#hotch tying knots

[hotch-girl]

THOMAS GIBSON as AARON “HOTCH” HOTCHNER 

CRIMINAL MINDS | 1.16 “THE TRIBE”

[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.

[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

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Fifty-Nine) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Bondage (ropes and handcuffs). Spanking. Sex toys (dildo and vibrator). Edging. Impregnation kink. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”. Revenge pornography. Non-consented photographed pornography.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 4564

Timeline: Right after part fifty-eight.

Criminal Minds Discord Server

When Sean left, Hotch saw him out, leading him downstairs and hailing a cab on his behalf. I watched from the window all the way up on our floor as Hotch waved goodbye to his brother. And then I raced to the living room. I waited in front of the door, tapping my foot anxiously, watching the doorknob until I saw it twist.

Hotch stepped in, silently closing the door behind him before he even looked up to see me standing there. And then our eyes met. My shoulders fell when I saw how disappointed he looked, and how upset he seemed about the whole situation. I didn’t need anyone to lay the details out for me. Knowing what Sean did, and knowing Hotch, I knew that Sean was now on his way to go turn himself in for illegally selling the alcohol from his old job—including the spiked bottles. For Hotch, the thought along was probably torture. But the fact that he was the reason that his own sibling was going to prison… that was unbearable, I could tell.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” I whispered, carefully approaching him. He slid his palms onto my cheeks. “It’s going to be okay.” I leaned up on my tiptoes to kiss him. When he didn’t kiss back, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Honestly… I just want to forget about it for now and continue where we left off before this whole mess came about. Can we do that?”

“Of course.”

Hotch leaned in this time, kissing me with a desperate and fiery passion compared to my light and gentle kiss prior, and I kissed back. It took a few minutes for us to slide into Dom and sub space. We were stumbling around the house, hands wandering around each other’s bodies, breathless kisses stringing one after the other, moans escaping us every so often as he got hard and I got wet. And then we made it to the bedroom.

I tried to jump up and into his arms, but he held me down, Dom space finally setting in. I watched him, trying to gauge if it was worth being a brat right now or not. I couldn’t tell. Honestly, when Hotch was stressed by outside pressures, he had a tendency to lose his cool and take it out on me—not that I ever minded—but since he has a tendency to Dom drop after intense scenes, I was worried that me acting up would make his temper worse, and while it would be fun for the next few hours, he was ultimately going to crash hard, and I didn’t want to do that to him now.

“Whatever you want,” I whispered to him. “I’m yours.” I looked over his shoulder to see the black box still sitting on the dresser from where we left off earlier. “Black box?” He nodded. “I love you.” I moved to kiss him, but he wrapped his hand around my neck and squeezed until I stopped moving. “Sir,” I quickly added. “I love you, Sir.”

He was still glaring at me slightly as he moved his hand from my neck up to my chin, holding me still so that I had to stare directly into his eyes as he pressed his thumb against my lips. I knew what he wanted. Since Halloween, he had discovered just how much he loved it when I would suck on his thumb because it wasn’t enough for me to know that I was getting him off, but it reminded him of what it felt like to have my mouth around his length. In a way, I supposed, it was some kind of punishment. It was like telling me that I wasn’t worth his cock, and I fucking loved it.

“Down,” he said gruffly, his thumb pushing on the soft patch of my mouth under my tongue. I moved with the pressure, slowly laying down on my back while he towered over me. “Suck.” I closed my lips around him and sucked on his thumb like he asked. “I think…” He hesitated as my tongue maneuvered under his thumb and licked. “I think I need to do more.”

I knew what he meant. We were rough, but there was always an extent with him. He never, ever wanted to hurt me, and I, of course, appreciated that. But I could see how stressed he was. I could tell that he needed to somehow get his anger out about Sean. If he needed to, he could do more with me. He could be different with me. If there was ever a point that I thought he was going too far, I’d stop him. He had to know that. I trusted him wholeheartedly, and I needed him to trust me.

I slowly slid my mouth off his thumb. “I’ll use Colors.”

