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#aaron hotchner asks
honeypiehotchner · 11 months
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ooh bc i’m autistic as well and love ur autistic! reader x hotch work, what r ur head canons for the relationship?
🍒🤍🍒
OOOOOOOOOOOOO hell yeah let’s go it's delusional hours 😍
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i’m a big fan of the idea that he can tell when you’re masking 🫣 he won’t call you out on it in a bad way, but he Knows. and when he does tell you that he can tell a difference, it's very very sweet and caring
the man has a strict routine as well with general day-to-day work so I fully believe that will mesh the best whether or not you're an agent
AND when it comes to him being on cases and breaking that routine, he for sure has ways to keep it in place. like if you're not an agent, he makes sure to text you at least in the morning and at night before bed. but if you are an agent, he for sure develops almost like a second separate routine for when you're in the field to keep things familiar still despite how chaotic it'll get
you make one mention of it being too loud and that bitch will have noise-cancelling headphones delivered to your door the next day no questions asked.
((i'm a VERY firm believer in hotch doesn't like to spend his money on himself but anyone else? sure why not they're $300? why don't you get the $500 pair those look nicer just put it on my card))
he's so patient with reid that i for sure see him also showing that same patience to you. like if you're rambling for too long (and let's be real if you're an agent then you and reid are feeding off each other) hotch will just gently/quietly reel you back in to get back on task
but if you're just at home? oh heart eyes out the ass bitch he will let you ramble as long as you want and he will just listen and ask questions and retain it all. same if you have a favorite show or movie that you just want to watch constantly, he'll be the first to suggest it
back to the patience, i can see him helping in social situations too, if you're ever confused, he'll explain or even keep you from speaking at maybe an inappropriate time. you're usually good on picking up certain things, but he fills in the gaps where you miss other cues
ALSO for my own guilty pleasure, he's defensive as hell. if anyone tries to talk down to you like you're a child or says some bullshit about how "they never would've guessed you're autistic!!!!" hotch is right there to call them out on it. he has your back all the time, especially after you decide to be more open about being autistic in public/at work
he's also super supportive of whether or not you want to pursue an official diagnosis. he believes you no matter what and wants you to do what's best for you, with or without the "official" diagnosis
he's such a protective person in general that i feel like he's the best during/after autistic meltdowns when you feel so out of control. he's right there to ground you and do whatever you need, even if that's just him sitting with you until it passes
i love writing these hehe!! send any other autistic questions/headcanons you have because this soothes my soul ngl 💗💗
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hoe4hotchner · 2 years
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can you please write something about puppy reader getting a shot and hiding in hotchs t shirt all day just wanting to be close to him
It's literally just her yearly shot and she will act like the biggest baby all day. Not wanting to walk at all. Always whining when Hotch tries to leave her alone for a split second, even though he's just going to the bathroom.
She will lay in his lap all day if she can manage to. Pout and whimper up at him until he kisses the spot where she got her vaccine. And she'll have him carry her around all day and if he doesn't cry she'll scream the way huskies do when they're being dramatic.
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greg-montgomery · 2 months
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Texting bf's dad hotch by accident when you're drunk and trying to get your bf to pick you up...
this idea >>>>
also aaron has another son besides jack in this
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
They were just a few margaritas. You didn’t expect a casual girl’s night to turn into a pounding headache and a room that was spinning around you.
It was fun and your friends wanted to stay longer, but your upset stomach would not let you enjoy the rest of your night. You were more than ready to get out of there.
“I’m gonna ask my boyfriend to come pick me up,” you told your friends, who seemed a bit too drunk to process your words.
As carefully as you could, you made your way outside the bar, and took your phone out of your purse. Going through your contacts you stopped when you spotted your boyfriend’s name.
‘Babe can you come and pick me up? I can’t drive’
You hit send, and right after, you shared your location with him.
‘I’ll be there in 20.’
Oh.
That was it? No whining? No scolding you for drinking too much? No complaining about you being an inconvenience?
It was a full moon; maybe he was going through some kind of transformation.
You closed your eyes for a bit and rested your head against the wall. The minutes would simply not pass fast enough. I’m never drinking again, you thought.
Your phone buzzed in your hands and a new message flashed across the screen.
‘I’m here.’
You were ready to lift your head and search for his car, but your eyes were glued on the contact name that appeared above the text you had just received.
It didn’t say Mark. It said Mark’s dad.
No way, you thought. No way, I asked Aaron Hotchner to come pick me up from a bar because I’m wasted.
But that was exactly what you had done.
The word embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions you were feeling at that moment; especially as you watched him get out of his car and walking towards you.
Why did he have to look so good? As if drunk texting him wasn’t embarrassing enough, he had to look like a god in a suit that cost more than your monthly rent.
‘Mr. Hotchner,” you said, when he approached you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to text you. I wanted to text Mark, but I got confused and God…I’m so, so dizzy.”
 His expression stayed serious, but he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let’s get in the car.”
Aaron opened the door for you and held your hand so you could get inside. You expected him to close the door but instead he leaned over you and fastened your seatbelt for you.
Your heart started jumping around at the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his face so close to yours. You weren’t proud of it, but Aaron Hotchner was your forbidden desire. And the star of more dirty dreams than you’d ever dare to admit.
His thick fingers brushed against your stomach as he made sure that your seatbelt was tight enough to keep you safe.
You shut your eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm your body down.
“Are you alright?” he asked, softly.
His deep voice was the cherry on top that had you melting on your seat.
“Yeah,” you answered weakly. “Just dizzy.”
He closed the door and made his way to the other side, and soon he was on the driver’s seat.
There was a small water bottle in the cup holder and he picked it up. “Here,” he offered, “Have some water. It’ll help.”
“Thank you,” you said taking it from his hands, and shivered at the contact when your fingers brushed.
The bottle was half empty which meant he already had some of it before you. He had wrapped his lips around it; around where your lips were now.
You devoured any water that was left and realized how bad you needed to get hydrated. “I needed that.”
“I can tell,” he laughed. “Come on,” he added, and started the car. “Let’s take you home.”
“Were you asleep?”
“Hm?””
“When I texted you. Did I wake you up?” you asked with a worried tone.
“I rarely sleep, honey. You don’t have to worry about me.”
You pressed your thighs together at the sound of the pet name and the sight of his hands around the wheel.
“Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” he said. “You needed me.”
“I did,” you said, breathless. “Mark would…”
You paused.
“Go on.”
You hesitated. “He would have probably told me to call a cab.”
“He’d let his girl get in the car with a stranger in the middle of the night? When she’s drunk?”
“Sometimes he gets upset with things like that. And, listen, I get it. I can be trouble sometimes.”
“Oh you can be,” Aaron said. “But not for the reasons you think.”
“What do you mean?”
He ignored your question, but it didn’t take too long before he spoke again.
“I’m gonna have a word with him. He’s not treating you well.”
“No, please don’t.”
The only thing that talk would achieve would be Mark getting upset with you.
There was a long pause, and you took advantage of the silence to stare at him. His side profile, his hands, his arms. He was perfect.
‘I wish Mark was more like you,” you said before thinking any better.
“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I could say way worse.”
He chuckled. “Unless you want both of us to get in trouble, don’t.”
“But-”
Aaron reached out to hold your hand, making you go quiet. “You’re drunk. But what I do want you to know is that I’m always here, okay?”
“Okay.”
