Reblog If Its Okay To Befriend You, Ask Questions, Ask For Advice, Rant, Vent, Let Something Off Your

Reblog if it’s okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

Unconventional || MASTERLIST

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Status: Updates are sporadic! (aka I’m in college so I write when I can)

Taglist is OPEN xx. (18+ only) click here to be added

MAIN MASTERLIST || CM MASTERLIST || HOTCH MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK

Summary: You’re in your last semester of college and your senior project consists of a novel written in a genre you haven’t yet explored before. Romance. There’s one small problem, though. You’ve never experienced romance before and the thought of true love kind of makes you want to gag. It’s partly because of your own issues, and partly because, well, guys your age just don’t do it for you. So what happens when you stumble into a meeting with an older guy who is willing to show you the ropes of romance, with no strings attached?

General themes/warnings: smut, BDSM, Dom/sub relationship, Daddy/Sir kink, age gap (like 20 years folks), somewhat of a sugar daddy relationship, and there will be chapter specific warnings as well

This is being beta’d by the lovely @chelseyjoyce​ <3

Full Disclaimer: I do not own the 50 Shades of Grey name, plot, characters, or anything else affiliated. This is simply a parody where I am borrowing elements, but this is all my own writing, unless stated otherwise (I will give credit if/when I use dialogue from the first movie).

Although I will be borrowing elements from the first movie (I’ve never read the books and don’t plan to), I will be changing things throughout. Healthy BDSM will be portrayed here, talked about, and explicitly written. 

This fic is 18+ only. I feel like this goes without saying, but just in case, here it is. If you’re a minor, don’t interact with this fic. I was a minor once too, so I understand the curiosity, but please respect my boundaries here and look for a different fic to interact with (I have another Hotch fic on my Masterlist called intelligence & issues that you are more than welcome to read!) (yes, I know i&i has smut too, but it’s much less hardcore than what will be in this fic)

**Denotes smut

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten**

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen**

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen**

More parts to come as I keep writing!

Last updated: January 23rd, 2022

As it Seems - One

Masterlist |  As it Seems Masterlist

Summary: The BAU is accustomed to change – different cases every day, agents coming and going, roles changing – so the addition of a new member, an Administrative Liaison, should be no different. But the moment you arrive, everything changes for the better (Hotch just doesn’t realize it at first)…

(A/N: And so it begins! As I mentioned in the preview, this Hotch series will feature dual POV, team dynamics, enemies(ish) to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, romance, smut, family fluff, and oh so much more. There’s a long road ahead with this story, so I hope you’ll stick with me – even through the slowest burn I’ve written so far. I’m so excited to share this journey with you!)

First days are always the same. Obviously the “first” is different every time – first day of school, first day living away from home, first day of a new job – but each one brings the same energy. There’s worry and hope combining into anticipation, there’s possibility and expectation creating excitement. 

You feel all that anticipation and excitement and a bit of determination as you walk into the F.B.I. Headquarters at Quantico. 

Quantico is different from the F.B.I. offices at the J. Edgar Hoover Building in downtown D.C. It’s farther away, for one thing, turning your five-minute commute into closer to a forty-five minute one. It was a strange switch, leaving the apartment before Jay. He was barely up and getting ready to go to the gym by the time you were out the door. It’s also strange to know you won’t see him until you’re home again this evening. After years of working in the same building, he was pretty resistant to the newfound daytime separation. 

“Don’t leave me, babe.” He pleaded as you prepped some vegetables for dinner. 

“We’re not breaking up, Jay. I’m just taking a new job.” 

“A new job away from me.” He argued, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing his face into your neck. “Who am I going to bother on my lunch break?”

“You can still bother me,” You reminded him, “Just over the phone instead of face to face.” 

He sighed. “I’ll miss you, babe.” 

You turned in his arms, wrapping your own around him in a hug. 

“I’ll miss you too,” You admitted. “But I need to do this.” 

Quantico is also larger than the Hoover building, spanning acres and acres in the middle of rural Virginia, complete with a fourteen-story building, sprawling training grounds for the academy, and a small airfield for private jets and helicopters to come and go. Still, you don’t find it as intimidating as the downtown headquarters. Granted, when you first entered the angular stone fortress that is the Hoover Building, you were just a college intern, young and wide-eyed, still thinking F.B.I. agents were just like the movies– cool and collected and capable. Now, you know better. F.B.I. agents are people just like anyone else, and they need help just like anyone else. 