“I won’t gag you, then.”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” I repeated lustfully.

He quickly grabbed the hem of my pants and panties together. With one smooth motion, he pulled them down and off my legs entirely, then threw them somewhere else in the room. I hissed at the feeling.

Hotch flipped me onto my stomach roughly, making sure to lean back in time so that I wouldn’t accidentally kick him. I gasped as he did so, trying to bite back any questions or retorts running through my head. After a moment of watching me get settled, Hotch slapped my ass. I yelped and tried to crawl away somewhat, but Hotch grabbed my thighs to hold me still. With his grip still on my left thigh, he raised his right hand again and smacked me. I yelped again.

“Shut up,” he demanded.

I whimpered before biting down on the sheet. When he knew that I was ready, he switched which hand was grabbing and which one was in the air. I tensed up, waiting for the next smack, but it didn’t come. I shifted around somewhat, trying to get a feel of where he was, and the second my guard was down, he slapped my ass again. And then he did again even harder. My teeth grabbed the sheet harder as I suppressed a moan.

“Good girl.”

Both of his hands were off of me now, hanging somewhere up in the air. I tensed again as I waited, but Hotch was playing a game. He was waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before I would subconsciously relax, and then he’d ruin it by spanking me again. Just as predicted, both of his hands came down on me when I let out a breath and released my hold on the sheets slightly.

“Fuck!” I cried out.

“Color,” he said after hesitating for a moment.

“Green, Sir.” Of course, it was green. I didn’t hate it. I didn’t want him to stop. If this was “more”, I wanted to know what absolutely losing control was, because this was hardly more. But maybe that was just the difference between me and Hotch.

“Good girl,” he cooed happily. After a moment, while I still expected him to spank me again, but I didn’t tense up to keep playing along with his game, he surprised me when two of his fingers dragged up my slit from my clit to my entrance.

“Sir,” I moaned, falling limp against the bed.

“I told you to be quiet, brat.” He spanked me with a little more force than before. I nearly moaned again, but I held it back by biting on the sheets again. “I don’t want to gag you, baby, but you’ve gotta be quiet for me.” I nodded. “Good girl.” He shifted off the bed and I heard him sifting through the black box. “Blue or purple?” he asked himself quietly. “Blue.”

I whimpered and cringed slightly, trying to pull my body together like that would somehow make me disappear. But it didn’t do anything. Hotch still noticed me, and he was still excited to toy with me. So, when I felt the mattress sink behind me as he crawled back onto the bed, I prepared for the worst.

Hotch grabbed my left ankle and bent it backwards up to my thigh carefully to make sure it wasn’t too painful for me. When I didn’t say anything, he kept going. I felt the sting of rope dig around my ankle and thigh as he expertly tied them together. He asked if that felt alright once I was secured and I couldn’t even wiggle my calf away from my thigh. After I told him it was fine, he moved to do the same thing with the other leg.

I didn’t even realize Hotch was capable of doing a Shibari leg tie— especially one like this. I hadn’t taught him how to do it, that was for sure. Yeah, there had been mentions of it over the course of a few different cases over the years, but that always seemed like Reid and Rossi’s thing. I never thought that Hotch would go out of his way to learn how to do it. This kind of bondage wasn’t at all “vanilla” compared to what he was used to. He liked simply tying me to the bed with knots or using handcuffs if he needed. But Shibari took skill and time. This one wasn’t the most complicated of ties, to be fair, but still. The positioning and the spiraling ropes and knots around my thighs and calves was impressive. That must have been the “more” he had been referencing.

“Color, baby,” he whispered while admiring his work. He leaned down to kiss my shoulder blade and I bit back a moan when I felt his clothed erection press against my core. When I told him that my color was still green, he smirked against my skin and grinded against me, probably leaving a wet spot on his pants. “You’re so wet, baby, and all I’ve done is spank you.” He sat up straight again, and in an instant, he started spanking both of my cheeks again and again as hard as he was willing to go with me. My thighs squirmed and my toes wiggled around, but that was the extent of how far I could move now. “Look at you,” he chuckled. “At my mercy.”

