as he exits and re-enters the SUV, you cut off the emergency lights and both of you buckle up. you drive back to the hotel in silence, and you head straight for your room with a nonchalant “goodnight spence.” he has no idea what just happened, but is thankful that it did, and even more so thankful for the eidetic memory that would allow him to remember this in perfection.

LMAO i did not mean to write a whole ass fic in your ask box i’m just Irreparably Horny™️ and once I started it just kept flowing. you are not at all obligated to post this 😂 ❤️ luh you bestie

-🍭

bestie i read this right before passing out last night so thank you for the bedtime story <3 this masterpiece must be shared i can’t believe you just got on a roll and popped the hell off like this 😩 i wish fjjxkdjsjs it take me eons to think of a single word

[stxrrywildflower]

friendship bracelets

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you make friendship bracelets for the team

warnings - cursing, mainly just fluff

word count - ?

you were always a hands-on person.

whether it was in your relationship or work, you always had to be doing something with your hands. with spencer, you always found yourself playing with the hem of his shirt or rubbing circles on his palm. with work, you always hated doing paperwork because you had to sit and focus on one thing. you were always tapping your hands on your desk or thigh while you did so.

the team quickly noticed this. on flights home, you couldn’t sit still and instead cracked your knuckles constantly or ran your fingers along the detailing of the tables and seats. they weren’t annoyed by this at all. they found it almost funny.

garcia decided to take initiative and help you.

one day at work, you were sitting at your desk. the case had just been presented and you were due to leave for the airport in thirty minutes. in that time, the team was gathering their go bags. except, that took all of two minutes. everyone then decided to just sit at their desks and wait. you, however, had a pen in hand and spun it around your fingers.

you had looked up suprised when a small plastic container with dividers was placed on your desk. garcia stepped back after revealing her gift.

“what’s this?” you asked as you set down your pen.

“well we all know you always have to be doing something with your hands, so i made you this. it’s a friendship bracelet making kit. there’s string, tape, and then little plastic things to wrap the string around for storage. i felt like making these bracelets and tying knots would be good,” penelope responded with a smile. 

you shot her a bright smile, “thank you pen, i love it.”

from there on, you began to tie knots. on the plane, you would make random bracelet patterns while you reviewed the case or on the flight home.

eventually, you made eight matching friendship bracelets. they were a simple design made with blue, gold, and white string. before everyone had arrived, you had placed the bracelets on your team’s individual desks with a note before retreating to your desk, already wearing your own bracelet.

when j.j. and emily came in first, they grinned brightly at the gift before tying the bracelets tightly on each other. penelope was next, she thanked you, holding up her wrist to show the bracelet. when spencer and derek arrived, spencer picked up the piece of knotted string between his fingers.

“you made us these?” he asked. you nodded simply with a smile.

“hey pretty boy! come over here and tie this on me,” derek had called. “guess what morgan, mines more special. it has a heart knotted in it,” spencer teased. derek fake gasped and held his hand up. “wow,” was all his said making you laugh.

you honestly didn’t know if hotch and rossi were actually going to wear the bracelets or appreciate your efforts but upon entering the conference room, you were suprised.

“nice bracelet,” hotch had spoke, pulling back the sleeve on his suit jacket slightly to reveal the multi-colored band on his wrist. rossi did the same.

you grinned brightly as the rest of the team did the same, all showing their new matching jewelry. it would go on to become a team tradition. whenever someone’s fell off, they always had a new one. the eight of you claimed it as a sign of family and unity.

and you all couldn’t be more right.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Get a Hairband or Get a Haircut (Bi!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s boyfriend sees Spencer with his hair in a bun. He pulls some strings to make sure he’ll see that sight more often.

AN: Look, I just want to see this man with his hair up. Thank you to my pals on Discord for prompting me to write this!

Word count: 2.3k

Your name: submit What is this?

“Some of the worst mistakes in my life were haircuts” ― Jim Morrison

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer’s attention was drawn away from his stack of paperwork when he spied, out of the corner of his eye, his boyfriend approaching his desk. Y/N looked as handsome as ever in his work’s uniform, the FBI VISITOR badge pinned above his heart. Spencer sat up straight first, like a meerkat, then stood to attention with his cane in one hand.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting with a pen.

Y/N held up one of their Tupperware from home, “I took your lunch by accident.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice. Give me a second.”

Bringing it up onto his desk, Spencer began rifling through his bag. He managed to keep up the persona of a man who had definitely not swapped lunches so that he could see his boyfriend again during his work day.

When Spencer turned back to Y/N, Y/N was just beaming away at him. Yeah, this switch-a-roo was definitely worth it. He couldn’t help but smile back as they swapped lunch boxes.

“Thanks,” Y/N said then used it to gesture over his shoulder, “I gotta head back to work quick, so I’ll see you tonight.” Before leaving, he bit his lip and took a step back, “I dig the new ‘do by the way.”

It was then that Spencer remembered his hair was still up in a bun. He’d asked JJ to borrow a hair tie after his overgrown fringe had fallen in the way one too many times. His neck went a light shade of red as Y/N blew a kiss to him before turning around to leave the building. His hand went to the back of his head, fingers wrapping around the bun to confirm that yes, it was still there. Spencer watched until Y/N rounded the corner towards the exit. Then, and only then, did he sit back down and return to his files.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It had always been an easy target for the BAU team to playfully poke, Spencer’s hair. The boy band trim was a classic case of “let’s make quips at Doctor Reid”. Y/N wasn’t above joining in the teasing whenever it arose. One of his best jokes was that Spencer would often enter a raid with his hair bouncing around like an Afghan Hound trotting to first place at Crufts.

Y/N saved the praise for when they were alone.

That evening was no different to any other, plus the promise of a lie-in the following morning. Y/N made dinner for himself and Spencer – left warm in the oven for whenever he came home – and got out of his work clothes as soon as he could. He ate alone on the sofa, with his feet up and the dish on a cushioned lap tray.

The news was depressing, the game shows were dull, the documentaries were dismal. TV had really let itself go in terms of what it broadcast for the nine-to-fivers.

