summertime-pills - Tumblr blog

[summertime-pills]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, junior g-man, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[summertime-pills]

🧺 Any More 🧺

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: spencer realizing that he’ll never love someone as much as he loves you. (whether that be because of a case or what have you), his mind is absolutely blown with how much he worships you and how much you love and care for him and he shows you that with the softest most sickeningly sweet sex you and him has ever done. <3

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Discussions of case details, case burnout, very close friends to lovers, oral (f receiving), vanilla sex (p in v penetration). Discussions of mental health, and two idiots in love.

A/N: I'm hitting the prompt Vanilla for this one, so please don't be scared off by the KinkBingo tags! I had a lot of fun writing this one (and adding Pride and Prejudice quotes into the smut scene because HELLO). Let me know what you think in the replies~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You hadn't seen Spencer in 100 days. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn't that long, trapped in the purgatory of a ‘what if’ the way you had been for the last eight years. 

You'd lived without him for longer than 100 days before. He'd been in prison, you'd been on assignments, you'd lived an entire life before meeting him, but now somehow 100 days was too much time, and you were exhausted. You understood why Spencer had to take some time away from you, from the team in an official capacity after everything he'd been through. You supported him even. 

But when even your free time didn't overlap anymore, you wondered if your relationship would ever be the same again. 

Spencer was a friend, your best friend, probably. You'd arrived on the BAU team, he'd rattled off some statistics, stammering the way through them, and you'd immediately warmed to the man. He was brilliant, funny, and fiercely loyal, and you tried your best to protect him even when the job seemed designed to break people like him into thousands of little pieces. 

You'd tried to convince him to leave before, after Maeve had died. You didn't want to see him heart broken again, but no one else had seemed to agree. 

“Reid needs purpose,” they'd said. “Reid needs something to do.” 

What Reid needed was to not end up dead before he had a chance to be happy, and happiness didn't come often in your field of work. 

You'd been almost vindicated a year later when he'd been shot again, almost fatally. Vindicated, maybe but distraught and inconsolable. Morgan had to carry you screaming and clawing out of his hospital room multiple times. It sounded stupid enough to yourself that it was only then you realized your feelings for the man. 

You wanted to be Spencer Reid's happiness, which was why you were so lost without him. 

He was coming back on Monday, and at least you had the weekend to sort your feelings out about everything.not just about him, but about the job you'd found didn't fit you well enough anymore, about the team you loved like family, about the relationship you knew would likely never come to fruition. 

You dumped your bags at your door when you'd arrived in your house that night, pushed yourself into your bedroom and let yourself collapse on your bed, balling up into as cozy a position as you could. You didn't even bother taking your jacket off, you just let your brain haze over and sleep rush in. 

Three quiet raps at your door lifted you up and out of bed again, not an hour later. 

You grabbed your phone, grabbed the second go-bag you kept at your house, put your shoes back on, and opened the door, expecting Emily and a new case. 

“Where are we going?” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, not even looking up at your guest. 

“Hopefully, nowhere? I brought takeout.” 

Your eyes widened then, taking in all 185cm of Doctor Spencer Reid, tweed jacket and plastic bag full of chow mein included. 

“Spencer,” you breathed out, like a sigh of relief, letting the bag drop to the floor next to the first one and letting yourself into his arms. 

He held you carefully there for a second before leading you back into the apartment, wrapping an arm around you and ruffling your hair. It was brotherly, and it made you sick to your stomach. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Emily said you were back from a case,” he started, unpacking the takeaway from the containers. “And it feels wrong to eat this without you.” 

You rolled your eyes and followed him into the kitchen, pulling two forks out of the drawer nearer you and stabbing them in the top of your two cups. 

“Hey, I can use chopsticks now,” he said, defending himself against an inside joke. Spencer was always useless with his hands. 

“I don't care if you can use them, I care that they don't accidentally end up stabbing me,” you said, taking yourself back to your bedroom, Spencer following. 

“You'd hardly die from being stabbed by a wooden chopstick, maybe a papercut or a splinter but-” 

“But you're just bad enough that I don't want to risk it.” 

You kicked off your shoes again and climbed onto your bed. Spencer followed. 

“Remind me again why we aren't sitting on your couch?” 

“Uncomfortable.” 

“Or at your breakfast bar?” 

“Glorified filing cabinet right now. Eat.” 

He shook his head but complied, leaning back against your pillows as you both began carefully eating. Silently, you pulled your laptop onto your bed, opened it up, and pressed play on a movie, one you'd seen more than once, and you'd forced Spencer to watch before as well. 

In a comfortable, friendly silence, you finished your food. You stretched out in a yawn once and then curled into his side, letting his mumbling voice, repeating the movie lines as they were spoken, lull you softly into sleep. 

Spencer knew he had to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to wake you. The movie had finished hours ago, he'd closed the laptop and turned off the bug lights, but he couldn't leave. 