I turned to puddy under him in response. It didn’t matter how hard he was continuously hitting me, his words never failed to make me swoon and submit. Then, when he suddenly leaned down and licked a single strip up my slit, I floundered again. It felt so good, and I was desperate for more of that, but he had already pulled away because he knew that it felt too good.

“You taste so good, baby,” he complimented before lightly spanking me one more time. We both sighed when he stopped, but obviously for different reasons. As he rolled off the bed again, I slumped and tried to catch my breath. “I like watching you squirm. It’s my favorite part when I tie you up. But you know what’s even better— the real cherry on top, if you will.” It was a rhetorical question. “I like watching you fall apart when I don’t give you permission to cum. I like how it becomes almost painful for you to keep edging and holding your orgasms back.” He approached the bed once more. “Hands back.” I did as I was told, stretching my arms behind me, and pressing my wrists together. The freezing metal touch of handcuffs slapped against both of my wrists and he tightened both ends as much as possible. My face fell into the mattress when I felt the tip of a toy press against my clit. I knew that it wasn’t him. I could tell the difference between cold, soft rubber and his warm, hard cock. “It’s the blue one,” he explained.

I only had two different dildos. A purple and a blue one. Before, when Hotch was whispering to himself, I thought he was debating between rope colors, but I soon realized that he was planning ahead for the real torture to come. The purple one was slimmer, but it was more Hotch’s length. The blue one, his favorite, was only a few inches shorter, but it was much thicker. He liked watching it stretch me whenever he’d thrust it in and out of me at an unrelenting pace. He enjoyed watching how the first few seconds of insertion made me tense and cringe as I tried to accommodate the toy. He liked imaging that it was him doing that to me while still enjoying how it tortured me that it wasn’t really him.

“Do you want it?” he asked wickedly. I nodded. “Say it.”

“I want it, Sir. Please, Sir.”

Hotch slowly slid the dildo in, listening to me moan as I was stretched and filled by every inch. The rubber feel was an obvious difference in comparison to Hotch’s dick, but it still felt good regardless. “Don’t push it out,” he ordered once I had all of it inside me. I gulped and nodded. I squeezed my walls around the girth of it, making sure to hold it in place. “Good girl.” And then he pressed a working vibrator to my clit.

“Sir—” I gasped. My fingers stretched out, trying to reach for the toys I clearly wouldn’t be able to move away.

“I want you to beg for more.”

My eyes shot wide as I glanced up at the headboard. “Sir?”

“I won’t gag you; so, I want to hear you beg for what you want, knowing that I won’t give it to you. Maybe then I’ll think about letting you cum.”

“Please—” I immediately stopped when I felt him turn up the speed on the vibrator and hold it steady so that it was pressed directly on my clit. “Please, Sir. Please. Please. Please—”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, slut,” he hissed as he spanked me with his free hand. I tried to hide my face in the mattress again, but Hotch fisted his hand around my hair and pulled me to look up at the headboard. “I told you to beg.”

I took a moment to collect my thoughts while my eyes were screwed shut in response to my hair being pulled and held. “Sir… Please fuck me with the toy. Please make me cum—” My breath sputtered as Hotch released my hair, and grabbed the end of the dildo, then slowly and barely fucked it in and out of me. I fell forwards against the bed. “Just like that, Sir— Fuck! Yes— Please, Sir. Don’t stop. Please make me cum. Please let me cum.”

“So needy,” he hummed happily.

“I’m gonna—”

“No.” He caught me before I could even say it. He stole the vibrator away from me, ensuring that my peak could subside before it could even really build in the first place. I whined and squirmed. “Hold fucking still, whore.” He spanked me again, and I obeyed. He started moving the dildo again, making sure that its pace and strength wasn’t hard enough to wind me up again. “Color.”

“Green, Sir.”