Pulling one of Spencer’s hairs out of the keyboard, Y/N pulled up a film on his laptop and linked it up to the TV. He retrieved one of his bags of candy from the coffee table’s drawer. The theme song skipped, he watched without extreme attention paid to the events unfolding. One episode blended into another, paused so that Y/N could change out of his work clothes before he got too lazy. He returned to his warm spot on the couch and snacked mindlessly until-

The front door clicked open and again when shut. Tilting his head back, Y/N was greeted by Spencer kissing his hairline whilst walking by. Y/N hummed, his eyes drifting shut at the gesture, and Spencer smiled – his hand squeezing on Y/N’s shoulder before letting go.

“How was work?” Y/N asked, watching Spencer head straight to the oven.

He pulled out the dish and spooned some of the lasagne into the bowl Y/N had set out for him, “Uh, just paperwork today mostly. How was your day?”

“Just the usual my end too,” Y/N joined him at the table, eating the rest of his snacks.

For a while, they exchanged a catch up on how things in their respective offices were going. Y/N had hidden an electronic whoopie cushion in one of the filing cabinets opposite his desk and activated when a person passed by. It took until an hour before the end of the day. Meanwhile Spencer had performed his new magic trick on Penelope, Prentiss, and JJ. Derek had ducked away into Hotch’s office before he could try anything.

Y/N could only keep his glee hidden for so long though.

“I got you something.”

And he pulled the present from under his legs and placed it beside Spencer’s plate. Brown paper – recyclable, naturally – and string neatly tied it together. It was straight from a story book.

Spencer put down his cutlery and lifted the gift gingerly, his eyes moving across the folds to try and determine what could be inside. It was light, a bit squishy. Then impatience took over and he became a kid at Christmas tearing away at the paper to free his present.

His chin in his palms, Y/N watched nervously as Spencer released his present, “Figured you should get some of your own, stop you stealing from JJ.”

It was technically a gag gift, but if Spencer was genuinely up for tying his hair back with one of these seven scrunchies, so was Y/N.

“You’re hilarious and you can cook,” Spencer spun the packet around his fingers, “When did I get so lucky?”

“Should be asking myself that, with the smartest and most gorgeous doctor in my apartment.”

A pair of scissors from the drawer snipped the plastic ties off and Spencer selected the purple one. He slipped it on his wrist, beginning to scoop his hair to the back of his head. Y/N watched, enraptured as Spencer pulled the scrunchie over the bun and twisted it around until it was secure.

“You are so pretty,” cooed Y/N, “The FBI’s Next Top Model.”

That bashful smile, the crinkles in the corners of Spencer’s eyes, they were all parts of why Y/N loved complimenting his boyfriend.

Spencer finished dinner with his hair still up and Y/N was delighted to see he kept the scrunchie in after he’d changed in his pyjamas. Footsteps plus a third beat were cushioned against the rug before vanishing when Spencer daintily placed himself into the sofa cushions. Y/N already had the blanket up for his boyfriend to tuck himself in, all ready for their Doctor Who rerun to continue.

It took about a minute for Y/N’s attention to be drawn from the TV and to Spencer. He wrapped his one arm around him, the old yawning in the movie theatre trick, and he didn’t miss the corner of Spencer’s mouth twitching at the gesture. Y/N’s arm bent to play with the strays that floated on the air above his head, stirring them around.

He tapped the scrunchie, “Take it out.”

Spencer squinted curiously, though he kept his eye on the TV, “Sick of it already?”

“Your hair’s too lovely to be trapped in a scrunchie all the time.”

With an affectionate eye roll, Spencer complied, teasing his hair a little until it was in its usual unkempt state.

“I should probably get a trim; it keeps falling in my face,” He said quietly.

“I reckon you could get a reverse Mohawk and I’d still love the bones of you.”

“A reverse Mohawk?”

Y/N nodded then mimed shaving a strip down the centre of his head, imitated the buzzing as he went. Spencer had to chuckle at the notion of rocking a cut like that at the FBI.

“I’m not quite ready for that.”

There was faux apology in his tone. Y/N kept up the ruse, wiping his brow with a relieved exhale, “Good, I was lying, don’t ever get a reverse Mohawk.”

Once Spencer had pinkie-promised on that, they got back to watching the TV. Y/N’s arms dropped to his sides. He kept one hand under the blanket though, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Spencer’s thigh. Spencer’s hand joined his shortly after the next episode of their show began, linking their fingers together for a moment before he let go again.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

As much as Y/N supported Spencer in his job, he fucking wished he could wake up before Spencer more often. He looked so sweet, half his face hidden in a pillow and the other half completely free from stress. His lean frame was hidden beneath the blankets. His hair was more like a mane, all springy and knotted and standing at odd angles.

Of course, Y/N could always get extra early when Spencer was here, but that would involve setting an alarm and no one in that apartment would appreciate it when it would go off.

“Spencer?” Y/N said in a soft sing song voice, tucking himself up close to his boyfriend, “Spencer, baby?”

He wriggled a little closer and kissed Spencer’s lips gently. His giggles were held close in his chest as the corners of Spencer’s mouth pulled up, revealing those delicious dimples.

“Spencer,” whispered Y/N once more, bumping his nose against his.

Spencer frowned before he opened his eyes; the wrinkles on his brow cleared once he saw who was waking him. His head lifted slightly. It was just enough to bump his nose back against Y/N’s before it fell back down into his pillow.

“I’ve got a question for you.”

In that gravelly morning voice, Spencer answered, “Yeah?”

“Can I try something with your hair please?”

Already, Spencer was groaning and rolling his eyes into the back of his head, trying to turn over in the bed. But Y/N was sat on the blankets now and Spencer had no choice but to cuddle into himself.

“I’ll buy you something at the gift shop today! Anything you want,” He offered as he pinned Spencer onto his back - with a little room in his actions made to be careful with Spencer’s leg. But Spencer draped his forearm over his eyes and continued to pretend he was back to sleep.

Y/N would not relent, bending over close as he whined, “Babe, please, this would make me so happy.”

Those striking hazel eyes peeked out from underneath the arm. Y/N could see a hint of his dimples returning. He exploited that weakness to the full, taking Spencer’s arm away from his face as he clasped his hand between his own. His lips pressed delicate kisses across his curled fingers then pouted down at Spencer who’s resolve was visibly deteriorating.