He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go the entire ride home.
part 2
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pathologicalreid · 6 months
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Dude I love ur writing sm!! It’s literally so good and Buried Alive was amazing! If ur down for it (totally no pressure at all) I was wondering if u would eventually write a second part where Spencer helps the reader with the aftermath? Like maybe they struggle with PTSD or severe claustrophobia after that? Idk ur literally amazing enough I’m sure u have great ideas and again, it’s completely up to u, I was just wondering
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above ground | S.R.
part one part three
in which spencer helps you cope with the aftermath of your abduction, and you reciprocate
who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader
category: hurt/comfort, angst
content warnings: claustrophobia, being buried alive, nightmares/night terrors, ptsd, death, cpr, use of pet names, mentions of drugs, therapy, suffocation
word count: 2.2k
a/n: hello anon! i am absolutely always down for spencer reid hurt/comfort!! thank you so much for asking!!! i've been super overwhelmed with all of the support i've received on buried alive and i'm so so grateful for all of the kind things people have said.
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Standing in a dark room, you looked around your surroundings. There was nothing around you that told you where you were. The walls were all blank, the ground was cement, and it was too dark for you to even see the ceiling.
Hesitantly, you reached out your palm, touching the wall just for it to be met with something… damp? You pulled your hand away, and your skin came back dirty. Your stomach churned as you observed the soil that had settled in the creases of your fingerprints. “No,” you breathed, quickly moving to dig at the walls.
You felt it on your elbow next, like the dirt walls were encroaching on you. You turned around to see the dark room was just getting darker, and the walls started to deteriorate. Like an avalanche, the dirt of the walls falls to the ground, covering your feet, “No,” you cried out this time.
Digging at the walls just made your earthly prison bury you faster, so instead, you tried to climb toward the ceiling. You whimpered in defeat as you reached the previously unseen ceiling. The loose earth reached your chest, constricting your breathing. You tilted your head back in an attempt to keep the dirt out of your mouth.
Your face felt cool like a gentle breeze was being blown on it. You choked, but to your surprise, you didn’t choke on dirt.
            There were hands on you, one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist. That didn’t make sense to you, someone hauled you into a sitting position, patting your back in an attempt to help you clear your throat.
            The choking turned to coughing, which then turned to dry heaving off the edge of your bed. Very rarely did anything ever come out, but you kept a trash can there just in case. You blinked as someone reached over and turned on the lamp on your bedside table, the comforting hand remained on your back.
            Desperately, you tried to catch your breath, tilting your head back as you tried to open your airway. “You’re safe. I’m right here, angel,” Spencer whispered from behind you, he leaned his forehead between your shoulder blades and drew hearts on your back with his index finger.
            You took a deep, shuddering breath as you finally filled your lungs, visualizing the air going in and out of your body. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.
            Spencer continued whispering to you, not once did he tell you that your dream wasn’t real because it was real. To you, being buried alive was very real. The suffocation was real, it had happened to you.
            Two months ago, you had been abducted and buried alive by a family, a mother and her two sons. All of whom were in jail awaiting trial. The two agents from the Omaha field office who had left you alone in the funeral home apologized profusely, you had a private meeting with the director of the FBI, and the BAU rallied behind you, it was nice, but none of it made the fear go away.
            The first nightmare came the same night you were back in Virginia, and you had screamed so loud that your neighbors called the police. Spencer handled everything, and when the officers insisted that they needed to speak to you directly, he flashed his FBI credentials, something he really wasn’t supposed to do.
            Your response was to avoid sleeping, at least at night. You stayed awake at night, reading, or watching TV with headphones on, and you slept during the day so that when you opened your eyes, you could feel the sun on your face. The problem was when you needed to go somewhere, you didn’t sleep, or when it rained, you didn’t sleep.
            The exhaustion just made your anxiety worse, and Spencer caught on to it. He sat you down on the couch and held your hands, telling you that he understood that you didn’t want to feel like you were burdening anyone with your nightmares, but he needed you to understand that you were killing yourself at the same time.
            He didn’t do it for everyone, but for you, Spencer took over the role of protector. He found you a therapist in the district that specialized in patients with PTSD and claustrophobia. It was an hour round trip, but Spencer was more than willing to take you the first few times.
            Dr. Montgomery quickly diagnosed you with PTSD and claustrophobia. You hadn’t realized that claustrophobia was something you could be clinically diagnosed with, but the doctor told you that there’s a difference between a fear of enclosed spaces and what you had. He was straightforward, which you liked, and he told you that your claustrophobia was a response to the traumatic event that you had experienced.
            A steady course of treatment that included medication and exposure therapy had slowly been giving you your life back.
            But then there was Spencer.
            Spencer had Morgan help him take the inside doors of your apartment off the hinges so air would flow, and you wouldn’t be afraid of suffocating. He left the ceiling fan in your bedroom on even as the weather cooled so the air never got stale.
            Six weeks ago, you had mentioned offhandedly that you were having a hard time sleeping in total silence, and Spencer had come home later with a white noise machine.
            When you apologized to him for needing the lights on to sleep, he responded by stringing lights around the entire apartment, telling you he read that warm light can help prepare the mind and body for sleep.
            He turned in all of his PTO, even accepting some from David Rossi, who didn’t use his anyway, so he could stay home with you while you were on mandatory medical leave. He tagged along to therapy appointments, to the neurologist, and even to the FBI physician who needed to clear your physical injuries to your ribs before you could return to the field.
            On his nightstand, there was a stack of books all about claustrophobia and loving someone with PTSD.
            Not once through this whole endeavor did you question your relationship with Spencer, he made himself perfectly clear through his actions. He wasn’t going anywhere.
            The FBI physician cleared you two weeks ago, your neurologist faxed Hotch paperwork stating you were without any deficits, and your psychiatrist told you that as long as you felt like you could avoid your triggers, you should be able to go back to work. In fact, Dr. Montgomery thought going back to work could be beneficial.
            You were supposed to go back tomorrow.
            Spencer was now sitting in front of you, and he offered you a small smile as you blinked yourself out of your nightmare-induced stupor and met his eyes, “There’s my girl,” he whispered. For a moment, you focused on his movements, smoothing your hair back with one hand and leaving the other hand resting on your waist. “I love you. You’re safe, you’re at home with me,” he reassured you.
            You narrowed your eyebrows, “It was- I was in the ground again.” Hesitantly, you looked down at your hands, they were perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen.
            “It was a night terror, angel,” he said, speaking gently to you as he reached over and pulled the strap of your tank top up and over your shoulder from where it had fallen. A night terror, not a nightmare.
            Tears dropped down your face when you closed your eyes. “I couldn’t breathe,” you whimpered. Taking a gasping breath, you looked at Spencer as you tried to draw air into your lungs, “I couldn’t breathe, Spence. I couldn’t breathe.”
            Quickly, Spencer pulled you into his lap and held you, “Shh,” he cooed. “I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured as you set your chin on his shoulder and cried.
            “I suffocated,” you whispered, it was a fact of your life, that you had stopped breathing for a period of time. The doctors estimated you had been down for almost ten minutes.
            His hold on you tightened, “I know,” his voice broke slightly. “I know, baby,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you need?” He asked, watching you intently as he reached up and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears.
            You blinked the last of your tears from your eyes before meeting his, “Can we go outside?” You asked him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders.
