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htchnr · 21 hours

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grumpy hotch x pregnant reader where he is just having an off day and the team calls reader in to deal with him and as soon she arrives in his office he just holds her and her belly as she scratches his scalp omg 🥹😭🫶🏻

You’re lounging in your husband's favourite chair with a book and an ice cold soda in your hand when your phone rings. You almost knock your tooth out pulling it up to your face without looking, wanting it to be Aaron, knowing it probably won’t be. Maternity leave can be excruciatingly boring.

“Hello?” you ask. Your book slides down your bump. You pull it back up.

“Hi, mom.”

You grin to yourself. “Hi, Emily. Please tell me you’re calling because you miss me and you know I have cabin fever.”

“I’m calling because someone misses you.” Her ire tone is unmissable and ever endearing. “I do miss you, I can’t wait for you to have your stinking baby and come back to work.”

“That would be fun, right? We’ll get Hotch on paternity leave.”

“It’s him I’m calling about.”

“Is he okay?” you ask. You know if he were injured she would’ve mentioned that first. You’re not so scared of his being grumpy.

“Moody as ever. I can’t believe I’m asking you to, but would you consider coming in for lunch? I’ll send a car, no walking, but he could really use it. He’s been biting off heads all morning.” Emily laughs down the line. “You’re the only one who can cheer him up.”

It’s not true, but you are usually the quickest. You bid Emily goodbye with a promise to be there soon and get dressed, with no choice but to wear some maternity pants and a peplum blouse. Any excuse to see your haggard husband is one you’ll take.

You look at your bump and you love the baby in there, but it feels weird sometimes to see yourself differently. If Aaron weren’t as nice about it as he is, you would’ve broken down by now; he’s sussed many breakdowns before they could begin, kissed fingertips and collars promising you’re just as pretty as always. And it’s reassuring, but it isn’t pretty that worries you. You’re a genuine walking beach ball right now.

The car Emily promises is none other than Anderson himself. “He’s bullying you?” you ask him.

He doesn’t say yes or no, but his smile is enough of a clue. You can’t get to the BAU quick enough (though you’re slower these days), pushing open the glass door with a tired sign.

Spencer comes across you first by coincidence. “Hey!” he says, ushering you in for a hug, his cup of coffee hot behind your shoulder. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“He’s in a mood,” you say. Not without fondness.

Spencer grimaces. “Sort of.”

Emily attacks you from the side. “Thank god you’re here! I think he just told Morgan to go fuck himself,” she says under her breath.

She’s just saying it to make you laugh, and it works. It’s vaguely out of character, but if you know Emily, you know she has a crass, often dirty-minded side, and it’s been a while since you’ve heard her swear. You’re still giggling when the door you’d been making your way to opens.

Aaron emerges with an expression half bemusement and half confusion. “Honey?”

“My love,” you say, too quiet for him to properly hear, but he can read lips just fine.

He rushes in a very gentlemanly display down the steps to help you up them, but you’d only been going up them to see him, and you stop at the foot of them with your hand raised to his elbow. “Hey, handsome.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just missed you, wanted to have dinner, and I figured you couldn’t say no. You know.” You touch your tummy. “Considering.”

He peers suspiciously past your head. “Yeah?”

You look where he’s looking, find Emily and Spencer not so subtly turned away. You laugh again, pleased when the sound makes him smile. “Come on. Take me to your office.”

He puts a hand behind your shoulders and leads you upstairs to his office. There are papers strewn haphazard across the front of the desk, his briefcase open and muddled, his pen lost within the mess. You’re smug knowing he’d been knee deep in paperwork but abandoned it all when he heard you laughing, like he just couldn’t miss it.

“Let me sit you down,” he says.

“Woah, slow your roll. Why are you stressed?”

He blinks at you. “There’s a lot to do?”

“Sure, but why are you stressed about me? I can sit down by myself.”

He must look at you for five whole seconds without saying a word, and the door’s not closed, there’s no answer to your question, and then he takes you into his arms for a hug. “I know you can,” he says.