“My good girl…” He slapped my thigh. “Do you want it again?” he asked when the buzzing of the vibrator echoed in the room again.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pressed it to my clit, making me squirm around the dildo. “Hold still or I’ll take it all away.” I whimpered. “I’ll just leave you like this while I cum in you and plug you full.” I whimpered again. “And then I’ll use you whenever I want.” I moaned. “You want me to use you like that, whore?” I moaned. “Speak.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He chuckled to himself. “You’re so predictable.” He lifted the vibrator away from me again. “I can see you tensing around the toy every time you get close. You’ve gotta work on hiding it better.”

“Sir, please, I’ll do anything. Just let me cum. Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” He pressed it to me again, holding it there until I was at the very edge again, at which point, he took it away again. “How many is that now?” I was too frustrated to answer. “That wasn’t rhetorical, slut.” He spanked me again.

After I jolted and whimpered, I said, “Three, Sir.”

“Aw… Just three? You’ve done more before and you’ve never complained this much.”

“Well, you did leave me hanging earlier after a hard edge—”

He grabbed my hair again. “And I told you I would make it up to you. Am I not doing that now?” Now I was too scared to say anything. “If you’re not careful, I’ll just ruin you, then fuck your mouth so you don’t get anything out of it, then I will plug you full and leave you here. Got it? That isn’t rhetorical, either.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered as quickly as possible. “I understand, Sir.”

He let go of my hair so that he could start fucking the dildo in and out of me again while pressing the vibrator back against my clit. I let out a defeated moan. I wasn’t going to escape this. Hotch was going to keep torturing me, and I the only choice I had was to accept it.

Another few edges passed, and every time they did, it got harder and harder to hold them back. Hotch wasn’t showing any remorse. But I could feel him getting antsy behind me, with how he was groaning and obviously palming himself while watching me squirm, cry, and scream. He was enjoying watching me suffer. After a bit longer, though, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, just like on Halloween, and he had to have me.

Hotch pulled the dildo out of me and dropped it on the mattress, ignoring the way I whimpered when my walls clenched around nothing. He waited for another edge to approach before pulling the vibrator away. I whined.

“You never shut up,” he hissed, lining himself up with my entrance.

“Fuck, Sir…”

“Shhh… Just take… all of me…” He roughly thrust into me, holding me still my grabbing onto my hips.

“Fuck!”

“You’re so wet, shit—” It was like he couldn’t process any coherent thoughts either, because he stopped talking and just focused on fucking me as fast and hard as he could. “I love you.”

I wiggled my fingers behind my back for a second before I felt him hold my hands with one of his large palms. “Sir… Sir, please—”

He chuckled wickedly, knowing exactly why I was pleading, and he gave me what he wanted. Still fucking me from behind, he somehow managed to get the vibrator right against my clit, immediately tipping me over the edge. He hissed again when I tightened around his cock.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he growled into my ear. I moaned lightly. “Fuck—” He tightened his grip on my hips as his thrusts sped up and got harder. “Fuck, princess.” Holy shit. I melted at the name that wasn’t at all common for us, and I felt another orgasm already crashing through me without warning because of it. He snapped his hips forward, staying there as he came inside me, making sure that I took every single drop from him. I moaned into the sheets. “Fuck…” He was breathless now. After a second, he slowly slid in and out of me again, making us both whimper because we were so sensitive. “You did so well for me.” He ran his thumbs over the sore spots on my ass. “So well…” He finally slid out of me. “Are you okay?” I nodded. “Words.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m okay.” I collapsed onto the bed again, unable to keep myself up any longer.

Hotch chuckled. “I told you I’d break you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He found the end of the Shibari tie on my left leg and carefully started undoing it, holding my ankle to make sure that the second I had wiggle room I wouldn’t try to stretch and end up hurting myself. I let him kiss his way up from my ankle to my hip bone once the rope was gone from my skin, giving him a chance to slowly and safely stretch out. When my leg was completely extended and relaxed, he moved to the other one. I waited as he did the same thing.