When Y/N ceased his kissing, Spencer retrieved his hand and pushed himself to sit up, the blankets dropping from his body as he leant into his boyfriend. He cupped Y/N’s chin and in turn his cheek was traced by Y/N’s forefinger.  

With a sigh, Spencer nodded, “Go ahead.”

The biggest grin broke out on Y/N’s face. He practically leapt off Spencer’s lap to collect his tools.

Though he made the act of reading the book from his bedside table, Spencer wasn’t really paying attention to the words on the page. He already knew them. Instead he let Y/N’s gentle brush strokes distract him, detangling the knots the night had tied. A glance into the wardrobe’s mirror showed Y/N idly biting his lip. The back of Spencer’s head was his whole world now.

When the comb could travel without resistance, Y/N’s fingers dragged around his scalp, capturing all the hair that grew above the tips of his ears and separating it from the rest. The slight scratch of his nails caused Spencer’s book dropped onto the bed and his glasses began to slide off his nose.

Quick to push them back up, Spencer was greeted by Y/N’s reaction to twirling Spencer’s around before securing it all with the yellow scrunchie. And Spencer had never seen him smile so much in the morning.

Y/N knelt in front of him; his hands were in loose fists that shifted in restrained excitement in his lap. When they unclenched, those hands caressed the free hair at the back of Spencer’s head, only moving around to cup his face. Spencer’s own hands were drawn to Y/N’s sides like iron fillings to a magnet. He soaked in Y/N’s affections that were poured into the way he looked at him.

The words were fragile, tender, just above a whisper, “Oh you’re so beautiful, Spencer. Thank you.” As if tying his hair up meant more than the world. Spencer was invaluable to Y/N; he knew it and he felt it.

Y/N kissed Spencer’s nose and it wrinkled with pleasure at the gesture.

But as Spencer leant in to close the gap between them, Y/N moved back and pressed two fingers on his lips, “You can kiss me properly when we’ve brushed our teeth. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you wear this to the museum.” He tapped the bun on top before he got off the bed. 

As his gaze followed Y/N retreating into the bathroom, Spencer caught his reflection on the wardrobe’s mirror once more. Morgan would say he looked like a hairy pineapple, or a greasy hipster. Nevertheless, Spencer was chuffed to know that Y/N still looked at him like he had scattered the stars above their heads - just for him.

He heard the shower running. As he fell back into the bed, the top knot pressing against the headboard, Spencer hoped no new cases came in because he could really use a whole weekend of this.

[ablogofthecriminalmindsvariety]

we're still here, I think... but I'm literally so bad at thinking of any prompts,,, uhm, Hotch and Reid visiting a pottery course because Penelope gave them a voucher as a wedding gift? the tenderness of tying a tie? Reid getting lost in the supermarket and Jack and Hotch trying to find him? Jack stealing auntie Pen's nail polish and making both Aarons and Spencer's nails? Honestly, go buckwild, I'd read anything from you. Although now I'm growing attached to the pottery idea.

Okay, I KNOW this has been sitting in my ask box for about a million years, but I’m trying to get back into writing and get some of my asks out and about into the world <3.

--

There was something about Spencer’s ties that made them go crooked. Nobody had quite been able to put their finger on it. Derek had thought it was the fact that he messed with it throughout the day, twirling it around his fingers, tugging on it, twisting it all around. It simply couldn’t be that, though, because even before he could really startup with his fidgeting, his tie was always, always crooked.

JJ thought that maybe it was the kind of tie that he wore. So, she got him a new one, a very nice-looking purple tie with little black and gray stripes. It seemed, apparently, that that wasn’t the issue, because he walked into work with the same old crooked tie the very next morning, much to her dismay.

“What if,” Aaron had suggested one morning as Spencer stood in front of the mirror, half asleep and buttoning his shirt, “I tie your tie for you today.”

“I know how to tie a tie,” he had muttered, sort of dejected and irritated in the way that Spencer was before his coffee kicked in for the morning.

“I’m not saying you don’t.” He stepped up behind him and grabbed his hands in his own. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Spencer could feel the rumble of his voice from where his chest was pressed to his back. It was wearing down his resolve. He was sure that Aaron knew that. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t move.

“I’ve tried using different knots. It’ll just be crooked. It’s got to have something to do with my neck or the shirts I wear or... something.”

“But what if I just try it, huh? Humor me.”

Spencer made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat before sort of backing down. It wasn’t as though it was going to hurt anything. Except maybe his pride if the tie came out straight.

Aaron pressed a kiss to his shoulder before he got to work. He carefully smoothed his hands down the fabric of the tie, smoothing it out before he started to tie it.

Aaron’s hands were steady, the way he moved confident and gentle, all at the same time. It was one of the things that Spencer loved most about him. The way that he could be the same old Hotch, commanding and confident in everything that he did. But then there were the unmistakable bits of Aaron that were there too. The parts only he and Jack got to see.

The way that he was humming in his ear quietly, the way that his hands were warm, the crinkles by the sides of his eyes from where he was smiling, the furrowed lines from frowning seemingly melting away as he did.

When he let his hands drop to his sides, Spencer looked at the two of them in the mirror. And he laughed.

“What’s so funny.”

“It’s crooked!”

Aaron scoffed. “You are cursed.”

[whump-town]

Okay, so, there was the plane crash idea. Instead consider: Hotch is the only one who came away relatively unscathed and he's tasked with caring for Every one else, and he feels awful and wishes that it could have been him instead of them. - Em

The way I know he’d run himself into the ground with guilt and doing everything so that they don’t have to do anything. It would be a bonding experience to have to walk him through doing things. 

Emily knows a scary amount about tying knots and Rossi defends his knowledge with boy scouts. The little shelter he’s made isn’t very good but he tried really so they all make sure to tell him how great it is. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Biggest Mistake Of Your Life

Characters: Jennifer Jareau x Reader, Derek Morgan, the rest of the team

Word Count: 1,474

Warnings: talk of cheating in relationships (think of ross and rachel season 3), angst, kidnapped

Summary: You and JJ are having the biggest fight of your relationsip, and while on a break, you go to your best friend and do something you can’t take back. What happens when she finds out what you did?

