I’m On My Period And Surprisingly, I’m Like A Feral Cat In Heat. Like I Just Want To Go Fuck My Self

reblog this if you're okay with booping spams please !!

────141 headcanons: touching the belly────

a/n: y'all know i'm a sucker for the the pregs trope so i had to do this request. and i only did the four dinguses for this one, sorry anon ☺️

warning(s): pregnancy, fluff+angst, invasion of reader's personal space/privacy, protectiveness, hurt/comfort?, afab!reader

‧˚₊ MAIN MASTERLIST ⟢ 141 MASTERLIST ‧₊˚⊹

๋࣭ ⭑ PRICE

⌞one of the perks of being married to john is being supported. quite literally the definition of it, in every form. that goes for your baby too, no questions asked. he's more akin to simon in being traditional while you're expecting. wants you home, resting and not lifting a finger.

he's very particular about who he lets close to you, more than ever now. it makes sense considering his work and the general fragility of a new family. in the same way as kyle, he's constantly stressed. wants everything to be perfect for you and soon to be little one.

always has his eye on you, just like he does all his men. there's nothing he doesn't see or already knows about. honestly, may even spot a bad apple before you do. won't even bother with politeness and will shoo them away before their hand(s) even make contact with your tummy.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SIMON

⌞ he was already protective enough before you got pregnant, but he's at a whole new level now. practically a full-time security guard by the time you reach your third trimester. ESPECIALLY when you two find yourselves out and about — which isn't often.

on the off chance that you're at some sort of gathering with simon, he's at your side no matter what. eyeing every person who approaches you, only chiming in when spoken to, out of mere courtesy. as soon as you give him any inkling of discomfort, he's asking you if he should go start the car.

one thing he hasn't gotten used to yet is the touching. how people often belaud pregnant women. cross boundaries constantly to get a feel of them and their bellies. it's already hard enough getting the man to relax, but it's hopeless now with all the new people he "needs" to keep an eye on. it's not a matter of him catching someone touching your belly; he'll already be standing there most likely. glares, huffs, will certainly go as far as removing their hand if it lingers long enough.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ SOAP

⌞doesn't see any point in excluding you from functions if you think you can handle them. loves having you on his lap or right beside him when he's out, even in pregnancy. as long as you're comfortable and able to signal to him when you're too tired or need something — he's just happy you're there.

most of all, johnny is fiercely protective of the bump. more than he is of you (which is nearly unfathomable, i know). and if there's one thing he loves more than you — it's gushing about you to anyone who'll listen. so, initially, he might not notice someone making you tense while amid his blabbing.

but after so long with him, you've learned to accept the flattery for what it is and remember how easy it is for him to get distracted. a firm squeeze to his hand or a tug to his jacket will do the trick. but once realizes what's happening, he's on it (with his new Dad Speed). finds a way to distract the person and slip you the car keys. promises he'll be out in two minutes to drive you home — and he always is.⌝

๋࣭ ⭑ GAZ

⌞ even though he'd prefer you bundled up in bed and waiting for him, kyle still enjoys doing things with you. he definitely gives a wider berth than the other guys, but he's just as vigilant (if not more). he's more subtle about it, if anything.

it isn't just you to protect anymore, it's you and his baby. so, forgive the man for his pinched brows and clenched fists, he's reverted into nothing but a ball of anxiety the further the months progress.

doesn't mind people having a feel of you, usually, when they only mean well (it's typically older ladies anyhow). but sometimes it's a more unsavory interaction; someone who isn't taking any hints, who can't bear to leave the two of you alone. on one hand, gaz understands — an expectant, attractive couple out on a wholesome shopping trip is bound to lure attention. he takes a slower approach, less hostile to avoid upsetting you anyone. brushes it off with an excuse; "oh, love, you got that appointment today, right? don't wanna be late." and then makes his exit, a guiding hand around your waist.⌝

Ugh, I have a bitch ass migraine and it’s killing me. I wanna go to sleep but it’s keeping me awake from the pain. I honestly want to puke too.

Pookie here feels like shit.🥺🥺🥺

Gaz: I mean, small animals are way more vicious. It’s because their anger has less space to be bottled up in.

Price: That’s ridiculous. Give me one example of this.

Soap: Terriers.

König: wasps.

Ghost: R/n.

