Aaron Hotchner Smut - Tumblr Posts

*sighs*

POV the neighbor was actually hotch (yk bc it's literally canon) ...unknowingly to the both of them until later when reader finally meets the team and hotch is like "i swear she sounds so familiar" and later he finds out spencer lives next door and uh...

Could you maybe write a blurb or fic where Spencer just goes completely feral over how loud reader is in bed 🥵

a/n: im almost certain this is not what you asked for but i got this plot idea and hjhhhhhhhdhf

They say good couples share bad habits. This had become true in the six months you and Spencer had been together. The bad habit in question was being reported to the police for excessive noise by his really bitter neighbors.

Now, what kind of noise could a quiet FBI agent and a simple person, such as yourself, make, you may ask? Well, that would be the obnoxiously loud moans and cries that you used to let out during sex.

"Fuck, fuck!" you would have said more, but the fact that your knees were touching your breasts as Spencer had you in a mating press had scrambled your brain beyond the skill to speak.

He himself could only smile at the fact that your moans had overpowered the sound of moist skin lapping together. He loved when you were so loud, nay, he loved when he fucked you so good you had no choice but to share it with the world.

You could feel his entire shaft bury itself within you, the sensation of his testicles against your ass just serving as confirmation of the fact.

His member was tinted a vague white, the thing with Spencer is that you never understood where he got such stamina from. The speed of his thrusts were proportional to the decibels of your whimpers, the louder you yelled, the more eager he used to get.

Smack! A loud banging noise distracted you a little, causing you to shut up for a second. Spencer, however, did not give in to the sound of the door being pounded, eyes still on your flushed face, cock still hitting the deepest ends of your pussy.

"Can you please shut the fuck up?!" a stranger yelled from outside his apartment door "Come on man, shut your whore up! it's been two hours!"

You brought your hands to your mouth, trying to fight back the noises that you were making out of embarrassment.

"No, no." Spencer lowered his speed to talk "What are you doing? I need to hear you."

"Your neighbors can hear everything!" you barely whispered.

"They should be thankful." he reached for your wrists to open the path for your mouth again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips "I bet he touches himself to your moans." he bucked his hips forward slowly, and a whimper escaped you "Yeah, those delicious little sounds you make. Takes a simple exhale to have me rock hard, couldn't blame him if the way you screamed made him cum in his pants."

His narrative had gotten so filthy, so unlike him, a facade that you only saw whenever he knew he had you at his mercy, the sort of information he could only get by the sounds of pleasure he loved so much. Without your permission, your walks ended up clenching around him, aching for his previous pace to take over again.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" he smiled in your direction, his forehead touching yours "I would normally be jealous, but you feel so good I can barely think straight."

"Spencer..." you muttered in a begging tone, a much lower one compared to what he liked.

"What was that?" his hips began to pick up their pace once again "Speak up, baby, he can't hear you."

"Spencer!" your tone began to raise once more as the thrusts became faster.

"That's good." he praised "Let's show him what my little whore can do."

the colorblind one 😈

Tease

Aaron Hotchner x girlfriend reader

Summary: Hotch is a workaholic and you’re just… helping everyone out (mouth fucking him senseless). Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: reader is kinda bratty 🤭 Hotch is canonically a giggly kisser and weak to teasing, sooo… I did what I had to do. Idc. Porn no plot. warnings/tags: adult content, mdni. Sex in public? Don’t do this at your workplace guys. No use of y/n. Praise kink if you squint.

enjoy 🤍

———————

You wait until everyone’s distracted to slip into Hotch’s office and close the door behind you. He smiles at your presence.

“Hello”, he says softly. 

You walk over to seat yourself in his lap and he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. 

“Want to do something fun?”, you tease, playing with his tie. He looks at you apologetically.

“Honey, I have so much work to do”.

Lying workaholic. He needs a break and you both know it. You give him a playful shove.

“No you don’t. You’ve already finished everything for today. Let’s go home”, you insist. He rubs his thumb against your hips. 

“I know, but I want to get this extra stuff done today”, he says, taking your hand off of his tie to kiss it. 

You take the other hand and palm him through his trousers and he groans. You grin, sliding in closer and grinding against him. He doesn’t do much to stop you, losing himself in the movement of your ass on his cock.

“L-look”, he stammers, his breath hitching in pleasure. “Maybe later we can-“

He stops talking as you unbutton your blouse to reveal your breasts, held in place by lacy black lingerie. He groans into your neck and you grin, feeling his cock swell under your hips. You lean in to put your lips to his ear.

“Want to see the matching underwear?”

His eyes immediately darken in interest, and he practically picks you up and places you on his desk. Giggling, you unbuckle his belt. 

He smiles as he leaves soft kisses down your neck.

“You’re so perfect”, he murmurs into your skin.

It almost makes you feel bad to push his face away start buttoning your shirt back up. He frowns.

“What are you doing?”

You smile at him not-so innocently.

“I thought you had to work?”

He smirks. 

“If you don’t take off your skirt right now-“

A rap on the door makes you both freeze.

“Agent Hotchner? It’s Anderson. May I come in?”, a shaking voice asks.

You look down at your half open shirt and his unzipped trousers. Shit.

You push Hotch into his chair and crawl under his desk. You hadn’t exactly told anyone you’re dating yet and this is not how you want them to find out. So somehow you find yourself on your knees in front of Aaron’s cock, with an agent only 10 feet away. 

Hotch straightens his tie and you settle into a slightly more comfortable position. The precum from when you were grinding on him earlier glistens in front of you. You feel yourself throb at thought of it in your mouth.

“Yes, come in”, Hotch calls out. 

You pull his chair closer into the desk. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help but run your tongue up from the base to his tip, lightly sucking the head. Hotch takes a sharp inhale, barely stifling his gasp. You grin as you slowly lower your mouth onto his cock and see him grab onto his desk for dear life. This was what he gets for refusing to go home on time. 

Anderson walks in, his anxious hands fiddling with a file.

“Sir?”, he asks. “I was wondering…” 

You hear him shuffle his feet on the carpeted floor. Hotch furrowing his brows in a desperate attempt at a poker face was probably not helping the poor agent’s nervousness. Hotch runs a hand soothingly along the top of your head, trying to signal to you to slow down. It only makes you hollow your cheeks and squeeze the underside of his cock with your tongue, causing his stomach to flex in restraint. The young agent is still stammering.

“Spit it out Anderson”, Hotch grits through his teeth. 

From his angle, he can see the way your lips look on his cock and your breasts peeking out from your barely-there bra. 

You make sure to catch his eye before taking him all the way all the way to the hilt. It makes your eyes water a little, but the way he has to literally close his eyes to take a deep breath makes it totally worth it.

“I was wondering if I could go home early today?”, Anderson asks. “I know that I’m-“

“Yes. Sure, just go”, Hotch says breathlessly. But your movement makes him frown in an attempt to stifle a moan, which gives Anderson the wrong impression. 

“Sir I know that it’s last minute and I should have asked earlier, but I just want to say-“

You use your hands to move with your head up and down his shaft which causes Hotch’s hips to buckle up slightly. 

“Anderson”, he hisses. “Go. Home. Now.”

The poor agent scurries away, barely remembering to close the door. 

Now without the threat of someone overhearing you, Hotch whimpers, which only makes you move faster. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, he whispers breathlessly.

He’s desperate to not make any sounds but he can’t help but let out a soft moan. You feel his cock twitch.

“Sweetheart I’m- fuck- I’m going to come-“, he splutters. “God, you’re so-“

You cup his balls and fuck him so good he sees stars, throwing his head back in ecstasy as his cum explodes in your mouth. He’s gripping his chair so tight to keep himself from shouting out your name. 

When you’re certain he’s come down from his high, you release him. He brushes your hair away from your face and pulls you up into his lap.

“I can’t believe you just did that”, he whispers.

“You liked it”, you smirk, giving him a kiss. He smiles, but doesn’t deny it as he kisses you back.

“I’m going to get you back for it someday”, he grins. 

You raise an eyebrow. He is going down.

“You still haven’t seen my underwear”, you tease. Hotch immediately perks up.

“I’m calling it an early day today! Everyone go home!”, he yells through his closed door. Outside Hotch’s office, everyone looks at each other, confused. They can’t tell if he’s joking and no one moves to get up.

You, however, get up from his lap, seating yourself on his table and bringing your hands under your skirt, slowly peeling off your now soaked underwear. In the process, Hotch catches a glimpse of your glistening cunt.

“If you don’t go home now I’m making you do 2 hours of extra paperwork!”, Hotch barks.

You giggle as you hear everyone frantically packing up their things. 

Hotch watches as you drop your underwear to the floor, followed by your shirt. 

“You’re going to be the death of me”, he whispers. 

“Lock the door”, you tell him. 

He looks at you with a glint in his eye, and you know you’re about to get exactly what you deserve for being so naughty.

It’s really only fair that he makes you come so many times he has to carry you to his car.

————————

masterlist

I keep thinking about Hotch with a reader who is always horny? Like even though they’ve released, it feels like it’s not enough

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Aaron doesn't even get to take a breath after plopping his head onto his pillow before you're kissing up his neck. He feels your lips, still sticky with residue from a kiss you'd shared earlier, part so that your tongue can lick up his skin, and turns with an incredulous stare to ogle you.

"Are you insane?" He feels you kiss his chin next, a light smattering of stubble poking at your lips, "We just had sex."

"And I wanna do it again," You gloat, fingers tickled by the dark, wiry hair that litters Aaron's chest, "Come on, you can't tease me like this!"

"Tease you- like what? I'm just laying here," He laughs, hands gesturing to his limp body, "How am I teasing you?"

"You're showing off your chest," You lean over to nip at one of his pecs and he yelps, a sound very uncharacteristic of your stoic husband, "And- and your stomach," You groan, shifting to bury your face in the skin there as a deep chuckle rumbles through it, "Fuck, Aaron, I could tear you to pieces."

You notice the shifting of his thighs as he readjusts your face in his stomach, and you're onto them next. You lick a fat, wet stripe around the left one, your tongue dipping between them and grazing his cock ever-so-slightly. He stiffens at the touch, groaning lightly and rushing to prop himself up on his elbows.

"You really wanna go again?" He asks, his voice raspy and thick.

"Please," You beg pitifully, your nose burrowing into the strands of hair gathered at his pelvis as you speak, his musky scent invading your senses, "I need you, Aaron."

"Suck my cock, honey." He croons, slipping a hand beneath it to feed it into your mouth and humming at the sensation of your tongue slipping against its underside, "Fuck, that's good. So needy, aren't you?"

Sweet & Sour Motivation

Summary: You are casually seeing Aaron Hotchner after his divorce, but what happens when he brings around his pretty friend, Spencer?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader, Aaron Hotcher xfem!reader

Category: smut, angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, needy & jealous aaron, not really cheating, picking spencer, alcohol consumption, reader sings in a band, use of Y/N, age gap (24 & 37)

Word count: 11.7k

a/n: didn't mean to make hotch so pathetic lol my bad --- also wrote this super quick ,, no proof reads ,, no edits ,, apologies in advance

main masterlist

Additional warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), multiple partners, oral (m), fingering, grinding

After the painful end of his marriage, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t looking for anything serious. One night, while drowning his sorrows at a bar, he was captivated by a beautiful woman singing on stage. Drawn to her presence, Aaron began frequenting the bar just to see her perform. Eventually, their paths crossed when he spotted her getting a drink, and his curiosity led him to you—a vibrant 24-year-old who offered him a much-needed escape from the chaos of his life. What started as a casual rebound quickly evolved into something more complicated. Spending nearly every weekend together, you’ve built a bond that straddles the line between friendship and something deeper, though neither of you has dared to define it. As Aaron juggles the pressures of his job and the remnants of his broken family, and you navigate your own feelings about the age difference and the nature of your connection, you find yourselves in a delicate dance that could either solidify into something real or shatter the fragile peace you’ve found in each other.

—

The moment the bathroom door closed behind you, Aaron’s hands were on you, rough and insistent, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel you against him. His lips crashed against yours, the kiss urgent and filled with a need that had been simmering for months, now boiling over. There was nothing gentle about the way he backed you against the wall, his hands roaming your body with a possessive hunger.

“Aaron,” you gasped against his lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he pressed his body against yours, hard and demanding. His response was a low groan, his breath hot against your neck as he bit down, just enough to make you arch into him, craving more of the roughness he knew you wanted.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire as he spun you around, your hands bracing against the wall as he pulled you back against him. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your hips before yanking you closer, his body pressed tightly to yours. There was no room for anything but the raw, desperate need between you.

Clothes were a nuisance, and they were pushed aside quickly, carelessly, until nothing stood between you but the heated press of your skin against his. Aaron’s hands gripped your hips, his hold firm and unyielding as he pulled you back to meet his thrusts, each one forceful, pushing you to the edge with a ruthless precision that only he could master.

The sounds of your moans and his ragged breaths filled the bathroom, mingling with the sharp slaps of skin against skin. It was dirty, intense, everything you had both craved since the first time you saw each other. Aaron’s pace was relentless, his control slipping as he lost himself in the rhythm, the connection between you raw and primal.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled, his voice rough, almost desperate, as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Yes, Aaron, please,” you gasped, the words barely coherent as the sensations overwhelmed you. “I want it, I need it—”

Your words were cut off by a sharp thrust that had you crying out, your body trembling as you reached the peak, the world dissolving into a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Aaron followed you over the edge, his grip on you tightening as he buried himself deep, his release shuddering through him with a force that left you both breathless and spent.

—

For a couple of months, your relationship with Aaron was intense, secretive, and driven by an unquenchable need. You’d meet wherever you could—bar bathrooms, his car, your apartment, motels. The connection was raw and consuming. But over time, the urgency softened, and your quick hookups turned into long conversations, dinners, and movies. You were becoming friends, maybe more.

Then, after an especially intimate moment, Aaron surprised you by wanting to introduce you to his friends. Panic set in, as the reality of your relationship became too close, too real. To deflect, you suggested he bring them to your show, hoping they’d have a few drinks before you had to face them. The thought of what Aaron might have told them—or how he’d introduce you—filled you with unease.

—

Aaron had invited the whole team to come see you perform, and they all eagerly agreed. They were curious to meet the woman Hotch was "seeing," though he hadn’t shared many details, leaving out the more provocative aspects of your relationship. None of them imagined the reality of the situation; they were simply excited that he was opening up after the divorce and sharing this part of his life with them.

When the team arrived at the bar, they settled into a table right at the front, not wanting to miss a moment. The anticipation was palpable as they chatted, speculating about what you might be like. But when your band finally took the stage, their reactions were anything but subtle. The team was flabbergasted. There was no way Hotch was just "seeing" you. You were so young, so hot, so confident—everything they wouldn’t have expected from him. You were the complete opposite of the reserved and serious Aaron Hotchner they knew, and it left them stunned.

“Dude, how much you wanna bet Hotch is just banging her?” Derek leaned over to Spencer, his voice low but teasing.

“Um, that’s—I don’t know. Why would he invite us to meet her?” Spencer replied, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“That’s a good point,” Derek conceded, “but she’s gotta be at least ten years younger than him.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbled, not sure where Derek was going with this.

“I bet he’s using her as a rebound,” Emily chimed in, leaning in closer after having overheard the exchange.

“For sure,” Derek nodded, “but do you think she knows?”

The way you performed on stage—sensual, captivating, commanding every ounce of attention—they assumed you were fully aware of the situation and in control of it.

And Spencer? Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. There was something about you that was otherworldly, enigmatic. You drew him in, fascinated him in a way he’d never experienced before, and he found himself unable to look away.

—

You couldn’t help but notice Spencer staring at you; how could you not? He was the most beautiful man in the bar, his eyes dark and intense, drinking you up like you were the only thing that mattered. There was something magnetic about him, something that made your heart skip a beat, even in the middle of your performance. But then again, he was sitting at Aaron’s table, and that complicated things. Flirting with him? It seemed like a line you shouldn’t cross, especially with Aaron in the picture. You and Aaron weren’t exclusive, sure, but still… it felt like a no-go.

But then an idea struck you. Maybe you couldn’t flirt outright, but you could still send a message, something subtle yet unmistakable. A smile tugged at your lips as you decided to sing your signature cover, one that always held a bit more meaning when you performed it—"Only Angel," the demo version.

Your voice dipped into the lyrics, eyes locked on Spencer as you sang:

“Painted it on your back, I knew we’d get along  

But I caught you in a mirror staring way too long  

I could love you if I didn’t think I’d do it wrong  

I’m gonna have to take you home…”

You let the words linger, your gaze never leaving Spencer’s, the air between you crackling with an unspoken invitation. His eyes widened slightly, and you saw the effect the song was having on him, the way he seemed to lean in, as if drawn by an invisible thread. The tension was electric, and you knew he felt it too. 

The rest of the room faded into the background, the only thing that mattered was the connection sparking between you and Spencer. And for those few moments, you let the song say what you couldn’t—flirting with him in a way that was both bold and discreet, leaving just enough room for him to wonder if it was really him you were singing to. But from the look in his eyes, you knew he understood.

—

As you emerged from the backrooms of the bar, still riding the high of your performance, you were greeted by Aaron’s warm embrace. “Y/N! You were wonderful!” he said, pulling you close, his voice filled with pride.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you murmured into his shoulder, a mix of gratitude and nerves bubbling in your chest. You knew what was coming next—meeting his friends. The thought sent a flutter of anxiety through you, especially after the intense connection you’d just shared with Spencer across the room.