That’s where you come in. 

Holding your box of photographs, pens, sticky notes, paper clips, and about ten pounds of case files that had been delivered to your apartment last night, you nod in thanks as an agent holds the door for you. Walking into the entry-level, there’s not much to see except a security desk and a window-lined corridor leading to a large elevator bank. 

A man, probably in his early-thirties, with a gray suit and a nervous disposition, approaches you from where he’d been waiting by the desk. 

“Ms. L/N?” 

“That’s me,” You smile. “But you can call me Y/N.” 

“Grant Anderson,” He says, holding out his hand, “I’m the inter-department coordinator for Section 4.” 

You shift your hold on the box, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Agent Anderson.” 

“Grant is fine,” He says, “Or Anderson. Most people call me Anderson.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Grant.” You smile. 

He smiles back, seeming a little surprised at your choice, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Well, Y/N,” He nods a few times, fumbling with his pockets, “You’ve been cleared and authorized…ah, here it is.” 

He pulls a laminated card out of his breast pocket, moving to hand it to your first, and then deciding to place it in your box. 

“This will give you access to everywhere you’ll need to go.” He explains, “I can take you up now, if you like?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Grant walks with you to the elevator, holding the door as you step inside and pushing the button for the eleventh floor. 

“You’re coming from downtown, right?” Grant asks, “The CCRS Branch?” 

“I was the administrative assistant to the Criminal Investigative Division for the last five years.” 

“Cool,” Grant nods, “You must have been brushing shoulders with the brass a lot.” 

“Not as much as you might think.” You say, “I prepped my department for meetings with the higher-ups, but I never met any of them personally. The directors like branch leaders to come to them, and assistants aren’t usually invited along.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” Grant says quickly, seeming a little embarrassed. 

The elevator doors open with a ding, and you step out onto the eleventh floor. Grant walks you across the hallway to a set of tall, glass doors, holding one side open for you. You enter the bullpen, a wide space with high ceilings and a lot of desks and low cubicles. 

Grant leads you to an empty desk by a short set of steps leading to a raised walkway. “This is you.” 

You set the box down and turn more freely to look around the bullpen. The walkway next to you has two offices along the way and what looks like a large round conference room at the end. There are a few staffers moving in and out from the hallway, leaving paperwork and making copies and using the small kitchen at the back, but the bullpen is mostly empty. 

“So, um, that’s Agent Rossi’s office,” Grant points to the first door on the walkway, “And that’s Agent Hotchner’s. He’s the unit chief. Penelope Garcia, the technical analyst, is down the hall to the right. The rest of the team have desks in the bullpen since Agent Jareau became a profiler.” 

“Great,” You nod, committing each detail to memory. “Thanks, Grant.”

“The team will be here soon,” Grant says, “Agent Hotchner is usually here early too, but, you know, not quite this early.” 

Keep reading

What’s your safe word, honey?

Summary: Hotch x Fem!Reader. Hotch comes home from a tough case and takes his anger out on you in the best kind of way.

Warnings: Language, smut—rough sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, mention of gunshot injury to arm. WC—+3.5K

A/N: Hi I’m a slut for Hotch and this is the evidence in the case against me 😂

You were going insane; one entire month off of work and you were over being cooped up in the house. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate time off. But because you were currently recovering from an injury in the field it meant you couldn’t make the best of your free time. You were stuck inside, forced to rest and recover. After the first week, you were bored out of your mind.

At least you’d had Jack, your adopted son, to keep you company when he wasn’t in school. You were even able to take him to the bus each morning, a job normally reserved for his Aunt Jessica, because the stop was in front of the house two doors down. Aaron had been reluctant, seeing as you had to climb a whole three steps to get back inside the townhouse the three of you lived together in, but he relented when you reminded him that your concussion and healing gunshot would to your left arm didn’t prevent you from being able to walk.

But this week, Jack was away on a school trip and you were left on your own. You’d hoped to have some time with Aaron, but he’d been called away on a case in New York, and like you knew all too well, the bigger the city, the longer the case. You just had to get through this last week; your injuries had healed and your physical therapy sessions for your arm were going great. You would be back in the field soon enough, although your boss—and husband—had insisted on two weeks of desk work and case consultation before he would allow you to strap on your gun again.