R/n: *glares* (Flips them off.)

thinking hard about omega operative who got dishonorably discharged when they refused to roll over for their alpha captain. they wore it as a mark of pride anyways, but then they end up getting kidnapped by a group who rest suppressant drugs on them. Fast forward, a while later another omega is thrown into their cell; gaz.

gaz, who had already been close to his heat. gaz, who they brought in specifically for that reason to try the suppressants on him during such a time except you’d rather kill yourself before you’d let a fellow omega be used and abused while you are around. so you keep him behind you, snarling and biting at anyone who tries to come close to him.

in this cursed cell, you two bond just like; out of pure need and necessity and desperation for survival. you hold him through the worst of it and he clings to you, both of you more instincts than human.

survival eventually comes, in the form of memorizing the guards’ patterns and shifts and the timing of the suppressants. they dull your senses but not your mind, and it’s always been your sharpest weapon.

idk how it happens here but like. you do end up escaping, and you carry gaz with you, aware he’s still not fully there yet, still clouded by the latest doze they’d given him, and then you manage to somehow contact his team. when they find you, both you and gaz passed out, you are covering him with your body.

and when you wake up in a hospital, more aware than you’d been in months, you can’t even try to leave or move; there are three pairs of eyes peering at you and you are in gaz’s arms, who growls in his sleep each and every time you shift.

“you two have bonded.” price tells you, jaw tight and brows furrowed like an angry bear. then he sighs. “…you are staying. just for now, at least.”

(“now” turns to days, then weeks, then months, and by the time you realize it you have already made yourself a part of their pack).

These two at the same time pls. 🥺🥺 Ugh I’m so down for them.

Love Bites (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer struggles to control himself when Reader wears a turtleneck.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Second person POV, established relationship, hickeys, neck biting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t until mid-October that the air began to reflect the season. The warmth, while appreciated, had outstayed its welcome. But then, one morning you woke to an open window. The wind whistled through with nipping breath that came as a shock and settled deep in your lungs.

It was finally the time you’d been waiting all summer for.

With a newfound pep in your step, you slipped into a simple turtleneck—perfectly flattering and taut over each curve. Its collar brought a warmth with it that felt like a familiar lover’s embrace. It was a simple, mindless decision to wear it. A creature comfort. You thought nothing of how it might pique curiosity or wandering eyes.

That was, until you stepped into the bullpen and were greeted with the devilish grin of Derek Morgan.

“It’s a bit early in the season for a turtleneck, isn’t it?” he asked with an accusatory tone.

“What do you mean?” you shot back innocently. 

You should’ve known better than to ask.

“Are you hiding something?”

The implication brought blood rushing to your face. Your mind flashed back to memories of the last, distant time that your neck had needed covering. The last time that your lover had had his fill of you.

You shook the thought away just as quickly. You weren’t prepared to give Derek the satisfaction of your embarrassment. You scoffed, instead. 

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

Your efforts backfired almost immediately as the man stood from his seat and stepped closer.

“That’s not a no,” he crooned from just behind you.

That time, you answered by peeking over your shoulder to lock eyes with your curious friend. You flashed a smile and a quizzical brow before you returned his teasing with some of your own.

“I think you’re just trying to see some skin.” 

The fire in his eyes sparked from the challenge. With a confident twirl of his finger, Derek continued, “I think you’re hiding something.”

But, luckily for you, he had been wrong.

(This time, anyway.)

All it took was a simple tug of your finger beneath the collar. A little pull of snug fabric to reveal the unmarred skin beneath it.

“Here,” you said with a chuckle. “Happy yet, perv?”

Derek glanced down, just long enough to inspect the skin and see nothing strange. Then he shook his head and accepted defeat with an even brighter smile.

“Fine,” he sighed before quickly adding, “For now.”

The threat, uttered in jest, was overhead by another. A man who was by no means pleased by the not-at-all-cordial exchange between coworkers.

As you took your seat, Spencer’s disgruntled frown catches your eye from the neighboring cubicle. Before you could even ask what was wrong, he spoke. His voice was hushed and rushed with an undercurrent of frustration. 

“You have to stop,” he muttered without even looking up. 

The overly serious, cryptic manner of speaking was difficult to take seriously.

“What?” you asked through a chuckle. 

“You have to stop…” he repeated before adding, “torturing me.”

At first you laughed. But after a moment, you realized just how much desire was laced through the words.

Spencer’s bottom lip quivered as it turned into the most pitiful little pout. His cheeks were twinged pink, and his jaw was tightly wound. Your gaze fell to bouncing legs that quickly shuffled closer together, as if trying to hide… something.