Aaron kept an arm around you as he turned to face the table where his team was gathered. “Everyone, this is Y/N,” he announced, his tone confident and unguarded. And then, with a smile that seemed so simple, yet carried so much weight, he added, “My girl.”

Your stomach dropped at those words, the casual claim sending a wave of emotions through you. You hadn’t expected him to introduce you like that, not in front of his team, not in such a public way. The label—"my girl"—felt both comforting and constricting all at once, like a door closing on the undefined space you’d been occupying together.

“Hi,” you managed to wave, your voice a little shy as you took in the faces around the table. You could feel their eyes on you, studying you, trying to figure out who you were and what you meant to Aaron. It was all a bit overwhelming, especially with Spencer’s gaze lingering on you, more intense than before.

But you held your ground, offering them a small, nervous smile, hoping it conveyed more confidence than you felt.

Emily was the first to break the ice. “So, Y/N, how did you and Aaron meet?” she asked with a playful lilt in her voice, leaning in just a little too close, her breath carrying the unmistakable scent of alcohol.

“Here, actually,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though your nerves were starting to creep in. You could feel Aaron’s arm tighten around your waist, his fingers splaying possessively against your hip. “He, uh, kept coming to see me sing.”

Derek, already grinning, jumped in next. “So you’re the reason Hotch has been in such a good mood lately,” he teased, giving you a wink. “We’ve been wondering who it was. Didn’t think he had it in him to date a rock star.”

“I wouldn’t say rock star,” you laughed nervously, glancing around at the group. You could tell they were all a bit tipsy, their laughter a little too loud, their movements a little too loose—except for Spencer, who sat quietly, his eyes fixed on you with that same intensity you’d noticed earlier. He hadn’t touched his drink, instead seeming to take everything in with a quiet, respectful demeanor that stood in stark contrast to the others.

JJ leaned forward, her smile warm and kind. “What’s it like dating Aaron? He can be pretty intense, I bet.”

Before you could answer, Aaron, clearly more than a little tipsy himself, pulled you closer, his hand drifting lower than you were comfortable with, even in front of strangers. “She loves it, don’t you?” he slurred slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple. The gesture was meant to be affectionate, but with the alcohol on his breath and the eyes of his entire team on you, it made you mildly uncomfortable.

You tried to laugh it off, gently nudging him in the side. “It’s… an adventure,” you said, attempting to keep things light despite the awkwardness creeping in.

“Sounds like it,” Rossi chimed in, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To the woman who’s tamed the wild Hotchner.”

The group laughed, and you forced a smile, but inside you were starting to feel the strain of the situation. Aaron’s handsy behavior wasn’t helping, and you could see the team watching your every move, analyzing the dynamics between you and their boss.

But then, your eyes met Spencer’s again, and you found a moment of calm in his steady gaze. Unlike the others, he wasn’t laughing or teasing—he was just watching, as if trying to understand you in a way the others hadn’t even thought to. It was a small comfort in an otherwise overwhelming situation.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that this was just a night, just a moment, and you could handle it. Even if Aaron was being more affectionate than you were used to, even if his team was dissecting every word you said, you could get through this. After all, you’d faced tougher crowds before—just never with quite so much on the line.

—

You were pushing your cart down the aisle, absentmindedly scanning the shelves for a few last-minute ingredients, when you noticed a familiar figure standing by the canned goods. Spencer Reid, the quiet and somewhat mysterious member of Aaron’s team, was holding a can of peas in front of his face, staring at it with such intensity that you half-expected it to reveal the answer to some complex riddle.

“Spencer?” you called out, curious about what could possibly have him so engrossed.

He quickly glanced over, squinting slightly as if trying to place you. “Yes?”

“It is Spencer, right? I’m Y/N—we met last week…” you trailed off, hoping he’d remember.

“Oh, Hotch’s girlfriend,” he replied, a hint of recognition in his voice.

You smiled, though his label caught you off guard. “Well, not exactly. But yeah, that’s me.”

Spencer’s lips morphed into a tight-lipped smile before he nodded, his gaze shifting back to the can of peas as if it held some deep, unresolved mystery.

“Did those peas do something to you?” you teased, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Excuse me?” He looked back at you, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“You’re looking at the can like it hurt you and you’re expecting an apology,” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Spencer gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, no. I, uh, I forgot my glasses in my car. I was trying to read the label.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, the situation suddenly making a lot more sense. “Do you want some help?”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise at the offer. “Um, sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” you replied with a smile, taking the can from him. You quickly scanned the label and handed it back. “Low sodium, no added preservatives. Looks like a pretty solid choice.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his voice sincere, though there was still a hint of awkwardness in his demeanor. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” you said lightly, hoping to ease his discomfort. “I know how frustrating it can be when you can’t read something.”

Spencer nodded, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to assume anything last week. About you and Hotch, I mean.”

You shrugged, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I think everyone assumed a lot that night.”

He nodded again, this time more slowly, as if considering your words. “Well, it was nice running into you, Y/N.”

“You too, Spencer,” you replied, genuinely pleased by the unexpected encounter. “Maybe next time I can help you pick out something more exciting than peas.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of Spencer’s mouth. “I might take you up on that.”

With that, he gave a polite nod and turned to continue down the aisle, leaving you with a surprising sense of warmth from the brief interaction. There was something endearing about Spencer’s quiet, awkward nature, and you found yourself looking forward to the possibility of running into him again.

—

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about you. You weren’t an obsession, but you lingered in his thoughts more than he expected. Whenever he saw Hotch on his phone or noticed him smiling, Spencer couldn’t help but assume it was because of you. Curiosity gnawed at him, driving him to consider going back to the bar just to see you perform, but he dismissed the idea, thinking it might be odd without Hotch.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. One Friday evening, knowing Aaron had Jack and wouldn’t be at the bar, Spencer took the plunge. It felt risky, like stepping into unknown territory, but he went anyway, sitting where you might spot him if you were looking hard enough, comforted by the idea that he could slip away unnoticed if things felt too strange.

As the lively crowd buzzed around him, Spencer’s focus was solely on you. His heart raced as he watched you perform, a mix of nerves and something deeper stirring within him. After your set, as you headed to the bar for a drink, you spotted him—a familiar, lanky figure perched on a stool, slightly out of place yet somehow perfectly where he belonged.

“Looks like those peas didn’t kill you after all,” you teased, a grin spreading across your face as you approached him.

“Y/N,” Spencer smiled, the warmth in his eyes genuine. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, genuinely touched by his compliment. You glanced around, noticing his lack of company. “Are you here alone?”

“I am… is that weird?” Spencer asked, his tone filled with curiosity and uncertainty.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said with a reassuring smile. But something about the situation tugged at you. “Does Aaron know?”

“Should he?” Spencer responded, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, the question hanging between you like a weight. It wasn’t an accusation, just an acknowledgment of the complexity of the situation. The lines between you, Spencer, and Aaron were blurred, undefined, and here you were, caught in the middle of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken tension. “I just… wanted to see you perform again,” he confessed, his voice softer, more vulnerable. “Is that okay?”

Your heart softened at his admission, and you found yourself smiling, a genuine warmth spreading through you. “Of course, Spencer.”

His shoulders seemed to relax slightly at your words, the tension easing as you both stood there, caught in a moment that felt charged with possibility.

“Maybe we could sit and talk?” you offered, the idea suddenly feeling right. “You don’t have to be alone.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and for the first time that night, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had made the right choice by coming here. “I’d like that,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, sincere smile.

And with that, the night shifted, the two of you finding a quiet corner where the music faded into the background, leaving room for something new to take its place.

“So, Spencer,” you began, your tone light and teasing as you sipped your water. “Do you usually spend your Friday nights at bars alone, or is this a new hobby?”

He chuckled, a little self-conscious but clearly amused by your playful question. “This is definitely a new hobby. I’m not exactly the bar-hopping type.”

“Really?” you replied, feigning surprise. “I would have pegged you as a regular party animal.”

Spencer laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m more of a stay-at-home-with-a-book kind of guy.”

“Ah, a man of mystery,” you teased, leaning in a little closer. “I like that. So what brings you out of your comfort zone tonight?”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Honestly? I couldn’t stop thinking about your performance. I wanted to see you again.”

His words caught you off guard, but in the best way. There was something so genuine, so sincere in the way he said it that you couldn’t help but feel flattered. “I’m really glad you decided to come,” you said softly, your smile reflecting the warmth you felt inside. “I was hoping I’d see you again too.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he shifted in his seat, clearly a little shy but not backing down. “You were?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your tone playful but sincere. “There’s something about you, Spencer. You’re different. I like that.”

He looked at you, a mix of curiosity and something deeper in his eyes. “Different in a good way, I hope?”

“In the best way,” you replied, your voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “You’re smart, sweet, and let’s be honest—very easy on the eyes.”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but he smiled, clearly enjoying the attention. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know. You have this… presence. It’s hard not to notice.”

“Noticed me, did you?” you teased, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Hard not to,” he admitted, his voice softening as he leaned in just a little closer. “You have a way of drawing people in.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, the chemistry between you becoming more palpable with each passing moment. “Maybe I’m just good at reading people,” you said, a playful glint in your eye.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “Is that so? What do you read from me?”

You pretended to study him for a moment, your gaze playful and assessing. “Hmm… I see someone who’s incredibly intelligent, maybe a little shy, but with a heart of gold. And… someone who’s curious about me.”

“Curious, yes,” Spencer admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And maybe a little more than that.”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at his confession. “Good,” you said, leaning in just enough that your faces were only inches apart. “Because I’m more than a little curious about you too.”

The air between you felt charged, the flirtation natural and effortless. There was a comfort in being around Spencer, a sense that you could be yourself without pretense, and the attraction was undeniable.

Just as you were about to say something, your phone started ringing from your bag, the sound cutting through the cozy bubble the two of you had created. You reached for it, intending to silence it quickly, but when you saw Aaron’s face flashing on the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Spencer’s eyes flicked to the phone, clearly noticing who was calling.

“You should probably take that,” Spencer said softly, his voice understanding but with a hint of something unspoken beneath it.

“Yeah,” you replied, feeling a mix of emotions swirl inside you. The timing couldn’t have been more inconvenient.

You offered Spencer an apologetic smile before excusing yourself. “I’ll be right back,” you promised, trying to keep your voice light even as your mind raced. 

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, you couldn’t help but feel the shift in the atmosphere, the warmth and easy connection with Spencer giving way to the reality of your situation. You took a deep breath before answering the call, bracing yourself for whatever Aaron might have to say, all the while aware that Spencer was inside, waiting.

You answered the call, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “Hello?”

“Hey gorgeous, how was your show?” Aaron’s voice came through the line, warm and familiar.

“It was good,” you replied, glancing back toward the bar, where Spencer was still waiting. The conversation you’d just had with him lingered in your mind, making this moment with Aaron feel strangely disconnected.

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s tone shifted, laced with concern. He could always tell when something was off, even through the phone.

“I’m fine, still at the bar,” you reassured him, hoping to keep things simple.

“Alone?” he asked, and you could hear the subtle tension in his voice. Aaron wasn’t the jealous type, but there was something there, something unspoken.

“Yeah, wanted to get a drink,” you lied, knowing it was easier than explaining who you were really with.

There was a pause on the other end, then Aaron spoke again, his voice a bit softer, more vulnerable. “Do you want to come over?”

The question caught you off guard. Aaron had never invited you to his place before, and you knew Jack was there. It felt like a big step, one you weren’t sure you were ready to take, especially with everything that had happened tonight.

“Um, not tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “I’m really tired, was gonna head home soon.”

There was a brief silence, then Aaron’s voice returned, back to its usual steadiness. “Okay, get home safe. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night,” you whispered, ending the call.

You stood there for a moment, the cool air brushing against your skin, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. Aaron’s invitation had surprised you, but it also made you realize just how complicated things were becoming.

With a deep breath, you headed back inside the bar, ready to face Spencer again, but now with a new weight on your shoulders, one you weren’t sure how to carry.

As you walked back inside, the warmth of the bar contrasting sharply with the coolness of the night, your eyes immediately landed on Spencer. He was standing at the bar, his tall frame slightly hunched as he reached for his wallet. You quickly realized he was paying both of your tabs.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Spencer glanced at you, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he replied, his tone gentle. “I don’t want to complicate things between you and Hotch.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. The truth was, you didn’t even know what was happening between you and Aaron. Everything felt so muddled, so undefined.

“Okay,” you finally managed, though it came out more as a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, and there was genuine regret in his eyes, as if he wished things were different, as if he wished he could stay.

“No, I’m sorry,” you replied, your heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid between you both.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your cheek in a tender, fleeting kiss. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath lingering on your skin.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you whispered back, watching as he turned and walked away, his figure gradually disappearing into the crowd.

As you stood there, the echoes of the night settling around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had just slipped through your fingers. Spencer’s presence had been a breath of fresh air, a glimpse of something new, and now, as he walked away, you were left wondering what could have been if things were less complicated.

—

Derek leaned against Hotch’s office door frame, a mischievous grin on his face as he asked, “Hey, Hotch, what was the name of that bar your girlfriend plays at? I wanted to take a lady friend there this weekend.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, clearly in a playful mood.

Hotch barely looked up from the file he was reviewing, his expression tightening. “Sanders Pub,” he replied curtly, then quickly added, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

Derek’s smile faltered at the sharpness in Hotch’s tone. “Whoa, sorry. Did something happen?” he asked, his voice dropping to a more serious note.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, a clear signal that the conversation was over. “Not appropriate work conversation, Morgan,” he said, his voice clipped and final.

Derek held his hands up in surrender, the tension in the air unmistakable. “Alright, alright, backing off,” he muttered, retreating to his desk with a bemused expression.

As he returned to his desk, Derek leaned in toward Spencer, who had been watching the exchange with quiet curiosity. “I think things ended with Hotch and his girl,” Derek whispered conspiratorially.

“What? Why?” Spencer asked, his voice betraying a bit more interest than he intended.

Derek shrugged, lowering his voice even further. “I asked about her and he got super defensive and weird, told me it wasn’t work appropriate.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, trying to keep his tone neutral despite the sudden surge of emotions he felt. “Yeah, I wonder…”

You had ended things with Aaron, knowing it wasn’t fair to continue when you were so uncertain about what you wanted. Aaron’s life required stability, especially with a child, and you weren’t ready to step into that role. What you did know was that you weren’t prepared to be a stepmom, and more importantly, you felt a stronger pull toward Spencer. The connection you felt with him lingered in your thoughts, making it clear that you couldn’t stay with Aaron when your heart was drawn elsewhere.

—

As you walked out of the bar, the cool night air hit your skin, bringing a welcome relief from the warmth inside. You hadn’t expected to see anyone lingering outside, so when you noticed Spencer standing next to the brick exterior, staring intently at it as if lost in thought, you were momentarily taken aback.

“Spencer? What are you doing?” you asked, your voice cutting through the quiet night.

Spencer jumped slightly, clearly startled by your sudden appearance. He hadn’t heard the door open. “Waiting for you,” he admitted, turning to face you.

“Why?” you asked, curiosity and concern threading through your voice. His presence here, after everything that had happened, felt significant, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why.

“You ended things with Hotch, didn’t you?” Spencer’s question was direct, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You blinked, taken aback by how sure he seemed. “How do you know that?” you asked, your voice softer now, the weight of the conversation sinking in.

“So you did?” he pressed, his expression intense but gentle, as if he needed to hear it from you.

“Yes,” you finally admitted, the word hanging in the air between you both, laden with unspoken emotions.

Spencer nodded slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle in his mind. He stepped a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “And now?” Spencer asked, his tone laced with quiet hope, as if he were afraid to push too hard, yet unable to hold back.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you considered the truth of it all. “Now… I’m trying to figure that out,” you said, your eyes meeting his, the connection between you undeniable.

Spencer’s expression softened, and he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “I’m here if you need help figuring it out,” he offered, his voice gentle but firm, a silent promise in his words.

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, standing in the cool night air.

“Spencer?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you took a tentative step closer to him.

“Mhm?” His response was almost a hum, his eyes locked on yours, waiting, searching for what you needed to say.

“Kiss me?” The words slipped out before you could second-guess them, a plea as much as a question, filled with all the emotions you’d been holding back.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face before it was replaced by something softer, something that made your heart flutter. He didn’t hesitate. Instead, he moved closer, the space between you shrinking until there was nothing left but the warmth of his presence.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart ache. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savoring the moment, the feeling of your lips against his. But as you pressed closer, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, the kiss deepened. His lips molded perfectly to yours, warm and inviting, a slow dance of exploration and longing.

The world around you disappeared completely, leaving only the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the gentle but insistent pressure of his hands as they cupped your face, pulling you closer still. Every brush of his lips sent a spark through you, igniting a fire that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

Time seemed to stretch, each second filled with the intoxicating mix of passion and tenderness, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you had been waiting for this moment far longer than you realized.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly dazed, your foreheads pressed together, your noses brushing as you both tried to catch your breath. Spencer’s eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted, and you could see the faintest hint of a smile playing on them.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

Spencer opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice just as soft. “Wow.”

Neither of you moved, savoring the closeness, the lingering warmth of the kiss still tingling on your lips. It was as if the world had shifted, something new and precious blooming between you, something that neither of you were quite ready to let go of.

—

Spencer was kicking himself for not getting your phone number. The thought had crossed his mind a dozen times since that night, and each time, he berated himself a little more for letting the moment slip away. But he also knew that you were still sorting through your feelings, and the last thing he wanted was to pressure you by showing up two nights in a row for your show to ask for your number. He wasn’t even sure if you performed both nights of the weekend. Did you perform every weekend? All year long? What was your other job? Where were you from? Did you go to college? 