            Spencer nodded, leaning over to grab his glasses off of his nightstand before standing up and picking you up as he went.
            Instinctively, you yelped, but a laugh escaped your lips. It was a foreign feeling sometimes, but Spencer always knew how to elicit a smile from you. “Put me down,” you said, but your tone was light.
            Once your feet were touching the ground, Spencer looked at you, “I just wanted to see you smile.” He said earnestly.
            Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirked up, “Thank you.” You reached over to grab your phone off the charger and slide it into your pocket before you led Spencer out to your apartment’s balcony. He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled you down onto his lap.
            You let him hold you, not moving and just letting your body settle on top of his. The cool autumn air filled your lungs as Spencer held you. You let him hold you because you knew that his fear was just as valid as yours. While you were afraid of confinement because you had been confined, he was afraid of you dying because you had died.
            “I can hear you thinking, honey,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” You asked him, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.
            He sighed, “I’m worried about you,” he admitted. “I want to tell you not to go back to work yet, even though I know that logically it’s the next step for you,” Spencer said, you watched his honey-colored eyes as they studied your face. “And I know that you need it, you need to return to something dependable.”
            You move your head so you can look him in the eyes better, “But?”
            “But,” he continued, “the BAU isn’t dependable. You have this great routine that we’ve very nearly perfected and I’m so worried about you straying from it. The long hours at work could very well cause you to lose all of the progress you’ve made in the last two months,” he tells you candidly. “What happens when you need to get on an elevator, or when you need to get on the jet, and you can’t? What about when you-“ He cut himself off, swallowing thickly before he said something he couldn’t take back.
            You shifted so you were facing him, shoulder to shoulder, “What is it, Spence?”
            He took a deep breath and cupped your cheek with his hand, “The last case you worked on, you died. I pulled your dead body out of a casket. Fuck, Y/N,” his curse took you aback, he usually strayed from swearing. “I did CPR on you before Morgan took over,” he finished, voice growing hoarse.
            Your lips parted; you couldn’t answer him. You didn’t know how to answer him, but you took his hand and selected his third and index finger before pressing them to the pulse point on your wrist. In response, he sighed and leaned his forehead to yours. You watched his lips move as he silently counted the beats per minute.
            The both of you jumped when your phone went off, and dread filled your stomach when you checked your phone.
            Penelope Garcia: Local case. Round table room in thirty if you’re up for it.
            “If you ask me to stay home, I will,” you told Spencer, sweeping his curls behind his ears. “I won’t hold it against you, I’ll tell Hotch I need more time.”
            Spencer shook his head, “You know I can’t do that. I can’t make that decision for you, and I don’t want you to make the decision for me, you need to choose what you want.”
            You both went, Spencer distracted you for the entire elevator ride up to the BAU, but he was still tense. Even though he insisted he was fine, you knew him better than that.
Spencer followed you up to Hotch’s office and when you told Hotch you wanted to work but you didn’t feel ready to be in the field, your unit chief nodded and told you that you were welcome to stay in the local precinct and work on a geographical profile with Spencer.
            You watched the tension leave Spencer’s body. He tried to tell you that you didn’t need to do that, but you just rolled your eyes and dragged him to the roundtable room.
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show-your-fangs · 9 months
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What about a teenage!Jack where his friends are over and keep commenting how his Mom (reader) is attractive and Aaron finds it funny but Jack is mortified?
this is fucking GOLD. enjoy another installment of moments au
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Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader
Words: 665
CW: nothing, cursing mostly.
Tags/warnings: jack's friends being pervs, cursing, jack defending his mom and dad.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
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Aaron honestly couldn’t blame them. He honestly found it funny, how their cheeks would flush every time you walked past, seconds away from catching them saying the most inappropriate things about you. He knew they didn’t know he could hear them from his office, the angle keeping him hidden as he tried to work while also allowing for their voices to carry down the hall. 
Jack had brought his friends over for a pool day and he’d requested that the two of you leave them alone, that they could fend for themselves. But as much as he’d pleaded, you were still unable to stop yourself.
You’d made them snacks, prepared a homemade ice tea, would check in every so often to make sure they were doing okay. And every time, without fail, his friends would pretend to be utter gentlemen, thanking you profusely until you left them alone once more and they turned from the kids their parents through they were into the horny teenagers they really were. 
It became clear to Aaron immediately why Jack didn’t want you around. It had nothing to do with his independence but rather the fact that his friends clearly didn’t know how to act around his mom. They’d made every inappropriate comment a teenage boy could come up with, and every time Jack would groan or roll his eyes or politely ask them to chill. But every time you showed your face the comments would start up again. 
It was after lunch when shit hit the fan. You’d ordered a big family meal style delivery, had set up the large containers in the kitchen, with the boys’ help which they were eager to give, and had made a plate for yourself and Aaron. They thought you couldn’t hear them in the kitchen, thought they were being so slick, but they should’ve known better than to not wait for you to exit the room. 
“I still don’t know how your dad bagged her,” Eric started, clearly teasing. “She’s just so—”
“So out of his league,” Dylan finished and the two of them snickered together. 
“If I had a step mom like that…” Nick sighed and the other two chuckled, no words needed for the four of them to know what he wanted to say. Jack couldn’t help but cringe, the mere thought of his stupid friends thinking about you this way appalling. 
“You boys need anything else?” you said loudly from the kitchen, a cue for them to stop talking as you pushed the door open with your hip. 
“We’re okay, thanks mom,” Jack’s voice was chipper like it always was with you, always soft and kind. His friends’ immediately perked up at your requests, their eyes sparkling with what you could only imagine were requests that you definitely didn’t want to know about. 
“Thank you, Mrs. Hotchner,” they practically sang in unison, their teasing only getting more pronounced as you walked down the hall, desperately trying not to give them anything else to talk about, but apparently that was completely useless.
“Check out her ass—”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” you heard Jack groan, his patience finally running thin. His friends stilled in an instant, your instinct to fix it slowly creeping up from your heart to your brain. But Aaron was quick, his hand wrapped around your waist before you could move. “How would you like it if I talked about your mom like that?”
Silence. 
“That’s what I thought,” he stated, confident. “So can you please just stop it?”
His words were followed by a string of mumbles and murmurs in agreement, ashamed apologies and admissions of guilt. 
You couldn’t help but chuckle, Aaron quickly pulling you into his office so the two of you could erupt in a fit of giggles. It was cute, almost too adorable that the boy you’d met so long ago was now defending your honor to his friends, was standing up for his mom, for his dad, for his family. 
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okay i'm trying to get through some of the requests. i apologize for not being as active, you know how fanfiction authors' lives go off the rails sometimes.
i'm going to try and post a few of these before my "taking some time off" announcement. i've got a big week coming up but know i am trying.
tag list: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer
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ssahopelessly · 9 months
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Sick Leave
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Synopsis: There has never been a time where she was ‘too sick’ to go to work.
Request: Could you do a Spencer x BAU Reader where she is sick but doesn’t want to admit it and comes into work? Please?
Warning: SpencerxFemReader, ambiguous relationship, symptom descriptions, sans Spencer’s germophobia, light displays of affection // let me know any I missed!
Word Count: 1.8k
Masterlist
If you had asked me what my problem was that morning, I would have endless options but I couldn’t really decide on which one was actually the front runner. Maybe the inability to breathe properly, maybe the scratchiness at the back of my throat, or maybe it was the headache that seemed to be wrapping around my head like it’s own imaginary gym headband. But maybe, it was the way I still went to work, having taken some medication and telling myself the symptoms would subside. Or at least I hoped they would.