When he was done, I rolled over to watch as he cleaned everything up. He wiped the toys down, putting them back in the black box, along with the ropes and handcuffs. After that, he disappeared to the bathroom. I smiled when he returned with a towel to clean me up since I was too weak right now to go do it myself. I moaned when he passed the towel between my thighs—but it wasn’t a sexual moan. I was just relaxing.

“You still okay?” he asked, tossing the towel to the side and climbing onto the bed with me. I nodded.

“Are you gonna drop?” I asked him worriedly while turning over to hug him. He hugged me back and hummed a “no” while kissing the top of my head. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“You’re not lying?”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m not lying. Are you dropping?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t quite sure yet. It didn’t feel like dropping, but I didn’t feel entirely right either. I was probably just exhausted. I needed some food and some sleep. “I don’t think so. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Let’s get ahead of it before it happens, then.”

Even though it always helped to be in his arms and to just feel his love, Hotch escaped my hold for a short moment to race to the closet to grab something. I watched the doorway suspiciously. When he came back out, he was wearing grey sweatpants, and he was holding a pair of his checkered blue pajama pants and an old college t-shirt. I smiled while sitting up in bed.

“I found this hiding somewhere the other day,” he told me, handing the clothes over. “I figured you’re probably getting bored of all the other clothes you’ve stolen from me—”

“I didn’t steal them. I’m just borrowing them long term. You can take them back any time you want.”

He shook his head while crashing back onto the bed with me. “Nah. I like that they’re yours now. You know how much I love watching you walk around wearing my stuff.”

“Yeah, because you can’t wait to tear it off of me again.” I pulled the shirt over my head and immediately felt safe and comfortable once it was settled around my body. I smiled and hugged my body.

“Or because I see that look on your face and I fall in love you all over again.”

I looked at him. “What face?”

“The one where you try to suppress a smile, so you close your eyes while deep in thought, and your nose scrunches, and your lips curl up, and then you look so… at peace…”

I rolled over to lay my torso on his, propping my head up on his left peck while staring at him. He brushed his fingers through my hair. “You have a look, too.”

“What is it?”

“You’re wearing it right now.”

He tried to change his expressions, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t do anything. The “look” was when he would fall in love with me again, just as he said he always did. His wrinkles would fade somewhat—but not my favorite smile line on his cheek—and his eyes would soften to the point that they had cartoonish heart reflections in the corners, his eyebrows would pout, and a toothy grin would slowly grow on his face. Every time. I had noticed it every day since we first met. Even when we were just acquaintances at work and he would continuously pass my desk just to see me, I could see that look on his face. Back then, I didn’t know what it meant. When I joined the team, the look faded away altogether because he was trying to hide how he felt about me, but ever since that day when we saved Elle on that train down in Texas, I had noticed that look was back, and I knew exactly what it meant. He loved me. He truly, infinitely, wholeheartedly, no doubt about it… loved me.

“You’re a sap, Agent Hotchner,” he whispered to me.

“I could say the same about you, Agent Hotchner.”

His fingers withdrew from my hair so that he could grab my hand and intertwine his grasp with mine. We smiled at each other. “I love you…” He kissed my knuckles. “Thank you for… Well, for tonight.”

I tugged his hand back to me, kissing his knuckles this time. “You are so very welcome, my love.”

Just as Hotch’s phone started ringing, we both groaned, and he rolled somewhat to answer. “Garcia, please tell me we don’t have another case.”

“No, sir, it’s not that. You remember how you and Section Chief Strauss asked me to keep an eye on that thing that no one else was supposed to know about and I’ve done a really good job so far of not telling anyone, even though more and more stuff keeps happening, and it’s getting really hard to not tell Morgan—”

“Garcia, breathe.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“What happened?”

“The thing you told me to look into… The Replicator…”

“Who’s The Replicator?” I asked.

Garcia stumbled. “I—Sir, I didn’t know I was on speaker.”

Hotch looked at me. “He’s an Unsub we’ve been tracking. I’ll tell you about it later. Garcia, what happened with him?”

“He, uh, he hacked my system. He… He went to my house, and he… He got everything.”

“How do you know that it was him?”