These questions swirled around in his mind, each one adding to the growing realization that he knew so little about you, despite how much he felt drawn to you. It was a strange, almost unsettling feeling—like being pulled into a deep, endless well of curiosity that he couldn’t climb out of. He was, as Derek would probably say, down bad. 

Spencer found himself thinking about you at the oddest times—during meetings, while reading, even in the middle of a conversation with someone else. His mind would wander back to the way your lips felt against his, the way your voice sounded when you whispered his name, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing. It was enough to drive him crazy.

—

Meanwhile, Aaron’s constant texts and voicemails weighed heavily on you, each one more insistent than the last, as he pleaded for another chance, convinced he could be what you needed. You understood his struggle—after all, you were the first person he’d been with since his marriage ended, and he was trying to find something familiar and safe in the aftermath. But it was clear he was projecting, hoping to recreate the all-encompassing relationship he’d had with his ex-wife.

You knew you needed to gently explain that what you shared wasn’t the same, that you couldn’t be the anchor he was searching for. Adding to your turmoil was the growing connection you felt with Spencer, which only heightened your anxiety. You were certain that pursuing anything with him, especially under these circumstances, wasn’t the right move.

Caught in a web of conflicting emotions—Aaron’s needs, your own feelings, and the undeniable pull toward Spencer—you realized that whatever decision you made next would have far-reaching consequences for all three of you.

—

“Spencer Reid,” he answered, his tone professional.

“Hi, it’s me. I hope it’s okay I’m calling you at work,” you said, a bit hesitant.

“Y/N?” Spencer whispered urgently and lowered his voice.

“Yeah, is this weird? I’m sorry, I’ll go,” you quickly offered, suddenly feeling awkward.

“No!” Spencer replied quickly, looking around to make sure no one was listening.. “No, just… can you give me your cell, and I’ll call you back?”

You gave him your number, and within minutes, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. 

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice came through, full of relief and curiosity.

“Hi,” you responded, feeling a warmth spread through you just hearing his voice.

“Hi,” he echoed, and for a moment, the two of you simply basked in the quiet connection over the phone, neither rushing to fill the silence.

“What’s up?” Spencer asked, just as you said, “I need to talk to you.”

You both laughed, the nervous tension easing slightly.

“Go ahead,” Spencer urged, his tone gentle.

“Can you come over tonight? I think we should talk,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with the weight of what you needed to discuss.

“Um, yeah, sure. Is everything okay?” Spencer asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Just want to clear the air,” you reassured him, though there was a slight edge of anticipation.

—

Later that evening, Spencer arrived with Thai food in hand and a knot in his stomach. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was determined to face whatever conversation awaited him. Still, he took a deep breath and knocked.

“Hi, Spencer,” you greeted him with a warm smile as you opened the door.

“Hi,” he replied, feeling some of the tension ease at the sight of you.

“Come in, come in. I got us all set up in front of the TV, I like noise while I eat. Do you like Doctor Who?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up, and without thinking, he blurted out, “I’m going to marry you.”

“What?” you laughed, clearly delighted by his reaction.

“I love Doctor Who! The fact that you put it on without knowing that? This is a proposal. I’m sorry I don’t have a ring—will pad Thai do?”

“Yes, I accept,” you said with a grin, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest as you both laughed, the earlier tension dissolving into something much lighter, much sweeter.

Spencer’s nervous energy began to dissipate as he followed you into the living room, where you had everything set up just as you promised—cushions, blankets, and Doctor Who already playing on the screen.

You both settled onto the couch, the takeout containers spread out on the coffee table between you. Spencer glanced over at you, taking in how relaxed you seemed. “You really know how to set the mood,” he teased lightly, gesturing toward the TV with his chopsticks.

“Well, I figured if we’re going to have a serious conversation, we might as well do it with the Doctor,” you replied, giving him a playful smile. But then, your expression softened as you looked at him, and Spencer could sense the shift in the air.

“You wanted to clear the air,” Spencer prompted gently, setting his food aside to give you his full attention.

You took a deep breath, nodding as you gathered your thoughts. “Yeah, I did,” you began, your voice steady but thoughtful. “I ended things with Aaron because… well, because it wasn’t fair to keep things going when I was so uncertain about what I wanted. He’s been through a lot, and I didn’t want to complicate his life any more than it already is, especially with Jack in the picture.”

Spencer listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, the empathy in his gaze clear.

“And then there’s you,” you continued, your voice softening even more. “I don’t know exactly what this is between us, but I know it’s something. But I also know that things are complicated, especially with everything that’s happened.”

Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he absorbed your words, the vulnerability in your voice mirroring the emotions swirling within him. “Nothing has to happen between us,” he said softly, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I’m perfectly happy being your friend. Truthfully, I just like being around you, and I’ll take that in any capacity I can get.”

The words had barely left Spencer’s mouth before you were on him, your lips capturing his with an urgency that neither of you had expected. No one had ever said anything like that to you before—no one had ever cared like that before. Complications be damned, Spencer Reid was going to be a hell of a lot more than just a friend.

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, but it only took him a heartbeat to catch up. His initial shock melted away as he deepened the kiss, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer against him. The kiss was filled with all the unspoken emotions you both had been holding back, a fiery blend of passion and need that neither of you could deny any longer.

Your fingers tightened in Spencer's hair, the silky strands slipping between them as you tugged, eliciting a low moan from him that reverberated through your body. The sound was intoxicating, feeding the fire already burning between you. You pressed against him more firmly, your body molding to his as the kiss deepened, becoming more heated, more urgent.

Spencer’s lips were soft, pliant, yet insistent against yours, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse race. His mouth parted slightly, inviting you to explore, and you didn’t hesitate, your tongue sweeping across his lower lip before sliding into the warmth of his mouth. He met you with equal passion, his tongue teasing yours in a sensual dance that sent a rush of heat through your veins.

His hands, once tentative, became bolder, fingers brushing over the fabric of your shirt, desperate to feel the warmth of your skin beneath it. Each touch, each caress, sent shivers down your spine, making you press closer to him, needing more.

With a gentle but firm push, you guided him further back into the couch, your bodies shifting until you were straddling his lap, your leg sliding over his to settle on either side of him. The new position brought you even closer, your hips brushing against his, and you felt a tremor run through him at the contact.

Spencer’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, but his lips never left yours. His hands, now anchored at your hips, pulled you even closer, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any space between you. You could feel the tension coiling within him, the way his body responded to yours, and it sent a thrill of power through you.

Your lips moved against his with a purpose, tasting, savoring, as if you were trying to memorize the way he felt, the way he responded to you. His moans, low and throaty, vibrated against your mouth, and you couldn’t help but echo them, the sound swallowed by the intensity of the kiss.

His hands roamed more, this time sliding up to your shoulders, then down your arms, before returning to your hips, where his grip tightened. The need in his touch was palpable, almost desperate, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to align your bodies even more perfectly, and Spencer gasped into your mouth, his fingers digging into your ass now as he tried to control the reaction surging through him. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, the connection between you both so powerful that it made every touch, every brush of your lips against his, feel electric.

You deepened the kiss, your tongue teasing his as you nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a low groan from him. His response was immediate, his hands slipping under your shirt, palms pressing against the bare skin of your waist, drawing you even closer.

The heat of his touch was searing, branding you with the undeniable evidence of his desire. You could feel the tension building between you, a coil tightening with every second, threatening to snap at any moment. The way his body responded to yours, the way he moaned into your mouth, only fueled your own need, making you press harder against him, your hips rolling slightly to test the limits of his control.

Spencer’s breath was ragged, each exhale shaky as he fought to keep himself grounded in the moment, but you could feel him unraveling beneath your touch. You could feel the desire pulsing between you, the air thick with the promise of what could be, but for now, all that mattered was the way he kissed you—like he couldn’t get enough, like he was drowning in the sensation of your lips on his. His mouth moved against yours with a desperate intensity, as if each kiss was a lifeline, anchoring him to you.

As the kiss grew more fervent, your hands began to roam, exploring the hard lines of his chest, the curve of his shoulders, the muscles tensing beneath your fingertips as you discovered the contours of his body. You could feel the strength in him, the barely restrained power that made every touch feel like a spark igniting between you.

Your name escaped his lips in a breathless whisper as you pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. They were dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he stared up at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. His gaze was filled with awe and hunger, like he couldn’t believe this was happening but was desperate for more.

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice was low, strained with the weight of everything he was feeling, everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

You silenced him with another kiss, your hands threading through his hair as you poured every ounce of emotion into the contact, letting him know without words that you felt it too, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

The kiss was slow this time, languid and deep, as if you had all the time in the world to savor the taste of each other, to lose yourselves in the sensation. The urgency that had driven you earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as you let yourselves simply exist in the moment, wrapped up in each other.

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer suddenly breathed out, his voice laced with hesitation and longing.

You paused, searching his eyes, your heart pounding as you tried to read the emotions flickering across his face. “What—what’s up, Spencer?” you asked, your voice soft, trying to keep the moment from slipping away.

“I thought you didn’t want to complicate things?” he said, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for reassurance.

“All I know right now is that I want you,” you replied, your voice steady, but filled with the intensity of everything you were feeling.

“You want to have sex with me?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“We don’t have to,” you assured him, shaking your head slightly. “I want you,” you emphasized, your eyes locked on his. “I want you to tell me all the interesting facts and theories behind Doctor Who and kiss me when I finish a set. I want to go grocery shopping with you and see you in your glasses. I want to cook horrible food together and order takeout when it inevitably fails. I want you, Spencer.”

Spencer’s breath hitched at your words, his eyes widening slightly as he absorbed what you were saying. “Y/N…” he started, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, needing him to understand how much this meant to you.

Spencer’s gaze softened, but a shadow of uncertainty still lingered. “What will Hotch say?”

You took a deep breath, acknowledging the weight of his question. “I don’t know… but it’s not up to him, is it?”

Spencer considered this, the conflict in his eyes slowly giving way to acceptance. “No, I guess not,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And besides,” you added with a playful smirk, “you already proposed.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the space between you. “I did, didn’t I?”

You grinned, feeling the tension between you dissolve as you leaned in closer. “So, what do you say, Doctor? Are you in?”

Spencer’s eyes shone with relief and joy, the last remnants of doubt fading away as he pulled you closer, his hands resting on your hips. “I’m in,” he whispered, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Spencer pulled back slightly, a hint of sheepishness coloring his expression as he asked, “Does that mean we’re not going to have sex?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his question, the sound warm and affectionate. Leaning in closer, you whispered with a teasing smile, “Oh no, Spencer, I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but then his lips curved into a grin, the tension between you dissolving completely into something playful and charged with anticipation. 

Spencer's playful grin lingered as he leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that quickly deepened, growing more urgent with each passing second. The teasing, lighthearted atmosphere shifted as the heat between you reignited, the need for each other becoming undeniable.

His hands, initially resting on your hips, began to move again, fingers tracing the curve of your waist with deliberate slowness. The touch was electrifying, each stroke of his fingertips igniting a fire under your skin. Spencer’s lips never left yours, his kisses growing more heated, more insistent, as his hands continued their journey downward.

With a deliberate and confident motion, Spencer's hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin sent a jolt of anticipation through you, your breath hitching in response. His touch was both gentle and firm, exploring with a careful yet eager curiosity that made your pulse quicken.

He found your clit almost immediately, and the moment he touched you, a soft gasp escaped your lips. Spencer paused for a fraction of a second, gauging your reaction, before continuing, his fingers moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made you tremble. The sensation was intense, his touch both tender and commanding, driving you to the edge with each stroke.

“Spencer, oh god,” you gasped, throwing your head back, completely unprepared for him to make the first move.

Your hips instinctively pressed into his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction he was creating. Spencer responded in kind, his movements growing bolder as he felt your body responding to his touch. His name fell from your lips, breathless and needy, urging him on.

As his fingers continued their skilled work, your own hands were not idle. You found yourself reaching for him, desperate to feel more of him, your fingers tugging at his shirt, slipping under the fabric to explore the warmth of his skin. The feel of his muscles tensing beneath your touch only heightened your desire, fueling the fire between you.

Spencer’s breathing became ragged, matching yours, as he continued to drive you higher, his fingers moving against your clit with an almost maddening precision. The pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter, until it was nearly unbearable, a sweet tension that you craved more of with every second. His lips found yours again, this time hungrier, more demanding, swallowing the soft moans that escaped you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly take any more, Spencer’s fingers shifted, inserting two of his long, thick fingers inside of you. His movements were more confident as he found exactly the right rhythm to send you spiraling. He knew exactly what he was doing, every brush of his palm against your clit and the stroke of his fingers sending another jolt of pleasure through you, making your body arch into him, desperate for more.

“Spencer, please,” you gasped, your voice breathless and pleading, your hands gripping his shoulders as you held on to him, grinding yourself into his hand as the pleasure became all-consuming.

He responded with a low, husky moan, clearly affected by your actions, by the way your body was reacting to his touch. Spencer’s free hand slipped beneath your shirt, sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made you shudder.

The combined stimulation was too much, and you could feel the coil inside you tightening to its breaking point. Spencer’s lips never left yours, his kisses growing more fervent, more insistent, as if he could sense how close you were, as if he wanted to take you there, wanted to be the one to push you over the edge.

And then, with one final, perfectly timed stroke, you shattered. Your body trembled violently as you came all over Spencer’s fingers and hand, wave after wave, so intense that it left you breathless, your mind spinning. Spencer’s name fell from your lips in a cry, your hands fisting in his shirt as you clung to him, the only solid thing in a world that had dissolved into pure sensation.

Spencer’s movements slowed, his touch gentle as he helped you ride out the last waves of your climax, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your neck, your jaw, anywhere he could reach. His other hand stayed on your breast, caressing you softly, anchoring you as you slowly came back to yourself.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found Spencer watching you with a look that was equal parts awe and desire. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender, and he smiled—a small, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much warmth that it made your heart swell.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, your breath still coming in shallow pants. “Says the man who just made me cum in under ten minutes,” you murmured, your lips curving into a soft smile.

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, vibrating through both of you. “I guess I have a few talents,” he replied, his tone teasing, but the admiration in his eyes was unmistakable.

“You definitely do,” you whispered, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It was different from the earlier urgency, this time more tender. You could feel his smile against your lips.

When you finally pulled back, you met his gaze, both of you basking in the warmth of the moment. Spencer’s hands gently stroked your back, his touch soothing as you nestled closer into his embrace.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he whispered, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back.

“Do you think we’re done?” you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you began to slide off his lap, letting your body glide down onto the floor in front of him.

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly as he watched your every move, the anticipation clear in his gaze. “I-I hope not,” he stammered, his voice catching as you settled between his knees, your hands resting on his thighs.

A slow, seductive smile spread across your lips as you leaned closer, your fingers beginning to undo his belt, your eyes never leaving his. “Good,” you murmured, “because I’m not done with you yet.”

Spencer's breath grew ragged as you slowly undid his belt, the sound of the metal buckle clicking open echoing in the heated silence between you. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through him as your fingers deftly worked to free him from the confines of his pants. The tension between you was electric, a palpable current that made every touch, every glance, feel like a spark igniting in the air.

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, his anticipation practically humming through his body. As you eased the fabric down his hips, your hands brushed against his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the slight tremor in his thighs as he fought to keep his composure. His breath hitched again, a sharp intake of air that sent a thrill through you, knowing how much you were affecting him.

Your fingers brushed over the outline of his cock, feeling the hardness straining against the fabric still covering him. The way he responded to even the lightest touch, his hips shifting slightly, made your own pulse quicken. You reveled in the control you had in this moment, the way he was so completely at your mercy, and the way he willingly surrendered to it.

As you freed him fully, Spencer let out a low, guttural moan, the sound vibrating through the air and making your skin tingle. The weight of his cock was heavy in your hand, the heat of him searing against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling him pulse with every beat of his heart. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his lips parting as he exhaled shakily, the sensation clearly overwhelming him.

As you slid his pants lower, you couldn’t help but notice the soft, dark curls at the base of his length, a natural, intimate detail that only added to the rawness of the moment. Your fingers brushed through the coarse hairs, the sensation making Spencer moan wildly and buck his hips.

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the way his breath hitched with each movement, the way his body tensed and relaxed in response to your touch. His skin was smooth and hot beneath your hand, the texture contrasting with the firmness of him, and it was intoxicating. You leaned in, letting your breath ghost over him, feeling him twitch in your hand as you teased him with the warmth of your breath.

Spencer's fingers dug into the cushions of the couch, his knuckles white as he fought to keep control, his entire body coiled with tension. But when your lips finally brushed against his tip, all that control seemed to slip away. He let out a deep, shuddering breath, his hips involuntarily lifting to meet your mouth, the sensation overwhelming.

You took your time, letting your tongue explore the sensitive skin, tracing the large vein with a deliberate slowness that had him trembling beneath you. Every moan, every gasp, was a reward, fueling your desire to drive him further, to make him lose himself completely in the sensation.

His taste was intoxicating, a mix of salt and something uniquely him, and you savored it as you took him deeper, your mouth enveloping him in warmth. The feel of his curls brushing against your lips had you soaking further, grounding you in the raw, physical reality of what you were doing. The sounds he made—breathy moans, desperate gasps—only spurred you on, your own arousal building with every reaction you coaxed from him.

You could feel the tension in his body mounting, the way his muscles tightened, his breath coming in shorter, more erratic bursts as he neared the edge. His hands found their way to your hair, not guiding, just holding on, as if he needed something to ground him in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

“Y/N…” he gasped, your name a plea on his lips, his voice raw with need.