It’s admittedly hard to hug him with the bump between you. You worry you’re hurting him as your cheeks press together, crushing his shoulders under your hands.

He usually asks first, but he knows by now that you’re two halves of the same heart, two sides of the same coin, his hand slipping between you both to nudge aside your shirt and feel your stomach.

You close your eyes.

“Rough day?” you ask.

“A lot to doâ€¦” His face moves down into your neck.

You know what he wants, moving your hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers into his hair. “I can fix it,” you say sympathetically, beginning a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp.

“How’s that?”

“If I go into labour right now, you get a reprieve.”

“Honey, in the most loving sense possible, you going into labour now would not be ideal.”

“It’s gonna happen one day, babe. And you’re gonna be just as busy then. You need to take less on orâ€“”

“No, I know.”

His hand slides still under your shirt to your hip, encouraging you away from him, his eyes flitting up and down your figure, checking you over. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, fingertips interested in the starchy fabric of a new suit.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, dipping down to give you a kiss. His eyes are dark, so close. “That helped. What can I get you for dinner?”

You give a fond, pitying smile. You’re not gonna get him out of this office today, that’s for sure. “Half your sandwich, probably.”

He kisses you again. You take it for a thank you.

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htchnr · 1 day

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ok but,,,, Mr "the" ghoul subbing for his so/ for the first time and he's all unsure and tryna be cocky but he's actually a big softie who loves being taken care of and told what to do 💥

light me up and breathe in

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary - After some convincing, Cooper agrees to let you give him a chest massage.

(tw: heavy petting, teasing, cockwarming, threats of violence, cannibalism mention, dirty talk)

Convincing Cooper to let you take care of him was a task better suited for the great thinkers of the world, people who had the patience and the fortitude to deal with his stubborn bullshit as he dodged your every attempt. However, time was always on your side and you weren't convinced if it was the appeal of a massage or the promise that you would stop asking if he relented, but he had eventually given in.

His upper clothing had been shed quickly enough, exposing his bare torso to your greedy eyes. A shapely sight, his body wasn't overly muscular, but clearly held a core strength as it formed a solid expanse - the skin scarred and textured across every visible inch.

Reclined on his chair, his eyes were wary but heated as he watched you clamber onto his lap with a childish eagerness.

"That desperate, huh?"

"Shut up."

Rolling your hands along his chest, the rough texture of his skin left a pleasant tingle in your fingers as you follow the natural contours of his body. Patchy and pitted beyond reason, you map out the ridges with a faint smile and your fascination with his skin didn't go unnoticed.

"You staring at me like that makes me wonder if you're thinking 'bout taking a bite?" Cooper's low voice, dulled by his forced nonchalance, filled the air between you and you refuse to look up and meet his eye as you answer.

"Maybe." You tease, trailing a finger along the column of his neck. "It's about time you had something to worry about so maybe I'll cannibalise some part of you to shut you up for a while."

"If you're gonna wrap those pretty lips around a part of me then I've got some ideas, darlin'."

Gaze flitting across his body as you ignore his suggestion, you settle on his nipples and admire the deep red colour which stands free of his chest. You can imagine him in a better time, picture how dense the chest hair which would have coated him would feel below your fingers. How fun it would be to run your digits across the thick mat and pull at it teasingly, forcing him to shift up and meet your lips with a single tug.

But no.

Hairless.

It really was a cruel world.

Still, there was more than one way to get a reaction and you clamp your thumbs and forefingers around his nipples as you pinch the nubs with malicious intent.

"Maybe I'll focus on these. They're very sensitive."

A strangled gasp escapes him but he covers it quickly by curving his thick hands around the swell of your ass.

"True that, sweetie, but if you tear 'em off I'll be taking yours to replace them. With my teeth, mind."

Pulling at the nubs even more roughly, the discomfort forces a warning rumble from his throat as he arches his back against the chair.

"Not how this works, Coop. You have to say please if you want me to stop."

Scowling, he relents regardless, having alresdy agreed to the terms of the game. "Please."

"That's better, handsome."