When you had been shot, it had been your own fault. You knew this—the victim, just a kid, had been scared out of his mind, and you tried to talk him down, were so focused on him that you didn’t notice the unsub hiding around the corner, didn’t even see him raise the gun. The only reason the bullet didn’t go through your skull was that Prentiss screamed at you at the same moment she shot the unsub. You fell as the bullet went through your arm and smacked your head off of the desk behind, hard enough to send you to the hospital unconscious. Hotch met you, with the rest of the team just behind him. After you woke up and his concern was eased by the doctor, he had told you that he was benching you.

You hadn’t argued, not after seeing the fear on his face, the way his hand had trembled when he stroked your cheek as you lay in the hospital bed. But you knew all too well that the longer you were off, the grouchier Aaron would get at work. Even Emily had texted you begging you to send him nudes just to get him to lighten up on this latest case.

You sent a few sexy shots two days before, and Aaron hadn’t responded. You spoke on the phone, but he didn’t bring them up, and you wondered if he was annoyed. But where Aaron Hotchner was severe and stern and reserved, you were bubbly and easy-going. You balanced one another perfectly, something that had been evident the minute you’d joined the BAU several years before.

The chemistry was there from the start as well, but it didn’t evolve beyond friendship until, after a particularly rough case, Hotch had decided to drive the seven hours back to Quantico instead of fly. He’d had an injured eardrum at the time and the flying, loud noises, it was too much for him. You had asked if you could join him in a spur-of-the-moment decision, and ended up having the best time together.

You had agreed to split the drive into two days, opting to stay one night in a nice hotel, stretch out the trip a little to get some rest. The plan was for you to drive the remaining three hours home the next day, with a few stops along the way to sightsee. You booked separate rooms after enjoying dinner together at the hotel restaurant, and bid one another goodnight in a friendly manner. After soaking in the bath for an hour in your room, you had thrown your robe on and debated walking across the hall to thank Hotch for letting you join him, unsure of if he would already be asleep.

It had been like a movie scene when you had opened the door to your room, still unsure if you would knock on his, and found him standing right there, clearly debating something similar. Only, where you were wearing just the hotel robe, Hotch was in a casual t-shirt and shorts and you couldn’t help but check him out, admire the muscles you rarely glimpsed beneath those suits.

You had looked at one another for roughly thirty seconds before, and you’ll never know for sure who moved first, you were wrapped around each other. You had stayed up pretty late that night.

You were dozing on the couch, a habit you’d formed during this work hiatus and you really needed to kick it. You had always been able to sleep just about anywhere, but your king bed upstairs was calling your name and you knew sleeping on the couch wasn’t the best for your back. But sleeping in that big bed all alone bummed you out, so you usually stayed up late watching crime movies on Netflix until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

When you heard the beep of the front door, the electric lock sliding, your eyes opened and you realized you’d been out like a light and your movie had long since ended. You blearily glanced toward the front hall, frowning. You didn’t think Aaron was coming home yet, but when his familiar, tall frame stepped in to view your heart leapt happily in your chest. He must not have bothered calling since it was so late.

Before you could get his attention, as he hadn’t realized you were curled up under blankets on the couch, you saw that he appeared to be in one of his moods. Almost instantly, heat pooled in your stomach—while most people, sane people, avoided the hell out of an angry Aaron Hotchner, you were drawn to him. You liked being the only one who could calm him, and you loved when he took his anger out on you.

As you gazed at him now, he roughly pulled off his jacket, then started working at his tie, his movements choppy. The classic frown was in place, and while he was making no noise, thinking you must be upstairs asleep in bed, you saw that his breathing was uneven. So the case had not ended well, clearly. You knew what he was feeling, it was something that the entire team would experience when a case went south, and you immediately ached to comfort him.

When his tie was hung on the hook on the wall, he moved slowly towards the staircase, still not noticing you. With a small sigh, you sat up and Aaron’s head spun comically in your direction, eyes widening in surprise.

“Honey, what are you doing sleeping on the couch? Are you alright?”

Frowning Hotch morphed into Protective Hotch, his eyes searching your face with concern even as you smiled sleepily at your husband. “I’m perfect, now that you’re here. I just fell asleep watching a movie,” You pushed at the tangle of blankets around you, “I wasn’t expecting you, I’m so happy you’re home!”