You responded by increasing the intensity, your pace quickening, taking him deeper, feeling him throb against your tongue. His grip on your hair tightened, not painfully, but with enough force to convey just how close he was. You could feel him straining, his body on the brink of release, every nerve ending attuned to the sensations you were creating.

“Y/N, pull off,” Spencer's voice was breathless, tinged with urgency.

But you were lost in the moment, too caught up in the sensations to register his words. When you didn’t move, his hand tightened in your hair, and with a firm tug, he roughly pulled you off, causing you to whine loudly. Both from loss and pleasure. 

The intensity in his eyes was undeniable as he looked down at you, his chest still heaving, his breath ragged. “I just… I want to be inside you,” he managed, his voice hoarse, the desire in his words unmistakable. He was clearly struggling to regain control after the overwhelming pleasure you’d just given him, his need for you palpable in every word, every breath.

The raw honesty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, your own desire flaring at the thought. Without breaking eye contact, you slowly rose, your movements deliberate, feeling his gaze follow you as you stood before him. 

“Well then, big boy, come show me a good time,” you whispered, your voice low and filled with all the need you felt in that moment. You reached for him, your hands steady as you guided him to his feet, bringing your bodies back into alignment. The anticipation between you was electric, a charged silence that spoke louder than any words could.

Spencer's hands found your hips, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulled you closer, his eyes dark with hunger as he looked down at you. The air between you was thick with unspoken promises, the intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless.

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, pouring all of your desire into it, feeling him respond with equal fervor. The kiss was intense, filled with the heat and urgency of everything you both wanted, but before it could deepen further, you pulled away—much too soon for his liking. Spencer let out a soft, involuntary sound of protest, his eyes dark with longing as you broke the kiss.

You gave him a teasing smile, taking his hand in yours, and began leading him toward your bedroom. Spencer followed eagerly, the anticipation between you growing with every step. His hand tightened around yours as if he couldn’t stand the distance, even those few steps feeling like too much.

As soon as you reached the bedroom, without needing to say a word, you moved together, hands exploring, fingers tugging at fabric, as you helped each other remove the rest of your clothing. Spencer’s touch was both gentle and fervent, his hands sliding over your skin as he peeled away the last barriers between you.

The air was charged with anticipation, each brush of skin against skin sending sparks through you. When the last of your clothing fell away, you found yourself in his arms again, your bare bodies pressed together, the heat of his skin against yours only fueling the fire.

With a shared, breathless glance, you guided him to the bed, the softness of the sheets a welcome contrast to the intense need between you. Spencer’s eyes were dark with desire as he watched you climb onto the bed, and he quickly followed, his hands finding your hips as you straddled him.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the question carrying excitement and vulnerability.

“God, yes, please,” Spencer breathed, his voice laced with desperation, as if he needed this as much as he needed air. His hands gripped your hips firmly, but not harshly, his touch grounding you both in the reality of the moment.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling every inch of him as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made you gasp, your nails digging slightly into his shoulders as you steadied yourself. Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his lips parting as he let out a low, throaty moan, his hands tightening on your hips as if to anchor himself.

The feel of his pubic hair brushing against you with each movement heightened the sensation, a constant reminder of the raw, unfiltered connection between you. It was intimate, real, and it made you feel closer to him than ever before.

You began to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that allowed you both to savor every sensation, every brush of skin against skin. Spencer’s hands guided your movements, his fingers pressing into your flesh with a need that mirrored your own. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure you were both feeling.

As you moved together, the friction between your bodies built steadily, each motion sending ripples of pleasure through you. The sensation of him inside you, combined with the feeling of his coarse hair brushing against your clit with every grind, was almost too much to bear. You could feel the tension building within you, a coiled spring ready to snap, the pleasure intensifying with every thrust.

Spencer’s hands roamed your body, his touch both reverent and possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough of the way you felt, the way you moved against him. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, down to the swell of your hips, then back up to your waist, as if memorizing every inch of you.

With each movement, your pace quickened, the need between you becoming more urgent, more desperate. The sounds of your shared pleasure filled the room—his deep moans, your soft gasps, the rhythmic slap of your bodies moving together in perfect sync.

Spencer’s hands gripped your hips tighter as he felt you begin to tremble above him, the tension within you reaching its peak. He bucked his hips up to meet yours, driving himself deeper into you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to maintain control.

“Spencer,” you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you. “I’m so close, you’re fucking me so good!”

“Y/N, shit. You can’t just say that. You feel so good,” Spencer groaned loudly, and then, with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered. The pleasure exploded within you, wave after wave crashing over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. Spencer’s name fell from your lips in a cry, his hands gripping you tightly as he felt your walls tighten around him. 

The feeling of your walls squeezing his cock so tightly drove Spencer over the edge. "Oh, I'm gonna—" Spencer's voice was filled with urgency, his breath ragged as the sensation overwhelmed him. And with a few more deep, deliberate movements, Spencer buried himself completely within you, his body tensing as he succumbed to the wave of pleasure that crashed over him. He let out a strained, almost desperate sound as he reached his own release, the intensity of the moment leaving him trembling in your arms.

After Spencer came down, the room gradually quieted, leaving only the soft sound of your mingled breaths. Spencer's hands continued to gently caress your back, his touch tender and soothing as you both returned from the overwhelming high.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, a grounding presence that made you feel safe and cherished.

"You okay?" Spencer asked softly, his voice laced with concern and affection as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, a contented smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'm good," you whispered, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction and peace wash over you.

Spencer's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his touch light and reassuring. "I want to make sure you’re comfortable," he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine care.

Spencer smiled as he helped you shift to a more comfortable position, reaching for the covers to pull them over you. But you gently stopped him.

“I have to pee,” you said with a sheepish grin.

“Thank you for sharing,” Spencer teased, his voice light with amusement.

“Get out and let me up,” you giggled, playfully nudging him.

With a laugh, Spencer shifted to give you room, and you quickly made your way to the bathroom. When you returned, you grabbed some comfortable clothes—sweats and a T-shirt—for both of you.

“Here,” you said, tossing him a shirt and some pants. “I’m assuming you’ll spend the night?”

“Happily,” Spencer replied, slipping into the clothes, a contented smile on his face.

“And you’ll still be here in the morning?” you asked, a hint of playful seriousness in your tone as you pulled on your own clothes.

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation, his eyes meeting yours.

“And you’ll let me cuddle you?” you continued, your smile widening as you crawled back into bed.

“Absolutely,” Spencer said, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“And you’ll be my boyfriend?” you added, your tone teasing, but there was a genuine question behind it.

“Duh—wait. Oh, you got me,” Spencer chuckled, realizing he had walked right into your playful trap. He kissed your forehead, his expression softening. “Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

You both laughed, the lightness of the moment a perfect contrast to the intensity of earlier. As you snuggled into his arms, the warmth and comfort of being together settled over you like a blanket.

—

The shrill ringing of a phone pulled you from the depths of sleep, and you groggily rolled over, reaching for the device on your bedside table. 

“Hello?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

“Y/N?” The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

Your eyes widened in sudden realization. “Aaron,” you breathed, your heart skipping a beat.

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a question laced with confusion and suspicion. “Why are you answering Spencer’s phone?”

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tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

upcoming fics!

okay here’s a list of my many drafts i’m planning to post!

ivy, joel miller

peppers, triple frontier boys

telephone, dean winchester

a&w, agent whiskey

there will be more to come (that’s what she said) but there will be a ton from different fandoms so be prepared!!

comment if you want a dedication on any of them!!

i have so many aaron × reader fics that i wrote on my drafts. i don't think you guys are ready for that amount of horniness though

This one is majestic 💖💖🤤🤤 Thanks @rivierasunsetdiner

From 2 to 3 (hotch x fem!reader)

Sequel to The Only Heartbreaker Find snippet here

Summary: Hotch has a steady grip on his life. All measured and predictable. Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the lilac breeze. He finds himself with a bedmate but cannot recall the night before. (Also:) After a bad case that leaves you wounded, Hotch and you are scared to cross into 'otherness'.

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch, the great alaskian landscape for some reason, and summer as a motif, ONE BED trope, a lot of dialogue ngl

notes: no tw! hey all - not really a comeback when idk what THIS is but i been listenin to a lot of peach pit and mitski *once this was named Heat Lightning - and it's all fluff and HOTCH pov, after the events of the only heartbreaker. Some flashbacks. some longing. Some utter nonsense of dialogue tbh sry for grammar errors if any! and sry if this incoherent lmaooo <3 ALSO love being surrounded by friends and a community of creators whose work i love sm - and who in turn inspires me to create. sth i didnt think i had it in me anymore lol but ! lemme know if this work was anything

WC: 7k approx

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Hotch has a firm grip on the events in his life. He is a father; was a fair husband until he wasn’t, and he is a regular at all the establishments he frequents: grocery store, coffee shop, bakery, butcher's, farmer’s market; and he has a strict regiment for exercise and pastimes. All to counteract the unpredictability of his work. It didn’t start this way. Naturally, his position came later and then his attitude: sort of a chicken and an egg situation. Except, people who’ve known him longer than the job – which coincidentally happens to be in a disproportionate ratio to those who know him because of it – would argue that he’s always been like this.

A firm, steady hold on his life. In control.

His work seems to test him on that every single day without fail. If it’s not a murder case, or a kidnapping, then it’s a bomb threat – New York still not the same for him but he’s managed to take a hold on the inevitable, unconscious reactions of his body to the city’s name, after some laborious practice. If it’s not that either, then it is an event that leaves one of his agents seriously harmed in the middle of the day.

Strauss casually reminds him of the last one some days, like she means to make sure he’s not as damaged as one should be after everything he's already endured.

And yet, he’s doing okay. If he were the type to do so, he’d wave a hand in the air dismissing it all: firm, strong grip, of course.

Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the breeze bringing in chilled air.

He stirs, something tickling his nose. He huffs out, wanting to blow away whatever irritation that is. It drifts away, settling stubbornly on his chin this time. Refusing to wake up just yet, he decides to move it away but his arms are occupied. His body cocooned under the pile of blanket and duvet, weighed down by a bed-mate, hands firm around the stranger.

No wonder he’s not freezing, he realizes, glancing down in surprise. A handful of naked thigh muscle over one of his legs keeps him locked in, and his other hand is settled precariously close to a chest.

She is sprawled atop him, gently snoozing into the crook of his neck. His eyebrows shoot up, and he tries – and fails – to remember how he’s ended up here. How she did.

He must have gotten uncharacteristically drunk last night. All he remembers is spending the late hours with the team, some jokes from Rossi and Garcia over who in their gracious mind would return to this state due to the temperatures. He must have picked up someone at the bar they were in. It wasn’t anything spacious like in big cities, but a new face could have been exciting for some. It isn’t customary to drink either. Too many issues over dehydration, and how alcohol isn’t factually a good alternative to the cold, and ultimately a prevention for alcoholism as there are no nearby addiction treatment facilities (– he remembers the speech from Reid, but not the woman in his bed?) but there had been booze on their table last night.

Albeit not plenty...

Hotch refocuses. He must have made a move on someone. Or the opposite, most likely. Though he’s done little of any of this in recent months. Quite a long while, if he has to measure it . Not since you started out teasing him with small innocuous innuendos, tying up his libido in knots.

He frowns at the top of his bed partner’s hair, beautiful and shining, but he doesn’t remember anything. Your hair is the same color and length, he thinks uneasily. Maybe that’s why the woman in his arms had his attention last night. He reluctantly releases her… waist , and reaches to brush her hair away from his face. It smells like that first bite of a summer fruit; like the air sticky sweet with anticipation of the season; like it could be the last thing he tastes and takes in for the entirety of his life. Something uncomfortably familiar to it he cannot name.

He reaches down and gently lifts her hand where it rests over his torso. Intent on studying it almost clinically but finds at once he doesn’t need to. Not when slender, long fingers, palm calloused in the same spots his weathered ones are – from carrying guns and handcuffs – shed light to the identity of his bed partner. Partner , he corrects. Just work partner. A noise startles out of him. It rises a groan out of her, that even though he should be restricting causes something else in his body to stir awake.

“Chilly”, she rasps, and lifts her face to look at him through blurry eyes. He knows those eyes, though they’re calculative and sharp, teasing too when they’re directed at him. He knows those delicate features of her face too.

You.

You both stare.

The moment stretches. Limbs become aware. Bare skin prickles with a million buzzing needles wherever skin is in contact. Fuck, he breathes out as evenly as possible, he doesn’t remember a time where he’s felt so much all at once. The open window is reprieve to the perspiration appearing at his temples and neck.

And then it isn’t a relief anymore when a hammering from outside barges rudely inside, shattering the silence. You yelp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, both drawing even closer in confusion.

Hotch slides his hand from the heat of your thigh to your back, cradling your body against his. You both wait, ears perked up and high alert.

The hammering continues rhythmically, before turning into a splintering sound, echoing outside. People huff and puff and it starts up again. He relaxes, the noise becoming un-dangerous to your safety.

“Someone’s chopping wood”, you offer meeting his eyes. The sudden movement has made the blanket slip from your shoulder, baring it to the room. “Cold”, you murmur again.

A shiver courses through you and a fierce, protective feeling in him makes him forget all the million questions in his mind. He’s quick to pull the blanket over you. He even has the reflex to look around the room for something warmer. The surest way is to climb out of bed, and shut the window – he’s fortunate to find he has pajama bottoms on. The outside finally kept out, he strides to the hearth of the room and lights up the fireplace.

It doesn’t take long for the space to fill with warmth, and for it, a strange sense of pride settles in. Like he’s procuring for the basics – like the first men to discover caves and fire and the length they’ll go to sacrifice for the protection of a loved one. Take his health of mind for instance. He has to try to grasp how you’ll react, already prepared to lie and conform to whatever you decide on this .

“Thanks”, your voice is a mere whisper, and he stops thinking. With the small size of the hotel and the limited number of rooms, he hadn’t expected them to be comfortable and cozy. His bed is large, larger than the one he has at home, so the sight of you right in the middle, hair splayed over the pillow he’d slept on these last few days, and hugging  the sheets to your chest…

Hotch has the oddest feeling of… he doesn’t know how to describe it. 

Your cheeks look puffy, colored with warmth, and hair messy almost like ran through gentle fingers. Something blooms in his chest. He’s never felt anything like it. But he recognizes it is laced with something eerily similar to relief.

You clear your throat, and he reaches for the pitcher of water over the table. He pours a glass for you and then downs one himself. He toes on the complementary slippers and glances around. The window had been left open and the dozen of blankets say the opposite – though he knows he runs hot after drinking. His collared shirt and suit jacket are haphazardly thrown over a chair, his shoes by the door. Yours too, though there is a clear trail of your garments littering the floor, leading from the door to his bed, discarded as if in a hurry to more relevant things. A wave of heat crawls up his spine and he casts his eyes to the opposite side of the room.

How can he not recall? It hardly seems…fair.

Hotch turns back to look at you, the surprise on your face not hiding your own study of the room.

“What happened last night?”, he simply asks.

You draw in a shaky breath. “Do you not remember either?”

He walks to your side of the bed, sits beside you and offers the glass.

The proximity doesn’t make you as jumpy as before, though it’s the first time he’s the one making the distance between you two. Whether out on a case, or back at the office – wherever and whenever, as if it was a second nature to you – he is the one relying on you making the first move and approaching him. It had been almost funny the first few times it happened. You’d just been hired as a replacement for JJ – another kid on the way right after her second – but instead of attempting to make friends with the group you’d bantered with him.

Out of everyone.

“ You’d think this would be easy, no?”, you’d muttered under your breath, right in front of the police captain in Ohio – or had it been Oklahoma? – and your face so serious and professional Hotch had thought he’d imagined the words. Dead in his tracks, he’d stopped to peer down at you by his right.

It had been mid-June. The exhaustion of a humid day spent over casefiles weighing Hotch’s soul – almost like the first heat spike right after spring. Heavy. Draining. And more to go. Dressed to the nines in a suit like you’re the unit chief, you’d show up at the office on your first day a bit over-eager to start. Hair away from your face. But the top of your nose and cheeks are a different tint of color, sunburnt though he knows the unit you transferred from allows vacation days as much as the BAU. Not even a hint of a polite smile when you’d shaken his hand. Neat, polished, tidy – Hotch had thought: There’s an agent who knows how to be professional.

In Ohio or Oklahoma – you'd angled your body a bit like a bodyguard towards him. A certain stance you never seemed to drop, as familiar to him as if you’d always been there. Funny how that seemed to happen too. Shorter than Hotch, smaller in stature, but as feral as you’d been having a stare off with a criminal. Funnily protective.

“Excuse me?” Hotch had cleared his throat.

“Cops?”, you’d said in a serious tone, “you give them a donut and coffee and surely that means the work is done?”

His gaze had followed yours to where other police officers were gathered, with boxes of take out and pasty shops had been discarded over a meeting room table. As if the BAU and Hotch personally hadn’t requested files necessary for the case they were there to help with.

A kid caught for misbehavior, Hotch had looked up in shock but the police captain had no ears for your jokes – not that he had any during the whole speech he had given him over not antagonizing victims. Victims, for god’s sake. You’d scoffed that out too. (Hotch remembers).

“What?”

You’d rolled your eyes. An uptick of your lips and the smallest scrunch of your nose. “I’m just messing around.” He had nodded, flabbergasted, but had paused when he’d seen you pull out something from your pocket.