“… Are you serious?” you asked in a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes snapped shut before he brought his hands to cover his face in shame. It didn’t help. As soon as he was deprived of your inquisitive eyes, he was met with perfectly captured memories of the last time the two of you had alone.

Memories of how you looked, bare and writhing beneath him in his bed. Memories of his face buried in your neck, laying sloppy kisses over skin that reverberated with your sweet sounds of pleasure.

His hands left his face quickly, shifting to grab his sweater in an attempt to cover the inopportune evidence of his lust.

“Really?!” you said louder than you’d meant to, “You’re—?”

Pink cheeks turned to a deep shade of maroon as he struggled to reclaim control over his own body.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Really?” you asked again, anyway.

Spencer nodded in defeat. His struggle was obvious but enjoyed by at least one of you.

That’s why you decided to make it worse. 

“That’s all it took?” you asked. Tucking your finger back beneath the fabric covering your neck, you once again revealed the hidden skin. Then, seemingly innocent, you drawled, “This?”

“Cut it out!” he squeaked.

His hand shot up from his lap, grabbing hold of your arm and tugging it down as far as he could. At first, the fabric came down, too. Just enough for him to see the hollow center between collarbones.

But then the collar snapped back into place, and he exhaled with relief.

Once he finally managed to make eye contact again, though, he found no mercy. Instead, he found an excited, sinful smile stretching over your cheeks.

“Awwwe. That’s so pathetic,” you cooed.

Like a puppy in the face of punishment, Spencer returned to the confines of his cubicle without another word. You caught his eye again as your tongue darted forward and caught between your teeth.

He peered at you from a safe distance and tried to ignore the way you were looking at him. It was impossible for him to ignore, though. Not when you rewarded him with a small giggle.

“You’re so damn cute,” you said.

Spencer tried to appear unaffected, but you saw how his lips began to turn up and his neck burned red.

“Can you keep it quiet, actually?” he said with feigned confidence. It faded almost immediately after he met your eyes. Then his voice trembled as he explained, “I’m trying to… do… work… stuff.”

The sight warmed your heart enough that you’d decided to allow him a brief reprieve. You were at work, after all. You could always toy with him later.

“Okay, I’ll stop torturing you,” you sighed once more.

And for the first time that morning, Spencer sputtered a laugh as he answered, “Thank you.”

True to your word, you’d returned to work. You spent the rest of the day trying not to think about turtlenecks and collars and other ways to torture your boyfriend. Your thoughts had stayed as innocent as possible.

But if you’d paid closer attention, you might’ve seen how the hunger in his eyes intensified throughout the day. You might’ve felt the unbridled lust burning through him grew each time you readjusted that simple circle of fabric.

By the time you’d arrived at home, the desire was so all-encompassing that it left him nearly senseless. Unbeknownst to you, he’d been waiting for the moment he heard the door click shut. The moment he could have you again.

“What did you want to do for dinner, by the way—,” you’d started. The words never made it.

The first thing you felt were his hands. Broad and strong and digging into your hips with enough power to elicit a gasp.

You both stumbled clumsily until your back hit the wall. Spencer kissed you with an equal gracelessness. His lips crashed against yours with enough excitement that your teeth bumped and dew gathered on your upper lip.

It was a moment of desperation, a longing to be closer to you as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, wow, you weren’t joking earlier, were you?” you managed between return kisses.

Spencer finally relented, if only for a moment. Seemingly comforted by the sound of your laughter, his movements shifted to slower, more intentional worship. One hand lifted to cradle your cheek. Spencer let out a shaky exhale when he felt you return the gesture with some weight. A subtle showing of trust, of safety, of love.

He kissed you again because he couldn’t help himself. But this time, as he pulled away, he slurred a non-answer that told you everything you’d needed to know.

“You’re so pretty.”

You’d had the thought to tease him for his at-times-excessive flattery. But Spencer found another way to take your breath away.

That beautiful, brilliant boy dragged his hand from your jaw to your collar and quickly pulled it down. Just enough to make room for his eager, insatiable tongue.

A breathy moan came out instead of words. A wonderful, encouraging sound that only made him want more.

You, too, wanted more. Quick hands began uncoordinated efforts to disrobe one another while shuffling towards the bedroom. The awkward stumbling brought you back to a simpler time. A teenage-esque love, an exploration of intimacy that was repeatedly broken by giggles and gasps.