I had stopped by my desk, trying to rub the pressure from my head as I felt a pair of eyes on me, studying me in my state from across the aisle. “Are you feeling okay?” Most sounds had only made my headache twinge in sharp pain, but I was thankful that didn’t seem to be the effect with him. His voice was a cool breeze, wrapping around my shoulders to fight the heat that had rushed over my skin.
“Pfft, yeah. I’m fine.” I tried to dismiss him though, turning to see the rightfully deserved quirked up eyebrow he was casting at me. “I’m fine.” Was another attempt at reassurance that probably would’ve been believable if, in my state, I hadn’t also tried to take a step forward towards my chair, and nearly stumbled on my two feet, almost falling to the ground.
Spencer was soon behind me though, pulling me up onto my feet with an arm around my waist as he pulled me to his chest, safer there than the floor. He kicked my chair further out with his foot as I grabbed onto the desk for stability, the both of us wrestling my body towards the seat.
“You’re definitely not fine.” Was huffed into my ear as I was finally seated, eyes all over me as he backed up slightly, assessing me in my state. The back of his hand raised to my forehead, bottom corner of his lip pulling inward. “You have a fever.” I avoided looking into his eyes as his hands slipped under my ears on both sides of my head and towards the back of my head, somewhere near where my hairline met my neck, fingertips pressing into the skin in their vicinity. “And I can feel how swollen your lymph nodes are.” I would blame the potential fever on the blush that rushed to my cheeks, knowing that the way he was holding my head was a bit more intimate than acceptable for simple coworkers. If Derek had held Emily or JJ’s head like this, there would be room for concern or rumors.
“What is that supposed to even mean?” An attempt to breathe through my nose had him recoiling back, the proof that I was congested hanging between us.
“It means you’re sick and need to go home.”
“You’re not even a medical doctor. You can’t make that call.” His stare softened as his hand reached up once more to brush hair from my face to behind my ear.
“Do you want to talk to Hotch or should I?”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to work.” I forced the pout on my lips, knowing my bottom lip jutting out was often how I got him to cave in an argument. But he simply closed his eyes and turned away from me, moving back towards his desk.
“Okay,” was his admit of defeat, “Fine. I just feel like you should go home. Just trying to look out for you.” There was a layer of hurt in his words that made me feel guilty. Spencer buried his nose in a book, practically ignoring me from my side of the aisle, and that might’ve hurt more than his words. No matter how aggressive my cough had become, or how many times I sneezed, not a look, not a ‘bless you’, nothing. It was just an effort to look out for me, we both knew this. But I was stubborn, and it honestly just felt like a head cold. I could work through a head cold with medicine. I had done it before, I could surely do it again.
-
I’m not sure when, and I’m not sure how. All I know is, I was being woken up by someone shaking my arm, and when I opened my eyes, Aaron Hotchner was squatting down at the side of my desk, a sympathetic smile on his face. Dad Hotch was coming out for me in his smile, a sharp contrast to the stern exterior that usually accompanied SSA Hotchner. “Go home.” Was all he offered, the corner of his lips never falling.
“No,” it came out more of a whine than I had originally meant, my head pounding as I lifted it from where it had been resting on my arms. “I want to stay.”
“You’re sick. And you were sleeping here for an hour. Go home.” Another attempt at pleading with him would have dropped cold on the floor, and I wasn’t going to argue with him when he just explained to me how long I had been out. Gathering my things from my desk, Aaron walked me towards the sixth floor elevator bay, where Spencer joined us.
“I got her from here.” The grudge from earlier had been dropped, as his hand reached for my bag, draping the strap onto his other shoulder that wasn’t occupied by his own work bag. Aaron offered him a smile and nod before reentering the BAU glass doors, the only other company with Spencer and I being the hum of the elevator car as we waited. I kept my arms wrapped around myself, feeling very much like a child in a child swap dynamic. “Told you.” He muttered under his breath as he rocked from his heel to his toes. Rolling my eyes at him, I entered the elevator when it finally showed up, Spencer reaching over for the ground floor button as the door closed us in.
On the few occasions Spencer and I had carpooled to work, Spencer had noted that I tend to park in the same area and I tried to explain to him it was the prime parking spot location, and the banter had fallen off after that. Now, I was happy he seemed to know where I would have parked that morning, his hand reaching into my bag for my car keys. I had wanted to drive, but it was another instance where Spencer seemed to know better than me, and my energy was dwindling to maintain any fight that could start between us.
The drive home was quiet and I was fighting sleep. I would never admit to being sick and/or tired, but I was grateful for being sent home. I was grateful for having someone like Spencer as my coworker and my ‘something more’, but I didn’t know to what extent I was entitled to some actions. “Are you at least going to stay with me?”
“I’m taking you home, aren’t I?” There was a twinkle in the corner of his eye as he tried not to laugh at me, doing a terrible job of suppressing his humor from his lips. I sank further into my seat as we traveled further from Quantico and closer back to the residential part of DC. I had already fallen asleep at work, surely Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if I fell asleep on the car ride home.
-
“We’re here.” This time, I was woken by Spencer’s hand on my thigh as he had opened the passenger door and was working on getting my seatbelt off of me. Something he couldn’t quite do as my arms were once again wrapped over my chest and my head was resting against the strap as it crossed my shoulder. I just grunted as I reached for my bag that had been at my feet, seeing Spencer had once again placed the strap over his own shoulder to carry it for me. He stepped to the side as I tried to climb out, offering a hand for me to hold when he thought I might need it.
I was still capable enough to unlock my apartment in my state, but that didn’t stop Spencer from wanting to stay, entering my place with me. He placed my bag on one of the bar stools, like he’d seen me do countless times before, then just kind of watched me as I moved through my space. Sleep hadn’t left my system just yet, as I bumped into the door frame into my room, immediately pulling my top off, attempting to throw it towards the hamper. My pajamas had been resting on the foot of my bed and I had fully changed over to those by the time Spencer entered my room, hand in his pockets as he watched me from the door. “You didn’t have to tell Hotch.” I tried to chide him as I pulled the layers of fabric back from my spot on the mattress.
“I didn’t.” I raised my eyebrow at him, his head bowing as he took a moment to laugh under his breath, stepping into the room now. “You fell asleep at your desk. He asked what was wrong and I just told him you hadn’t been feeling well.”
“So you snitched on me?”I climbed into bed, back under my covers because that seemed like the best place for me to be in this moment. If I had been sent home from work, I was simply going to sleep the day away. Spencer sat on the side of the mattress, reaching for the covers to pull them over my body for me.
“Get some sleep.” The look of adoration was so intense, I thought I might actually see cartoon hearts take form in his eyes, his hand reaching up to gently brush the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.
I couldn’t stay mad at him, not for being overprotective or for telling Hotch. He was doing what he thought was best in an effort to care for me, and where it maybe hadn’t been how I would’ve handled the situation, it was only in my best interest. I reached for his hand as it rested between us now, trying to interlace my fingers with his. He let it happen, his focus seemingly only on our hold. “Spenc-”
“Sleep.” A kiss was applied to my forehead before I laid back against the pillows, watching him as he moved from the bed back towards the door frame, hand lingering over the light switches.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Pressing a hand to my lips, I blew him a kiss as he turned off the lights in my room, a blush rising to his cheek as he cracked the door in his exit. I listened for the sounds of his departure from the apartment, but instead only heard the sounds of him moving through the kitchen, probably making lunch. I pulled the pillow next to me closer, trying to imagine it was him, that it had been him cuddling me into tranquility as I drifted off to sleep.