“Figs”, he’d stared down at your hands clasped together. Carefully wrapped in towels, you offer him fresh figs which you'd untucked individually before handing one to him. The interviews you’d both done this morning in a white suburb had brought you through gardens and parks and playgrounds. Wives and mothers had gravitated to you first, like in any case as this one. Accommodating you especially with teas and lemonades and fresh fruits.

“I usually eat them whole”, your knuckles had covered the bounty, hiding it away from the captains and the precinct. Voice a whisper, you had leaned in, your elbow brushing against his.

He had a white collared shirt on, sleeves rolled up, while you had long shed the suit jacket in favor of commodities. “But you peel like this”, thumbs together you had teared at the unblemished skin of the savory fruit. It had pulled apart, thin and flimsy as you explained how the color of it signified an early season picking. Then once satisfied, and with fingers stained, you had popped the whole thing in your mouth. The grin that had followed was mischievous, but it was accompanied with a slight crease of your brows.

“Not ripe”, you had given your verdict, “but I was dying to try them out. Now, I know and I’ll be back to buy them once they’re ready”

His own fig had come apart in his hands, but he scooped it all up and chewed quickly. It had been years – an eternity even – since the last time he had been this keen and appeased by stolen fruits. Sweeter than he remembered, more so than what yours must have been.

The third fig you had eaten raw. A quick flicker of your brows up and wide, daring him to say something in reaction as you swallowed. Then you scrubbed your hands clean with the towels before resuming your previous position. Seriousness and professionalism once more, and the captain had re-approached like nothing’s occurred. No testimonies or evidence as you hid your tracks too.

“You’ve got a little something there”, you had pointed with the tip of your pinkie at your cupid’s brow, not looking back at Hotch. He had gotten the cue a bit late, but then followed - swiping at the same spot on his mouth, without realizing his gaze intent on yours. The clear sticky substance had been scrubbed off just in time.

Then a split second before the captain opened his mouth, your last words had swooped in like a heatwave.

“Not a lipstick stain and unfortunately harder to explain” The consequences it left seemed to remain for long, not bound by the weather. He paid half a mind to your following statement.

“ – Captain! Shall we insist again on how not trivial it is not to dismiss the statements of the civilians...”

The glass of water still full to the brim doesn’t spill over even with his hasty movements.

He swallows thick before asking, “Did we…?”

You take the glass from him, tilting it and refusing to respond – your face going beet-red. Hotch smothers a smile. Water slips from the side of your mouth and he fists his hands, the inanest, strangest desire to clean it up with a thumb resurfacing.  You slam the glass to the bedside table with purpose and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No”, you let out, breaths irregular, but voice not as raspy as before. As you settle into a proper sitting position, the sheet drop to your collarbones, held by your arms.

He's mesmerized by the movement, like he hadn't experienced the same privileges as that sheet moments before.

“I think I’d remember”, you shrug.

No, he almost corrects aloud, he’d remember and never permit himself to forget.

He stands abruptly, feeling parched. Fills another two glasses with the jug of water and looks down at the quarter zip you’d donned the night before, now lying at the foot of his bed.

“I don’t remember a thing”, he admits, frowning at the garment.

“Last thing I recall,” you glance back at the door, “Was Derek pulling out that bottle of absinthe in his room.”

Hotch winces. That seems to be his last memory too, even though he’d given the other man a look of disapproval.

“We each drank some but Reid started on his monologue again and we ended up playing cards”, you raise your eyebrows and he nods, understanding that the bottle had been then forgotten for the game. Yet after 3 sleepless nights chasing a lead from the Cyber Unit, they’d all felt restless, tired, and drunk without drinking. Exhaustions of the likes he hadn’t experienced since law school.

He would have been used to the feeling but now finds himself out of his depth.

Just as fiercely as you’d broached the subject, you look away from him, and move again. He recognizes the look on your face. Something of a realization, he notes.

“I, uh,” your voice is a timid whisper, “My leg doesn’t ache”

Hotch blinks. “What?”

“Extreme temperatures make my bullet wound ache”, you reach for a hair tie by the bedside table. It’s mingled with his personal belongings: his wristwatch, a pen and notebook he keeps when he cannot sleep because of late night work observations he writes down, and the silver cuffs of his button-downs. With two steady hands you gather all your hair away from your face and into a tight ponytail. “My surgeon said I would always be a little sensitive and I usually take numbing pills”

Something akin to regret ignites in his chest. The day he’d beheld you bleeding out, gunshot wound to your leg, had been the longest day of his life. That was nothing to wait in the hospital.

He’s unconsciously moved closer, clearing the distance once again. Any shame he’d felt over the situation you’ve both found yourselves in dissipates.

The back-to-back cases surely have not helped. They’d gone from Florida, hot and humid and unbearably long summer nights, to a case in Alaska. Case after case like usual, but then he’d asked the team if they’d rather take a few days off – all unanimously agreed they’d rather hop to the other flight.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he stops himself from offering comfort, your leg propped up under the covers. He belatedly recognizes it had been the same one holding him down while sleeping, as if both your bodies remembered the transaction of comfort – offering and seeking it – without preamble.

You wince, “It’s my responsibility. I don’t want to be an influence on the decision-making of the team.” Yet you still seek to bring levity. “Wouldn’t want to sway the vote. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest when you would have held me to different standards, boss ”

“I already do”, he confesses softly, and watches with satisfaction as the words brighten up your face, the same way it makes you shy away. Yet as much as he’d prefer to make you see the truth, clear as the snow outside, he redirects.

“I’d rather you’d told me. We might have been better off another night in Florida”

“In that motel room?” you echo, brows up, “Are you kidding me? I slept with moths and mosquitoes in my room. I’ll let you know I didn’t impact that building’s electricity bill at all. I shouldn’t have even paid since the showers were inhumanely hot too.”

Surely that had been the deciding factor for all of them to want to leave Florida at once in favor of Alaska.

“I didn’t even sleep well”, you say under your breath, and cross your arms before you, frowning. “If anything I would have left Florida even if you’d said the case was in Antarctica”

He watches with amusement as you finally meet his eyes. Once unable to do so, after the place you’d both found yourselves in, your gaze is challenging again. Teasing.

“Are you telling me you had a better time in Florida?”

“It was fine”, he says, not admitting to anything.

You sigh, no smile yet so he continues.

“It was humid but we did have air conditioning—”

“Yes,” you murmur talking over him, “one in 3 rooms had it and my room wasn’t the lucky one.”

Hotch goes on, unaffected, “-- and Derek bought those tablets for insects to install in the room. If you’d only plugged one in a socket…”

You lean forward, to be heard though your voice doesn’t raise in volume, “The rechargeable night light which doubled as a pesticide? Which smelled like chemicals and expired?”

“And even the quality of the motel wasn’t up to perfect standards the restaurant nearby was satisfactory,” He has to stifle the smile that wants to escape. You fully sit up this time, the tiniest wince shadowing your face as you switch into sitting cross-legged and move even closer, arms falling away at your sides.

“ You mean the restaurant which was open from 11am until 3pm and then only two hours at dinner time? The only restaurant open for miles in that location?”

“The food was good – great even.” Hotch insists, “ Someone even called it a contender for Michelin stars”

Your right hand curled into a fist lands on top of his knee. “Why did you have to remember that? I mentioned it once. In passing.”

One of his brows shoots up, but he doesn’t smile just yet. It would be admitting defeat – your positions switched whenever you both argue over something.

Your smile, on the contrary, is tentative. Triumphant even, the minute he notices a memory flash in your head.

“Remember the second night?” He halts as you speak, and in retrospect that is a mistake. Finally all attention is on you. “When you suggested we order take out from there?”

How could he not remember when he had gotten the urge, for the first time in his life, to walk back to the establishment and demand his dinner – which had arrived in the little boxes all scattered and pressed as if someone had sat on them before the delivery driver had handed them out to Derek. He’d even considered Yelp and one-star reviews. The sudden burst of anger was so cataclysmic that of course, you’d notice first.

It had been you who’d marched back to the building and said no more than a few impolite words. You’d both agreed to pretend like Hotch hadn’t joined in halfway into that speech.

“Don’t”, he warns, “Don’t bring it up”

Your attempt at appearing formal falls short, immediately, because your hair comes apart from the strict do. Wild strands frame the sides of your neck and cheeks, and that same sunburnt look graces your face.

“But I will,” you argue, your fist bumping three times over his knee to punctuate your words, “Nothing to complain – my butt.” An indignant scoff, “ You wanted to flee Florida faster than the rest of us. If you hadn’t been already around us, having that phone call, I’m certain you would have called the pilot first to give commands to Alaska.”

The sheet and the duvet and any semblance of a cover have been forgotten. They never even cross your mind as you’re in a full-blown out winning argument – gesticulating with arms and body.

“I know with goddamned certainty you would have walked into the cockpit and turned that plane around if we had been mid-flight too.”

“I’m not a pilot”, he offers, his one-track mind diverted. Your shoulders are bare to the air. Thin straps pool at the sides, right next to the sheet at your biceps . Bare, he realizes, his mouth dry. Unlike him clad in pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, you seem to be the opposite. A fire tendril reminds him of the state of your leg too – his palm had been wrapped up comfortably over bare thigh not as if he’d urged the position but had found comfort in discovering it there. Had made sure it didn’t move back.

“I’m not so certain that is the truth.” You spearhead the argument, unencumbered. “That there might even be a field you know nothing of – seems impossible to me.”

The last trail of decency perspires with his sanity of mind – the cover slipping further below your collarbones.

Hotch calls your name with gentle urgency, and tears his eyes away from yours at once.

Not before he notices the heat spreading across the unblemished skin. Neck and top of your chest – apparently they get sunburned too.

“Oh,” your breath is a shiver. He feels it from the head of his hair to the tip of his toes. “Sorry”

Your knuckles stay over his leg, while the other pulls up the sheet. He feels your eyes on him still, and the tension that fills the air is unlike the one before. Awkward and stifling.

His voice sounds foreign in the room. “Are you…”

“No”, you let out at once, “I have shorts on and well… a stupid goddamn tank top.” You tuck back up the thin straps, frustrated and breathing heavy.

“God, I’m sorry again”

He turns sensing something else in your voice: hurt.

“Nothing to be sorry about”, he reassures, “nothing at all”

“Easy to say,” you mumble, “when you’re the one in decent clothing.”

“You are too”, he says with some fight, not allowing you to reprimand yourself.

“Come on,” you murmur, staring at your hand over his leg, “We haven’t even gone swimming together. Not sure anyone is meant to see this much from a coworker before.” Your tone of voice chokes him up, “Thought bleeding out and clothes teared at the back of an ambulance was going to be the height of it.”

A reflex as normal as breathing, Hotch reaches for your hand, clasps it over his knee. He must be the only one who feels the jolt of the touch. Pushes through it because he won’t ever let you spiral into the dark motions of insecurity and shame.

You’d had this discussion more times than a few. A wound as the one you’d bared was no easy feat. Not only did it impact your job for months, having you stationed in the office and out of the field. It has done a number on your self esteem too. The health counselor had helped you come to terms with associating the value you bring at work with the one you hold within yourself.

Hotch had been unaware of the fight going inside you at the time. Some of the frustration had been angled towards him too, being the unit chief and the one commanding your stay-in. That was, until one late night Friday, he'd ordered you to stay seated after everyone had left, and he’d come clean about New York.

Hotch had never brought up New York in the months and years that followed. Not even to the people that had saved his life: Derek and Penelope. The ones who’d seen him bleed and scream, shrapnel on his skin after the SUV he was supposed to get in with Kate had exploded before the two of them.

He wasn’t sure Penelope even knew how long he’d clung unto Kate’s hands, after. Derek had because he’d been the one to pull him up, firm hands under his elbows.

Hotch watches the emotions on your face play out with the story unraveling.

He would have liked to lie until death if possible, never wanting to bear having you see him as anything else but frail and vulnerable. But that hadn’t seemed to help you and he was at wit’s end. Dark undereye circles and similar body exhaustion – Hotch had been feeling the consequence of you pulling away from his companionship.

“I don’t know what to say”, you conclude after minutes in silence. The air conditioning in the building had been shut off; the entire office was dull.

Hotch stares down at his empty hands, the memory of holding you in them long vanquished.

“There is nothing to say”, he inhales deeply, “I was reminded of it because Strauss requested I attend a conference in NYC next month.”

“Shit,” you shake your head, your hands over the table slightly trembling. “I can’t stand her”

Hotch smiles.

“Can’t someone else go? Can’t you miss it?”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t serve me any good in the long term.” He leans over the table, his voice conspiratorial, “It’s a large piece of land with five boroughs – the jet would have to land there sometime.”

“Right,” you nod. He stands up before he feels compelled to confess other vulnerabilities. You do the same, both mutually agreeing not to bring it up.

He'd thought for sure that had been in it but a month later, inside the elevator, you’d broached the topic.

“Are you meant to head out alone?”

His gaze pans to yours.

“To New York?”

“No”, he replies.

You nod, staring at the doors, before turning to him to ask, “You leave on the 11 th ?”

“Yes”

“Count me in, then. I’ll bring my paperwork with me.”

Surprise and a tinge of something else but he hadn’t argued back.

Months later, you’d willingly knocked on the bedroom door out in another state, everyone getting ready to pack and leave after the case had been solved successfully.

Your second one back in the fieldwork. Surprisingly for him, you’d followed all his orders to not strain yourself. Closer to Rossi and Reid, helping with their work in different precincts. Conducting interviews and examinations, and around more people than precedent.

“I don’t know how to act like before”, you lean back against his door frame, voice a muddled whisper, rivaling the noise of the heater he’s yet to turn off. The air is stale inside the bedroom. Dusty furniture and nothing remarkable apart from the fact he’s the one occupying it.

He finishes zipping up his go-bag, throws it further over the made bed but doesn’t turn around; overly familiar with the hardship of opening up to someone while looking into their eyes.

“I don’t think I used to be careless or freer before- before the shooting”, a soft, subdued bump, your body slumped against the door, eyes almost closed. “I didn’t think there would be anything different about me – people get shot all the time in our line of work but I am different.”

At the silence, Hotch turns to sit down at the corner, elbows over his thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling different.”

“That’s just it, right? It could have been worse…should have been. I know how lucky I am.” The hurt in your gaze is not hidden. “That’s why I feel so stupid to say this now—” a gulp, “I’m acutely aware of my leg”

Hotch pauses. “Aware?”

He meets your gaze though he doesn’t find amusement there, only the echo of regret, guilt and sorrow.

“It’s as if everywhere I go or what-whatever I wear, my leg has been painted red and everyone can see it. As if I’m carrying with me a marker that tells everyone how much I was hurt or that I’m not the same”

You cross the floor of his bedroom and perch on the other corner of the bed, leaving the door wide open.

“Physical therapy helped with being back on the field and retrieving my stamina. Then again…”

You mimic his position, and look down at your feet - at the phantom of the bullet wound on your thigh. Hotch hadn’t left your side in the hospital. He hadn’t dared to when he’d never felt fright like the one that day. He hadn’t reeled it in either. Long stays by your bed after recovery, talks with the nurses and doctors, and when you weren’t on painkillers or somber – you’d both act like him holding your hand in his, chatting about easy things was normal.

The wound had brought you closer for a few weeks, until therapy began, and until he made it clear you were not to return to work for some time  Until the reminder that he is your boss froze the progress made.

Anger and frustration built and it eased up only after the talk on New York.

Still. None of you dare touch the other. Funny that, Hotch thinks, staring back at his hands. He’s come to terms that he might have just pictured it all in his head.

“I’m doing good mentally”, you say convincingly, hands moving as you gesture. “There are no more nightmares or panic attacks. I’m good in that respect.”

“If anything I feel more regulated now, with the tools I have on how to deal with a bad case or another bad scenario. I just…”

“Just?” He pushes a little.

You push your hands through your hair, remaking a ponytail and then giving up, fingers unsteady. “I feel hideous.”

The turn to watch him is so quick, Hotch equates it to the same reflexes out in the field. As if he would laugh or be insensitive to your feelings.

“I can’t look at myself in the mirror”, you swallow thickly, “For god’s sake I can’t wear dresses anymore”

You disguise the tremble in your voice with a laugh. “I know it’s stupid in the grand scheme of things. You can say so. It’s all in my head.”

You slap your hands over your knees and stand. “Well. Thanks for hearing me out. It’s not New York 2.0 at least.”

“Wait—"

All those hesitations that had frozen Hotch into place fall away. You stare at his hand clasped around your wrist, pleading with you not to leave. Another minutiae reflex.

 “Hotch, I’m fine”, the words in your mouth wobble and face to face he finally notes the tears gathered in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me what you’re going through,” he rushes out first, “However unimportant you think it is, I always, always value what you share.”

You bite your lip, frowning so not to cry. His hand traces back to hold yours steadily, his thumb making soft circles over your knuckles.

“You went through something traumatic.” Fuck, he did too, that day. “Give yourself some time”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping further. “Sure, Hotch. Time is all I have as a medicine lately.”

Your fingers squeeze his before tugging you tug your hand away. You give him a weak smile. “I hope it fixes my self esteem too eventually, when I think nobody finds me attractive anymore--”

“But you are.” Hotch stands abruptly, and he doesn’t think before he blurts. “You’re a beautiful woman”

The stance you’re both in – close but not too much, a stand-down but not technically one, both of you frowning and looking almost angry at one another – might appear to an outsider as if you’re both arguing. Even in the back of the ambulance, you’d fought all the way.