When you finally managed to pull his pants down his hips, you were met with a firmness pressed against you.

“Someone’s eager,” you purred against parted lips.

But Spencer’s voice had shifted to a softer, breathier register.

“I’ve been waiting all day,” he whined, “just to kiss you.”

It was a sweet sentiment that became even sweeter when he pressed his erection harder against you.

You grinned before your tongue sneaked between your teeth.

“I think you want to do more than that,” you said like a dare.

His hands and tongue had already made a mess of you, but you stood proudly on display for him. Beneath your collar, Spencer could spot minuscule red speckles already blooming across your neck.

“Yes, please,” he relented before his lips sought yours again.

You broke apart quicker this time, only to make room for you to remove his shirt. When you’d attempted to remove your own, however, his hands gripped your wrists with enough force to make you jump.

“Wait!” he cried. With wild yet hooded eyes, he begged, “Leave it on.”

You couldn’t say no when he’d looked at you like that. Like you were the most beautiful creature carved and perfected by the Gods, made to be worshipped by tongue and teeth.

You had both grown tired of the time spent those few inches apart. Quickly, you both stripped and stepped out of your underwear on your own. You’d even managed to shed the bra beneath your shirt in a swift movement that Spencer was convinced constituted magic.

You stumbled together once more, falling back into the bed and crawling over one another until you’d settled into the other’s arms.

Spencer was above you looking down on the disheveled beauty beneath him. He used one hand to carefully turn your face toward his rather than its more scandalous attempt to peer down between your bodies.

He didn’t tease you, though. Not with his words, anyway. He trailed his finger slowly and ever so softly down your features. Down your jaw and over the bunched-up collar. With more pressure, he dragged over the pebbled peak of your breast.

There was a tense silence as he concentrated on visualizing every inch of skin that lay beneath your shirt. His mouth hung open, his breath coming out shaky and hot with need.

Once he reached the hem of your shirt, his mouth was quick to return to your neck. His tongue tickled the sensitive skin enough to cause goosebumps to ripple over your skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer. He obliged in more than one way.

You’d almost lost track of his hands until they were all you felt. Lithe fingers sneaked between your thighs and ran through already wet folds. He gathered the honeyed substance on one finger before sinking into you. There was little resistance, your body succumbing to his touch like it had done a hundred times before.

You sighed with relief as his finger began moving inside you with gentle strokes.

Spencer’s kisses moved up, teeth nipping at your ear before he chuckled.

“I can’t believe you called me pathetic,” he whispered in a lower register than you were used to.

You shivered and he felt it. Another finger pressed into you as his movements became more hurried. His own need twitched against your thigh when a soft whine escaped your lips.

“You know how much I love it when you’re pathetic,” you said with great struggle.

Any attempt to win back the power had been quickly lost as Spencer growled, “Clearly.”

Instead of giving in to a more primal desire, though, you just laughed, “Oh, be quiet.”

As you kissed him, you felt his smile.

“Fine,” he sighed. “There are better things to do with my mouth, anyway.”

He kept the first few kisses chaste—a strong contrast to the lewd sound of your moans as his fingers began making gentle circles around your clit. He kept that pattern with quick kisses all over your face until his hand finally withdrew.

He drew his nose along your jaw as a failed distraction. There was simply no way not to notice when he aligned himself between your legs.

Your stomach tensed as the sensations bordered on overwhelming. For a moment, all you could focus on was the feeling of his breath puffing hot against the fabric covering your neck. But then with one smooth movement, he’d entered you to the hilt.

Then, as if his mouth and manhood were fighting for your attention, he yanked your collar down and latched onto your neck with more fervor than you’d thought possible. The fabric strained and creaked, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

At first, Spencer merely ground his hips harder against you, seeking some deeper refuge than you could offer. While his lips made quick work to mark your neck, your nails did the same to his back. You violent carved into the flesh with the utmost love. Spencer’s teeth did much the same.

When his hips finally withdrew, his thrusts were hurried and bruising. All of the silent tension of the day had led to this moment of catharsis. The animalistic blend of your bodies left you panting and keening for more.

“Spencer,” you choked on a pleasured sob, “don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Instead, he switched sides of your neck and began suckling at your pulse until you felt dizzy. Seeking to find that fast-approaching euphoria, you pressed his head against your neck until his teeth had to part to make room for more of you.