Hotch’s expression softened, but then his eyes dropped as you freed yourself from the blankets and revealed yourself wearing only one of his old t-shirts. You saw his entire body go rigid, his expression turning dark, and that heat inside you fluttered in response. You shifted, drawing your legs up and stretching your arms so that the shirt rode up and you heard him gasp as he saw you wore no panties. “Christ,” He murmured, moving across the room with intent, “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” He growled, and you grinned at him.

You didn’t get a chance to respond, his large hand securing around your throat, his eyes dark with hunger. He gripped you gently, and you felt the slick between your thighs nearly gush in response. Hotch reached down and ran a free hand over the core of you, grunting in approval.

“So wet for me, good girl,” He released his hold on you to draw the shirt over your head, tossing it aside and sighing in approval as he surveyed your naked curves. “What’s your safe word, honey?”

Every time, he asked you this and his eyes would search yours, ensure that you were on board and ready for him. You only smiled wider, trying not to rub your thighs together too much for friction you were desperate for. “Pineapple.”

The tension in his body snapped, and before you could do more than moan, Hotch was sealing his lips over yours possessively. You loved this side of him, though you didn’t get to see it until a few months together—he was always sweet and gentle, he made love to you, ensured that you came at least twice. But eventually, you’d had enough of being treated like a glass figurine, and encouraged him to experiment with you.

It turned out, Aaron Hotchner was a man with a love for dirty sex. And you fucking loved it.

“Missed you,” You breathed out when he finally pulled back from kissing you, and he grinned wickedly in response before turning you and pushing you down so that you were bent over the comfortable arm of the couch, ass facing him. With greedy hands, he touched every part of you that he could reach, ignoring the throbbing heat between your thighs. You were a whimpering mess within minutes, but you couldn’t beg him for more. If you did, he would draw it out longer—and from the way he was breathing behind you, the gentle nips at the flesh of your ass, he was in no mood to wait.

“Good girl,” He smacked your ass, the shock of it sending a heat over the skin and a tingle down your spine. You moaned sinfully, turning your head to try and meet his gaze. He was staring down at you and, you hadn’t noticed because you were so caught up in his touch, managed to remove all of his clothing. He was all lean muscles and with a smattering of soft hair that trailed down to the very large erection, he had grasped in one hand. “Ready to take daddy’s cock, honey?”

“Fuck yes,” You whimpered, wiggling your ass slightly, “Please daddy, fuck me—”

With a groan that made your toes curl, Hotch pressed forward and slide through your sopping folds, not stopping until he’d sunk himself inside of you completely, stretching you. He stilled momentarily, and after a beat, your walls clenching around him blissfully, you murmured what you knew he was waiting to hear.

“Green.”

Hotch was older than you by enough years that when you got together, it raised many eyebrows. He had done everything right to ensure you could continue working on the BAU, including shifting your performance reviews to Derek, who could give them unbiased. Paperwork was filed with HR, and once it was all said and done, it just felt right. Like everything had fallen into place in your lives, both personal and professional. He was a man of duty and honour, a father first, and he let you into his life, allowed you to see every part of him, trusting you endlessly.

And you trusted him, always. He had your back in the field, but it was more than that. You could fight and still end up going to bed with a smile because even if he didn’t agree, he valued your perspective, was always willing to try things your way. It was a happy marriage built on a deep trust of one another.

Which was why he had agreed to the kind of sex you both enjoyed on the condition there were safe words and cautions. So you followed the stoplight system, but to help lighten the mood if you had to ask him to stop, you opted to say ‘pineapple’. You’d only ever had to use it once, and it was because you had been on your period and the position he was thrusting into you at had gone from intensely pleasurable to cramping and painful in a flash. He’d stopped immediately and spent the following hour taking care of you, kissing and massaging and, most importantly, bringing you chocolate ice cream.

Green, of course, meant go. And so when you said that magic word tonight, the tense and exhausted man you loved started thrusting at such a brutal pace you instantly saw stars behind your eyelids. With the house to yourselves, you didn’t bother holding back and let yourself make as much noise as you needed, which only drove him wild and encouraged him.

“DADDY!” You screamed, clenching around him as he filled you, his cock hitting everything perfectly. In response to your scream, one hand slid into your hair, gripping it, and pulled you back harshly. You grunt, back arching for him, and felt yourself grow slicker in response to his man-handling of you as he fucks you ruthlessly for a long time.