“He, um…” Garcia hesitated, choking back a sob. “He sent these pictures of you guys… You guys, um… in bed... and he had pictures of Scarlet, Jessica, and Jack when Morgan was with them at the park the other day.”

My heart sank. I didn’t even care about the first part. He had pictures of our babies. He had been watching them like he was watching us. “Aaron—”

“Garcia, send a team to our house, have them brought back to the office again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She hung up as quickly as she could so that she could reach out to Jessica and Will—just to make sure that he and Henry would be safe, too.

I felt my breath hitch and stay like that, as if I couldn’t breathe at all. My babies. That monster had pictures of my little man and my lil’ bug… No… Anyone but them. They didn’t need to get dragged into our messes like Foyet had dragged Jack into it. But then there were the pictures of us. Garcia said that we were in bed in the photos—I looked out the large window of the bedroom to see all the other windows on the building just across the street from ours. He could have been anywhere.

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel @Braxdix

[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?

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[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.”

[daisychains4]

Foundations Part 4

Read Part 1, 2, 3

“Reid and Garcia, check the live feed,” Hotch directed. “Not just the boy, but everything around him. The room. See if we missed anything.”

“Ok,” said Reid, sitting down with Garcia in front of her array of computer monitors. “Katie said that he first appeared a year ago, right? But he was in a normal room.”

“The pictures didn’t look like that,” Garcia agreed, indicating the room in the live feed. “So, something changed?”

“A stressor for him to lock Peter away,” Reid agreed.

“Hey, look at this,” Garcia said excitedly.

“What is it?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Wait, do you see how he’s looking off camera?” Spencer asked, pointing at the monitor. “Someone’s telling him to do what he’s doing. A bidder must want to see him wearing -”

“Wait a minute,” Garcia interrupted, watching as the boy put a button-down shirt over his tee. “That’s a Bear Cubs shirt!”

“Bear Cubs?”

At this, Greenlee, who had been working nearby on a set of chatroom transcripts, joined Reid and Garcia to look at Peter’s live feed.

“It’s a wilderness camp,” Garcia continued. “Knot tying. Compass wielding. Boy stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Reid asked, clearly having no experience with anything like the Bear Cubs.

“She’s sure,” Greenlee interrupted, an obvious edge to her voice. Reid turned to her, surprised. At his look, Greenlee explained, “Camp Bear Cub is a charity camp put on by the Blake Foundation, a children’s charity here in New York.”

“How do you know about it?” Reid asked.

Greenlee didn’t quite meet his eye. “I’m from New York. I volunteered at the camp growing up. Garcia, capture that image when he turns,” she said, shifting the attention away from herself. Reid maintained his gaze on the newest team member momentarily before turning back to the computer.

“Wait, wait, enhance it.”

“It’s like, four numbers,” Garcia said, zooming in on the boy’s sleeve.

Reid asked, “What is that? Three something, something, is that a six?”

Greenlee replied, “That’s a troop number. Kind of like a graduating class. Each year, the newest age group gets a troop number that follows them from summer to summer. Four digits beginning with a three.”

“But a troop number would be registered, right?” Reid asked, looking to Greenlee.

“Already on it, kitten,” Garcia said, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Can you get any closer?” Greenlee asked.

“I can,” Garcia said, “but it’ll distort the image even more.”

Greenlee abruptly turned and left the conference room, leaving Reid and Garcia to search for more information about Peter’s Bear Cubs troop.

“Hotch, Garcia and Reid found something. And I think I know how we can find Peter.”

Hotch looked up sharply from the file he was reading. He looked to Greenlee, then to Katie.

“In my office,” Katie said, standing to lead the two FBI agents into a room behind her and closing them all inside.

“Peter is a Blake Bear Cub,” Greenlee began, “which means he was in the foster system.”

Although Katie seemed to understand this, Hotch’s face was blank.