“Harder,” you gasped.

He took it literally, teeth sinking into soft skin with little hesitation. His hips moved more intentionally, too. Your back arched from the overstimulation and he took full advantage of the new angle.

With each thrust, you felt your body change. You could feel the subtle ache buried beneath mountains of pleasure. Spencer’s teeth released your neck just in time for you to throw your head back once more.

He left sloppy kisses on the wound he’d inflicted before quickly moving on to whatever unmarked skin he could find. Everything about him screamed desperation, an insistence for what he’d wanted most of all.

You. Every single inch of you.

And you, in return, sought to surrender it to him. He accepted it with greedy hands and tongue. But eventually, he felt how you trembled from the onslaught of pleasure. He, too, found himself reaching a height unknown. His lips got looser, his breath heavier and his hips stuttering as he licked the sweat beading on your neck.

“Mine,” he growled like some feral beast.

“Yours,” you answered much the same.

That simple concession was all it took for him to finally fall apart. With one final thrust, Spencer came to your deepest point and spilled his warmth. The kisses he’d tried to continue against your neck were broken with a low groan that reverberated through your bones.

Everything in that moment felt like him. Everything in that moment tasted like you.

Both of your bodies collapsed the moment it was over. Spencer nuzzled further against your neck, still seeking its innocent warmth despite the debauchery he’d covered it with.

Before you’d had a chance to think about it, he pulled your collar higher to near touch your chin. The movement emanated with guilt.

“Hey, so,” he chuckled softly.

You waited, suspicious, before answering.

“I think you should, um…” he mumbled. Then, bracing himself for the backlash, he quickly finished, “You should probably wear a turtleneck for the next couple of days.”

But instead of chastisement, you rewarded him with a laugh.

“Son of a bitch,” you said through gritted teeth.

You looked down at the man resting atop you. Of course, you felt the aching of freshly bloomed bruises all over of your neck. But you also felt the soft twitches of him still inside you. The warmth of his tired breath against your jaw and his fingers gently stroking your side. You saw and felt the quiet comfort of his company—animalistic desire and all.

“Worth it,” you decided.

You changed your mind a couple days later.

As you stood in the center of the bullpen, once again adorned with the highest collar you owned, Derek Morgan stared you down.

Like a child being chastised, you averted your eyes as quickly as you could.

Immediately, his usual, devilish grin had morphed into full-bodied laugh.

“Really? Again?!” he cried. “Now I know you’re hiding something!”

You scoffed, trying to hide your increasingly obvious anxiety.

“You’re a menace,” you said. You offered nothing more. In fact, you felt compelled to raise your shoulders and tilt your head, further shielding your neck from view.

“Oh? No peek show today, huh?” he practically giggled.

You said nothing. Your glare said everything.

“What you got under there?” he taunted. With another step closer, he crossed his arms to match you. He was close enough that your hair stood on edge and your muscles tensed.

“You don’t want anyone to see your little love bites?”

He wanted a reaction you nearly gave him. You fought every urge in your body urging you to run. Instead, you stood your ground and stared him directly in the eyes.

Then, deadpan, you said the most terrifying thing you could.

“… I’m reporting you to HR.”

You turned on your heel. Rushing off (with no intention of actually reporting him), you heard the panic beneath several layers of suave confidence.

“Awe, come on!” he laughed. “It doesn’t have to be like that!”

Derek chased after you. And that time, Spencer felt no need to follow. He left you in the lurch and stayed seated at his desk. It was the best way he knew to guard your secrets.

But if anyone had been paying attention, they would’ve seen how he smiled. 

They might’ve even noticed how much it matched the bruises beneath your shirt.

Tell me what you thought about this fic here!

leap of faith - aaron hotchner

title: leap of faith

summary: sometimes, all you need to find true happiness is to take a leap of faith.

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 1668

warning(s): mention of haley and underage drinking

a/n: so the idea of this story came from the amazingly talented @greg-montgomery's scenario here. all credit for this idea goes to them. if you want some really good hotch fics, please go check them out! i thought it was so cute and just had to write it. hope you guys enjoy!

This is not how I pictured my Tuesday morning at the office going, you think to yourself as Penelope crosses out yet another name from her lists of your potential suitors. With the help of JJ and Emily, she had managed to compile thirty-two names, and more than half of them have already been scrapped. Before today, you had refused every time they had brought up the idea of setting you up on a blind date. That was before you realized that the feelings you held for your boss, Aaron, were far from friendly. You knew that nothing would come of what you were feeling, so you came to Penelope’s office and told her that you would agree to one date.