Hands feeling dry, you get a move on with your agreement and add a healthy dollop of the unscented lotion which you had stumbled on in an abandoned pharmacy. Its discovery had prompted this little game and you can't hold back your grin as you spread it across his skin - sinking into the intimate contact with a soft sigh.

Tense as hell, Cooper is every inch a coiled serpent ready to strike out. He's subtle with it though; matching your wry comments with his own and visibly attempting to force himself to relax into the earnest touch. For a creature who was wrapped around you like a glove when you fucked, this type of intimate engagement appeared to give him more anxiety than staring death down the barrel of a gun.

"Relax." You soothe, hands running across his collarbone to wrap around his shoulders.

"I am relaxed." He lied.

"Liar." You call him out with a teasing smile. "But if a little massage is so scary for the big, bad bounty hunter then let me make you a bit more comfortable."

Dropping your slickened hand to his groin, you cup his hardened cock through the fabric, wasting no time in opening his fly and releasing him; allowing the girthy length to jut free in the cool air.

"Wow, Mr. Howard," you tease, gripping your hand around his length and stroking along it with a firm grip, "this looks painful. What are we going to do about it?"

"Cruel to play with a man's bone and not give him somewhere to bury it." Cooper rumbled, his hips bucking into your hand as you tighten your fingers around the base of a cock, denying him any further stimulation until he settles. "Might drive a man to do something dangerous, sweetie."

"Oh well in that case." Raising yourself off his lap by planting your feet on the floor, you slip further towards his body and line up his blunted cockhead with your hole - arousal making your lips feels swollen and sensitive as you run his cock along your slickened folds. "Would be a shame to waste it then."

Sinking down on his cock, you drop your head to his neck to hide the discomforting gasp as the familiar stretch of him makes your walls burn with the sudden intrusion. The texture of his cock adds an intensity that makes your legs tremble as it rubs along those sweet spots which make stars fly behind your eyes.

You adjust your hips until you're able to sit flush against his groin, the angle a little awkward but fucking delicious as every slight jostle sparks fresh pleasure. His eyes pin you with a greater ferocity than his cock as his head tilts up to keep line with your gaze.

"Tight as a drum." Cooper growls, the feel of you wrapped around him making his hips move of their own accord as he fucks himself deeper; each small rut leaving your cunt wanting more.

But no.

That wasn't the game.

Slapping a hand to his exposed chest, the skin there still moist from the lotion - you cupped your other hand around the back of his neck and scowl at him with a playful anger.

"Hey! Did I tell you to fuck me?"

Stilling his hips, Cooper curled his lips into a smirk.

"That you did not, darlin'."

"Then stop moving and let me have my fun. You focus on keeping that big ol' gun of yours holstered somewhere I know it likes, and I'll focus on what I want to do."

"You drive a hard bargain, missy." He replies, amusement playing across his harsh features. "But a deal's a deal and, hell, I'm sure there's gonna be a reward of some kind for such agreeable behaviours."

"Keep dreaming, handsome. I'm letting you warm your cock in me. Isn't that enough?"

"From you?" Flashing his teeth with an almost feral grin, Cooper's arm snapped around your waist to pull you flush to his chest as his rough lips brushed your ear. "Never."

Squeezing your cunt around him, the action netting you a muted groan, you push him away and roll your hips as your hands return to his chest.

"Nice try, buddy. But no amount of, admittedly, great cock is going to stop me from rubbing every inch of you."

"Stubborn bitch."

Cooper mutters the words without heat, his hands returning to their original position around your ass as you edge yourself on his cock; determined to explore every inch of him before allowing him to get his rocks off.

"Yours."

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htchnr · 2 days

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I was going to say give me the hardest Ghoul smut you could but then that sound weird in my head. but please, anyway. Cowboy hat stays ON during fun time. I want angry. Both of them. Reader x Ghoul. I want to be ashamed to read it in public. Love you❤❤

WARNINGS: MDNI, SMUT

A/N: challenge accepted, I hope you you read the beginning in public and close it to read at home ❤️

Cooper was mad you were mad, it was this damn heat that settled across the Mojave. The both of you were pent up and frustrated, there was definitely a rad storm coming which meant the markets would be closed for a day

“If you figure a way to get us to make peace again sweetheart I’m all ears” he drawls as he sat on a chair cleaning his weapons across the room. You were fed up with his attitude, and you couldn’t stand looking at him sit so nonchalantly with how the two of you were treating each other over the past couple of days.