-
For the alternate twist on this trope, check out my SickSpencerxFemReader fic here!
Thank you for reading!
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h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3 · 3 months
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your friend isn't always a genius
request
dom! aaron hotchner x brat reader
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summary: Aaron's been on a case for to long reader decideds to be a brat but he gets home sooner than expected, turns out aaron got some advice from his friend.
warnings: use of y/n, masturbat!on fem, consensual voyeurism, being a brat, punishments, recording, daddy kink, mentions of spencer reid
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it's been almost two weeks since aaron went on a case. it wasn't anything major, but with the towns police hindering the investigation due to a lack of knowledge and experience, he's had to stay longer than planned.
you know you can't blame aaron for being on a case, but having a break in routine always results in you bratting. so honestly, he shouldn't have expected less.
you currently sat on your knees infront of your full body mirror dressed in only a pair of pretty pink lace panties and one of aarons sleep shirts, taking pictures that you knew you'd get in trouble for. it didn't matter tho, you loved aarons punishments. you loved the way his hand felt when he spanked your ass or when you'd go brain dead from him fucking you so good. if you were being honest it was one of your favorite things.
sending the pictures to aaron you sit and wait for him to see it. it's around nine, and he's usually in the hotel by now unless they had a break in the case. you check and seeing that he read the text you pussy dampened and your heart speed up. waiting for a reply you sit there, and sit there, and sit. it's about 5 minutes when you decide to call him.
the phone ringing 3 times before he answers. 'hey sweetheart' he answers like he would normally. 'why didn't you answer my text?' you question, opting out of a greeting. 'because your not supposed to do that' he replys plainly. 'so? what you were just gonna ignore me?' you ask him letting your voice raise.
' I was' aaron says as if it's a normal thing.
' you never ignore me ' you say pouting as if he could see you. ' and you continue to be a brat. ya know spencer and I got the talkin and he said that if someone constantly has the same punishment every time they acted out, it'd become less effective.' he states, making you wonder what in their conversation made them talk about this and why he thought it pertained to you.
because it does.
'and? the fuck does that mean aaron?' you pout feeling the urge to really pass him off now. I mean if he was gonna change up punishments you can change up what your getting punished for.
'watch it' he warns urging you to not play this game. decideding he was beyond wrong and that you'd not only play this game, but win. you hung up the phone, removing your underwear you sat up the camera to where your pussy was on full display. hitting record, you let your fingers travel down your cheest, over your stomach past your clit collecting all of your juices on your fingers. bringing then back up to your clit you make eye contact with your camera as you start to play with your pussy.
moaning at the pleasure, you couldn't deny how good it felt, but you also couldn't deny how much it felt nothing like aaron. bringing your fingers down to your entrance, sliding them in as your eyes roll back and toes curl.
'oh fuck it feels so good' you moan out. you continue to fuck yourself on camera for about five minutes before you realize something. 'fuck I can't cum' you groan out. not knowing why but still wanting to win. so you crop the last bit of the video and send aaron the gold parts.
confused on why it's been five minutes of really good pleasure, and yet you haven't cum yet. you decided to get a toy, recording yourself play with it for a while before groaning and giving up at the same out come.
editing that video and again sending only the good parts you guessed that you must have became camera shy out of nowhere. so you play with your pussy while the camera isn't on. you try everything in the span of 6 hours, reaching for your phone at hour 3 to watch porn because maybe you need a little help.
which lead to realizing aaron once again left you on read.
you genuinely felt as though you could cry now. that's when the realization hits you. you've must of been so hardwired to aaron that it's impossible for you to cum without him now.
feeling angry, not necessarily at aaron, but at the fact that he probably knew you couldn't come without him, that's probably why he was okay with ignoring you.
getting cleaned in the bathroom before going back to the bedroom with a frown on your face, you let out a huff as you plopped on the bed.
waking up the next morning, you check your phone. feeling your heart drop and crawl it's self back in place you read the one message from aaron. sent hours after you went to bed, about 1 a.m., telling you how they had a break in the case and caught the guy in the act. which means he'd be home anytime today.
that'd usually make you ecstatic, but with aarons newfound discovery of ignoring you only God knows what your punishment will be.
you spend the day cleaning the apartment, cooking aaron his favorite meal, even going as far as making brownies. also thinking it was better to clean the whole apartment too just in case.
almost perfectly on time, when you're taking the brownies out, aaron walks through the door. 'hey baby' he greets, walking over to hug you. "at least he's not that mad" you think to yourself. 'hi' you reply shyly, letting your head rest on his chest.
you've missed this, and if kinda makes you feel bad for being a brat. looking around the kitchen, aaron smiles fondly at the food you prepared. then picks you up whole he spins to look at the whole apartment, he knows it's because you didn't expect him home so soon after acting out, but he still loves it.
'enjoy the time you have sugar, cause after we eat your ass is done for' he smiles grabbing a handful of your ass and pecking your lips, before letting you down and making his way to the table.
let let out a groan, but honestly expecting that food and dessert wasn't gonna save you from your punishment.
your weren't that hungry so you finished before aaron. as soon as the last piece was gone from his plate, you shot up to start cleaning the kitchen. 'Ah, that can wait baby' aaron tells you as he gets up from the table and motions for you to follow. 'what? noo, I got it' you answer starting to wash the dishes.
aaron walked behind you, an amused smile on his face. which goes away after he sees that your purposely washing slowly 'the longer you take on the dishes, the more time is added to your punishment' he says, making you drop the fork out of your hands. 'what? that's not fair'. you try to argue only for aaron to turn around and make his way to your shared room.
saying fuck it you decided not to do the dishes and follow him to the room. 'you done?' he asks 'fuck you, yes' you reply. making him laugh while he sat on the edge of the bed.
'get undressed baby' aaron commands you. decideding to choose your battles wisely and not have you outfit ripped apart, knowing aaron is not only good for buying clothes but destroying them, you undressed.
moving over, you sit in the center of the bed like he always tells you. waiting for him to say something you patently wait playing with your fingers.
he gets up from the edge of the bed and turns to you 'had fun without me?' your boyfriend asks you. 'not at all daddy, it was so boring' you answer back. ' so glad your back now' you add smiling up to him.
he lets out a loud laugh at your answer. 'seems to me you had all the fun in the world' aaron says. shacking your head no, while he shakes his head yes 'I know you did baby and it's okay.' he speaks as he makes his way to the chair in your room. 'how many times did you cum?' he ask while getting comfortable.
'don't ask me that daddy' you groan. he chuckles while un doing his tie. 'you don't want to tell me baby?' he questions. Shacking your head no he just smiles at you before speaking 'go ahead nd show me baby'.
confusion feels your body as aaron watches you from across the room. 'what?' you whispered, silently praying that you misheard him.