“What about this one?” Penelope asks as she swipes to the next picture. This guy was not bad-looking, by any means. He looked young, had hazel that glittered with mischief, and there was a boy-next-door charm to him. Something about him seemed so familiar, though. You couldn’t quite place it. “His name is Thomas, he’s twenty-seven, and he works in the Cyber Response department.”

“He looks like a younger version of Hotch,” Emily remarks from her place to your right.

Penelope tilts her head and seems to consider this. “Huh. Now that you point it out, I can’t unsee it.” She looks at you. “What do you think, Y/N?”

Truthfully, you could see the tiniest bit of a resemblance between the two of them, but you know that this man would never compare to Aaron—Hotch. But you know that nothing will happen between you and Hotch. So, you see this as the perfect opportunity to start moving on. “He’s cute,” you tell Penelope. “I’ll give him a chance.”

Letting out a giddy squeal, she scribbles down his number and hands it to you. You text him as soon you leave Penelope’s office, introducing yourself, telling him that your friend from the office had told you about him, and asking him if he wanted to go out sometime.

Sure. Thomas writes back after a few minutes, Does Friday at eight sound good to you? There is a new Mediterranean place a few blocks away from my office I want to take you to.

It’s a date! I love Mediterranean food. :)

--

Friday comes faster than you expect it to. You’d made sure to bring a change of clothes and a bag of your favorite makeup to save you the half-hour drive back to your apartment to get ready. The dress you’re wearing is a little red number, courtesy of Emily, with a slit up your both your thighs and tiny straps holding it to your body. The first time you tried it on, you didn’t think your body would fill the dress out as well as hers did, but it fit like a glove. You felt confident in the dress; you felt sexy. It was the motivation you needed to not back out of the date.

You’re touching up your lipstick when a voice brings out of your thoughts. “I thought you left hours ago.”

It’s Aaron. “Hotch.”

He tilts his head, and the cute little frown he wears when he’s confused appears. “What are you still doing here? You should be at home getting some rest.”

“I have a date tonight, and I didn’t want to drive the thirty minutes home to get ready when the restaurant is only a couple of blocks away,” you explain, and he nods. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know how I let the girls talk me into going. I mean, I trust them with my life, but…” You laugh quietly to yourself.

“They just want to see you have fun and not focus on work all the time. We all deserve time to ourselves every now and again.” A small smile of his own comes over his face, and it makes your heart stutter in your chest. “At least that’s what Penelope told me before she tried to set me up on a date of my own.”

Your quiet laugh turns into incessant giggles. “Oh, I would’ve loved to see how that went.”

He shakes his head fondly. “Penelope meant well, but the woman and I didn’t click. Plus, I think it was too soon after my divorce from Haley. I wasn’t ready to let myself date again.”

You nod. “I understand that.” You stand from your chair and smooth out your dress with your palms, looking up at your boss. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” Aaron tells you, but there’s something in his expression as he says it. You don’t know what to call it.

“Thank you.”

“I should let you get to your date. Have a good night, Y/N.” He turns and makes his way back to his office.

You are on your way out of the bullpen when—and you don’t know what compels you to do it, either—you look back at Hotch. The blinds to office are pulled open, but you notice a shift in his posture. His shoulders are drawn tight like a cord that’s about to snap, the expression void of the playfulness that was there not even two minutes ago.

You dig your phone out of your purse and text your date. Hey, Thomas! It’s Y/N. I’m sorry that this is so last minute, but something came up at the office. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. You walk up the stairs to Hotch’s office and knock on the door. “Y/N?” He asks when he opens the door. “Did you forget something?”

You shake your head. “No. My date cancelled on me.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s fine, it was only a date. I don’t think it would’ve worked out anyway.” You look past his shoulder into his office. “What are you still doing here?”

He lifts a file folder into your line of sight. “Paperwork for our most recent case. I wanted to start on it before we’re called on a new one.”

“Do I mind if I join you?”

He purses his lips in confusion. “Of course I don’t mind, but all I’d be doing is paperwork. You’d have more fun watching paint dry.”

“Well, since my night is now free, all I’d be doing is taking a shower and having a hot date with my couch and a bottle of wine.” You smile at your boss. “Besides, I wouldn’t be watching. I’d be helping.”