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Squares Filled: grabbed by the hair for @badthingshappenbingo​ // race against time for @ladiesbingo // cheating for @cmbingo​

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Yours and JJ's relationship has been on the rocks for a while now. You can't go one dinner without fighting about what you've been fighting about this entire time. You want kids, she doesn't—well, not now. There will always be a reason not to have kids—a new case, new enemy, someone dies, or someone moves on. JJ will always give a reason why having kids is a bad idea.

That's why you think now is a perfect time.

Yes, there will always be something to prevent you from expanding your family. However, there will be no more excuses once the baby comes because all you'll be thinking about is the baby. You love JJ, but a family is something you've always wanted. Being a mom is your dream job. You're 31, there is no better time.

The fighting got so bad that just three days ago, JJ was the one who suggested a break. Much like Ross and Rachel from Friends, you stormed out of there and to Derek who is your best friend. He's the one who got you your job in the first place. You were so emotional that night that... something happened. Something that shouldn't have never happened. You haven't told JJ what happened, and it's already been a month of secrets and lies. You two are still fighting, so it's clearly not the time to disclose your late night rendezvous. You fear you might push her over the edge if you told her what happened.

For right now, you're keeping your mouth shut.

You're not sure how much more of this you can take.

It's been three days, and no one has heard from you after you stopped by Derek's place to talk to him about what should happen after that night. After you left his place, you were kidnapped by a very angry unsub. The last few weeks have been very emotional for you which is why you didn't fight back as hard as you should have. This unsub is someone you previously put away. Ever since his release from prison, he's been dead set on getting revenge.

It's been three days, and JJ has been regretting what she said to you ever since she got the news.

"Please tell me we've found her,"JJ asks for the thousandth time.

"We're trying as hard as we can. Don't worry, we'll find her in time," Derek comforts her.

"He gave us a time limit. We're running out of time!"

"Why don't you take a walk. Clear your head," Hotch suggests.

"Yeah, okay," she whispers and leaves.

"You're never going to get away with this',” you groan in pain.

The unsub, Charles Maxley, has kept you sedated the entire time he's had you. He hasn't laid a finger on your head, hasn't harmed you, and has barely spoken to you. You don't know his endgame, but you know it's not you; otherwise, he would have killed you.

"Shut up," Charles sighs.

"Why did you kidnap me? You know my team is going to find me. We caught you once, we can do it again."

"I said shut up! We're keeping her until Emily gets here. Don't tell me what to do!" Charles hisses.

"Charles, what are you doing? Who are you talking to?"

"I'm not listening to you anymore. Go away."

Something must have happened to Charles in prison because he's seeing people or hearing voices that aren't there. His mind is making up the images of people he either knew or knows. There's a reason why he hasn't touched or hurt you—he doesn't really know you're there. The people he's seeing told him to kidnap you, and he couldn't resist. You're either in trouble or the safest person in the world.

"Baby girl, please tell me you have something," Derek asks.

"Maybe. A store clerk called the police ten minutes ago regarding someone that came into his store. The guy didn't buy anything, but the store clerk claimed he was talking to himself. The only thing he remembers hearing is Y/N's name."

"Do you think he took her?"

"We can't assume he did, but we can't ignore it either," Hotch determines. "Garcia, give me everything you have on Charles. Everything that he's been up to after and including in prison."

"Yes, sir."

You've been saving your energy to gather enough to escape. If you're calm and still, Charles will think you're sedated. According to your calculations, you've missed your last two doses. He knows to check on you every hour to make sure you're alive. In the hour he's gone, you've learned two things: One, wherever he's keeping you is by a convenient store since he's come back with items found in a gas station. Someone is bound to see you if you escape.

Two, Charles is really bad at tying a knot. You didn't notice it at first, but your binds are much looser than you realize. You finally see an opportunity to get the hell out of there. It's the top of the hour because Charles enters the room you're in. He always comes every hour on the hour. You make sure to keep yourself relaxed even though your heart is pounding a million beats a minute. He approaches your side to make sure you're still alive, and that's when you make your move.

His head is close to your leg, so you slam your knee into his jaw. The rope falls to the ground, and you scramble to untie the binds on your wrists. He yells out in pain and falls to the ground. You get up and rush to the door, but you underestimated the amount of pain Charles is in. He gets up and chases after you. He grabs your hair and yanks, throwing you to the ground. Your head slams against the concrete, and your vision goes blurry. JJ has always told you to get your hair cut for this exact reason.

"I really wish you hadn't done that,” Charles says just as you black out.

It didn't take the team long to find you when a pedestrian walking by the building heard you scream. It didn't take long for the police to get there either. Charles barely had time to punish you for what you did. However, you sustained some head injuries from where you fell, therefore needed to be hospitalized.

"Is she going to be okay?" JJ asks the doctor.

"Yes, but I'm worried about the baby. I'm keeping her overnight for observation to make sure she and the baby are going to be okay."

"Baby? She's pregnant?" JJ asks, her voice laced with disappointment and hurt.

"Yes."

"With who?" she grows angry.

"That, I can't answer. I'd have to have a paternity test given. I'm sorry," the doctor apologizes and leaves.

JJ angrily stalks into your room where the rest of the team are. They tense when they see her expression.

"What is it?" Derek asks as he lets go of your hand.

You're laying on your bed, completely out of it due to the medicine the doctors gave you.

"Y/N's pregnant. Did any of you know this?"

Rounds of "I didn't know", "what", and "oh my God" bounces off the agents except for Derek. He's unusually quiet. He didn't want JJ to find out about the pregnancy this way.

"Derek?" JJ asks when she notices her friend's silence.

"Yeah, I did know."

"Excuse me? Whose is it?"

"Mine," he whispers, but everyone heard.

"We'll be outside," Penelope announces, and every non-relevant agent leaves the room.

"If this is a joke, then it's not funny."

"I'm not laughing. Look, this isn't how we wanted you to find out, but it did happen."

"When?" she demands.

"After you two broke up."

"What the hell? We never broke up."

"Going on a break is technically breaking up."

"That's what she told you? That we were on a break? Bullshit."

"It was your suggestion," he sighs. "Look, what happened, happened. We can't change that. What we can do is be there for her."