“I can fuck you. But it would have to be on my terms” You said and he looked at you pointedly, like he was studying you. “What does that intail?” He asks and you meet his gaze and say“Put your hands behind the chair and find out.”.

“Oh your going to tie me up? I ain’t promising that ropes are going to hold me sweetheart” he says and you grin, “It’s a risk I’m willing to take honey” you tease, His pants and underwear are gone before you straddle his lap and tie his wrists together. “You look so handsome like this” you hum and he grumbles in response.

“Look I’ll even give you your hat” you say as you put the hat on his head. If looks could kill you would be dead as you stood there smirking down at him. With his half hard leaking cock out in the open.

You kneel before him and press a kiss to the side of it, it twitches in your hand. You start pumping, “I have to get you hard if I’m going to fuck you” you say teasingly.

He grumbles at you when you deem him hard enough to fuck him you get up and remove your pants. You straddled him and leaned against him and ran the tip of his cock against the wetness and you swollen clit.

When you sank down onto his painfully hard cock all you do was gasp as you get used to the stretch. Once you were fully sat you looked him dead in the eye and smiled at him defiantly.

You moved up, up all the way up so that when you went up and down it hit your g spot with every thrust. You used his shoulders for leverage as your kept moving down the thick tip and 25% of his cock to keep hitting your g spot. It felt so good, cream running down the exposed part of his cock.

He tried to fuck up into you so that he could get more but every up and down of your hips prevented that. After a few more up and down motions you came hard, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding your face in his neck.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asked and all you could do was hum. The rope snapped and before you knew it the two of you were on the floor, with you under his irradiated body. “Let’s try that again sweetheart” he said and pressed the thick tip of his cock into you.

When you felt the stretch all you could do was breathe heavy and look into the eyes of the man above you. You were leaking as he held you close to him, this what needed to happen for the both of you to stop bitching at eachother.

“You’re already creaming on my cock and I haven’t really moved yet” he murmured into your shoulder and you squeezed around him. He sucked in a breath and kept pushing until he bottomed out. Once he was fully seated he sighed.

“You’re so tight, no matter how much I fuck you it never makes a difference.” He said as he started thrusting his hips. You canted your hips up so every thrust hit your gspot.

It was animalistic the way you two were fucking each other, legs locked around his waist as he goes balls deep, tip kissing your cervix.

When he cums in you and you cum all over him you feel the tension and anger dissipate from your body. The both of you lay there in silence, enjoying the body heat the bled from his body to yours.

“I’m sorry for getting on your nerves”you said after a few moments of silence and you felt him smile into your shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping at you sweetheart, you don’t deserve that” he said looking you in the eye.

A clap of thunder sounds and rain drops reverberate on the roof. Everything is well between the two of you again.

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htchnr · 2 days

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 11

Summary: You come down with a bad case of some type of sickness. You feel like death, but Cooper has always thought that the common cold made people dramatic.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: none really? Fluff and kissing.

Masterlist

Cooper sighs quietly when he hears you sneeze for the upteenth time today. A rare storm had blown in a couple of days ago, and the two of you, plus Dusty, had gotten trapped in the pouring rain. The deathclaw, now eye level with you, had loved the water dripping down his hot scales, and even Cooper had tilted his face up toward the dark clouds. But you? You hated the rain and have been miserable ever since the storm.

"Coop. We gotta stop somewhere," you say, and even the ghoul has to admit that you do sounds like shit. He comes to a stop, and you stumble into him, having not been paying attention. Dusty makes some concerned grunts, but Cooper waves the beast away with a roll of his eyes.