'baby I want you to play with your pussy while I watch' he admitted as if it was a mundane request. 'show me what you did while I was gone' he told you with a smirk.
shacking your head no, you desperatly thank of anything to get you out of this. 'that's so embarrassing daddy' you tell him as you pout.
your pussy is getting wetter by the second but you didnt know if you'd be able to cum. or even worse if you'd be allowed to.
before you could blink aaron got up and exited the room. you were confused to say the least and once he returned with a lighter that confusion only grew.
that was, until he went into your shared closet.
your jaw hit the floor as you see him walk out with one of your favorite pairs of heels. 'aaron what are yo-' 'shh baby' he cuts you off tossing your heels infront of the bed.
'they're just encouragement' he says as he reclaims his seat, lighter in hand 'but know that you'll be punished one way or another' he says plainly.
letting out a whine 'this isn't fair' you tell him wich in return earns you an eye roll. '10 minutes' he speaks. 'huh?' you question '10 minutes' he repeats.
'10 minutes to cum or you'll have 10 minutes to say goodbye to your shoes. you pick.' he clears up slightly shrugging his shoulders.
expecting your embarrassment you lay back down and prop your knees up. 'is that good?' you ask to which you get no reply. you drag two fingers through your slit and to your entrance. collecting your juices before letting them dip in.
you let out a moan, letting your body relax as you bring your finger out and back in. you cant lie about how good it feels, humiliation and all.
dragging your fingers out you bring them to circle your clit. you look at aaron and notice his intense gaze on your pussy in return you let out a whine and feel your pussy clamp around nothing.
you speed up your fingers and bring your other hand up to grope your breast. surprisingly to you, you can feel your orgasm building up.
adding more pressure to your clit to chase your orgasm it seems to finally click for aaron that your about to cum. to say you could see the disappointed on his face would be an understatement, "ill let her have this tho" , he thought to himself.
your shut your eyes as tight as they could as your feel the coil in your abdomen burst 'oh fuck daddy' you moan out as your orgasm washes through you.
breathing deeply as your legs twitched you finally opened your eyes to see your boyfriend on his phone. 'aaron what the fuck are you doing' you question as you see him typing away.
he barley spears you a glance before going back to typing and saying 'spencer said you wouldn't be able to cum on your own by now'
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tag : @jxvipike
a/n☆ this is the 3rd version of this story bc tumblr deleted the other two 😺 not proof read, so mb for any mistakes😻😽 - daisy
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luvhotchner · 3 months
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Could you do a hotch x reader where she’s younger and more innocent and they’re on a case and the other detectives and stuff don’t take her seriously and they’re mean and the team see and get all protective especially hotch :)
━ Enough
summary: the team has had enough of mean detectives picking on their youngest teammate.
warnings/pairings: hotch x BAU!fem!reader, implied age gap, swearing, gross men, reader not feeling good enough.
omg thank you for your request!!! sorry for literally taking a billion business days to answer 😭 this is like super short and kinda bad but i hope you like it! 💗
━ ★ ━
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ohwowimlonley · 11 months
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reader being like "sorry I talked too much" and hotch being "nonono keep talking" because he loves to see your eyes glow up when you talk passionlately. this is literally for me im SO insecure about how much I talk like what am doing rn someone stop me 😩
Ugh I love you (and the rambles are about supernatural, watch it or I will cry)
“So then, after Michael possesses Adams body, they fall into the pit together, and-“ you pause, watching as Aaron’s eyebrows pinch together, you presume from exhaustion, “sorry, I’m rambling, you’re probably tired, I’ll stop,”
You lean over and kiss him on the forehead, smiling at how his eyes slip closed at the contact. The both of you are tucked into bed, finally both at home after a week long case. You’d spent an hour trying to get Jack to calm down when you’d picked him up from Jessica’s, and another two reading him to sleep.
When you’d finally collapsed into bed, you switched on Supernatural, something you do most nights to decompress. Usually, you watch it in relative silence, but today you just couldn’t stop the verbal diarrhea from spilling out. You can’t help but feel bad for your poor boyfriend having to listen to your spiel about the show he seems utterly indifferent to.
“No no,” his gentle voice shakes you from your thoughts. His hand covers yours, which you hadn’t even noticed had moved to cover your mouth, “keep talking, it’s relaxing,”
“Even when I shout about the characters?” You smile, intertwining your fingers together and bringing them to rest on your lap. He nods quietly, the sound of his hair rustling against the pillow being the only sound in the room now you’ve paused the tv.
“Keep talking,” he encourages again, pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder. As you carry on with your ramblings, you pull him closer to you, cradling his head in your lap and stroking his hair and you rave on about your theories for the show, only stopping when his gentle snores disrupt the peace of the room.
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hardlyinteresting · 2 months
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Can I get "stop being so pretty, it hurts" with hotch and a drunk reader ?
Perfect
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Day Six of the #MarchHotchness event. Find the other days HERE Thank you to @hotchfiles for creating this event 💕
I did a pole and most of you seemed okay with using this request to fill the daily prompt. The ideas were already so similar in my head, that it made sense to do it this way. (I have two more requests in my inbox, I have been working on them. I've been really busy with work lately, so I'm playing a bit of catch-up here! They should be out soon though!)
As always Request here! | Masterlist
The smell of cheap vodka lingers. The taste mixes with the flavour of your cherry chapstick. Around you the room spins; your vision is unfocused, but your laughter bubbles as you move through the kaleidoscope of lights and colours. It's been too long since you've been able to spend a night this carefree. 
You hips can't help but sway to the beat as your feet carry you with uncoordinated steps back to the table. Tripping over your own shoes sends you careening towards the floor, but you're spared the fate by a set of familiar hands. 
“Careful,” his voice is steady and even as he helps you to stand up straight once more. His palm is warm at the small of your back as he guides you over to where your friends are sitting. The world around you goes quiet. In this moment you think you'd follow him anywhere. Unquestionably safe, and entirely blissful by his side. It's perfection.
“I think it might be time to go home,” compared to his speech, your words are mumbled and slightly slurred. Your mouth struggles to keep up with your mind. Or maybe the other way around? 
“Then let's head home,” Aaron agrees easily. 
Your eyes stay fixed on him as he collects your purse and your coat for you. He moves with purpose. Calculating with each motion to complete the task as quickly and efficiently as possible. He has no desire to leaving you standing on your own longer than necessary. Ever the gentleman, the perfect man. 
“Thank you,” you smile, leaning into him after he's draped your coat over your shoulders. Your bag is still in his hand, the other rests on your hip. 
He's perfection; The slope of his nose. It's almost  impossible not to want to trace it with your finger. The line of his brow line, and the cut of his jaw leave you nearly always caught in awe of him. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you think he's far more handsome now than the day you met him. “Stop being so pretty. It hurts” 
“It hurts?” He asks, waving goodbye to the team as he leads you towards the door. He's teasing you, a smile playing at his lips. Beneath the playful tone you hear the trace of his concern. Upset by the very thought of you any less than perfectly content.
“Oof,” you huff with a laugh, “quit blinding me with the smile handsome” 
Your giggling only makes him smile more. Perfect.
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hotchs-big-hands · 8 days
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He’s so T H I C C
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You are so right anon I’m at my LIMIT UGH HE IS SOLID.
I’m unwell.