"Fuck that! She cheated!" she shouts.

All the yelling and the pressure from how thick the tension is, is enough to wake you up.

"Why are you yelling?" you mutter tiredly.

"I can't fucking believe you! You went to Derek after our fight? You got pregnant with his baby? You'd do that to me?" she shouts before storming out of the room.

"JJ wait!" you try to yell, but it comes out raspy.

"Let her go. She needs space right now," Derek sighs.

"This isn't how I wanted things to go," you cry.

You were supposed to have kids on her terms. Instead, you took that from her when you fucked Derek.

What have you done? Most importantly, what are you going to do?

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@kendall-michele​ @practicallylivesonline​ @skylarraker @idkbutspencer​ @miraclesoflove​ @countrygal17a​

[criminally--reid]

sex and booze

god that's such a shit title I'm sorry

""Ay I’m the one who requested the southern reader thing and um since I’m DUMB I neglected to ask if it could be smut?""

I cant find the first part of the ask bcos i suck? but yeh, here's ur fic bb:')

°•○●○•°

Pairing; s7 spencer x fem!reader 

Warnings; drunk?sex, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, (the sex scene is literal TRASH lmao dont mind me)

Word count; 1.4k (1,405)

°•○●○•°

"I'm going up." 

"What- no you're not."

"Watch me." 

And watch you he does. 

He watches the way you drunkenly sway your hips all the way to the small stage at the far side of the bar. He watches as he say your nerves slowly settle in; your palms growing sweaty, and your consistent throat clearing. 

He watches as they soon fade away when the beginning to your favorite country sing comes on. Swiping your clammy hands on your jeans, you grab the microphone, letting the song consume you, and your angelic voice fills the room. To keep the nerves away, you make eye contact with Spencer all the way at the back of the bar. 

It's just you two. Everyone else disappears as you sing to him. The room previously filled with unknown faces and blitzing bodies grows quiet.

Spencer raises his glass in your direction; an unreciprocated toast. 

You shut your eyes as the memories flow through you as the song runs on. All the times you spent with your father, grazing the fields behind your house. Picking daisies with the summer wind sweeping your hair; the sun casting a gentle warmth on your skin. The times you spent with your mother, deweeding the flowerbeds that adorned the front of your house. The last time you saw any of your family this song played. You and your parents were all piled in the front of the truck, warm summer sun engulfing you in a hug, this song playing softly on the radio as the truck bumps and bounces down the rocky dirt road. What you'd give to be back home, down south with your family, away from all the negativity of your job. 

Not that you dont love your job. You were beyond grateful for all the opportunities joining the BAU had given you; you even formed a second family with your teammates. The BAU family just wasn't the same at your own. 

All too soon, the song ends, and you're grown up again. Far away from all the blissful moments fr ok m when you were younger, back to being an adult in ty he heart of DC, drunkenly singing a country song at a karaoke bar. Reality comes flooding back as people applaud and your team goes wild. Oddly enough, Spencer's the quietest. You try to initiate eye contact with him again from your spot so far away from the table, but he averts his eyes, avoiding your gaze. You waltz back to your table and take your seat beside Spencer. 

"What's wrong lover boy?" 

"I- uh- nothing," he gulps. 

"What- did I not do good?" An overly expressive pout falls on your lips. 

"No, no no of course not. You were great! I was just thinking." 

"About what?" 

"About you."

"There's gotta be more than just me bouncin' around in your big brain," you counter with a drunken giggle. 

"Well, true, but a lot of the time it's just you." He looks at you fondly through hooded eyes, admiring your features in the cascading yellow bar light. "But to answer your question, I was thinking about how hot you looked." Your face goes flush as he continues on. "How your jeans look on you. The way you swayed your hips as you sang. All I could think about was how much I want to go home and fuck you."

"Spence, I-" 

"But sadly I can't." 

"Why?" 

"You're drunk, y/n."

"Wha- no I'm not!" You laugh and lightly shove his shoulder. 

"No sober version of you would've gotten up there and done that," he counters. 

"Touchè, Doctor Reid." 

"We can still.." 

"That's like taking advantage of you. Not tonight."

"Come onnn," you drag out in protest, and move your lips to his ear. "I want you, Spencer. You know I do." 

"We can't- you know th-" 

"I'm not getting undrunk any time soon, so the only solution to our pre-dick-ament. Ahahahaah get it? Anyways the only solution is to get you on my level, pretty boy." 

"So an even playing field makes this better?" 

"Exactly." 

His eyebrows sprung up the cute way they always do when he's thinking. "This is such a bad idea." 

He stands up from his seat excusing the both of you from the group. You grab his hand and walk steadfast to the bar. The next hour or so is spent buying spencer drinks. Conversations become slower and less coherent, and the two of you are always pushed up against each other. Most onlookers would think it's cute, but in all actuality you're both keeping each other upright. 

"I think it's time to go," Spencer says from his seat on the bar stool beside you. 

"Yeah, uh I'll go get Hotch." 

You stumble up from your seat and set on a quest to find Hotch. Spencer grabs your hand to get your attention. You look to him and he's pointing back to the tables where you all had originally been sitting. 

Makes sense. 

"Hey, Hotch!" You chirp, drumming lightly on his shoulder to get his attention. "Can you, uh, take me and Spence home. I think we've had enough."

"Yeah," he huffs. "I think you have, too. Anyone else ready to go?" 

Garcia, Emily, and JJ all shake their heads 'no', and Hotch says he'll meet them back here. The three of us head out to the SUV, and spend the next twenty minutes getting home in silence. 

"Home sweet home," you say as you begin to bask in the familiar warmth of your home. The smell of your favorite candles burning on the coffee table. Turning to Spencer, you wrap your arms around his neck and place a chaste kiss to his liquor flavored lips. 

"Y/n, we don't have to-" 

"I want to. Besides, were like the same amount of drunk right now. It's fine." You meet his eyes with a smile and a drunken giggle. 

"You're so chaotic." He quickly places his lips back on yours, and your hands fly up to tangle in his hair. Lips meet teeth and tongue as the two of you make your way further into the house; into the living room and o to the couch. 