"Baby girl, we still have three more miles 'fore we reach Goodsprings. We can rest when we get there," Cooper told her and curled an arm around your waist, casting his eyes away from the furious pout you sent him.

You sigh loudly, and the harsh breath sends you into a coughing fit when it tickles your throat. Cooper rubs your back as you hack and spit up some nasty mucas, a low groan escaping you as your body aches from whatever sickness that's taken hold of you.

The next three miles feel like hell, but the ghoul gets you to Goodsprings before you pass out in the desert. Dusty takes off to go hunt, and the two of you end up cooped up in one of the old houses on the edge of town. You shiver and clutch the thin blanket closer to your body, shaking from the chill that won't leave your bones.

Cooper eyes you, hip cocked, "Do you really feel that bad, Sugar?"

You glare at him from the middle of your blanket cocoon, "I feel like I'm dying."

He scoffs at you and closes the distance between the two of you and shrugs out of his ratty duster before he plops on the couch beside you. Cooper opens his arms and waits for you to scramble into them, his chin resting on top of your head and his arms curling tight around your blanket cocoon.

"Poor, pitiful girl," Cooper coos, and you pout at the teasing tone in his voice. It wasn't your fault that the ghoul couldn't get sick, and you could.

Over the next couple of days, Cooper does his best to take care of his poor trader. You moan and groan, a big achy mess, but you always make sure to tell your ghoul how much you appreciate him taking care of you.

"You're the best nurse ever, Coop," you rasp when he hands you a bottle of cooled purified water. The ghoul rolls his eyes at his sickly smoothskin and runs his fingers through your hair.

"Only for you, Darlin'," Cooper drawls and leans down to kiss you softly. You were a handful, but you were his handful.

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htchnr · 2 days

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An unedited mess but I am viciously plotting and scheming about that nasty little ghoul cunt again 🫠🫠🫠

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htchnr · 2 days

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Pls finch just a sip of what youre cookin....please im dying.....a toiny snippet

ANONNN im sorry to tell you but so far it's just outline, no substantial writing yet. I can give you a sneak peek from that outline, however 🤧 Sometimes I have to draft full ideas while writing bullet points and they get away from me 🤡 (which does make it easier to write the final piece bc I can just copy/paste and expand upon ideas from the outline. Just an unsolicited tidbit of info about my writing process lol). Go easy on me 🙏🏻 they're not nearly polished snippets:

He’s dressed like one of those ‘cow-boys’ she’d seen in movies from a time before her grandparents’ great-grandparents. The broad-brim hat on his head is fascinating and she can see small metal stars sticking off the heels of his boots around which vegetables are strewn. The stars jingle when he moves— as he pivots towards her, holding a gun close to his hip, aimed at her gut. It’s small and compact, nothing like her father’s rifle. She isn’t paying attention to his gun, though. Her shocked gasp is uncontainable when his face is revealed from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. Her feet involuntarily bring her a step backward and her face morphs into a mask of intrigue and horror. The man’s skin is taut and gnarled, pink and thick like scar tissue. Her mother’s palm had scarred like that when she’d grabbed the handle of a hot pan and scorched a layer of skin clean off. The triangle of his features is gaunt and harrowing— eyes sunken, an arrowhead-shaped hole where the nose should be. “Well howdy there,” he calls out. His accent isn’t like one she’s ever heard, his syllables elongated and slurred together. He juts the gun out towards her more directly and the patinated silver shines dully in the sunlight.

I guess I'll also note that this one will be in third person (obv), and can be read as either Reader or OFC (I've been moving away from xReaders lately but want to make it palatable...)

Also, hehe,

Later that night she approaches him curiously, cautiously. She decided earlier that the man is exciting and new. He’s dark and mysterious, gruff and hardened by a world she cannot fathom outside her door. His grotesque appearance strangely adds to his allure; she thinks he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. He's the first man she’s interacted with on her own and as a grown woman— an opportunity to test her curiosity, if he is open to it. She wants his calloused, scarred hands to touch her like the women in the magazine. She stands between his spread knees and takes the hat from the couch cushion beside him, placing it on her own head and meaning it this time.