“Hotch…”, your voice is a warning, and you’re about to roll your eyes – he can tell. “Honestly, this is all…nice, but I wasn’t looking for fake compliments”

You grimace when he doubles down. “Fake?” he sputters. “Fake? You think I’d lie about this?”

“Come on…”

“I don’t let out vacuous words.”

“Yes, when you’re on the job or whatever but I’d rather you not give me empty flattery…”

“I am being honest”

“I doubt it’s the same as when you pointed out Spencer’s awful new haircut…”

“I mean it”

Your reaction – a scoff and a glower – makes him fight harder. The anger climbing up his bloodstream is inane. It makes his entire body overheat.

“How about you tell me?” He pulls you in swiftly, a quick gasp parting your mouth open. His intense eyes meet yours – narrowing. The tears in yours dry out as you gaze up at him. “Tell me if I’m being dishonest with you: you’re the single most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life”

Those eyes of yours – the color sometimes sprouting up in his dreams when he couldn’t sleep – meet his mouth for a fraction of a second before darting away. Blush dusts your cheeks and your legs wobble.

His heart does the strangest thing: starting up a new hurried rhythm.

“So? What’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat and straighten, extracting your hand from his grip. “Truth”

You put a step between each other. “Thank you”, you mumble, “but you don’t have to do that”

The fire from the fight – or maybe your presence - had ignited in him still but he wants it to die down quicker than this. “What was the solution, angel? Let you doubt yourself?”

 Even regret, he’ll battle if he has to, though his own is more due to his poor memory.

“I don’t mind at all, angel,” he says softly. Sweet as you look right now, he feels weak to his bones. Thus he bites his tongue, omitting just how beautiful he finds you right now.

“Good,” you reply, blushing “good then… I’m, uh, glad. I’m relieved I have these on when I usually sleep with far less.”

Another tear in his heart.

“I was going to bet you slept in a full suit,” you mock with a smile, “Penelope and Spencer have theories, though his were that it was more of a nightdress and night cap situation – Disney’s Scrooge rendition.”

A chuckle escapes him. “No hats.”

“Your best pal, Dave, isn’t helping the allegations either. The things he’s said behind your back…” None of you notice the gravitational pull, both your arms now resting over his legs.

He laughs at the giddiness on your face. “Would I want to know?”

“He’s mentioned a silk suit once or twice”, you shrug, laughing, “so it doesn’t wrinkle during sleep. Smart, but unrealistic”

“Sure.” He smiles back, “Not as much as a hat you wear to bed”

“I denied that theory too”

“Good to know”, he gives your hand a small squeeze; your other clutching loosely the hem of his shirt, distracted by its softness, “I wouldn’t want people thinking that of me.”

“I’m protecting your honor if anything”, you continue, enjoying the tangent this conversation has taken. He’s too taken by the shine of your eyes to care. Too caught on your every word. “I had something to say against the suit as well. Penelope didn’t consider the summer.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head, all serious, “what a mistake”

“Not breathable with all those layers…”

“What was your theory?”, Hotch has both of his hands softly wrapped around yours, massaging the muscle of your forearm. He’s convinced himself not to linger on the goosebumps pebbling your skin. It could be a result of the fireplace, or the temperatures.

Your teeth latch onto the softness of your lower lip. “It wasn’t anything too crazy like Derek joked about…”

One of his brows goes up in question.

“Birthday suit”, you respond with a stifled laugh. “I simply said you’d probably prefer comfort. Boxers and a soft tee.”

The words are hushed, intimate.

Your fingers toy with his shirt, “Though I would have preferred a white one.”

His mind is hazy and slow. “Preferred?” He blinks.

“Not that this one isn’t…good”, your breath fans his chin, and looking up at him, you say, “White would make you soft… gentle. Opposite of what you appear on the outside but how you truly are from within.”

He lets his eyes fall shut. He hurries for something wise to say, the ground beneath him having tilted. “I do choose comfort above all else”

“I know”, your fingertips sneak underneath his shirt and the first touch makes his whole body tense up, though your hand stops there. The muscles of his stomach ripple. “You’re burning”

His large palms engulf your arms, rubbing up and down slowly. The tremble of your breath is hot against his jaw, your mouth near.

“As warm as the fireplace”, you let out a laugh, though you don’t move away from the breadth of his body. Hotch watches in fascination the shiver taking over yours.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“Mhmm”, you shake your head. A strand of your hair tickles his chin. He watches your eyelids flutter shut and the moments remain suspended.

God, how he wishes he’d bottle up this feeling every single time it occurs . A piece of him lives in each of them too, every time they happen.

The first time he’d felt time pause, and resume trickling slowly had been when you’d both shared a dinner together. Nothing peculiar over that night. Not the food, nor the location. Not even the city the BAU had been stranded in for a case. Nothing except for the company. You, sitting on a barstool, elbows perched over the marble ordering greasy food, still in work clothes, neat and polished, but your hair loose over your shoulders.

“I’m not mad about it”, you speak softly, pulling him back to this present moment. You tilt your head to look up at him, “When I realized…”

He nods, a massive boulder of a weight loosening from over his chest.

“I was conflicted –” you swallow, “embarrassed too”

He encourages you to continue with comforting touches, gentle patterns on your arms formed by his thumbs.

“I was thinking, what if you kick me out of bed? And I think I’d have relived the shootout again instead.”

He shakes his head, “Never. I would never have”

“I know—”

A breath rushes out of him when your hand splays over his stomach, having dared to reach fully under his shirt. You’ve always been more courageous than him, he thinks. In another life he would have already crashed the distance. Pulled you into his arms and tasted your mouth.

“I think I’m… Happy.”

Your eyes full of emotion do it for him. Something compels him, a deeper pull than anything he’s ever experienced.

That’s when the knock on the door resounds.

You both retreat with a smile. You untangle your legs from him, shifting away from his lap.

“It’s okay you can get it”, you say, “but let’s not go back like nothing happened once you do”

Hotch brushes a kiss on the top of your head. On your temple. On the apple of your cheek before standing up. “I’d die if I did, angel.”

Turns out behind the door awaits none other than hotel room service – something Hotch didn’t know was provided in this tiny establishment. He takes the trays and lines them on the table. Waffles and eggs and fruits, together with freshly brewed and hot coffee. The concierge tells him it had been prepaid by Hotch himself, the night before, though ordered for past midnight with a message he’d left on the phone.

“Wow,” you let out, “That’s a lot of food”

He hands you a coffee and sits down at the foot of the bed.

“I know.”

“Maybe we are smarter while drunk”, you say overjoyed, taking a plate of waffles.

He settles with the plate with eggs and bacon. “I wonder how wise we are when we can’t remember everything…”

The memory of the night before would return. 

Hours later. Long after you’re both sated with food and the company. Again in bed, but this time sober and fully aware of how you curl around Hotch’s body, and how he tucks you against him.

Another few hours of sleep, until both minds and bodies were fully rested. Followed swiftly with fevered grasps. Kisses that were bound to happen at last.

“Absinthe” you laugh, pointing at Hotch like he hadn’t been in the same room where Derek had pulled out a full bottle of alcohol out of thin air like a magician.

“Are you going to penalize him over it? Will it impact his annual agent evaluation?”

Your laughter is loud enough to wake up the entire hotel – the entire small city. His jaw hurts from grinning all night. Hotch grabs your hand in his once he notices how unsteady your feet are as you walk down the hallway.

You wrap your other arm around his, “Are you going to, Aaron?”

“I wouldn’t”, he smiles down at you. He’s lightheaded but not drunk on the one glass he had.

“I feel unsteady.”

“How much did you drink?"

You happily sigh, leaning fully into his side, cheek against his bicep. “I don't know. I must be drunk. I’m taking pills so it probably messed me up.”

“What do you feel?”

“I don’t know”, you huff out, “restless and exasperated. Like my heart is in my throat too. Maybe I might get sick”

“Oh, angel” You smother your smile against his arm. He reaches with his free hand to touch your forehead and feel for temperature. “You’re fine. You’re not hot”

But you don’t move away and neither does he. Both having stopped in the middle of the hall, nowhere near either of your rooms.

You’re warm. Eyes intense and stirring like clouds before a storm. Entire face heated and… blushing?  Unmoving from your position next to him, you lean into his touch, his hand dropping to engulf the side of your face.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Your eyes flutter closed before opening to gaze at him in wonder. “In your bedroom?”

“You could take my bed”, he murmurs. His thumb traces a line from your cheek down to your jaw. “I’ll be there if you need me”

“Nonsense”, you blurt, “We can share”

He doesn’t know how he manages to make it to his room. He’s in a daze, dreaming surely, even though you’re solid and warm against him. His key is in your hands, unlocking his door. His hands on the small of your back, comforting and steady. He feels on fire just from your presence, from the act of watching you hurrying to get into a room you’ll both spend the night in.

The innocence of it all is intimate. His heart beats rhythmically fast and he feels it everywhere on his skin.

“Make yourself comfortable”, his voice is unwavering as he folds his suit jacket on a piece of furniture. He can’t help but be fast in his motions, like this is all part of a dream unless he’s not under the covers as fast as possible.

A like-mindedness you share as well. Your clothes end up in heaps on the floor. You quickly tuck yourself under the covers.

That lightheadedness makes him stumble. He’ll dry out – die out - feeling your body against his. If not from the emotions he’s kept hidden for so long, then it will because of the warmth you’d exuded.

“Good idea”, you say as he leaves a window open. “I love feeling the sun on me when I wake up.”

It must be real, after all. He pauses, thinking of other things that might make your stay as comfortable as possible.

“The fireplace?”

“That’s okay” your voice is muffled by the duvet up to your nose. “After we wake up”

That reminds him.

“Breakfast?”

You nod enthusiastically. You had skipped dinner because of work so the only other thing he looks forward to – apart from waking up to your face in the morning – is sharing breakfast together.

After a message left to the receptionist, he lies down, pulls the covers up to his stomach.

“Mhm, it’s nicer than my bed” you say through a yawn. You reach for his forearm, squeezing it lightly once. “Goodnight, Aaron”

He brushes a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, goosebumps chasing it on your skin. “’Night, angel"

============

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygrangerreading @hotchs-bitch @skyler6666 @rousethemousee @arsonhotchner @ssa-izzy @fatherhotchner @anetoupekelly

tagging people who've interacted w part 1 :)

@azenpal @mischiefmanaged71 @fromthewalls @jhiddlesbatchles03 @jasmine-galaxies @jaspxr @multiobsession @caprisunzz

It's so good!!!! 🤤🤤

August

Inspired by August by Taylor Swift

Summary: When Haley and Aaron broke up after junior year, you never thought it would be for good. But still you found yourself falling (into bed) with the boy who hated you. Your best friend’s ex boyfriend.

PART 1 | PART 2

Word Count: 4338

Warnings: 18+ for smut, very angsty ending, general teenage shenanigans, talk of disassociating, Haley hate (kind of? But also not really?)

A/N: I started this a couple of months ago after hearing “skinny dipping” by Sabrina Carpenter and realizing it would be such a cool idea to see a then and now. I never thought I’d write smut or young!Aaron so this is very new in all ways. I will take all the feedback or constructive criticism you have, thanks for reading!

Gif credit goes to @hotch-girl <3

“But I can see us

Lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘Cause you was never mine”

Everyone knew Aaron and Haley. Aaron might have been a jock and Haley might have been a nerd but everyone knew them as Aaron and Haley. They just made sense.

When they got together our sophomore year, the whole town talked about it. Aaron smiled more and Haley hid her face less. The two were known as the town’s sweethearts and it was genuinely deserved.

When they split the summer between your junior and senior year, no one believed it would last for long. Especially you.

You were Haley’s best friend. Your parents had become fast friends after meeting as parent volunteers at your kindergarten class trip to the aquarium. Haley would come over when her parents did and the two of you would go play while the adults did whatever adults do.

She was a bit more outgoing than you and always fought to bring you out of your shell. Dragging you to every event she could, the two of you were inseparable. Were.

When Haley and Aaron got together, she suddenly had less time for you. She was busy with her new relationship, you understood that but missed your best friend. It didn’t help that Aaron didn’t like you. Every time Haley would invite you to do something with them, Aaron would glare at you while she was looking away or maneuver himself so he was between the two of you and start to spread out more and more until you had to move.

Haley never noticed. You loved her, truly you did, but she was always a princess. When you were little she always had to be the damsel in distress. Her perfect story started with her needing help and ended in happily ever after when her nightly prince saved her from some big evil. She never wanted to save herself.

You didn’t fault her for this. Not everyone could be like you. Not everyone had to grow up early and learn that the only person you should depend on was yourself. In fact, part of the reason you loved her so much was her almost childlike optimism. You would pummel anyone who threatened to take it away from her. Sometimes you wished she would be a little more in touch with reality, but friendship - like all relationships - was about compromise.

So you compromised. You gave her time and space and let her settle into her new relationship. You didn’t fault her for it, you reckoned that it was a normal teenage girl thing. So you waited.

Her never ending schemes to get you involved led to a decreased time for your hobbies, specifically painting and reading. Your new free time was well spent catching up on your always growing “to read” list which always inspired new pieces of artwork. Those books were the reason you didn’t hold the same ideas on life and romance as your friend. While she loved the doting attention of the soccer star and his juvenile pet names, you had a more refined standard of romance. You would accept nothing less than being swept off your feet.

Or so you thought.

Three weeks after the couple broke up, you saw Aaron for the first time. You were at the beach, the last book you had read featured a cute scene with a couple in the water so it inspired you to pack up some sunscreen and head out. You had been there for about an hour when all of the sudden it was too dark to read. Looking up, you found your best friend’s ex boyfriend staring at you.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, arms crossed as he peered down at you with a frown.

“Reading, you don’t own the beach Hotchner. It’s public property” you reminded, shutting your book while pursing your lips. He rolled his eyes with a sneer as you waited to see what he wanted.

“So funny,” he remarked, “when are you leaving?”

“Whenever I feel like it. Though if it upsets you so much…” you trailed off with a hand on your chin, “never.”

With another glare, he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. His hands fell from across his chest to perch on his hips.

“Well I need you to leave” he ordered. No matter what he had intended, his words had the opposite effect. You found yourself laughing hard enough that you toppled over, dropping the book from your lap. Your chest was hugging your knees as your head was thrown back in what was probably an extremely attractive laugh. When you got control of your breathing again, your eyes peered up to look at his which were locked down your bikini top.

“My eyes are up here, Hotchner, and no thanks” you responded with a smirk. His eyes flashed back up to your face, ears slightly red from the embarrassment of getting caught. He started to splutter, eyebrows furrowed as he came up with whatever excuse he thought would get you to leave.

Ignoring him, you stood from your place on the ground and walked up to him so you were chest to chest, “I’m not Haley. I don’t think you walk on water and I won’t let you boss me around. Go find someone else to control.”

Unlike your friend who’s short stature meant she was eye level with Aaron’s chest, your eyes were firmly locked on his lips. You were close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning across your nose. Both of you stood there, momentarily stunned by the close contact when his buddies came up behind him.

“Aaron we’re leaving” one of them yelled, passing him by without stopping. Your hands were cocked on your hips, waiting for his next move.

“Later” he responded loudly, eyes still locked on yours. As soon as his buddies were gone, he pushed his face closer to yours. His eyes were dancing with anger as he swallowed loudly.

“Listen here-“ he started, his mocking tone setting you off again. You threw your hands up, one hand running through your hair as the other pointed into his chest.

“I will not ‘listen here’ buck-o, you hold no sway over me. I don’t care what you think or what you want. I was here first and you don’t own this stupid beach!” You yelled, finger jamming into his chest every other point in emphasis.

Grabbing your hand mid poke, his hand tightly squeezed yours as he muttered between clenched teeth, “you are so goddamn infuriating, woman. You know that?”

“I am not” you huffed, annoyed at how warm and right his calloused hand felt around yours, “you are infuriating, you-you-“

His lips were against yours. Your current thought process died and you could feel the wheels in your head spinning overtime as you tried to understand what was going on. The thought of whose tongue was caressing your bottom lip caused a moment of clarity and your hands went flat against his chest to push back and your lips opened to tell him off but the words fell flat. He had taken your motion as encouragement and the hand that was once holding yours moved to grasping the back of your neck, fingers threaded in your hair. The other gripped your hip to the point of being painful and you found yourself moaning into his mouth.

You let your eyes slip closed and tentatively swiped yours against his wandering tongue. His answering groan made your thighs clench. The deep baritone made your head swim, your hands climbed up his chest to grasp onto his shoulders. You were breathless, chest heaving against his as your fingers dug into the muscles in his back. He groaned again into your mouth but the noise was loud enough to startle a group of birds that were walking around in the sand a few feet from you.

The sudden commotion startled both of you out of the moment. Your hands slid down his back to hang down at your sides as you stared, open-mouthed at your best friend’s ex boyfriend. The words wouldn’t come. You knew you should walk away, run away, but all you could think about was the taste of him. The way he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, the way his lips had caressed yours. You wanted more. Maybe that made you a bad person, but you needed it more than anything else you’d ever had before.

During your mental debate, Aaron stood in front of you. His arms were also at his sides, shaking slightly as his chest heaved in time with yours. His eyes never left yours, their darkened shade glistening along with his lips. When he caught you staring at them, his tongue stuck out to lick you off of his lips. The movement sent butterflies flying around your stomach. You gave yourself a minute to close your eyes and think this through but quickly shook off rationality and grabbed his hand.

Pulling him away from the sandy beach and leaving your book and chair, you led him wordlessly to the parking lot. You were backed into your parking spot at the deserted end of the lot underneath a bunch of low hanging trees. You were momentarily thankful that your favorite spot to park kept your vehicle cool with its windy breeze through the cracked windows and shade from the beating sun.