With spencer beneath you and you on his lap the kiss continues. You begin to move yourself on his thigh causing him to groan. He plants a harsh slap on your ass, and you jump; only for him to grab your hips and pull you back down onto his thigh even harder. 

The two of you remove your clothes rather quickly. Shirts flying, pants being flung, underwear being removed haphazardly. Soon the two of you are start naked, and you're sinking down on Spencer's length. 

"Fuck," he chokes out as you engulf him. "You feel so fucking good." 

"Spence.." You throw your head back in ecstasy, and Spencer leans up, attaching his lips to your neck. He grips your hips as you rock back and forth, faster and faster with each go. 

"Jesus- fuck! I've been needing this all day," Spencer says between gasps and moans. 

"M-me too." 

Your pace over Spencer doesn't slow, and the constant friction between you too is bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You reach your hand in front of you and start to rub quick circles on your sensitive nub. 

 "Spencer, I'm gonna cum," you cry out, feeling that knot in your stomach begin to unravel.

"Gonna cum for me? Hmm? Gonna cum all over my cock?" 

"Yes- God!" 

"Go ahead, baby." On cue, you release around him; your juices flowing all over his lap. You collapse down onto him, heaving and out of breath. "Look at me.. Tongue out." You remove your face from the crook of his neck to look at him, mouth hm open wide and tongue stuck out. "Swallow," he commands after spitting onto your tongue. He then grabs your hips forcing you to move on him again; chasing his own release. Not too long afterwards, he loses his composure and crumbles beneath you as he releases inside you. 

You collapse onto his chest once again, breathing sporadic. "That was.." you begin but then trail off. 

"Yeah. It was." Spencer adds, rubbing your back. 

"Can we stay here like this? I'm exhausted." 

"We gotta get cleaned up," Spencer prompts you up off his lap before getting up himself and grasping your hand. "Let's go take a bath. We smell like sex and booze."

[dammit-stark]

(Sign) Language Barrier

This is a Spencer x deaf!reader story requested by @my-lil-kitten-reid. Obviously, the reader is deaf, so I apologize profusely in advance for the inaccuracies that are most likely inevitable in this story (my knowledge on what it’s like being deaf is incredibly low), but I hope you guys enjoy this fluffy little piece anyway :)

You spend the day with the team at work and they really do try to communicate with you through sign, but it comes out rather clumsily.

There were definite perks of dating Spencer Reid, wise beyond his years, and light years ahead of his own age. For instance, as a criminology major, you could shadow him as research for your thesis. A definite perk, and exactly why you could currently be found on the Bureau Headquarters in Quantico’s 6th floor.

You were amazed by the luxury and professionalism of the building before you, swinging glass doors and a shiny elevator to match, a bull pen full of bustling people and walls of honored men facing those of the disgraced and hunted. Stepping into the building reminded you of why exactly you were in this field and you found yourself smiling.

“Hello, Smily.” A dark toned man grinned at you, deciding to take it upon himself to hold open one of the two massive glass doors for you, “What brings a pretty girl like you down to the wild Federal Bureau of Investigation. Need some saving?”

Your eyes were glassy and blank and your smiled shyly, hoping that this unfamiliar man understood what you were tying to convey. You knew he was talking, his lips were moving and his eyes were lighting up, but you only understood sign language and couldn’t read lips. He didn’t catch on.

“I’m Agent Morgan, but you can call me Derek,” He continued, smirking, even though the words weren’t quite finding your brain, “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

You gave him another shy smile, hoping this stranger to you would understand. He only frowned, “Aw come on, where’d that smile go?”

This time, your smile was apologetic, “Um, I’m sorry,” You said clearly, “I’m looking for somebody. I should really-” You made a motion toward the room before you, indicating your search. Derek apparently wasn’t backing downs

“I’ll help you,” He smiled charmingly, and there wasn’t much you could do, “Who is it you’re looking for?”

He was met once again with a blank stare, “Oh, come on, just a name, Smiley,” His grin grew flirtatious, “Or how ‘bout a number? Yours?” It was a crappy pick up line and if you had known what he had said, you would’ve been glad you didn’t hear it.

“What abou-” He started again, but he was cut off by Spencer racing in, hands flying oddly in shapes and motions. Derek was all the more thrown back when Spencer almost immediately pressed his lips to yours, “Woah! Boy Wonder, who’s this?”

“My girlfriend. Why?” He didn’t wait for an answer, too excited that his girlfriend, his best friend, was at his work, and suddenly his hands were waving and flying and racing once again.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, more confused than he really should’ve been

“Sign language, Derek.” Spencer turned to his coworker, expression pensive, “Wait did I not tell you? Y/n is deaf,”

“Oh, deaf?” The tips of Morganms ears burned with an awkward blush. Thankfully, Spencer was too busy rapidly discussing matters of your arrival, fingers dancing just like yours.

“Well, for somebody deaf, she has really good English,” Derek muttered under his breath before trudging away to his desk and throwing his bag underneath.

“I want to introduce you to everybody.” Spencer signed, infinitely smiling.

“Okay,” You signed back, and Spencer gripped your hand and pulled you farther into the bustling room toward a certain pocket of desks.

A women sat at one desk adjacent to Derek’s while two blondes and an older man hovered around them, smiling lazily and desperately hugging coffees.

“Guys,” Spencer said, “I’d like to introduce you to y/n. She’s my girlfriend, but she’s also going to be shadowing me for the week for her college thesis.”

They all waved friendly waves and you did so back, though slightly more awkward. They began introducing themselves and Spencer translated, his fingers deftly moving alongside the words of his coworkers’.

“Alright,” Rossi eventually said, “What’s with the sign language?”

Spencer sighed, “Wow, I really didn’t tell you guys, did I? Well, y/n is deaf.”

They all hummed in response. JJ and Garcia turned and asked Spencer if they could teach them a little bit, Morgan jumping in moments later and asking for the same thing, hoping that he could avoid another awkward one-sided conversation like the earlier situation. The three of them watched hungrily at the way your hands moved in response to Spencer’s and and the way Spencer’s worked as a buffer between theirs and yours. The three tried to pick up on words and phrases that correlated to the way fingers moved up and down and side to side, thirsty to learn the suddenly pivotal language, but coming up with knots nothing.