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htchnr · 2 days

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raider werewolf [oc]

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htchnr · 2 days

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 10

Summary: Cooper regrets letting his smoothskin keep the wasteland baby until he doesn't.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Blood and violence. Deathclaws grow fast. Shorter than usual

Masterlist

"Your goddamn beast keeps eatin' us outta house and home, Cowgirl," Cooper grumbles from behind you, and you roll your eyes from where you are feeding Dusty. The deathclaw had grown exponentially in the past month and now stood at your waist, his teeth past his lips and sharp horns as long as your finger. The baby was as fearsome as he was cute.

"I'm sure he'll be able to take care of himself soon," You comment to the ghoul and scratch the wasteland creature under the jaw. He purrs at you, foggy golden eyes half-lidded and full of affection for the human who had saved him.

Cooper scoffed and shook his head at your ridiculousness. He couldn't believe he had gone along with your dumb ass idea. The deathclaw had been nothing but a drain on their resources, and he was just about done with dealing with it.

Before he could reignite the month long argument, shots suddenly ring out, and the three of your dove for cover. Cooper grabs you by the pack and drags you behind an old car, pushing you down even as he rises to a half crouch and fires over the vehicle. He grins at the sound of one of the raiders screaming and ducks back down to reload his weapon.

You peak over the hood of the car, rifle in hand, and shoot out a woman's knee caps, watching gore and bone splatter behind her as she falls to the ground. Both of you are so caught up in the fight in front of you that neither see the fiend sneaking up on your right side. Someone else however, does.

The raider shrieks when Dusty jumps him, deadly, six inch claws slicing into their soft belly and spilling their guts to the floor. Dusty snarls as they go down, and the baby deathclaw unhinges his jaw to chop down on the raiders throat. He chokes down the flesh between his jaws and continues his feast as the fight continues behind him.

When the last raider is dead, and while you are picking over the fallen bodies for anything of use, Cooper leans against a nearby light pole and watches Dusty devour the raider still pinned under his claws. The ghoul rolls his eyes and grinds his teeth, annoyed at having been proved wrong.

"Alright," Cooper huffs your way, and you perk up, looking at him with raised brows, "You win. Little fucker saved your skin today."

He can stand the smug ass look you throw his way and looks away with a sneer. The ghoul heard the soft padding of footsteps and glared down at Dusty when the juvenile butted his head under Cooper’s palm, obviously demanding pets. He sighed and scratched at the base of a curved horn.

"Dumb little bastard."

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htchnr · 2 days

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 9

Summary: You think you're too late to get back to Cooper in time, but the ghoul shows you that he's stronger than either of you think.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Feral behavior, Angst. Sad thoughs but a happy ending

Masterlist

You've never run so fast in your entire life to get back to the set of buildings that you'd left Cooper at. It's been four days, a two-day trip to the nearest town where you had been lucky enough to find a couple of vials, enough to at least get your ghoul back on his feet, and then the two-day trip back. It was evening by the time you made it back, and you heaved in deep, steadying lungfuls as you skidded to a halt.

"Coop!?" She said loudly, not willing to be any louder in case any nasties had moved in while you were gone. Fear grips your heart when you make it to the back room you'd left him in and find the place empty. You lick your lips and zero in on the indents left behind in the sand.

You follow them out of the house and out into the wastes. You can see a figure stumbling around in the distance, their movements jerky and the occasional terrifying snarl echoing in the night. You lope forward and slow to a stop a good ten feet away from the familiar ghoul in a cowboy hat.

"Cooper."

The ghoul whips around, and you shove down the horror that threatens to rise up and consume you when he looks at you. His eyes, usually beautiful and golden, are bloodshot, his pupils so blown tray you can't see the color of his iris. Cooper snarls at you, baring his teeth before his head jerks to the side.

"Darlin', wha-," He cuts himself off with a low growl, and you take a step forward when he slaps his hands over his cheeks and shakes his head like a wet dog.

"I told you I'd come back, Cooper," you say and reach for your bag, keeping your movements transparent, "Come back to the house. Lemme help you."