“The Blake Foundation is a children’s charity here in New York. They mostly work with kids in the foster system. Every summer, they offer camps to foster kids that  teach wilderness skills, but they do so much more than that. They create community, belonging, hope. An escape from life in the foster system. And each summer, the Bear Cubs have a different troop number. So if Peter is a Bear Cub, we can use his troop number to figure out what summer he went to camp. The Blake Foundation will have records of everyone who attended. We should be able to identify Peter.”

Hotch looked hopeful. “Alright. I’ll send Morgan and Reid to the camp to see what they can find.”

“I’ll go, too,” Greenlee said determinedly.

“Not a chance, Garrett,” Hotch said sharply. “You’re too close to this.”

Greenlee looked like she wanted to argue, but held back.

In a cabin office on the property of Camp Bear Cub, Morgan questioned an old woman exasperatedly.

“You’re certain that the shirt came from our camp?” she asked.

“We’re sure. The records?” Morgan prompted.

“I’m sorry, we lost a lot of our paper files to a flood a couple of years ago. What is the troop number?”

“It starts with a three and ends with a six,” Reid said.

“They all start with three,” the woman said unhelpfully. “But only…” she was counting, “three troops ended with a six. Troop 3246 in 2004; 3356 in 2010; and 3576 2015.”

“Start with 3576, the most recent troop,” Reid calculated.

The woman frowned. “That’s one of the files that was lost in the flood,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan grabbed his temples in frustration, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the woman said hurriedly. “There may be a photo of the Bear Cubs.”

Reid handed the woman a picture of Peter. “Do you recognize him? Please look carefully.”

The woman turned to the wall behind her, on which hung various camp pictures. Morgan skirted the counter that divided the room and joined her to look closely at all the pictures.

“That’s him right there,” he exclaimed, pointing at a photo of a Bear Cubs troop. “Is there a name, address, anything?”

“As I said, there are no records left,” the woman replied apologetically. “Let me see that,” she said, moving toward the picture to look at the boy Morgan indicated. “His name’s Charlie,” she said, helpful for once. “And he only came for one summer.”

“Is that odd?” Reid asked.

“Most boys attend every summer from the age of eight to about fifteen.”

“Do you remember who his foster parents were? His last name? Anything about him?”

“Oh, dear, no,” she said. Morgan and Reid turned to leave quickly. “I’d have no idea,” she said, turning back around to find she was talking to an empty room.

[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.

[daisychains4]

Foundations Part 3

Read Part 1, 2

“Reid and Garcia, check the live feed,” Hotch directed. “Not just the boy, but everything around him. The room. See if we missed anything.”

“Ok,” said Reid, sitting down with Garcia in front of her array of computer monitors. “Katie said that he first appeared a year ago, right? But he was in a normal room.”

“The pictures didn’t look like that,” Garcia agreed, indicating the room in the live feed. “So, something changed?”

“A stressor for him to lock Peter away,” Reid agreed.

“Hey, look at this,” Garcia said excitedly.

“What is it?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Wait, do you see how he’s looking off camera?” Spencer asked, pointing at the monitor. “Someone’s telling him to do what he’s doing. A bidder must want to see him wearing -”

“Wait a minute,” Garcia interrupted, watching as the boy put a button-down shirt over his tee. “That’s a Bear Cubs shirt!”

“Bear Cubs?”

At this, Greenlee, who had been working nearby on a set of chatroom transcripts, joined Reid and Garcia to look at Peter’s live feed. She leaned forward to get a closer look at the monitor, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder. Reid hadn’t noticed her take it out of the messy bun on the top of her head, but he now found it impossible to ignore the curtain of gold falling onto his right shoulder or the smell of vanilla emanating from it.

“It’s a wilderness camp,” Garcia continued. “Knot tying. Compass wielding. Boy stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Reid asked, clearly having no experience with anything like the Bear Cubs.

Greenlee shifted her attention to Reid, flipping her blonde waves over her other shoulder, blocking Garcia from view.

“She’s sure,” Greenlee asserted, an obvious edge to her voice. Reid turned to her, surprised by her response and even more surprised at how close her face suddenly was to his. He swallowed, and Greenlee seemed taken aback. At Garcia’s cough, Greenlee recovered. “Camp Bear Cub is a charity camp put on by the Blake Foundation, a children’s charity here in New York.”