When you reached the vehicle, you avoided his eyes and dug the key out of your pocket. Your hands were shaky as you tried to fit the key into the lock until a warm hand enclosed your own. His steady fingers slipped the key into the lock and twisted, unlocking the door and opening it in one smooth movement. You reached around to unlock the back door and opened it to let the car air out. With a quick slam of the front door, you were both standing close in the hot air of your heated car. There was a little bead of sweat running down his forehead as his eyes studied your face. You used one hand to balance yourself against his lean frame and the other wiped at his forehead and brushed the one long strand of hair out of his eyes. He shot you a small smile, a dimple pulling out as he mimicked your motions to brush a stray hair back behind your ear. The action felt almost too intimate for such a tumultuous relationship so you quickly pushed him into your backseat.

The sweetness of the moment was interrupted and his hands were pulling onto your hips, taking you with him as he kicked the door shut and slotted his lips against yours. You moaned against his tongue as he continued to explore your mouth. Your hands were grasping at his shoulders again for support but you needed more. Quickly you grasped at the top of his shirt and pulled, forcing him to pull away and finish removing his shirt.

Once it was gone your mouth was sliding along the lines of his shoulder, sucking little marks against the muscles there. He was groaning and grasping at your hair, fingers tightening as you would bite down a little on the skin before licking over it to soothe the mark.

You were just about to move down to his chest when the hand in your hair was yanking you up and you were suddenly being kissed with a ferocity that was only hinted at before. Your hands continued the trail you started with your mouth, running your nails lightly over his pecs and abs down to the happy trail around his belly button. As your hands explored his body, he took the initiative to do the same, one hand holding your head close to his as the other traced around your bikini top before circling around your breast. A finger flicked at your nipple suddenly, causing your fingernails to tighten into his chest.

He was biting at your bottom lip with a moan as your fingers finished the happy trail down under his swim trunks. You teased him, running your finger around the edges of the waistband before continuing to move your hand back up his chest. His bottom lip poked out against yours as he pouted from the loss of contact. His lips pulled away from yours, giving you a moment to catch your breath when he suddenly ducked his head down and bit down lightly on your nipple over the suit. You threw your head back with a moan as you pulled yourself fully seated in his lap to grind down against him. The sudden contact caused him to groan around your nipple as his tongue flicked against you and the hand on your waist moved in time with your movements. You were gasping for air as he rubbed against your clit, your wetness soaking through the bikini bottoms and coating the front of his trunks.

The slickness made a squeaking sound that wasn’t pleasant so you hurried to move yourself off of his lap to pull the swim suit off. He copied your idea and quickly slid his shorts down. The sight of him slapping against his happy trail sent another wave of heat through your belly.

You pushed him back against the seat and kneeled above him. His lips were back on yours as an arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him. The new position had his tip rubbing against your clit. You squirmed against the contact, trying to create more friction as he let out a little huff of laughter while you whined against his lips. Taking pity on you, he dragged a hand from your waist to grasp himself, rubbing little circles against your bundle of nerves. The increase in pressure felt heavenly and you could hardly focus on his kiss. Your lips went lax as your mouth hung open. He pressed little nips on your bottom and top lips before using his nose to push your face to the side. His lips dotted kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. He was busy sucking at a sensitive spot just above your clavicle as he dragged his cock against your clit in slow, teasing circles.

Your moans were loud in the silent car for a moment before you slid a hand up his side to the back of his neck. You tugged at his hair until his lips were leaving your neck and his face was level with yours. His breath was coming out in warm pants that tingled against your sensitive lips. You tried to think straight with his hand still moving against you but you couldn’t help kissing him again.

Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses from his lips over to his ear, you sucked gently on his earlobe before leaning a little further to whisper in his ear, “I want you inside of me.”

His answering groan accompanied a harsh slap of his cock against your clit. You bit down on his shoulder in retribution before shooing his hand away and grasping his length in your hand. You used your wetness that had dropped down his cock as lubricant as you stroked him slowly. After a minute, you were lifting yourself a bit further and lining him up when one of his hands squeezed your hip and the other lifted your face to look at him.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, words clear in the heated moment. Your heart clenched at the sweetness of him, such an odd contrast to his behavior before that day, before leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip. You let your tongue sweep along the spot you bit and nodded before you slowly started to sink down onto him.

The rest of the summer passed similarly in a blur of stolen moments and hidden signals. There were a bunch of big stones that lined the wood chips along the length of your home. All of them were multicolored but there was one that stood out, it was a faded blue on one side and light red on the other. As you were sneaking into your house one of the first nights after the two of you met up, you accidentally knocked it over and saw the color change. The next time you met up with Aaron, you suggested he use the stone to show if he was able to get out that night. If he thought he could make it, he would turn the stone to the blue side but if he couldn’t, he’d leave the red.

You always met at the same time at the same place. Ten minutes after ten pm on the roof of the abandoned warehouse that was between your houses. You would crouch through the hole in the fence and use the fire escape to get up to the top.

Every night up on that roof was the same. He would look at you with those tired eyes and you would have done anything to make it just a little bit better for him. He would hold you as his lips bruised your own, his hands grasping at your hips as he set a brutal pace. There was never much said between the two of you. Sometimes it would be mere moments after you arrived on the roof that he would pull the blanket from your arms and lay you down on it. Others he would pull you into his arms and spend hours watching the stars before kissing you slowly. Every time he would ask if you were sure. The quiet words had become routine but no less special as he lined himself up and brought your face up to meet his eyes.

You kept telling yourself it meant nothing. That the two of you had come to an unspoken agreement to work out your daily struggles with each other. It was normal. It was fine.

It was a good thing, a really good thing, but like all other good things, it eventually came to an end. You had been avoiding Haley, only responding to every other text and making excuses to avoid meeting up. You took a new job during the day stocking shelves at a local warehouse to keep your mind and hands busy. But as you knew, you couldn’t avoid her forever.You were walking out of the house to your car before work one day when she cornered you.

Yelling your name, she ran over from across the street to stand behind your car. You greeted her back with a quick smile but you could tell from her stance with her hands on her hips that she was upset. You were hoping you could at least make it to the start of the school year before having to face the confrontation.

“Haley-“ you started but she cut you off.

“No, don’t you dare ‘Haley’ me” she growled, “what in the hell is the matter with you? You’ve been blowing me off all summer! I thought you were my best friend but just when I needed you most, you leave me”

You hated the way that your throat constricted seeing her teary eyed but you knew you had to be strong for her, “no, I was-“

“Stop lying to me! If you didn’t want to be my friend, you could have just said so! I lost Aaron and then I lost you, so you know how hard that was for me?” She cried. Your stomach clenched at the mention of his name.

“I’m sorry” you muttered, head down as you realized how this situation would play out. You were stupid to think that everything wouldn’t explode in your face. Even if she never found out, you couldn’t face her. Not knowing how it feels to be loved by him. Not knowing how she still loved him.

She continued to yell at you and you let her; your mind floating as you began to understand just how badly this was going to end. A tight feeling settled into your gut as you realized how many people your thoughtless decision would affect, how many people you would lose. As you started to gather your thoughts, you didn’t let your mind stray. You would make a plan of attack and separate yourself from reality, that would be the only way you would survive what was to come.

Later that night, after Haley finally had enough yelling and told you that she never wanted to see you again, you waited for Aaron on the roof.

Normally he beat you there but this time, you were waiting for him. Your back was to the entrance as you stood by the edge and stared out at the bustling city. The squeaking of the door opening let you know you were no longer alone but you waited until you could smell the warm scent of him behind you before you began to turn.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice quiet against the soft noises of the city below.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself before you turned to him. His eyes were guarded as he regarded you with no expression. His hands were in his Jean pockets as he waited for you to respond.

“Aaron,” you started, voice calm despite the desperate fear of losing him and yourself in the process, “this summer has been the best summer of my life but I…. I think it’s time we end this. School starts soon so you’ll be tired from soccer practice and Haley will be around. I know she broke it off but she misses you. Everyone wants you two back together, including both of you, so it just seems like this is the right time. She’ll be there for all of your needs and you can go back to hating me when I’m not sleeping with you.”

His eyes bore into yours as he seemed to process what you said. His arms strained under his tight grasp at the material of his pants and you longed to wrap your arms around him and just hold on tight. The ever present crease between his eyes got more defined as he began to scowl, his eyes hardening against your gaze.

“It was never just sex to me” his steady voice insisted hands raising to grasp at the ends of his hair, “it was never just a fling or a hookup. Haley-“

“Is the love of your life” you responded, trying to keep your voice calm despite the quickly growing turmoil you felt. Your stomach was tied into knots as you watched the pain flicker through his face.

“No, she’s not. You don’t have the right to tell me who I love” His face tightened, voice raising in frustration at your lack of emotion.

“But you do, you love her. This was just a fling. Even if you don’t want to admit it, Aaron” you countered, arms folded across your chest as you tried not to shrink away from his anger.

“I did, I do. But that doesn’t mean anything now because we aren’t together. And I don’t need to admit anything. You don’t get to tell me how I feel or what I think, you don’t even know me” he huffed, finger pointing at you as he stilled suddenly. His eyes were regretful as he looked at your withdrawn posture. You gave him a watery grimace as the tears started to fall down your cheeks. You unwrapped your arms to wipe at the traitorous emotional reaction and nodded at him.

“You’re right, Aaron. I don’t know you” you agreed, voice breaking.

“Sweetheart I-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand and tried to make your voice as steady as possible, “I don’t know you. I’ve seen you every night for two months but we haven’t spoken more than a handful of words. I don’t know you and I’m never going to.”

Your eyes trailed down to the ground as you spoke, unable to meet his gaze. After a moment you could hear him take a deep, unsteady breath before swallowing loudly.

“So this is it then?” He asked, voice hard with his teeth and fists clenched. Your heart broke at his words and a voice in your head screamed at you to stop playing the martyr, to let yourself be happy.

“Yes,” you responded, head tipping back up to meet his eyes, “goodbye Aaron.”

With a quick turn, you started towards the entrance to the roof to return back to solid ground as you heard him whisper a goodbye behind you. The sadness in his voice almost broke your resolve but you stood your ground. You don’t remember anything about getting out of the building or back home besides the empty feeling that sets into your chest. But that feeling never quite went away.

You never told Haley. You didn’t think Aaron would either but he was right, you didn’t know him. Breaking things off with him was the right thing to do but it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest and stomped on by a herd of elephants. You spent every night until school started again crying yourself to sleep. Haley showed up to your house multiple times but your parents listened to your pleas not to let her in. Eventually, your mom caved to your demands to join the local college’s early degree program and you didn’t have to watch as your two favorite people found comfort in each other. You had hoped they would but you didn’t think you would be able to stand watching your classmates vote them prom king and queen or most likely to marry.

Instead, you settled into a routine of pushing your body and mind to the limit as you tried to fill the gaping hole in your chest. You were convinced that years from now, your future self would thank you. But at the moment, all you felt was empty.

I want him to put a baby in me

Thinking of writing an Aaron Hotchner slow-burn coworkers to lovers.

Office Romance with SSA Aaron Hotchner

Studying and wishing I had an Aaron Hotchner fucking my brains out instead.

Writing an Aaron Hotchner slow-burn coworkers to lovers ✌🏻

Edit: Don't know whether to make it "x reader" or "x oc". Leaning more towards the "x reader"

Neat

Aaron Hotchner x afab!Reader (no use of y/n)

Summary; / Returning in the morning means nothing, you're just going to get your property back, nothing more.... right? A sequel to On the Rocks

This story contains explicit adult content. Minors Do Not Interact.

Warnings; explicit consensual sex, legal age gap, rough sex, size kink, spit kink, anal play, anal sex, squirting, cumplay, degrading praise, dirty talk, aftercare, dad!bod hotch deserves his own warning (and also i say this all the time but it bears repeating for this fic spit is not lube)

Word Count; ~5.2k

A/N; This might be the filthiest thing I've ever written.

Aaron woke with the taste of good scotch and you on his mouth. He tried to fool himself in thinking he hadn’t had booze-soaked dreams of you, that he hadn’t slipped your ruined underwear into the top drawer of his nightstand with a half shameful grin.

He had fallen asleep with the sounds of the party going on downstairs and woke to the noise of Jack cleaning up bottles, the dishwasher protesting its multiple cycles and the terrible sound of his son singing to something only he could hear. Blinking his vision clear he saw it was still early, earlier than he expected him to be up and cleaning and he relaxed back into his pillows, and the memory of you the night before.

There was no way you were coming back here. No way the vague promise of your underwear would see you anywhere near him until you returned to college and could pretend it was some kind of drunken fever dream.

But what a dream it was. Aaron groaned as he remembered the way you arched your back for him, the whines he could feel shaking your lungs as he pounded into you. You were so pretty, eyes glazed, fucked drunker than the $500 scotch you didn’t finish, wet enough to stain his skin, drip down his chin as your thighs shook.

You let him take you apart, dismantle you piece by piece as he watched in rapture, no hesitation in the way you let him wring pleasure from you. He loved the way your eyes went wide each time he breached you, fingers, tongue, cock. Each accompanied by the sweetest hitch in your breath, those gorgeous lips sucked between your teeth.

His only regret was not having more time with you, a soft bed to lay you down on, expensive sheets to force you to ruin, holding you down as he pushed you further than you knew your body was capable of, legs twisting as he crammed more fingers inside you, curled your body into his and felt you shake and squirt onto him, all with those same pretty little screams he was forced to muffle with his hand.

Absently he found himself squeezing his cock through his boxers, distraction in the form of a closed fist. What else would you let him do to you? Your eyes had been so wide, dazed and beautiful each time his fingers gripped your skin, moved you to his liking, pliant under his touch. What else would you allow him to do?

The dark parts of his mind curled like smoke around his hands, guiding them to slide his underwear off beneath the sheets, reach into the nightstand to pull the scrap of ruined cotton, wrap it around his aching length. It was stained, covered in your spit and cum and he hissed at the rasp of fabric across his knuckles.

Would those pretty little lips swell red and shiny when he forced his cock down your throat. Would your cheeks flush darker as tears leaked from your eyes as he fucked your face? You were so tiny, he could reach over you, pull your underwear to the side (another pair he had plans to ruin) slip his fingers through your folds and begin to work you open, just a fingertip at first, until your hips bucked back into him, begging for more of a stretch, for him to finger your ass open, ready for his mouth, his cock.

His orgasm took him by surprise. Painful in its intensity Aaron fought the groan that rumbled through his chest as he came, hard and aching into the ruined pair of underwear threaded through his fingers.

As he let his breathing settle, he felt a twinge of melancholy. You would never be alone with him again, surely.

*

You sat in your car for twenty minutes before you found the courage to get out into the street. You weren’t here for that. Definitely not, just casually dropping by to see your best friend Jack, and you had definitely forgotten that he was having lunch with his aunt, an hour away. A funny coincidence then, and sorry for disturbing you Mr. Hotchner, and while I'm here there’s that matter of my underwear? I know you shoved them in my mouth, but I'd really like them back.

This plan was idiotic. You knew that. You knew he’d see right through you within seconds of meeting your eyes. But you couldn’t not show up. The dark promise in his eyes as he kissed your knuckles. The fact that you left sated, but not satisfied. He tore you to pieces in a hurried encounter on his desk. You had wondered for the rest of the night what he could do given the gift of time and privacy.

Absently, you pushed your fingers into the bruise on your hip, the shape of his thumb dark on your skin, the sting of it reminding you of the stretch of him. You swallowed, once, enough to feel how dry your mouth had gotten at the memory.

You checked your phone, again, confirming what you already knew

Need help with the cleanup? Nah it’s already done, lunch with Jess remember? Oh I forgot sorry! Dinner tonight? I’ll be back late, Jess moved again, it’s a heck of a drive. Breakfast tomorrow? Amy too? Sounds good!

Jack was away. His car was not in the drive, the street was silent, and you’d parked around the corner anyway. It left lightning in your skin, sneaking to a house you’d spent a portion of your teen years sleeping in. You were wearing normal clothes, jeans and a loose tank, the bra and underwear matched but that definitely wasn’t on purpose. He was going to politely remind you that Jack was with Jessica, usher you out the door, ears tinged pink as he tried to forget he fucked his son’s best friend.

Surely.

*

He could smell you. That mix of candy-sweet perfume and arousal that clung to the underwear stuffed in the bottom of his laundry hamper, creeping through his bedroom like a fog. The way you slipped under his arm when he answered the door, the tremble in your shoulders as you told a thin lie. You must know he was going to call you on it. But your cheeks grew brighter, and you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Jack’s with his aunt” He said, closing the front door, twisting the lock with a click that made you jump slightly.

“Oh” you said with a quaver in your voice, you could feel him moving closer to you, the dark earthy scent of him clouding your senses, making your knees feel week. His hands were gentle as he brushed his fingers down your neck from behind.

“But you knew that. Didn’t you?”

He needed to hear you say it, needed the confirmation that you were here, for him. He leaned close enough to smell your hair, his hand coming to slide around your waist, press his frame against your back and make you feel how he towered behind you, covering your frame with his own, his lips ghosting against your neck, the phantom touch making you shiver.

“Yes”

He bit you, just a scrape of teeth across your pulse but you melted for him anyhow, your hand coming to grasp his, pressed against your belly like a port in a storm.