Unlike you, he hadn't counted the days that you'd been apart. He hadn't needed to. He knew you'd be waiting there for him when he returned, knew you'd give him a smile and a pat on the back, and immediately start bouncing ideas off of him. It was what he loved about you. 

As he laid next to you in your bed, a place he'd absolutely been before, his heart thumped. Just once, but hard. 

Even in sleep, you looked exhausted. Your shirt was crumpled, hair a mess, you were still wearing makeup, and he knew he'd probably get an earful for letting you sleep like that in the morning. You were a mess, and he still wanted you. 

The thought came to him suddenly, another painful thump of his chest echoing in his mind. He rubbed absent mindedly at his chest as if experiencing heartburn. In the dim light of the room, he let his head drop to the pillow and wrapped two shaky arms around you and pulled you in closer. 

The two of you were a picture - both in suits, both with badges still somewhere on your person, both dearly clinging to the person they feared losing the most. 

When you woke the next morning, it was actually the afternoon. 

“Spencer,” you groaned, melting under the heat of his embrace. Somehow, during the night, he'd rolled on top of you, pressing you into the bed with a delightful pressure, head nuzzled into your neck, arms tucked around your waist. 

“Spencer, we should get up,” you said again, forcing your eyelids apart as your mascara tried to glue them together. 

“Mmmmhh,” he groaned, moving to pick himself up off you for a minute but lowering himself again. If asked, he'd blame your hand in his hair, stroking the rogue curls gently, as if he were a prized pet and you their carer. 

“Spencer, its 2pm.” 

“On a Saturday.” You laughed at how pouty his voice sounded, but he complied and rolled off of you slightly, arms still wrapped around you. 

“Come on. Get up. I've got some clothes that might fit you, let's get you out of the tweed.” 

He huffed but nodded and lifted himself halfway to upright, eyes still closed lazily as he let in the light millimetre by millimetre. 

“God, my face feels horrible,” you said, itching at your nose. “How did we even sleep so long like this? My belt is still on, Spencer, my belt.” 

“If you were still wearing a weapon, then I'd be worried,” he smiled. 

You shot him a sarcastic look and finally detangled yourself, only to clasp his hands and pull him forward as well, letting him trail you to your closet. 

“Here, change in the bathroom,” he nodded and walked away, following directions with eyes still closed, as if it were really his apartment and not your own. 

100 days without him, and it was as if it had only been 100 hours. Your entire body chemistry changed when he was around, the stick holding your spine rigidly in place, dissolving into calm, into a smile and a free giggle. It felt right again, and you almost forgot you'd ever felt wrong. 

After briefly changing, you swapped place with Spencer, who'd exited the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and wet hair. 

“Dry it for me?” He asked, sitting on your couch, and you nodded your ascent. A shower and a quick change later, and you were doing just that. 

As much as he tried to keep his head upright, it kept lolling onto your thigh, yawns stretching out of him as he nuzzled closer to you. 

“Spencer, you're like a big kid, keep your head up.” 

“I'm not a kid,” he laughed, hooking his arms behind your knees and nuzzling closer into your soft sweats. “I'm just tired.” 

“You're right. A child would probably be better behaved.” 

“Our child would be,” he sighed, but you'd already turned the hairdryer back on, drowning out everything. Everything but that thump again. A child, he was thinking about children, and more importantly, he was thinking about your children. With him. 

He'd always imagined himself with a family, knowing it would ultimately stay in his imagination. But for a second, his visions changed. It wasn't just a child or two. It was you. Thump. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He only released the image when you finally pushed his head off of you and stood, turning away from him to get a glass of water from your kitchen. 

“So, any plans today? Books to read, papers to mark, undergrads to run away screaming from?” You let the ice water cool your hot cheeks, but kept your back to him. You were hot, embarrassed, and you were looking at him in a sickeningly sweet way that could only be described as love struck or struck dumb. 

“No, no, I finished all my obligations at the college yesterday,” he said, following behind you and picking up your cup when you set it down, taking a sip himself. 

“I was… I was actually hoping we could spend some time together? Unless you had plans, which is totally fine-” 

“No, Spencer, yeah, I have no plans, that's…. Well I have to do laundry, which is a bit boring but, no. No plans.” 

“Laundry?” 

“Two week case in Florida, I don't know how you didn't smell me yesterday, Spencer. I'd be running for the hills.” 

He laughed and stepped away again, grabbing the two go bags by the door and coming back into your space. 

“How about we get this done now so we can spend the day in a Who-Trek marathon?” 

“Make that a Who-Greys Anatomy Marathon, and you have yourself a deal.” 

He pouted again, and you snorted at the sight, taking another sip of water to calm yourself before you could react safely to that face. 

“Come on, you know you've been dying to know what happens next at the Grey Sloane Memorial Hospital.” 

“I thought it was called the Seattle Grace Mercy?” 

“Oh we better get to that laundry now. You have a lot to catch up on.” 

