reidsexualwriting

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“Genius Dr. Reid let you win.”

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As if “fight like a girl” was an insult.

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if you’re going, i’m not

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3x4 children of the dark

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more gifs from 13x03 

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The BAU as otters:

Hotch:

Emily:

Penelope:

Rossi:

Derek:

JJ:

Spencer:

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subby hotch smut please?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Warning: sub!hotch, mutual masturbation, phone sex, semi-exhibitionism, 

“I’m at work,” 

“But you’re in your office,” his voice was hushed, but you couldn’t hear the chatter of the team, so you knew he was in his office, and the noise that left his throat only confirmed it. You could imagine his fingers toying with the knot of his tie, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“The shutters are open, anyone can see me,” you could nearly hear him swallow, and you know his face carefully composed, the shuffle of papers telling you that he was pretending to work -- brow likely furrowed, lips pursed. 

“Then keep your face straight and your chair pushed in, and we shouldn’t have any problems, should we?” his silence is his consent, and you lie back in your shared bed, all too empty without him, legs crossed, “Take yourself out for me.” 

The squeak of the wheels of his chair makes you smile, the telltale noise of his zipper coming undone, the sound of tissues being pulled from his dispenser, “I did it,” he keeps his words neutral, careful, worried someone may hear him. 

“Touch yourself for me, slowly,” and he does, you know he does because you hear his breath stutter in his chest, “are you hard?” 

“Yes,” he’s trying, trying to keep his composure, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him. 

“Of course you are,” you purr, “imagine, anyone could walk in and see you touching yourself, Reid could read your lips, and who else would you be talking to but me?” and you hear him whisper your name, “and they would know you’re mine. That their bureau chief is wrapped around my finger, coming at the thought of me touching him just like he’s touching himself right now.” 

A grunt escapes his lips, the sound of his pen clattering against the hardwood, “Fuck,” a rushed whisper, and you know he’s close. 

“That isn’t very professional, Aaron,” you gasp, as your fingers brush against your warmth, and he can most assuredly hear you, the wet sounds of you touching yourself, two fingers deep, “Fuck, I want to take you so bad. Fuck you right in your chair, make you cum over and over again.” 

“I need you,” strangled and hurried, and you know he’s trying desperately to maintain an iota of his semblance, but all the blood is rushing south, and you can nearly see him biting his lip so hard its probably turning white, “fucking, I need you to--” 

“Aaron, be good and cum for me,” and you fuck yourself, imagining it was you in that office, in his lap, pulled tight to his chest, “cum.” 

And he does with a muffled groan, shoved tight behind his clenched jaw, and a tight fist pressed to his lips, and you follow him, moaning his name. And he’s panting, stifled, as you come down from your own high. There’s a knock on the door, and you hear the groan of the chair as he sits up. 

“Sir,” Garcia’s voice comes over faintly on the phone, “We might have a case. Are you coming?” 

“Yes, I’ll be there in a moment,” and you would almost believe he didn’t just orgasm, if you hadn’t heard it yourself, “I have to go,” a sigh in his throat, “call me later?” 

“Maybe on the plane?” You almost hear his smile. 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” 

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I’m not just letting Spencer live in my brain rent free, I’ve built an extension for him, and make him cookies daily

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Domestic Bliss

masterlist | requests

a. hotchner x nanny!reader

summary : after hayleys death, hotchner need a full time helper for jack. that’s when he hired you, not realizing that he needed you just as much as jack.

word count: 9k | warnings: smut, alcohol mention, lots of mentions of death, serial killers, other bau stuff 

song inspo: domestic bliss by glass animals 

It had now been two weeks since you lost your job, and every day you felt more and more hopeless that you’d never find work again. You called every family you could get ahold of, but everyone already had a nanny. You kept checking in with your contacts to see if any Diplomats and their families were moving here to DC, but there was nothing. The need for a nanny; or specifically, your kind of nanny that works with government families, was all dried up. You were hopeless, broke, and could only sleep on your sisters couch for so long. 

Your days were usually filled with you wandering random streets, hoping to bump into a friend who could help you out of your slump. You thought about the kids who you nannied for, last. Twin girls, six years old. They were perfect, and you missed them dearly. But their father was a Diplomat, and was swept away to South Africa. You scrolled through pictures of them on your phone, walking up the street to a nearby coffee shop. You smiled at videos of them, losing yourself in your phone, before bumping into a building and almost breaking your kneecap. 

You groaned in pain as you sat down on a close bench, hugging your leg. You took a deep breath, on the verge of tears as you thought, “Could life get worse than this?” Everything around you was crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before you suffocate under all the debris. You felt your phone vibrating in your hand, rolling your eyes, not ready to deal with whoever needed you at this moment. 

You didn’t recognize the number, but recognized the DC area code. You were worried it might be a hospital or something, your anxiety giving you a weird instinct that you needed to answer the phone. You accepted the call and brought the phone to your ear, grinding your teeth as you awaited your fate of the mysterious call. 