“You came here for something else, didn’t you pretty girl? Tell me why you’re here”

Your mouth was dry, swollen with want, your lips felt too tight, your throat too narrow to answer. He was stroking his finger across your knuckles, the warmth of his breath just behind your ear making your brain foggy, as though he were breathing lust into your senses. You whimpered.

“Come on, good girl. Tell me, say Mr. Hotchner, I came over here because I want you to make me scream like I couldn’t last night, I want you to take me when I don’t have to be quiet, I want you to split me open on your fat cock in all my holes, please”

He held you steady as your knees went weak, pulling you hard enough into him that you could feel the evidence of his arousal against your spine, the way your back arched into him, your head falling to his shoulder as his hand gripped your jaw

“Mr. Hotchner...”

“Close enough”

He kissed you like he was dying, a deep rumbling groan shuddering through his body as he spun you in his embrace, his hands on your thighs, encouraging you to jump, wrap your legs around his thick waist as the sharp crack of his hand on your ass made you squeal against his mouth. You felt him smile as he carried you, apparently weightless to the stairs you had breached last night, pausing only to push you against a wall, his teeth against your neck.

“Thought about you all fucking morning” he said, biting your ear as you squeezed him closer to you, rocking your hips against him, cursing the denim shorts you were wearing as you bucked for friction. “Thought about those pretty sounds you had to keep to yourself. I want you to make it up to me sweetheart, can you do that, be loud for me, will you?”

His hand was under your shirt, warm and splayed wide as the slipped his fingers beneath the underwire.

“Yes, just. Keep talking to me” You managed, his voice making your head swim.

“Yeah? You like my voice little one? Want me to tell you how I spent my morning? Fucking that scrap of cotton you called underwear coming all over your spit and slick while I made sure my son didn’t hear me moaning your goddamn name.”

His grip on your skin was iron, massaging your ass through denim as backed through his bedroom door to deposit you gently on the dark grey bedspread.

“Look at me” He said, pulling his shirt over his head as you met his eyes, your legs falling open, his hand on your calf, fingers finding the curve of muscle to press down enough to make you squirm. “You talk to me too, okay? Tell me what you want”

His eyes, blown black and wide with lust in the stairwell locked onto yours, deep caramel and sincerity as he kept your gaze, kneeling to kiss the inside of your ankle, tender and soft from swollen lips, half a smile on his face as he watched you catch your breath.

“You... just you” you whispered, ignoring the way the words gripped your chest in a hot fist. This wasn’t that. This was scratching an itch, sating a curiosity. You had today, the afternoon together, and then you would fling apart like galaxies, you’d never speak of it again, repelled from each other by the weight of this secret you both held.

Aaron had held worse secrets. But this, the softness of your skin as he took the time to map every inch of you he had missed in the half darkness of his office, would weigh lighter than a feather on his conscience, burdened only by the memory of your soft sigh.

“Don’t go soft on me old man” you whispered, half a plea as his fingers drew circles on your thighs, edging closer to the worn denim.

He crushed you with his weight, caging you in between folded elbows as he ground his crotch against yours, the rasp of slacks on denim making you moan as his teeth nicked your jaw.

“Feel soft to you darling?” he laughed, rolling his hips against yours. He undid his pants onehanded, the rasp of the fly making your thighs clench as he grabbed one of your hands by the wrist, pulling you to slide your palm against his soft stomach, through the neat trail of hair to his own underwear, guiding your palm to wrap around him with a soft grunt.

He scraped his fingers across the waistband of your shorts, trailing fingers on your stomach as you felt the drips of sticky precum coat your hand, despite the awkward angle, twitching hot in your palm. Smearing the fluid around the blunt head of him brought a groan through his chest, his thighs between yours, pushing your legs wider as he licked the line of your pulse.

“Can I taste you?” you managed, words coming fuzzy and thick with arousal, remembering his command to ask for what you wanted. He bit your bottom lip in answer, rolling you together as though you weighed nothing against his bulk, trapping your hand between his body and your own as he kissed you half breathless.

He took your shirt off, throwing it somewhere behind you as you writhed against his grip, kissing the barely there stubble of his jaw, trying to move further down his body, trapped by broad arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“You want to suck my cock little girl?” he asked, finally releasing you to grab your chin, meet your eyes full of fire as you nodded. “Greedy thing”

He stops you only long enough to tug your shorts around your thighs, trapping your legs together as you knelt between his legs. His pants are gaping open, underwear pushed down in a way that only makes his erection seem larger, laying angry and hot across his stomach.

He hisses when you kiss the weeping tip, hips twisting under your tongue as your back curls. He’s intimidatingly large, thick and heavy in your grip as you aim him towards your mouth, taking a deep breath of determination as Mr. Hotchner sits up further, giving his arms space to roam across your back, the curve of your waist, the band of your soaked underwear.

You spend time learning the curves of him you couldn’t in the dark, the thick pulsing vein that makes him twitch when you kiss it, the salty taste of him that bursts on your tongue like firecrackers, the deep scent of him, raw and primal as you coat his cock with saliva, relishing each spasm of his hips, the curve of his stomach beneath your hand.

He swears when you take him in your mouth, deep and hoarse as he cradles the back of your neck, his grip strong, not forcing you but guiding your mouth, encouraging you to take him deeper, deep enough to choke as he pulls your underwear to the side, thick fingers probing soaked folds as you half cough around his length, saliva dribbling from your lips.

“Messy” he hums, his hand cracking across your ass as you take him deep again, relishing the way his body reacts, his breath catches as the sting of his palm crackles through your system. There’s no finesse in his touch, smearing your slick across your folds, catching your clit and running fingers upward, spreading wetness around the tight ring of your ass. It makes you moan against him, encouraging him further, pressing his fingers against the muscle, enough to feel the pressure, make it want to relax.

“Fuck, sweetheart that feels so good, look up at me, just like that, you’re so pretty” His voice is ruined, gravelly and low as his hand squeezes your neck, the fingers swirling between your cheeks making your back arch, the innate desire to push back against his fingers, feel the taboo stretch of him.

“You want it sweet girl?” he asked, knowing you could do nothing but moan around his length in reply, your lips stretched obscenely over him, spit pooling in his lap “Dirty girl, greedy messy little thing, fuck, come here”

He pulls you off him, trails of saliva clinging to his skin smearing across your stomach as he pulls you for a bruising kiss, biting at your swollen lips as he hauls you in his lap, running your drenched folds across his cock in a way that makes your back arch, as the tip of his finger breaches your back entrance.

Your hips move without permission, sliding back and forth across his length and working his finger deeper, the burn of it setting fire to your insides as your brain shut down, simply stopped working as you chased pleasure, the rasp of his teeth under your jaw, the filth he was mumbling as you rode him, skin sweating and breath unsteady.

You came with a cry and tremble, his mouth covering yours with a smile as you shook above him, his hand an anchor on your hip as you gushed in his lap, legs stretched wide to straddle him, half sideways on the bed, the comforter askew.

“God damn it you’re beautiful. Lay down right here, good girl”

He spread himself between your thighs, fingers pressing deep inside your ass as he bit the sensitive skin, laved over teeth marks he had left the night before, tugging your underwear further to the side. He stared, enough to make a distant part of your mind want to squirm, the wet squelch of his fingers sounding obscene in the silence as he slowly scissored you open.

“Don’t you fucking dare” he growled, one hand planted on your thigh, his thumb tracing the swollen lips of your cunt as he leaned forward enough for his nose to brush your clit, making you jolt. He breathed. Deep and long, tapering with a groan as he pressed his forehead to your lower abdomen, the soft tendrils of his hair tickling your fevered skin. “You smell like fucking candy, how do you smell like candy”

He pulled your underwear off, repositioning his fingers to spread you wider, encouraging you to lift your hips to his waiting mouth, licking you from hole to clit as though he was drowning, drinking you down as you thrashed against the bed. He alternated, sucking your clit as he curled his fingers inside your ass, scissoring you open only to dart his tongue to lick the swollen rim of you, grunting words you couldn’t hear to vibrate against you. You were leaking, surely dripping down his palm at this point, the slick of your thighs as you tried to keep your eyes open, your vision blurring at the edges as you watched him rut his hips against the bedspread.

“Can I have you? Here?” the question was asked with a twist of his fingers, enough for the stretch to make you cry out. You wanted him, wanted that burn to lick fire through your lungs as he sucked your clit between his teeth, the sting making you jump.

“Roll over angel”

You complied on limbs that felt like jelly, your body a mass of nothing but thrumming pleasure, anticipation and apprehension thrumming through you, making your heart pound. He pulled your hips up, your face pressed into a soft comforter that smelled exactly like him and waited, feeling his hands travel up the backs of your thighs, pressing and squeezing and spreading you open, his thumbs holding you in front of his gaze.

He spat on you, the wet smack of it against your ass as he pressed his thumb inside, hooking it to stretch you open as his mouth latched on to your clit, the pressure intense as it built inside your belly, a coil winding tighter as your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the bed, a grip on reality, anything. You could hear pleading, begging in a high note before you realized it was you, half mad and screaming for release as his other fingers began to work your clit, fast circles as his teeth bit into the meat of your ass, still red and stinging from his hand.

“You going to cum for me baby, with me in your ass?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please, please”

“Beg me, I want to hear it, say Mr. Hotchner, please make me cum while you stretch my tight little ass open”

“Mr. – Mr. Hotchner” it was half a choked sob before you were coming, hard. Stars burst behind your eyes as your whole body convulsed, rocking back further into him as he lapped your release like a wild animal.

You heard his pants hit the floor, were dimly aware of the shifting weight as he flicked the clasp of your bra, reached to grab a handful of your breast, his body covering yours as he licked behind your ear.

“The fuck are you doing to me little one. Driving me fucking crazy” it was lucid, half a question you thought he might want answered, before he slid his cock through your folds and entered you with a deep thrust.

God you’d never get enough of the stretch of him. You had convinced yourself this morning that it was the novelty, your first experience with someone of his magnitude, the stretch of your walls, the feeling that he truly was rearranging your insides, making space for himself inside you. His grip turned to iron on your hip, the low moan that made you tighten around him as he rocked against you, giving you time to adjust.

You were going to fucking ruin him. That was the only thought in his head as he held himself deep inside you. It was a struggle not to come, not to fill you to the brim immediately, just to watch it leak out, have you split open and dripping him. You were so tiny, so fucking delicate that he was scared he was going to break you, simply snap you in two with the grip he held, his eyes focused on the pearls of your spine as you arched your back for him, spreading open that gorgeous ass for his vision.

You’d never be out of his system, not with those quiet little whimpers, the way your eyes glaze over when you come, the way your cunt grips him like a goddamn vice, like he has to carve room for himself inside you. He can feel you clenching around him, watches the liquid suck of your pussy as he pulls out slowly, rocking his hips back in just to hear that quiet little whine that makes his cock feel like steel.

He can’t help but breach your ass again, thumbing you open in the same rhythm, listening to the way your cries turn guttural, as though he’s robbing you of all that delicate femininity, stealing it as if it were something to covet. You’re so wet, he can hear it, the slap of his thighs against the back of his own, and the change in angle makes it obscene, messy and loud as he pulls himself free of you, grips hard at the base of his cock to stop from coming, his breathing deep and ragged.

“Slow” is all you manage, his cock heavy against your ass as he breaches you with just the tip. You’re writhing for it, reaching back to hold yourself open in invitation and Aaron thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

“I’ve got you sweet girl” he murmurs, spitting again to join the mess, smearing it across your ass as his fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow circles in time with the inch-by-inch penetration.

It burns. Like a wildfire through your skin, it makes you sizzle, the aching press as he waits for your body to yield to him, each gentle thrust making your breath catch. It feels so dirty, so brazen to have your nails dig into your own skin, pull yourself apart for him as you feel him, every thick ridge and vein stretch you open, your lungs cramping from the force of it.

When he’s seated fully inside you, the room goes quiet. Enough for you to hear the struggle on his own exhale, his touch turning whisper soft against your clit as he holds you steady.

“Move” you plead, “Move, it’s so good”

The universe splits apart at the seams. Slow and gentle turns rabid and fast the more you beg him for it, his fingers turning inward, pressing deep inside your cunt as he fucks your ass, holding your shoulder to slam into you from behind, the creak of mattress and bedsprings only adding to the symphony of noises.

There’s pressure. Deep in your stomach, curling tight around your spine as he hooks his fingers in a spot that makes you cry out, your body locking down against his as he hauls you upright.

“I found it huh?” He laughs in your ear “Right there baby? This what you needed? What you came here for, to get stuffed so full of me you can’t speak? I can feel you baby, you’re going to cum, aren’t you? My perfect messy girl going to cum with my cock deep in her ass? What if I did this hmm?”

His hand becomes a blur, hammering that same spot in time with his thrusts as you thrash against him, slamming your hips back into him in time, the curl in your spine sinking fangs in as he tilts your head against his shoulder, opening your throat enough to scream.

“You gonna squirt for me? I can feel it, let go little girl, let it happen, make a fucking mess all over me you sloppy gorgeous thing”

It’s like a balloon, stretching past it’s limit as it bursts, all of a sudden through your system. Everything shatters as you feel the gush of liquid around his hand, pressed out by the force of it, your limbs jerking erratically, the sound of it hitting your thighs, soaking the bed as you cry out something unintelligible.

Mr. Hotchner grabs your jaw, forces you to focus on your hand as he pulls it in front of you, his rhythm never faltering as he watches you drip from his fingers in the sunlight. You can hear him, bringing his fingers to his mouth, the sound of him licking your essence of you before sharing that salt tang flavor in a kiss.

“You’re a dream baby, you’re a fucking dream, like you were made for me, made to be mine, you want to be mine sweet girl? Do you?”

“Yes, god, Mr. Hotchner, please”

He let out a sound like a wounded animal, rearing behind you as you fell forward, feeling him slip free as he held you open, the sound of his fist on flesh, rough and fast as you heard him take deep, heaving gulps of air, smearing the head of his cock around both of your holes, dripping wet with your own release.

He came like a tragedy, long and slow, hot spatters of cum marking your ass, your cunt, your thighs as he groaned your name and thanks in equal measure, squeezing the last drops onto your skin, deep cool air inflating his lungs as he trailed his hands through your combined mess. His fingers probed both entrances, scooping his release inside you as you took shaking breaths of your own, your limbs suddenly feeling like jelly, unable to hold you upright anymore.

He collapsed next to you, the damp bedspread beneath you both as sunlight filtered through his bedroom window, his hands reaching for you, pulling you into his embrace as he kissed your forehead, possessive and ferocious as you took heaving breaths of air.

It was the middle of the day. It was just after lunchtime, and you had just been fucked within an inch of your life by your best friend’s father. What words could you possibly say? Could you try and pull it back? Was there any point in trying to make off like it was a one-time thing, that this would now fade to memory as something to remember fondly on a lonely night with a vibrator? You needed to leave. But leaving meant wanting to leave.

It felt like a lie. So, you said nothing, allowing Mr. Hotchner to kiss you breathless, the smile that curved your lips feeling like an admission as you messed his hair up further with a giggle. He was just greying at the temples, salt strands through thick hair as his large hands framed your face to kiss your nose.

“You need a shower” you said finally, trailing your fingers across his chest with a sigh.

“So do you” he said with a grin. “C’mon”

“There’s no way my legs work” you protested, content somehow to stay in this place, the thick smell of sex settling over you like a blanket, mixed with his cologne and the softness of his mattress, almost enough to lull you to sleep.

“Not a problem” he said with a wink.

Of course, he had a bench in his shower. Of course, it was a rain shower that he warmed to the perfect temperature, his arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he was unwilling to let you go. He let you relax against the warm tile, bringing soap that smelt like him to a lather on your skin.

He washed you like you were precious, kneading muscles across your shoulders with reverence. He placed a soft kiss against your palm, moving to massage the knuckles of each finger. You watched as he washed your legs, hands smoothing over your calves as his brow creased slightly.

“Was it too much?” he asked quietly, the words almost drowned by the water.

“Perfect” you said, dragging his lips to yours for a kiss “It was perfect”

That felt like the truth.

He left you on steadier legs drying your hair, you heard a flurry in the room behind you as he changed sheets, throwing the ruined ones in the hamper before replacing them with ones that looked just as soft. When you emerged, he was in sweatpants, holding a glass of cold water for you to drink. He tipped the bottom at you to watch you finish it. Wrapped in a towel you looked around for your clothes, not having paid attention to where they landed in the frenzy of his affection.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head as you pulled your shorts free from under his dresser.

“Um” You started. How did you explain you were leaving? How do you say, hey thanks for ruining me for any future sexual encounters, but don’t worry, I understand this can never happen again, and you don’t have to tell me not to bring it up, I already understand you’re going to wake up and feel like it was a mistake, even though I won’t.

He pulled you against his body and you caught a glimpse of you together in the mirror, wrapped in his arms as he kissed the top of your head, tugging at the towel until it dropped to the floor. He pulled a shirt from a nearby drawer and put it on you. You swam in it, falling off your shoulder as it hung past your thighs. But it was worn, and soft and smelled like him.

Mr. Hotchner led you to the bed you had so recently ruined, laying back before tugging you on top of him, straddling his waist as he pulled you to lay on his chest. Soft and solid beneath you as you felt the rise of his breathing, the sheets and covers he pulled over both of you as he encouraged you to rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“Sleep, sweet girl” he murmured, pressing lips against your forehead.

“But…” You started, sleep already stalking you as the comfort of his presence, the possessive way he curled his hands around your body, slipped them beneath his own shirt to roam against your back. “Mr. Hotchner…”

“Aaron” he said. “Call me Aaron”