Grabbing a bag in one hand and his free hand in your other, you made your way down to your building's laundry room. But despite the man by your side and the relaxing day threatening to stretch ahead of you, a gloom caught you in the corridors. 

You'd worked for two weeks, practically solid. You'd killed a man two days ago, or at least someone on your team had multiple shots having been fired. Another day on your job, another unsub felled, and everyone else was content with this just being a part of the job description. 

It felt like each step towards the laundry room, each thing you did that was normal, that was regular, threw back in your face the pain you endured to save lives. 

The bag in your hand weighed you down, pulling you lower and lower by the second. 

You reached the laundry room, and you found the weight almost unbearable, stopping just before you could step in. You didn't have to think about what came next though, because suddenly the bag was out of your hands and Spencer was sorting your laundry for you. 

“It's a Saturday, so your neighbour's won't complain if we separate the darks and lights into two machines, will they?” He asked, not looking up at you as he worked pouring out the fabric softener and the detergent. “Y/N?” 

You hadn't noticed the lightness in your body until the tears hit your cheeks, the weight gone with his support. 

“Y/N, what is it? What's wrong?” He said, hands cupping your face, because of course he was immediately at your side. 

“I-I can't do it, Spencer…” your voice shook, pitching upwards, your vision blurring with tears. 

“Can't do what, Y/N? Talk to me please, let me help?” 

“I can't do laundry!” You said, finally bursting into a full fit of tears and burying your head in his waiting chest. 

“L-Laundry?” He said, trying not to laugh, but the smile slipping out anyway now you were holding him. 

You only sobbed again, nodding into his shirt, aware you were probably leaving snot all over it but not being able to care. It was your shirt anyway. You would just have to add it back to your laundry pile. 

The thought set you off on another wave of sobs, and Spencer set about comforting you again. Keeping an arm wrapped around you, he put his quarters into the machines and set them off before quickly ushering you back up the stairs into your apartment. 

“Y/N? Y/N, please talk to me,” he begged, smoothing your hair out of your eyes as you tried to gather yourself.

“I don't…. I can't….” You took a breath again, aware of the way your breathing hitched in your chest as you did. 

“I don't think I can do this anymore,” you said, and his eyes widened quickly. 

“This? Y/N, if you mean this as in us, then I can't-” 

“This job,” you clarified, hands digging into the soft flesh of his arms further as he held you, finally sitting back on your couch. 

“The job. Okay, the job. That's okay. We all feel like this at some point.” 

You sniffed again and refused to meet his eyes. 

“But this isn't like the other times this - It's like my whole b-body is protesting, and I can't sleep, and if I don't, then I might get sloppy and an unsub could-” 

“Y/N, focus on my voice. You're spiralling. Listen to my voice, let's take some breaths, and think about this for a second.” 

He guided you through some breathing, a hand on your back tapping out beats even as his voice grew quiet. 

When you finally relaxed, you were sat on top of him, his hand rubbing circles into your back. 

“I think it started when you left,” you whispered. “When you went to Mexico, and then, you know,” you've voice thickened, and you couldn't get the words out. 

“And then these last 100 days they've just been…difficult.” 

“100…difficult,” he echoed, almost breathless as he listened to you. 

“It's like I can't do it without you. I never had to try to do it without you, and now I get what people say when they say this job is shitty, because it is when your best friend isn't there.” 

You gave him a weak smile and wiped away your tears, trying to climb from his lap. But his firm arms held you still, and you didn't really want out anyways. 

“When I get home, everything is different, and I can't make myself do anything. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have done that laundry. I'd let it sit and avoid it for weeks. Do you understand?” 

“Y/N, lots of people feel depressed sometimes-” 

“It's not - Spencer, I don't think this is something I can medicate my way out of. I don't know what to do because I can't do my job without you, and I can't be happy doing my job, and if I leave my job I'll be without you and then-” 

Your voice cracked again. 

“And then I still won't be happy.” The words were barely a whisper, but they were a plea, too. You weren't sure what for. 

“You can't be happy without me?” He asked, but it was more a statement than anything else. Spencer felt horrible in that moment as his chest rattled, gleeful that he was your happiness. 

“I love you,” he said, outloud finally after eight years. 

“I love you, too, Spencer, but-” 

“No, Y/N. Listen to me. I. Love. You.” The thumping of his heart set the tempo for the choir that was his senses to begin singing, as he finally leaned forward and kissed you.

“I love you, and I don't care if you're working at the BAU or if you're avoiding laundry at home. I, god, you're amazing and wonderful, and you're a human being, and you've our yourself under so much pressure for the last decade to keep me alive, to keep all of us alive really and….” 

He took another breath, leaning into kiss you one more time. 

“And you deserve a break.” 

“W-When we take breaks, people die.” 

“Did anyone die when I was teaching for the last three months? When JJ went on maternity leave?” 