Hotch groans again, his deep voice cutting through your noises, “You take my cock so well, honey. Like you were—fuck—made for daddy’s cock,” His free hand lays another slap to your ass and you jerk slightly, your mouth opening in an ‘o’ as the feelings inside of you intensify. You can feel yourself getting close to coming and a small, almost pitiful sound escapes your mouth. “Aw, is my little slut going to cum? You going to soak my cock?”

“Y-yes, daddy, so close—oh, shit,” You’re moving now, matching his movements so that when he slams into you, you’re meeting him and the sounds that creates—harsh, wet and sloppy, send you over the edge. “Daddy, daddy—”

Fireworks go off behind your eyes and you can’t keep them open, lids squeezing shut as your entire body seizes and twitches, the wave of your orgasm almost too strong. It pulls you under and you don’t think you even breathe, you just float and it’s not until you feel his teeth bite into your shoulder that you realize Hotch has pulled you against his chest, fucking you at a new angle and grounding you with the conflicting pain of his bite.

There’s still so much pleasure pulsing through you, but you come down from the high of it and slump, turning into a rag doll in his capable arms. Hotch is more than happy at this outcome, the rough growl of approval tells you as much. He loves the control, the knowledge that he literally knocked the wind out of you. He has one hand pressed against your chest, over your heart to feel the wild beating. The other is still in your hair, tilting your head slightly so that he can whisper in your ear.

“Fucking slut—daddy’s good little girl—you make me feel so good,” He grunts when he thrusts up hard enough to draw another cry from you, desperate and whiny. “This pussy’s all mine, honey.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognize his tone, that he wants a response. But you’re so strung out on the pleasure and the feel of his brutal thrusts, the way his cock splits you open, that you forget to reply. His hand slides up from your chest to grip your throat, pressing the sides just enough to have you gasping.

“Who owns this pussy? Answer me!” He accentuates his order with a wicked snap of his hips and you moan, wondering what it must look like; you being speared on his cock, limp and weak in his arms.

Another garbled whine slips out as you try to make sense of the world and find the words he’s looking for. You aren’t fast enough, and his anger grows, the hand on your throat tightening as the one in your hair drops and slaps you hard on the ass, several times. The mixture of pleasure and pain and you’re inability to breathe properly sends you right back over the edge. Unable to scream, a low and pitiful whimper starts up as you cum, soaking his cock and trembling, tears spilling from your eyes.

Hotch growls again, probably pretty pleased you came for him again but just as annoyed that you aren’t answering him. “Silly cock-slut, you can’t even speak you’re such a whore for me,” He grunts, slowing his pace so that he can thrust, then spanks you, thrust, spank, thrust, spank…

“Daddy, daddy, daddy—“

“Yes? You going to answer me, or do you want to be punished—more—“ His next smack makes you jerk, and then his grip on your throat releases and you draw in a deep breath. “Good girl, come on now, who owns your pussy?”

“You-you do, daddy. You own my pussy—shit—fuck me.”

With a low noise of approval, he starts up his rough thrusting again, smoothes his hand over the sensitive skin he’d been spanking, and then over your hip and around, until his fingers are pressing circles to your clit. Your whole spine tightens in response, your back arching into him and now you’re sure you might pass out from how good he is making you feel. With every thrust you grunt, eyes rolling back, and his fingers are bringing you back to the edge again, where you think if you fall you won’t be able to stop.

As if sensing your thoughts, Hotch holds you close and it’s the soft side whispering in your ear now, “I love you, honey, and I’ve got you. Cum for me, I know you have one more in you,” He presses his lips to your neck, your throat, and you’re so close you can’t stop trembling. “Daddy’s going to fill you up, so be a good girl now.”

You feel the way his thrusts have grown sloppy and it’s the realization that he’s holding off his orgasm to bring yours out that does it. With a soft cry, you crumble, this time you cum and it spreads through your body slowly, breaking you down and you’re grateful Hotch still holds you carefully even as he begins to groan and with one final thrust, he spills himself deep inside of you.