Cooper can't believe that you're back. It's been a day after you left that he'd started to lose time, his mind fuzzy as he struggled to keep his senses. Even now, everything has a film over it, and he's got to squint to see you properly. He takes a deep breath and stops himself from stumbling to your side when the scent of your flesh hits his ruined nose. You smell delicious.

"Cooper, please. Let's get out of the open," you beg and take another step forward. The wind shifts, and Cooper snarls again, his mouth filling with saliva.

"You gotta go, baby," Cooper manages to bite out and spits to the side, sneering and wiping at his mouth. He twitches and the urge to lunge, to bite, and to tear you apart.

You screw your face up, upset at his dismissal, and square up. Cooper was a lot stronger than you, but this was just a chance you'd have to take. You back away from him, deft fingers, finding his inhaler and loading a vial inside of it.

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you again," you hiss to yourself and then take off in a run, launching yourself at Cooper and tackling him to the ground. After that, it's a bad wrestle, the ghoul fighting you with all he had. You finally get the upper hand and pin him down with your knees on his shoulders, hands fumbling with the inhaler until you can press the mouthpiece to his lips.

"Breathe it in, dammit," you order, and Cooper regains enough sense to do as you say, sucking down the chem and dropping like dead weight to the sand. You keep him pinned and loaded in another vial, not trusting one to be enough.

Clarity comes slowly, and you can't help but sag forward in relief when the hands that grip your legs loosen their grip and slide up to caress your hips. You look down, and overjoyed tears come to your eyes when you see his familiar golden ones staring back up at you.

"I ain't used to bein' the damsel in distress," Cooper quips softly, and you let out a wet chuckle, sliding down so that you are sitting on his lap, "I think my savior deserves a reward."

You nod and let out a wet chuckle, then lean down and seal your lips to his, headless of the taste of chems that lingers on his lips. You didn't give a shit. Cooper was alive, and that's all that mattered to you.

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htchnr · 3 days

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aaron hotchner would be such a sap when it comes to celebrating your accomplishments. he's just such a proper gentleman in all aspects of his life, and that, of course, extends to your relationship. he's obsessed with spoiling you, cannot for the life of him think of a good reason why you shouldn't be spoiled, so he takes it upon himself to do it for you, especially when you work as hard as you do. whether it's a promotion at work or a graduation of some sort, he has reservations booked at the nicest restaurants, the prettiest outfit laid out for you. it's not to be flashy, you know that. it's because he thinks you deserve the best, only the best. he is an acts of service man, and he loves to spoil.

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htchnr · 3 days

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Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3

ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k

“I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.”

“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.”

“I understand, but–”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.”

You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?

“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself.

The door opens while you’re looking through your bag.

“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?”

You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.”

“Did you call them?”

Your eyelids are getting heavier. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden.

Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull.

“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks.

You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top.

Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ?

“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly.

You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.”

“We really don’t have time to waste.”

“I know, but my blood sugar–”

She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”

“Clearly not!”

“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.”

The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed.

You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.”

If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?”

“You want to chew it for me?” you ask.

He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.”

He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick.

“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth.

He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut.

In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?”

You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.”

“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?”

“No,” you say apologetically.

“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.”

Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”

“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”

“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.

“How did you get so low?” he asks.

“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?”

“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t usually get so dizzy.”

“When was the last time you were below seventy?”

“Don’t know,” you mumble.

Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?”

He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke.

You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard.

By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her.

You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.”

“I understand.”

You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.

He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.”

“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble.

He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.”

“What do I get in return?”

He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get.

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htchnr · 3 days

Text

|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.”

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.)

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ”

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.”

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels.

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow.

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands.

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.”

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner.

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.”

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route.

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.”

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.”

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him.

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something.

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?”

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.”

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body.

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”.

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?”

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts.

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.”

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that.

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too.

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.”

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now.

“Take me with you.”

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time.

“That's not an answer, Cooper.”

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.”

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.”

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.”

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander.

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg.

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.”

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him.

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest.

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest.

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?”

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face.

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

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