You shook your head, but your brain was still a mess. 

“You all had reasons, I-” 

“You have reasons, too. Y/N…. Y/N, let me be your reason.” 

For a moment or two, Spencer truly thought you were going to say no. He thought you would get up and walk away, or better yet, ask him to leave and never come back. 

So when you pressed your lips to his, he was sure that this was a dream. 

But to you, it was salvation. Spencer Reid's love was the lifeline you'd been thrown, and it was buoyant enough to make you start floating. 

His hands kneaded the flesh at your hips as he pulled you closer still to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore every part of you there. 

“Y/N… love…you,” he mumbled with each spare breath he caught, and you only detangled your lips to hear him say it again as he pressed similarly heated kisses against every inch of your exposed skin. 

When Spencer's mind lost its ability to create original speech, he leant back on a lifetime of information, of learning love through books and people and marathons with you. 

“I know that all I know right now is that I love you. And I know that I always will,” he whispered, lifting you and carrying you back to the bed you'd only crawled from an hour hence. 

A hand slid under your shirt, and slowly pushed it over your head, letting it slowly drop to the floor as he held you tenderly. 

“To me, you are perfect.”

His mouth found one nipple, and he gently kissed, then suckled at it, hands softly caressing your stomach, feeling along every ridge of you as you writhed under him. 

“Of all the FBI Units, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.” 

“Spencer,” you said, voice still thick with tears, but these ones more tender, more joyful. 

His hand eased your sweats over your ass and off, his hips settling between your legs as if he found the place he was made to lie forever. 

“The truth of it is, I’ve loved you from the first second I met you.” 

His mouth trailed lower until his tongue hit your clit, brushing against it languidly, as if it was his deepest desire to taste you and nothing else ever again.

His tongue flattened and flicked and pushed inside of you as you replayed his words again and again and again. You found yourself repeating them with him. 

“I love you,” you echoed as he pushed a finger inside of you. 

“I.. love you,” you gasped as he added another. 

“I love you,” you screamed as your back arched up off the bed, finding your pleasure in his tongue, just ad you'd found love in his words. 

“You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love….” He freed his cock from his pants, and took it in hand.

“I love…” With another kiss, he pressed the tip of it against you, asking for permission silently as you nodded your head. 

“I love you.” He pushed in slowly, but it wouldn't matter how he did it because now you knew how he felt, and you didn't want to return to a time of not knowing. 

Hooking your legs around him, Spencer dropped his forehead to yours and looked you directly in the eyes as he began moving. In and out, he thrust, mouth open in a moan of pleasure, likely mirroring your own.

The poetry, the movie lines, they were gone now, and Spencer was left with nothing but you, and love, and love for you. 

“Spencer,” you moaned out, and he felt his chest swell. Pride. His name on your tongue, his body pressed to yours, claiming you as his ad you claimed him as yours. 

He came with a shudder and you were not far behind, his undoing sending a shiver up your spine as his fingers grazed your clit again. 

You sat panting for a minute, still attached, still forehead to forehead. 

You weren't sure if it was him who giggled first or if it was you, but you were glad it was one of you. 

You spent the rest of the night, the rest of the weekend, wrapped in his warmth, dressed in his love, taking each day a step at a time as you basked in his adoration.

[summertime-pills]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[summertime-pills]

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door. 

Frozen and horny. 

Shit. 

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in. 

1. He was there. 

2. He wasn't there. 

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned. 

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned. 

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would- 

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you. 

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer. 

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of. 

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working. 

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-” 

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.” 

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books. 

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none. 

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want. 

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person. 

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?” 

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours. 

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?” 

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?” 

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.” 

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before. 

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something. 

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought. 

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow. 

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid. 

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction. 

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied. 

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.” 

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him. 

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again. 

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.” 

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING” 

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor. 

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.” 

He grinned at you from behind his desk. 

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.” 

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-” 

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast. 

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way. 

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.” 

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape. 

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man. 

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest. 

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.” 

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.” 

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again. 

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office. 

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance. 

The anger won out. 

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly. 

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent. 

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were. 

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none. 

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down. 

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza. 

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door. 

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice. 

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him. 

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry. 

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk. 

“Spencer, what the fuck a-” 

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table. 

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-” 

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching. 

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it. 

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think. 

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.” 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. 

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.” 

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information. 

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier. 

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you. 

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him. 

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.” 

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate. 

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?” 

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all. 

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.” 

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-” 

“None of that was my choice.” 

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time. 

“What did you say?” 

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth. 

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you. 

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?” 

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth. 

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth. 

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier. 

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now. 

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt. 

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally. 

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit. 

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body. 

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth. 

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more. 

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.  

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue. 

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control. 

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt. 

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head. 

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?” 

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.” 

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally. 

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus. 

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight. 

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside. 

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?” 

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch. 

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple. 

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist. 

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.” 