Emily, on the other hand, began an energetic conversation with you. She, of course, already knew sign language. It was one of her multitude of skills. David leaned back, thinking without talking, wondering to himself where he had left his own instructional book on sign language from what must have been decades ago. And then he attempted to join in on Emily conversation, attempting to bring his rusty sign language skills to light, thought he quickly got lost in the conversation and even faster left behind.

All in all, they all liked you even despite the barrier of a loss of words. Spencer’s face lit up, “Oh you still need to meet Hotch, too! He’s our leader!”

And he was so excited, his fingers so merry and animated, that you laughed aloud before signing back,“Okay, that sounds great, but don’t we have some work to do?” Spencer laughed too, happier than the ten had ever seen him as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, gaining the presence of his coworkers’ careful, adoring gazes. He didn’t even mind.

Then Spencer lead you easily up a small set of stairs, his hand meeting the small of your back in the electrifying why it always seemed to do. He reached up then, his long arm reaching around you to knock on a certain office door, “Hotch?” He said as he pulled the door open, smiling, “There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x Reader) Chapter 3

Summary: Day 2 of the trial, a Sunday where Jack is allowed to choose his own adventure with Sebastian along for the ride.

AN: I hope you are all taking care of yourselves <3 and that tomorrow is kind to you.

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 2 // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 4

“Morning, Jack,” Sebastian greeted the soporific Jack Hotchner as he entered the kitchen. Jack mumbled back and climbed into his place at the table. Sebastian set the place, poured his cereal, got his juice out as well, before joining him in breakfast.

They ate in quietude, that is until Sebastian’s phone buzzed with a text.

Once he’d read it, he held the phone out to Jack across the table, “Hey, do you wanna talk to your Dad? He’s free to call you quick if you want.”

A bolt of energy shot through Jack and he clutched the phone tightly.

There was Sebastian’s watchful eye remaining on Jack while he was clearing up the dirty dishes. Jack knuckled one of his eyes every now and again, but there was no doubt that he was beyond excited to speak to Hotch. His legs swung under the table.

“I love you, Daddy,” Jack said before he passed the phone back over, but Hotch had already hung up. Pocketing it, Sebastian finished up his breakfast with Jack officially cheered up – for now at least.

“I was thinking we could go out somewhere, treat ourselves.”

“The zoo!” Jack crowed immediately

“The zoo?”

“I haven’t been for ages and ages!”

“Well, I shall see if that’s possible while you go brush your teeth.”

Completely unplanned, Jack was dressed in a green polo that matched Sebastian’s shirt. Not the pattern but they were the exact same shade.

“My mum used to dress me and my sister up in similar outfits when we were kids,” Sebastian said as he was tying up his laces.

“Sometimes, Henry and me wear the same things,” Jack replied, double knotting his shoes up. A wise move.

“Who’s Henry?”

“My friend, his Mommy works with Daddy.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

The drive over had a much more confident sing-a-long. Sebastian played the same CD (but just the songs that Jack liked) and Jack was starting to pick up on some of the lyrics. Or at least what they sounded like. He was currently favouring that of Sara Bareilles. So much so that, after they circled the car park of the zoo and found a space, they finished the song before turning the engine off

As they were lining up to buy the tickets, Sebastian bent over and whispered to Jack, “I know you’d much rather have your dad here instead of me.”

“I don’t mind you,” was the reply, and a shrug to boot.

“I don’t mind you either, kid.”

And the second they entered the park, map in hand, Jack was grabbing at Sebastian, pulling him along, “Come on, I wanna see the elephants!”

The pair did pause to glance in the direction of the other animals, give them their moment of glory. But their focus and their hearts were set on finding the biggest land mammal, past the bug house and the birds, along to where the wider paddocks were situated.

Across a wooden bridge, they finally landed at the edge of a wooden barrier, about five feet from a ha-ha wall that wrapped around the elephants’ land. Jack stood on his tiptoes, his chin on the wooden slat.

Already knowing the answer to his questions, Sebastian said, “Can you see alright? Or do you wanna go on my shoulders?”

Jack fidgeted, scuffing his shoes on the dirt path, “Yes please.”

And he raised his arms over his head. Sebastian ducked down and lifted Jack over his head with some difficulty. He didn’t tell Jack that though.

“Now, don’t go farting on me, young man,” He patted Jack’s leg.

“Thank you, Seb.”

From his elevated position, Jack cheered up. He made sure not to hit Sebastian when his legs stretched out in excitement at the baby elephant trotting about the enclosure. He waved to the baby elephant who waved their trunk clumsily back at the crowds, eliciting a series of “awws”.

“Baby elephants stay with their mothers for their whole life,” Sebastian read off the plaque, “And these ones are from India. That’s where my mum’s from!”

“Is that why you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“All funny,” and Jack flapped his hand about.

“Nah, that’s my dad’s fault. From the exotic land of Bolton.”

“Is there any animals from there here?”

“Probably not, bud.”

“That one’s the Mommy,” Jack pointed out the elephant the wee baby was now showing off to. He laughed loudly when another baby elephant submerged its whole head into the artificial watering hole for a drink, “It’s still learning!”

A gentle meander took them all the way back to the café, once again ignoring the other animals. They were thinking with their stomach.

Upon arriving at their destination, Jack went for the classic fish, chips, and peas. Sebastian had made a New Year’s resolution to not order something just to get the chips on the side, so he went for the lasagne and broccoli.

“I used to call them ‘baby trees’, made me feel like a giant.”

“What about peas?” Jack scooped several of the vegetable up onto his fork.

“They’re boulders, the kind that roll all the way down mashed potato mountains.”

“I don’t have any mashed potatoes though.”

“Maybe next time. Eat your boulders.”

Third time lucky, the other animals were given Jack’s attention. His second favourite after the elephants? The meerkats. There was a bubble at the centre with a tunnel underneath the desert-like paddock that he could go into and poke his head up. He waved and shouted (albeit muffled by the thick glass) at Sebastian, who waved back and took some photos. Back around by Sebastian’s side of the wall, Jack would hold the meerkats’ attention with a clementine segment pinched in his finger and lure them around the wall’s edge. Then he would eat the fruit.