“Hi, I’m looking for (Y/N).�� A man’s voice requested, his tone filled with authority, a mild twinge of desperation laying underneath. 

“Uh, yes, this is her.” 

“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I got your contact information from Ambassador Gardner. I hope it’s okay to call you on this phone.” 

“Oh, of course,” you perked up, the thought of the Ambassador and his family filling you with happiness. 

“Well, as it turns out, I am desperately looking for a live-in nanny. He told me you were fantastic and he was heartbroken that he had to leave you.” 

“I wish I could’ve gone with him, and the girls. I would’ve, in a heartbeat, but I have some… things that have kept me here.” 

“I am meeting with a few other applicants, but Ned’s recommendation was so high, I really wanted to meet you. If you have time, of course. I’m sure you are highly sought after.” You could hear a twinge of nervousness in his voice, as if he was worried he wouldn’t be good enough. You were very highly qualified and highly praised in your field, but the market was dry, right now. And no one was begging for your services. But, it wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t know that, right? 

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If the BAU and I have one thing in common, it’s that we’re both looking for a white male in his twenties to forties

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aaron hotchner + smiling

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Kiss Me In The D-A-R-K (2/2)

Summary: You and Aaron reunite after you get caught making bad decisions.

Warnings: smut, handcuffs, hair-pulling, dirty talk, degradation, sex on a table, grab ass, age difference (20+ years)

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, hope you enjoy :)

MASTERLIST

Pursuing my new goal as an irresponsible sophomore meant both cutting hours babysitting and lengthening the amount of time I spent barhopping and nursing hangovers.

If Aaron noticed that I was avoiding him, he didn’t let on. I went from watching Jack at least four days a week to one. When we were forced to interact, it was kept cold and impersonal on my end. I would give him the rundown and leave. All my jokes stopped, too. The last five texts I sent him were just some variation of “Okay.” Over and over again.

So, my days started quickly blurring together. I drank, I jumped up and down in crowded frat houses to music that shook the floor, I perfected my hangover cure, and I did not think about Aaron Hotchner. My shirts got tighter and my shorts got shorter. Sometimes I went home with boys, sometimes not. Finally learned how to shotgun a beer.

I kind of assumed he wanted to let it go just as much as I did. He never brought it up directly, barely even talked to me, but sometimes I saw him looking at me. The same way he did when I was on my knees, in David’s house. It was too easy to imagine him grabbing me, pushing me against the wall, making me scream his name when he looked at me like that. I tried not to look too closely at him.

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You’re not my type [Hotch x Reader]

Summary: Reader is the new press liaison to the elite Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. A stray comment from her leads to a lot of questions from her teammates, especially her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. When they’re thrown together on a case that hits close to home for Reader, will that comment tear them apart? Or will it bring them closer together?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst then smut, with plenty of fluff sprinkled throughout.

Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warning: This gets pretty angst heavy in places. The team is chasing an Unsub that’s a serial r*pist/mu*derer. Mentions of an attempted a*sault to someone Reader cares about. Providing comfort to victims of the unsub. It’s dark in places, but if you can stick with me, I promise I will mend the angst and take you to the land of smut and fluff. Because there is plenty of smut.

A/n: Have you ever had a story that just grabbed hold of you and refused to let go? This story was supposed to be half this length and pure fluff. Reader and Hotch dug their claws into me and made me tell their own story. I’m not mad at it, and if you give it a chance, I hope you love it as much as I do. masterlist

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text = reader’s thoughts

                                        “You’re not my type”

The clock was moving so slowly, I couldn’t help but think it was moving backwards.

Come on, hurry up. I wanna go home.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be 4:30 pm for the rest of my life. I still had some files to hand out to the team; I usually do that part of my very glamorous job in the mornings, but since I had nothing but time now, I thought why not.

I had been a “sort of” member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for 5 months. Jennifer- wait, JJ, had the job as media liaison before me; she was the last person to officially hold the position. When she left the unit chef of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner, and the technical analyst, Penolope Garcia, had split the roll. That is until Chief Strauss had decided that she wanted the BAU to run more efficiently. Meaning that Hotch got less paperwork, Garcia got a break from talking about mutilated bodies, and I got shuffled around from the public relations office.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed working with the team, I really did; but I couldn’t help but feel excluded sometimes. They’re all practically a family. I didn’t really have any sort of family anymore, just a best friend that has always felt more like a sister.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I made my way towards the bullpen, shoving the doors open to see the team sitting on various desks talking to each other. Loudly.

“Shut UP, man!” Derek Morgan’s voice was loud, but amusement was clear on his face. Actually, everyone seemed sort of amused. Rossi and Hotch were leaning on the railing near their respective offices, watching the events unfold with smiles on their faces.

Hotch smiles? Huh. Weird.

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emily prentiss walking into an unsubs house:

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CRIMINAL MINDS 12x07 - Mirror Image