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night. 

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace. 

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you. 

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob. 

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.” 

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again. 

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you. 

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there. 

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes. 

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place. 

🔖 @stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia

(Note: There are multiple broken tags above. Please check your account settings and make sure you can be tagged when signing up for the tag list. I'll remove all dead tags after two chapters of broken tags!)

[summertime-pills]

🔐 Password Protected 🔐

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: "Hii Kacie, may I put in a request of a NSFW prompt? Any plotline or back story is fine I trust your talent :"> Reader's boobs/asscheeks recoill during sex turning Spencer on even more "I wish you could have my view right now" he grabs the phone to open the camera app."

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, DubCon Hidden camera, dry humping, free use, soft to hard Dom!Spencer, sub! Reader, creampie, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, implied oral sex, implied bondage, implied somno, pictures/ photos, degradation (slut, whore etc,) and pet names (Princess, sir, angel etc,), nipple play/torture, multiple orgasms.

A/N: Here's my second fic for the CM Kink Bingo 2024~♡ I'm definitely all over the board now, so who knows if I'I hit bingo this year, Imao? Anyways, I hope you enjoy~ And to my dear friend :"^ anon - thank you for your inspiring request.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

With a glorious lull in cases to close over the summer, the biggest mystery in the BAU was “What's in the locked folder on Spencer's phone?” 

The man had made the (technologically inept) mistake of leaving his new phone unlocked on his desk in a bullpen full of criminal profilers. To say you'd all descended like vultures to a fresh carcass was putting it extremely lightly.

“What apps does he have? Five dollars says there's a dictionary app,” Emily joked, leaning over Morgan's shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the screen. You were similarly perched at his other shoulder. 

“He can probably recite the dictionary himself, and I don't think he'd know how to download apps,” you scoffed, scrolling up in the phone yourself to the app page. 

“There's got to be something good in the camera roll, right?” Morgan said, clicking into it to find some dirt on the much too innocent Spencer Reid. Which is where you'd found quaint pictures of the sky, some pages from a book and the folder. 

The one with a little lock on it signalling the boundary. Spencer had figured out how to use a locked folder - you'd be impressed if you weren't so curious about what was inside. 

“Placing bets, people? My money is on work documents,” Morgan chuckled, losing interest swiftly in the phone and pressing it into your hands. “It's not like the kid has a lot going on romantically, right?”

You kept your mouth shut as the others nodded in agreement. While Spencer Reid may not have anything romantic going on officially, he definitely had something sexual going on. You'd been in his bed five of the last six days, losing count on the amount of times he'd fucked you into oblivion, using your body as freely as he wished, cumming inside of you to finish before washing off all traces of your coupling and cuddling upto you as you slept. 

It wasn't quite a relationship, but dear god, did you never want it to end. You hadn't been so satisfied, so fulfilled (emphasis on the filled) in a long time. 

“What are you doing with my phone?” You heard Spencer question from behind you, and you turned, trying to mask your embarrassment. You really didn't want him to think you were some obsessive not-girlfriend going through his messages, and almost dropped the phone like it was a bomb when your eyes met his. 

“We were just debating what you could possibly have to hide in your gallery’s locked folder,” Emily laughed, clapping the man on the back and smiling up at him. “Help me win $20 and tell Morgan here that you made it accidentally and don't know the password.” 

“Hey, I didn't agree to any bet yet,” Morgan laughed, kicking his feet up on his desk. 

“Only because you know you're wrong.” 

They bickered just long enough to let Spencer take a step closer to you, slipping the phone easily out of your hand and back into his pocket. His voice was low, his mouth close to his ear when he finally sated your curiosity. 

“I think you may want to distract them from this topic, Y/N. I don't think you'll like it if they demand to see what kind of pictures and…videos I have in that folder.” 

His tone wasn't suggestive, but it still lit a fire in your belly with the implication alone. You'd warmed his bed for long enough to know that you were the only one sharing it, but you didn't remember him taking any pictures or videos of you. Shit, had you been so desperate that you'd completely blanked him capturing a folders worth of images of you servicing his cock? 

You took the hunt and stepped away from him, picking up a file quickly and glancing over it before turning to Emily. Distracting them with work was the only way to keep them off the scent and distract you must.

Even if it did mean you were inconvenienced with curiosity and lust for the rest of the day. 

When you finally finished work, you practically hammered down Spencer's door, trying to get answers to questions he'd left hung in the air earlier. You were a visual learner, so you dearly hoped he'd answer by simply just showing you what you'd missed. 

“Y/N,” he said, opening the door with a sweet smile, drawing you into the apartment with a slow, honeyed kiss. You felt him smile into you, his touch chaste enough around your arms to still your beating heart. You languished in the kiss as he pulled you on closer, shutting the door behind you as he opened you up to him, pulling you further under his spell than usual. 