Sebastian preferred the otters, slipping and sliding down the stream. His laugh trilled with the kids that watched the otters cawing at each other. Chattering between their little whines, they wriggled around in the pool.

Just as Jack was adding to his birthday list every other item in the gift shop. Sebastian’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

About to fly back to Virginia, will be in around nine.

All good our end, hope it’s good with yours too

And Sebastian sent his reply with the photo of Jack hypnotising the meerkats with the promise of citrus fruit.

Jack was very clearly worn out from the day but still had enough energy to tap his toes along during the drive back. The news that Hotch would be home that evening was what got Jack through until dinner time. Sat on the countertop, he watched TV placidly, while Sebastian got on with the tuna pasta. He did get to pour the sweetcorn in, a proper little chef.

“Thoughts?” Sebastian asked when Jack chewed through half his plate, apparently without breathing.

“It’s nice,” Jack said, his mouth half full, “I like the chips.”

The crushed salted crisps sprinkled on top were just a bonus that Sebastian’s dad had introduced to the world. His best invention by far, besides his two kids of course. And Jack ate it all up with gusto.

As the dishwasher was being loaded, out of nowhere, the front door unlocked and not even halfway open before Jack was up on his feet and shouting, “Daddy!”

He sprinted full force and was caught in his father’s arms just as Hotch stepped into the flat. Hotch, despite seeming very worn out, cradled his son like he was a newborn.

“Hey buddy,” He whispered into Jack’s hair, “How have you been?”

Jack’s reply was muffled in his suit jacket, “Good!”

“How was your time with Sebastian?”

“We went to the zoo!”

Sebastian caught Hotch’s gaze over Jack’s shoulder, and immediately Sebastian busied himself with clearing the table, “Lucky you caught him on his way to bed.”

“Come on,” Hotch patted Jack’s back, “Let’s get you off to sleep.”

He carried Jack off to his bedroom, leaving his briefcase at the door. Sebastian watched them go with a half-smile. One that disappeared when it turned to the chores at hand.

First things first, he placed Hotch’s dinner onto a plate and placed it in the oven, still warm from the initial cooking. Of course, he didn’t put the salad in the oven. He wasn’t an idiot. Then it was putting the leftovers in the fridge, scrubbing at the dishes and cutlery, cleaning down the table, sweeping up the stuff. Somehow he was always more productive when the repercussions were next to instantaneous.

“Did Jack go down OK?” Sebastian asked once Hotch had returned to the kitchen.

“Yes, he’s quite worn out from your trip.”

“How was the case?”

The question was offered with a levity that Hotch understood as merely checking in, not an attempt to mine the grisly details from his mind. That much was clear when Hotch set his gun down on the table and Sebastian tensed before moving around and away from it. Hotch then picked it back up and deposited it in a drawer.

“It was fine, glad it was over quick. Is that my dinner?” Hotch opened the oven, standing clear of the hot air that escaped from it.

Nodding, Sebastian passed the dying up cloth between his two hands, “Yeah, plus salad, crisps – sorry, ‘chips’ - for the top.” He corrected himself only because Hotch’s eyebrows knitted at his choice of words.

“You put chips on top of your pasta?” He said slowly.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Looking unconvinced, Hotch closed the oven again, “How did you find your time with Jack?”

“He’s a good kid, we had fun today. Plus, he didn’t kick up a fuss eating his five-a-day which is a bonus,” Sebastian twisted the dish cloth around, “You’ve done a good job raising him.”

Hotch nodded with what Sebastian was saying, and while his face stayed neutral, his eyes held a glint.

“Then you wouldn’t have any objections to becoming his nanny full time, would you?”

Offer sank in and Sebastian’s face broke out into a toothy grin, “Yeah? Even with the crisp-chips?”

Hotch’s shoulders dropped about half an inch of tension, “Do you have your documents with you? We can get the paperwork done tonight.”

A little undainty on his feet, Sebastian went to his room and grabbed his folder of his important paperwork that was still in his unpacked suitcase. He tried to keep his clothes neat now that they were out on the carpet.

“Can I get you a drink?” Hotch asked, already pouring himself a scotch. He had served his dinner while Sebastian was out of the room. He’d even sprinkled a few chips on top like Sebastian had suggested.

“I’m good with water, thanks,” and Sebastian sat opposite Hotch’s place at the table.

“You don’t mind if I eat while we do this? I haven’t since lunch time.”

“Go ahead.”

Sebastian waited until he was a few forkfuls into his meal before speaking again, “Thoughts on the chips?”

He had to severely mute his reaction as he watched the corner of Hotch’s mouth quirk up and stay there, “Surprisingly good.”

With glee, Sebastian snapped his fingers, “Success!”

Once settled, Hotch and Sebastian discussed fees, records, emergency contacts. A copy of the background check Hotch had already completed sat atop the contract. Hotch let Sebastian read through to his leisure while he polished off his dinner. By the time his plate was cleared, Sebastian’s signature had been scribbled alongside Hotch’s on the few dotted lines that concluded the sheets of paper.

“You’re officially hired,” Hotch slid a pair of newly cut keys across the table. When Sebastian pocketed them, he held up his tumbler.

“To having a job,” Sebastian clinked his glass against Hotch’s and took a sip, “Thank you. Forgot to send you this yesterday by the way.”

And he sent the photos off to Hotch’s number. Not a moment later, Hotch’s phone beeped and he picked it up, his thumb swiping over the photos. To fill the quiet, Sebastian asked, “Do you have a preference on what I can send you and when while you’re away? I don’t wanna bother you too much while you’re working.” His rambling faded as he watched Hotch’s face soften.

“Send me photos whenever you can.” Hotch’s voice had melted too, warming Sebastian’s already soporific heart.

Sebastian stifled a yawn before swallowing, “And I think that’s the end of my day approaching. Goodnight, Aaron.”

“One more thing,” Hotch slipped his phone into his breast pocket, “Why did you move over here, Sebastian?”

“I had a pen pal over here, we met on holiday when we were kids, and I wanted to move away from home. So I got a Visa and moved in with her.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Satisfied, Hotch began to clear up his plate, “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Sebastian went to say goodnight but, remembering he’d already said that, he just left for his bedroom.