“How do you know about it?” Reid asked.

Greenlee straightened, turning away from the computer before answering. “I’m from New York. I volunteered at the camp growing up. Garcia, capture that image when he turns,” she said, shifting the attention away from herself. Reid maintained his gaze on the newest team member momentarily before turning back to the computer.

“Wait, wait, enhance it.”

“It’s like, four numbers,” Garcia said, zooming in on the boy’s sleeve.

Reid asked, “What is that? Three something, something, is that a six?”

Greenlee replied, “That’s a troop number. Kind of like a graduating class. Each year, the newest age group gets a troop number that follows them from summer to summer. Four digits beginning with a three.”

“But a troop number would be registered, right?” Reid asked, looking to Greenlee.

“Already on it, kitten,” Garcia said, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Can you get any closer?” Greenlee asked.

“I can,” Garcia said, “but it’ll distort the image even more.”

Greenlee abruptly turned and left the conference room, leaving Reid and Garcia to search for more information about Peter’s Bear Cubs troop.

“Hotch, Garcia and Reid found something. And I think I know how we can find Peter.”

Hotch looked up sharply from the file he was reading. He looked to Greenlee, then to Katie.

“In my office,” Katie said, standing to lead the two FBI agents into a room behind her and closing them all inside.

“Peter is a Blake Bear Cub,” Greenlee began, “which means he was in the foster system.”

Although Katie seemed to understand this, Hotch’s face was blank.

“The Blake Foundation is a children’s charity here in New York. They mostly work with kids in the foster system. Every summer, they offer camps to foster kids that  teach wilderness skills, but they do so much more than that. They create community, belonging, hope. An escape from life in the foster system. And each summer, the Bear Cubs have a different troop number. So if Peter is a Bear Cub, we can use his troop number to figure out what summer he went to camp. The Blake Foundation will have records of everyone who attended. We should be able to identify Peter.”

Hotch looked hopeful. “Alright. I’ll send Morgan and Reid to the camp to see what they can find.”

“I’ll go, too,” Greenlee said determinedly.

“Not a chance, Garrett,” Hotch said sharply. “You’re too close to this.”

Greenlee looked like she wanted to argue, but held back.

In a cabin office on the property of Camp Bear Cub, Morgan questioned an old woman exasperatedly.

“You’re certain that the shirt came from our camp?” she asked.

“We’re sure. The records?” Morgan prompted.

“I’m sorry, we lost a lot of our paper files to a flood a couple of years ago. What is the troop number?”

“It starts with a three and ends with a six,” Reid said.

“They all start with three,” the woman said unhelpfully. “But only…” she was counting, “three troops ended with a six. Troop 3246 in 2004; 3356 in 2010; and 3576 2015.”

“Start with 3576, the most recent troop,” Reid calculated.

The woman frowned. “That’s one of the files that was lost in the flood,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan grabbed his temples in frustration, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” the woman said hurriedly. “There may be a photo of the Bear Cubs.”

Reid handed the woman a picture of Peter. “Do you recognize him? Please look carefully.”

The woman turned to the wall behind her, on which hung various camp pictures. Morgan skirted the counter that divided the room and joined her to look closely at all the pictures.

“That’s him right there,” he exclaimed, pointing at a photo of a Bear Cubs troop. “Is there a name, address, anything?”

“As I said, there are no records left,” the woman replied apologetically. “Let me see that,” she said, moving toward the picture to look at the boy Morgan indicated. “His name’s Charlie,” she said, helpful for once. “And he only came for one summer.”

“Is that odd?” Reid asked.

“Most boys attend every summer from the age of eight to about fifteen.”

“Do you remember who his foster parents were? His last name? Anything about him?”

“Oh, dear, no,” she said. Morgan and Reid turned to leave quickly. “I’d have no idea,” she said, turning back around to find she was talking to an empty room.