“I'm so happy to see you,” he said once he'd pulled away, feathering his touch across your waist, settling his hands in the crook just under your breasts, stroking the bottom of them with his thumbs. You were suddenly glad the man's hands were so large, sure that this one interaction was heaven on earth. 

He almost distracted you from your purpose for coming here. 

Pulling you to the sofa in his living room, Spencer pushed back a strand of hair, hooking it behind your ear as he let you straddle him  wrapping your arms around his neck, your head falling comfortably onto his shoulder as you inhaled his scent. 

“I'm not complaining that you're here, or anything, Y/N,” he said, hands roaming your body and stroking your ass as he spoke. “But did you have something to say? You didn't message before coming.” 

You lifted your head to look him in the eyes before looking away out of embarrassment. 

“Earlier, you…” you started, tongue going dry as he tightened his grip on your ass. He shifted slightly under you and you realized he was grinding his leg up into your clothed pussy as you spoke. 

“Yes?” 

“Your phone…the locked folder, I want to see what's inside.” 

You were sure that he knew already what you wanted before you'd even arrived, but he just smiled at you again, almost too kindly. 

“That's my private business, Y/N. Why should I let you see it?” He asked, looking good a finger under your jaw to make you look him in the eye once more. 

“I th-think… I think there are videos. Of me. I'd like to see them.” 

“Where are your manners?” 

“Please, sir,” you whispered, tipping your head forward, begging him for a kiss. “Please show me the videos.” 

He huffed out a quick laugh and gave you one last peck on the lips before he pushed you off. You sat on the floor between his legs, a position you were so used to being in by now that you wouldn't be surprised to find multiple shots of you sat like this, lips wrapped around his cock, pussy grinding on his shoes. Even the thought of such pictures had you wanting to recreate those memories, you weren't sure what a folder worth is going to do. 

Stretching over to his coffee table, Spencer picked up the discarded phone and unlocked it, flipping through some pages before looking down at you again. 

Stroking your hair, Spencer neatly arranged it before wrapping the same hand he'd been using g around your neck and pulling you gently upwards. You landed back in his lap, but he'd turned you around this time. Instead of straddling him, your back was pressed to his chest, your legs on either side of one of his. He released your neck, instead pushing his hands between your thighs so you couldn't push them together for relief - he already knew your body so well. 

“Is this what you're curious about, Y/N?” He said, finally flashing you the phone screen. The first picture was obviously taken post-sex, and you recognised his bed sheets quickly. Your face hung off the end of his bed, eyes shut as his cum painted your lips, cheeks and eyes, lips parted in a lusty moan. From the angle it was taken at, you could see your breasts swell and your hand disappear between your legs as well, stroking yourself to release.

“Shit,” you moaned, pussy clenching on nothing as it begged for relief. With a hand on your hip, Spencer started encouraging you to rock back and forward, humping his leg as he whispered in your ear. 

“You didn't know about that one because your eyes were covered in my cum. It turned me on more knowing you had no clue I was going to jack off to it later as well.” 

He scrolled to the next image, and in this one too, you seemed unaware of the camera. Your hands were tied to the headboard, and he was fucking you from behind, the shot capturing his creamy dick pulling out of you and the discarded condom on the bed beside you. 

“That was the day we learned how much more you enjoyed being filled with cum than you enjoyed condoms,” he said, scrolling to the next picture. 

“And here's your first creampie,” he said, his spare hand pushing under your shirt, fingers clamping down on one nipple as you shuddered. 

Your pace was faster now, desperately thrusting up and down his thigh. Even through your skirt and panties, you felt your wetness against his pants, knowing you'd be punished later for such unladylike behaviour. 

As if Spencer had ever wanted you to act like a lady. He knew you were a slut and he enjoyed it. 

“The next one is a video,” he said, moving his hand to your other breast and slapping it as you moaned above him. “Do you think you can handle it?” 

“Y-Yes, Sir. Please let me see it, sir.” 

“Okay, but not a fucking noise out of you. I want to hear your screams from the video.” 

You could only silently groan in reply, nodding quickly as he scrolled and pressed play. 

This one was recent, maybe one or two nights ago. You recognised the outfit you'd partially discarded, the shirt that had been ripped open. 

How had you possibly not seen the camera pointed straight at you? 

In the video, his cock was pressed into you, fucking you at a pace most would call violent  but you called heavenly. The focus wasn't on your pussy taking his cock, though, but on your boobs, recoiling and jumping with every thrust. His other hand pressed to your stomach, feeling himself sheathed there, as you moaned desperately. 

“Spen…Spen-sher,” you tripped over your tongue, slurring the words as if you'd been drugged. Your eyelids were heavy, eyes practically rolling back in your head as his hand on your stomach tightened. 

“I think I fucked your brain out, baby,” he laughed deeply, cock not relenting even one second. 

“Your tits looked so perfect,” the Spencer of the present said, pressing the phone into your hand as he grabbed each nipple and tugged them forward, leaving you gasping. 