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honeypiehotchner · 11 months
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hotch is a simp for sure i think. alpha male archetype but will take any and all orders from a Pretty Woman. he has a lot of regrets about his marriage with hailey and refuses to let history repeat itself. you ask him to do something? its already done honey. you forgot to do something? he already noticed and did it for you so you dont stress about it later. he notices you have a lot on your plate and are falling behind? wow look at that all the laundry is already clean and the bathroom is sparkling. he saw you looking at this one bouquet last time you were at the store? funny how they just appeared in the vase on the kitchen table next day. oh youre rubbing your shoulders while you cook? now youre getting a thorough shoulder massage. any and every single thing he can do to show his love and appreciation for you is already done before you can blink. i stand by simp daddy hotchner
and you are so right for that bestie 🤪
i wholeheartedly believe he folds like a lawn chair the second a Pretty Woman needs something or asks him to do something i mean look at how he was with Beth y’all,,, she kissed him first and he said yep that’s it we’re doing this Pretty Woman decided it so it is done
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hoe4hotchner · 2 years
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P!rn link ahead
This with Hotch. It would be so hot!!! Just the way he’s fingers work. 🥵
The fact that I've voiced my love for Owen on this blog before!!!!!
Anon. You crazy son of a bitch!! I LOVE YOU!!!
Even though I feel like body wise it radiates Spencer energy - it's definitely Dom!Hotch
The way he just has control over your pleasure. And doesn't even pay attention to his hands while fingering you and just focuses on the kiss!!!
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greg-montgomery · 3 months
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Aaron going through boxes of old stuff and finding a journal of yours from a long time ago. He opens it out of curiosity and reads about how your younger self always wanted to be called princess from a significant other so he tries it out along with buying a nice bouquet of flowers 🤭
Aaron’s cheeks were almost hurting by smiling all day, because he was surrounded by boxes of your belongings that would soon be all over his house. Your house.
One certain box with the word “memories” in capital letters written on it though, drew his attention. Opening it, he was met with a few books, magazines, cards, and concert tickets.
At the bottom of the box, there was a pink journal with your name decorating its cover.
It looked personal, but it also looked like it was from a long time ago. He couldn’t help it, and with his curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it.
The pages were filled with pink glittery letters, little drawings, and stickers of Disney princesses and Barbie characters.
He smiled with affection while turning the pages and seeing what your younger self used to fill her journal with. He almost skipped a page when his eyes fell on the title written on top of it.
“My dream boy!”
Oh, this is gonna be interesting, he thought.
Aaron found himself competing with the ideal version of a boyfriend your teenage self had. He went through every single point you had written down, and mentally checked it.
That version of you, was still part of who you were today, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint you or not be enough.
Tall – check.
Dark hair – check.
Sweet – check, well to you at least.
Brings me flowers – check.
Calls me princess – not check.
Princess, huh? That was new.
He knew that you were big on pet names, but princess had never occurred to him before.
A smirk grew on his face. It was time to see if your tastes had changed.
--
Just the day after, Aaron made sure to visit a flower shop after work and buy your favorite flowers. If he was gonna try something, he was going to do it right.
He found you sitting on the couch, eating a bag of chips and scrolling on your phone, some show on the TV playing in the background. You left it open for company when he wasn’t there and something inside him stung a little.
“Baby?”
You threw your head back on the couch and looked up at him as he moved closer. “You’re home,” you sighed with a smile. “Missed you.”
“I did too.” He leaned down to kiss you on the lips and brought the flowers he was hiding behind his back in front of you. “That’s why I decided to get some flowers to my princess.”
Your face lightened up at the sight of the beautiful bouquet and the sound of the pet name. “Aaron!”
You stood up on the couch and threw yourself at him, hugging him with a force that could bring down a bear. “Thank you!”
“You like them, honey?”
“I love them.”
Aaron sighed at the feeling of your lips on his neck, as you left little kisses on the curve of it. “Anything for my princess.”
Your face was still hidden in the crook of his neck but Aaron could feel you laughing.
“What are the giggles for?”
“Nothing…”
He pulled back just enough so he could look at your face, and grabbed your chin softly. You averted your eyes from him as if you had something to hide.
“Y/N?”
“It’s nothing!” you insisted. “I just like to be called that,” you added quietly, playing with a button from Aaron’s shirt. You still wouldn’t look at him.
“To be called what?” he asked.
“Princess…”
“I know.” He smirked.
“What do you mean?”
“I read it in your diary.”
“What?” you raised your voice and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I found it through your old stuff.”
“Aaron, I’m gonna kill you!”
“I’m sorry!”
“No, you’re not. You’re laughing.”
“Oh come on, it got you what you wanted.”
“Shut up,” you said , furrowing your brows.
The two of you sat on the couch and he tried to pull you into his arms. After showing resistance for a few seconds, you let him hold you.
“What else did you read?”
“I saw the whole list. About your dream guy.”
“I don’t remember adding ‘he reads my journal without permission’,” you said.
“I do have all the rest though,” he said with a cocky smile.
“You do, I guess,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “I was manifesting.”
“I hope you’re happy with the guy the universe sent you then, princess.”
“Ah…” you threw your head back with a lovesick smile. “And it's only getting better.”
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pathologicalreid · 5 months
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could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱
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back again | S.R.
part one | part two
in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)
who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader
category? angst and then fluff
content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.
word count: 1.8k
a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333
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It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.
He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”
You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.
Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.
Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.
Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?
You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.
Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.
Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.
“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.
You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.
Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.
You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.
His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.
The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.
“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.
His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”
In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.
That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.
Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.
He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.
Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.
As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.
Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.
“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.
Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”
He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”
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A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.
After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”
You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”
He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”
Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”
“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.
You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”
Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”
Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.
“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.
Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”
Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”
You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.
At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.
Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.
You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”
He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.
Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”
At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.
“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”
You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.
He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”
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show-your-fangs · 10 months
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lil request of some jealous hotch maybe👉🏻👈🏻 i’m kinda picturing moments aaron getting all jealous and taking the matter in his own hands and teaching reader a lesson🫣😫
this is so fucking good, and coincidentally will be chapter 28 of moments 👀 (it involves a toy, a bed, and a few hours)
so instead please enjoy secret relationship hotch becoming jealous of his baby being hit on by some dude at a bar while the team is out, and then proceeding to finger her under the table
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Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader
Words: 1.8k
CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.
Tags/warnings: established secret relationship, jealous!hotch, possessiveness, pet names (baby, good girl), sir kink, groping, teasing, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), exhibitionist kink, public sex, aaron basically fingers you in a booth in a bar.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
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Aaron had never been more thankful for the low light of Shaw’s, thankful that the shadows that lingered all around them obscuring his hot, red ears from the agents around him. He wasn’t embarrassed by any means, no, he was livid. 
They were all staring and snickering about you, leaning over the bar as you waited for the drinks they’d all made you go get just so that you’d be forced to talk to the cute guy that had been making eyes at you all night. 
When you’d told them that you hadn’t noticed, they all scoffed and rolled their eyes, telling you that was the reason you were still single. But none of them knew, they couldn’t have, that the reason why you hadn’t seen him staring was because you only cared about one man’s eyes on you – your boss's.
He was rendered completely useless, unable to do anything about him, unable to leap to his feet, stalk across the bar and make him stop talking to you, before swiftly dragging you to the bathroom and fucking you silly until the only thing you could think about was his cock. 
He knew you weren’t doing it maliciously. There wasn’t a single bad bone in your body. It wasn’t your fault that he found you attractive, wasn’t your fault that Emily was determined to get you laid, wasn’t your fault that you were making him so unbelievably jealous that he couldn’t think straight. 