Hotch shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that—”

“Hotch, I mean this with every ounce of respect and admiration I have for you, which is a lot, but please just shut up and let me help you.” He lets out a laugh in surprise. “I know that I don’t have to help, but I want to. Please let me.”

He steps to the side to let you come into his office, and you take a seat on his couch. “So, what can I do, boss?”

He smiles at his place from behind his desk. “Will you read me my notes from the file next to you? I’d like to put them in the report.”

You nod. “Sure thing.” You pick up the file to your left and flip it open, Hotch’s notes scribbled onto post-it notes stuck to the paper. “You ready?”

--

“No way,” you exclaim through your fit laughter. “No way that happened!”

The table in front of you is littered with takeout boxes. You and Aaron sit next to each other on the small couch, your knees grazing. Aaron’s half-empty container of beef Lo Mein sits in his lap while you hold your nearly full container of veggie fried rice.

“Well, it did,” Aaron’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “I’m sure there’s still evidence of it lurking somewhere on the internet.”

“I just… I have a hard time believing that Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the FBI Behavioral Analysis, jumped off the roof of a two-story house into a pool.” You spoon more of your rice into your mouth.  “It’s so out of character for you.”

“In my defense, I was sixteen and thought I was invincible. I may also have been drunk.”

“Huh. Aaron the troublemaker? Never would have pegged you that way.”

He tries to hide his smile under a bite of his Lo Mein. “There are a lot of things about me that will surprise you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

Aaron tilts his head. “You know, now that I think about it, I never found out if that punch had been spiked or not.”

This causes you to dissolve into giggles.

--

“So, Y/N,” Emily asks as she walks through the bullpen the next morning with Penelope and JJ in tow, “how did it go last night?”

Penelope bumps her shoulder into yours. “Yeah. I want to know everything!”

Morgan looks up at the three of you from his desk, and Spencer does the same from his own. “What happened last night?”

“I was supposed to go on a date last, but it got cancelled last minute,” you tell them and then look between Penelope and Emily. “So, there’s nothing to tell.”

“That sucks,” JJ laments. You shrug and tell her that you weren’t really worried about it. There’s a lull in the conversation until you spot Aaron walking past the bullpen to his office.

You smile. “Morning, Aaron!”

He turns to you and returns your smile. “Morning, Y/N.”

Penelope, Emily, JJ, and Derek all turn to you once Aaron is out of earshot. “Aaron?” JJ asks, a tone of pleasant surprise coloring her voice.

You shrug nonchalantly, a small smile coming to your lips. “I’m solving a mystery,” you tell them before making your way to your desk.

The four of them share looks of bewilderment before Spencer speaks up. “You guys didn’t know? I could see it from a mile away.”

Helping Hand

pairing || Din Djarin x fem!Reader

summary ||  The clasps on bras should not be so fucking difficult. It’s a good thing Mando doesn’t mind lending you a helping hand.

word count || 4,873

warnings || SMUT! p in v sex, kinda rough tbh, desperate Mando, cockwarming, a singular spank, love confessions bc I am soft for this man 

a/n || this was uh…something! I firmly believe that Mandalorians waste zero time once they find their person. Once they have them, they have them. No such thing as rushing to a Mandalorian, especially our TinCanMan. also, this gif destroys me

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The second you saw the bra as you perused the marketplace, your face lit up. The fabric was rich in color and ridiculously soft and you knew the second you had your hands on it that you were buying it. It wasn’t too expensive, a few credits more than what you’d usually be willing to pay for clothes, but hey, you deserved to splurge every now and then. You practically bounced with excitement as you made your way back to the Crest where Mando and the little green kiddo you adored waited for your return. It was nice to get some time to yourself, time where you didn’t have to chase after a rambunctious kid or have to squeeze past Mando’s huge frame in the small spaces of the Crest, but what could you say?

You missed your boys. 

The ramp lowered as you drew closer and you smiled. Mando must have seen you approaching. The sight of him standing in the cockpit with the sleeping child cradled in his arm made your chest bloom with happiness. You paused on your way to set your bag on your bunk, distracted by the uncomfortable looking angle he held his arm at, and let out a quiet laugh. Mando’s silent tendencies left you to observe the way he held himself to discern how he was feeling, and after months of living with him, you could gauge him easily by the tilt of his helmet, the way he held his shoulders. You may not be fluent in Mando’a, but you were fluent in your Mandalorian. 

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