“And you didn't even realize I was filming it all. I could've done anything to you, anything at all, and you wouldn't have cared. You'd have enjoyed it, and I'd have had the proof.” 

You were soaked now, humping deliriously against his thigh, like a puppy experiencing their first heat, desperate for this feeling to go away and for it to stay and intensify all the same. 

“You were acting so stupid. At one point, I even got you to say hello to the camera, and you didn't remember a thing an hour later.” 

Releasing one breast, he swiped one more time to the left, and you saw the beginning of another video. 

Hitting the play button, his hands returned to your chest, this time pushing up your top and bra and freely clamping down on the nipples as hard as he could. 

What intrigued you the most about this last video was the start. Unlike the pictures and the videos, you weren't in the middle of sex at the beginning of this video at all. 

You were instead laid with your back to the camera - to Spencer - a leg thrown over some unfamiliar sheets. This wasn't his bed. This wasn't yours either. 

Another minute of grinding against his leg, and you recognised the motel room from your last case. 

“Spencer, wh-” 

“Watch and see, princess.” 

The bed creaked under his weight as he climbed in behind you, removing the duvet covers from your body, replacing it with his hands. He made similarly swift work of your pajamas, only bothering to push them down to your knees before pulling out his cock and slowly pushing into you. 

If you weren't so close to another orgasm, you'd probably be shocked that Spencer had invaded your personal space and started fucking you as you slept. But that's what it meant to be his little free use slut. You allowed him access to you anywhere, anytime (including the motel room you'd given him the spare key for) and in return he dropped as many loads of his cum into your pussy as would fit there. 

Watching yourself get violated in your sleep was the last of what you needed to push over the edge. 

You grabbed Spencer's arm, gasping, and you felt him trail kisses along your neck and shoulders. 

“That's it, baby, just hold on a second while I…” he pulled the phone out of your grasp, opening yet another familiar looking app. 

You looked at the screen and found your own bare chest heaving staring back at you. He clicked the red button and forced it back into your hands as he began abusing your tits again. 

“Show the camera, Y/N. Show them how you get yourself off on my leg.” 

You complied, lifting the phone slightly to get the best view of your chest, heaving up and down as you humped his thigh into oblivion. 

Your cunt twitched and you felt fluids rushing out of you, even as your arms trembled. But you didn't let them falter  holding g up the phone to capture every second of your climax, knowing its exactly what he would want. 

“You're perfect, you know that Y/N,” he said, finally kissing the top of your head and pulling the phone out of your grasp as he saved the video into the file you'd been browsing. 

His gentleness was short-lived, though, as he pushed you off his lap and back to the floor. As you caught your breath, ass up on the floor, he took the opportunity to slip his dick out of his pants, and began stroking it up and down, inspecting your pussy with his free fingers. 

“I'll give you five seconds to get ready for the next round,” he said, and you panicked, lifting your legs off the floor. You weren't strong enough, though, or maybe you just didn't want to move. He kept counting down. 

“4….3….2…1,” you heard the predatory grin in his voice as he pushed his foot onto your head, holding your cheek to the floor with one leg. 

“As you wish then, my little slut.” He moved his foot away quickly and pushed inside of you, and your last coherent thought was of the folder again, and how long he'd make you wait to see the video you were about to shoot. 

[summertime-pills]

Satisfaction Feels Like a Distant Memory

Chapter Three of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your mounting attraction to Spencer Reid pushes you to the edge, turning begrudging friendship to deep hatred when he finally shows up on your doorstep. He's the only thing that can out you out of your misery even as you sink further into it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, hate sex, rough sex, argument as foreplay, oral (f recieving) and face fucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasms, "forced" submission, creampie, p in v penetrative sex, etc.

A/N: I've had about as much sleep as the reader in this fic has for the last week, but HERE IT IS! Chapter Three 🥰 You may need a bottle of water on standby, or at least a hand fan, because this one gets a bit heated....

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist!

You hesitated in front of your office door, which you supposed was going to become a bad habit of yours now. You tried lying to yourself, that nothing was different now, that you weren't attracted to him in a completely stupid way, but you still stood frozen in front of your own office door. 

Frozen and horny. 

Shit. 

You mentally went through a list of the worst things that could happen if you went in. 

1. He was there. 

2. He wasn't there. 

3. He was there, and he touched you again, and you moaned. 

4. He was there, and he didn't touch you again, but you still moaned. 

5. He was there, and you threw yourself at him immediately because why wouldn't you when you'd seen what you could be working with the night before? Fuck moaning once, moaning multiple times as he pushed you against the bookshelf would- 

“Are you gonna go in, or are you just going to fondle the door handle?” He asked from behind you. From too close behind you. 

You turned, keeping the doorknob in your grin, and immediately flattened yourself against the door as he took a step closer. 

So close. He was so fucking close and it was suddenly all you could think of. 

“W-What?”