He almost let out a sigh of relief when the bartender slid five drinks on the counter in front of you and you skillfully grabbed all of them in your hands before quickly making your way back to their table. 
“So?” Emily asked the second you put the drinks down, everyone reaching out to grab their glass and the scoop of your flirting.
You shook your head. “Eh, not for me.”
You slid in next to Aaron, uncharacteristically so, and yet it didn’t seem anyone noticed, still too focused on you to notice how Aaron’s body had relaxed beside you. 
“That’s not for you?” Emily shockingly pointed back at the blonde guy at the bar who was now engrossed in conversation with another beautiful woman. 
“Nope,” you simply stated, not giving her anything to continue prying. She scoffed then, unbelieving. 
“Can we go dance now?” Penelope whined again and Morgan immediately began pushing Emily out of the booth so they could get out. 
You took a sip of your drink as you watched them scurry towards the other side of the bar, hand in hand, but not before they dragged Emily and JJ along for the ride. It was just the six of you now, Spencer having left earlier in the night and Rossi not even entertaining the possibility of getting wasted with you on a perfectly fine Friday night. 
“Have fun,” you joked, Emily poking her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture. “Get her to relax a little and leave me alone, JJ!”
Aaron took a swing of the cold beer he’d been nursing since you got here an hour ago, trying to play it as cool as he could, disinterest being what would maintain your relationship private, until you were finally alone.  
He set the glass back down on the table before his hand came down on your thigh, slapping it slightly, the coldness of his hand mixing with the sting on his action. Your gaze snapped to his, shocked, scared, ashamed, while his remained dark, glossy, enraged.
He was jealous, so unbelievably jealous he couldn’t even hide it. Your breathing picked up, your heart practically rattling against your chest, your mouth going dry with anticipation.
“Just out of curiosity,” he whispered, slowly running his hand up towards your heat. “What is your type?”
You slumped back in your seat, back pressed tightly against the plush cushions of the booth, acutely aware of where you were and the fact that your closest friends were dancing just behind you. 
Thankfully you were hidden away, obscured, but there were still a lot of people around, a lot of bodies that could turn to you at any moment. 
“I asked you a question, baby,” he snapped, grip tightening unbelievably close to where you needed him. 
“You,” you swallowed thickly. “You, sir.”
The pockets of haziness, of blurred lines and dark corners were finally working to his advantage as he draped your left leg over his lap, opening you up under the table to gain easier access. 
You couldn’t help but dart your eyes around the room once more, desperate to make sure that no one could see you like this.
“Don’t look at them, look at me,” he commanded and you swiftly obeyed, turning your hazy eyes back on his, the fire burning in them almost mesmerizing, holding you hostage. His hand slid off your leg, swiftly cupping your crotch tightly. “This belongs to me,” he squeezed. “You belong to me,” your eyes were glossy with tears now. “No one gets to touch you, ever, no one gets to flirt with you, no one gets to so much as look at you, do I make myself clear?”
You whimpered pathetically, nodding your head feverishly, and yet it only made him squeeze harder, bordering on painful. Your brows furrowed, confusion at his continued roughness making a single tear fall down your cheek.  
“Apparently I wasn’t clear enough,” he spat, his fingers skillfully pulling your panties to the side. His cold fingers were immediately met with wet warmth, your clit practically on fire as he began to tease it, never touching it long enough for you to feel anything other than frustration.
“No, sir, please,” you sobbed, your hand wrapping around his wrist, but instead of trying to force him off you, you tried to get him to touch you where you wanted him.
“No?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’re not mine?”
His movements stilled then and yet you continued to grind yourself against his palm, against his fingers, against him. Whatever shame, whatever fears you had about getting caught, about someone seeing him touch you seemed to have evaporated as the desire to finally come undone took over.
“Such a greedy girl,” he groaned in your ear. “Even when you’ve been bad and I’m trying to punish you, you still have one thing on your mind.”
His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand tightly gripping your left hip to pin you back down to the seat and keep you there, unable to move yourself where you desperately needed.
It was like a spell lifted then, your face immediately flushing crimson as you were reminded of where you were and just how exposed you truly were, even in the low light. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, face buried into his shirt in shame. 
Your shame only spurred him on, his movements picking up once more, his fingers running along the entirety of your slit, collecting your slick, making sure to never touch your entrance or clit.
“Next time a guy comes up to you, what are you going to say?” he asked, bitter, condescending, mean. 
You couldn’t breathe much less think about what you wanted to answer, too concerned by trying to act as normal as possible. 
He landed a slap against your clit then, perfectly timed with the music around you, the instrument solo drowning out the sharp sound. You moaned, quickly biting into his suit jacket to further muffle the lewd noises spilling out your mouth. 
He gave you a second to allow the shock to sharpen your senses, his fingers returning to their previous movements casually as he scanned the room, making sure you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourselves. 
“Next time a guy comes up to me,” you managed through ragged breaths, bravely lifting your head so your gaze could meet his. “I’ll tell him I’m not interested.”
“Next time some guy comes up to you,” he seethed in your ear, low and terrifying. “You’re going to tell them your boyfriend doesn’t like to share,” he emphasized his words by finally sinking his fingers into you, coaxing a whimper from your throat. “And they should probably leave you alone before he comes back.”
He curled his fingers upwards, hooking them against the spot deep inside you that always made you come undone in seconds.
“Yes, sir,” you smiled brightly, the fact that he’d called himself your boyfriend fully processing through your fucked out brain. 
“Good girl,” and with that he let loose, his fingers thrashing inside you, not even building up to his big finale by sliding them in and out of you first. 
You held his stare, your mouth opening for silent moans, for restrained whimpers, for jagged breathing. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop as the song your teammates had all been dancing too was quickly coming to a close. 
Your hands wrapped around his shirt, bunching it up and wrinkling it. That’s how he knew you were close. His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing fast circles over it. Your walls began to clench around him, your hips began to sink themselves farther into his hand. 
“Cum, baby,” he whispered into your ear, soft yet commanding.
It all came at you too quickly, the tension in your body snapping sharply and out of nowhere. Wetness dripped out of you and onto his hand as your body shook against his steady frame. His grip around your waist tightened slightly, bringing your body against him to help keep you stable.
He looked back at his subordinates still twirling around to the final chorus of the song, distracted enough for him to chance it. He leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss to your temple, slowly retracting his fingers from you as he reached over to grab a napkin. 
Even in the low light, in the darkness, he could see his hand glisten with your slick and a proud smirk enveloped his lips. You were still curled against him as he did his best to clean you up, to get rid of any evidence of what the two of you had just done. 
He bunched the napkins up, swiftly pocketing them before he set you back down on the seat, a respectable distance away from him, and wiped your face clean of your runny mascara. Almost as if he’d timed it perfectly, four bodies approached your table. 
“Are you okay, sweetness?” Morgan asked you as they returned to the table, definitely noticing your flushed face.
You nodded, not daring to make eye contact as your heart continued to race, the aftershock of your orgasm still rocking through you.
“I think she’s had too much to drink,” Aaron told him, concerned softness lacing his words, like a boss taking care of his employees. “I’m gonna take her home.”
He didn’t even have to prompt you to follow before you were sliding off the booth, your legs barely keeping you up. He followed quickly after you, hooking his arm around your back before you could collapse, leaving your untouched drink on the table in front of them. 
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idk what it is about these two but they really like going at it in public
tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @criminalskies, @xladyxdreamer
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