It’s like you’re boneless, so when he eventually stops coming, he can do whatever he wants with you and you can’t even raise a hand. Hotch lays you over the back of the couch, propping you up higher for him as you flop down, ass in the air. He stays behind you, spreads your legs wide, and his fingers begin a slow assault on your overstimulated cunt, occasionally teasing the puckered skin above. You whimper helplessly and his dirty talk returns after he has you how he wants you.

“Fucking slut, look at you,” He presses a kiss to your reddened ass cheek, “Spread out and ready for me to do whatever I want with you.” His voice is gruff, eager, and you know he’s not close to being done with you yet tonight. A thrill runs through you despite your exhaustion.

You feel his weight leave the couch and a moment later he’s standing in front of where you’re draped over the wide back of the couch. Gently, his hands take hold of your jaw and tilt your head, and Hotch meets your eyes. You smile at him weakly, “G-green, daddy…”

Soft eyes go dark, and the semi-hard cock a few inches from your face slides down your throat seconds later, large hands grasping your hair. Hotch fucks your face slow at first, enjoying cutting off your air and then releasing, until you gasp and cough. The more he does this, the harder he gets, and his cock is big enough that it’s tough for you to take in and he loves watching you struggle.

“Yeah, take it deep honey, look at you,” He brushes some hair from your face, which is covered in tears, “Daddy’s little girl looks so good with her face stuffed with cock. I’m so proud of my cock slut—oh, you can’t breathe? Okay—“ He releases again and laughs lightly when you pull in another gasp of air gratefully.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath, gathering your hair into one hand and then leaning over you to reach behind you and run his fingers through your soaked folds. He finger fucks you until you moan, which is when he abruptly stops and stands straight, wicked grin back on his handsome face as he thrusts into your throat again. You moan happily around his cock, hungry for his cum.

“Daddy’s going to cum down that throat, honey,” Hotch groans after another five minutes of brutal face fucking. “Swallow it all, slut, fuck,” He grunts, shoves himself right down your throat, and cums. At first, you can’t even swallow because you’ve taken him so far, but after a few pulses, he eases back so that you can drink him down, then back a little more to allow you to lick and suckle the remaining cum.

“Taste so good, daddy,” You sigh, and then you grin up at him again, looking for his approval.

Hotch is watching you, his eyes drinking in your cum and tear-soaked face, how you sag into the couch helplessly, and the way he smiles back tells you he’s happy—and there’s more coming.

He disappears to get you some water, and you know once he’s satisfied that you’re taken care of, he’ll take you to bed and take out his anger on you some more. You let yourself doze while you wait for him to return from the kitchen, smiling to yourself happily—you love Aaron endlessly and love being his good little slut.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog/comment. Content is free, feedback is PRICELESS.

Taglist— @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @ladydmalfoy @thenewnormalforensicator

Irresistible

Concept: Forbidden sex. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X virgin!fem!reader.

Content: Hotch being the hottest man alive; thigh riding; rubbing; innocence kink (I think?); Hotch being called Mr. Hotchner by reader (sorry not sorry); “loss” of virginity; penetrative unprotected sex (P in the V); guilt; feelings. 

Word count: 3.1k.

Written by @dudeitiskarev

      She shouldn’t be almost naked sitting on my lap. Straddling my thigh with only her small underwear keeping her away from me; rubbing herself against me and moaning softly onto the crook of my neck as I guided every short stroke back and forth by gripping her hips. 

     “Mr. Hotchner this is–”

     “I know.” I breathed into her chest, planting a gentle, wet kiss on her skin. “I know.”

     This was so wrong.

     All she had to do was clean my apartment, make it look as good as new and leave. 

     But it wasn’t the first time things had gotten heated – unprofessional. Neither of those many occasions I recalled how we exactly ended up here, so close to kiss each other. Though our lips haven’t touched before, we’ve done more than kissing – so much more. And that was what I craved the most. Her beautiful mouth. 

Keep reading

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝖜𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓 | 𝖆𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖓 𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖓𝖊𝖗 !

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ summary : [smau] when you accidentally texted hotch and feel like should crawl in a hole, things took a turn.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ warnings : fluff, crack, embarrassment, hotch is a bland straightforward texter, reader uses caps lock a lot, stupid idiots in love <3

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ hana’s notes : this is my first attempt on things like this so im sorry if hotch doesn’t really act like hotch 💀 please tell me what yall think cause im kinda nervous posting it :))))

↠ main masterlist

reblog for a kiss <3