“You know, the CDC warns that door handles should be washed every 20 to 40 hours To prevent bacteria like Escherchia coli and Staphylococcus aureus from-” You ignored his words, drowning everything else out as you tried to dampen the fire burning under your skin.

“Cock?” You said, all attempts obviously not working. 

“Staphylococcus, yes. It can cause Adenovirus, Rhinovirus, not to mention-” 

“Okay! Okay, Spencer. Taking my hand off the handle now.” 

Finally, you twisted it and walked backwards into your room, walking backwards a few steps before your foot caught on a stray pile of books. 

“What the-” you cried, waiting for the impact of your landing as you swung out your arms frantically for purchase, screwing your eyes shut as you found none. 

Instead, you found an arm snaked around your waist, another wrapping your hip tight as Spencer Reid cradled your body to his own. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, not even hearing the words yourself for how much air was in them. How was it possible to expel air and hold your breath at the same time? Because that was how it felt being in his arms: at once a sigh and a stopping of all bodily functions barring want. 

“I thought this was your office, Y/N. Surely you should know the layout by now.”

Moment over. You pushed at his chest to stand upright, and he stepped backwards, removing his hands from your person. 

“Very funny. We both know these are your books. Setting traps for me now, Spencer?” 

You moved around the piles of books again as he flicked the light switch, moving the opposite way around your desks, before meeting you again next to yours. 

“You're usually more observant than this. Is there something wrong today?” 

“What, like Adenovirus or Rhinovirus?” 

“No, like something…” he searched for the right words, pace slowing as he tried not to scare you away by talking with you like this.

“Like something on your mind.” 

You snorted, leaning down to switch on your computer, and also to avoid his eye contact. Unfortunately, academic curiosity had gotten to you in the last few weeks, and you'd read some of his psychological papers. You knew exactly what it was the BAU was apparently so good at, and you didn't want him to know that you'd imagined him balls deep in you hours before. 

“Not friends, Spencer. If there's something I need to talk about, I'll talk to a friend,” you said, standing straight again and turning to him again. You still avoided eye contact, but it didn't matter. His eyes weren't on your face but angled further down, like he'd been checking out your ass as you bent over or something. 

No. No, you weren't going down that train of thought. 

“Or even better, my therapist.” You were planning on the words being a bit more playful, but your voice came out deeper than you expected it, more gravely somehow. 

Your bedroom voice, you were using your stupid fucking bedroom voice on Spencer Reid. 

You cut yourself off again before you said anything else. Before he touched you or didn't touch you, and you got to test your earlier theory about which would be the more demeaning reaction. 

“I have class in ten. Clean up before I get back,” you ordered, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when he replied. 

“I don't take direction well, Y/N.” 

No, you didn't think he would. Neither did you though.

For a week, you tiptoed around the man, your words sharp, but your body weak to him. 

By day, you were hurling insults back and forth, messing up his papers and screwing with him via bookshelf again. 

“YOUR…FLY…IS….OPEN.” 

“VERY….MATURE.”

“MADE…YOU…LOOK…THOUGH.”

“BUSY….LOOKING…AT…OTHER….THINGS.”

“LIKE…THE…UNDERGRADS…THROWING…THEMSELVES…AT…YOU…?”

“LIKE…THE…PROFESSOR…I'M APPARENTLY…DATING” 

“Very fucking funny, Spencer,” you sighed at the last message, throwing the books off the shelf and pilling them up on the floor. 

“Don't even for a second entertain the idea of making that gossip a reality.” 

He grinned at you from behind his desk. 

“Okay.”

“Don't even - don't even think about it,” you said, stepping over his desk and poking at his chest as his smile deepened.

“Heard.” 

“I'm serious, Spencer, don't-” 

“You've thought about it.” You froze in shock at his words, as if your blood wasn't sure whether to run cold or burn hot and fast. 

“What?” You spat the words at him, unable to stop them coming out any other way. 

“You've thought about entertaining the gossip. You've thought about it a lot.” 

You needed to deny him, but he was right. By day, you tried to torment him, but by night, he did torment you. A week of wet dreams, of imagining him taking you over every inch of your office, of sleepless rest and failed orgams, and you could not escape. 

“No,” you said with a whisper, shaking your head and trying again even as your voice cracked from the lie and your body's cry for pleasure, for this man. 

“No, I haven’t- I don't-” You took a deep breath, but you knew it was no good, as his hand grabbed yours and flattened it against his chest. 

“Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is heightened, and your legs are practically clamped shut. Your mouth is dry, and I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, Y/N, but you're shaking.” 

“All signs of anger, Spencer, as you're well aware.” 

He let go of your wrist and sat back in his seat, just out of reach of you again. 

“Shame,” he whispered under his breath, nearly low enough that you didn't catch it, as he flipped open his book and continued whatever the fuck it was he even did in this office. 

You ignored it, anger really flooding you now, warring the heat of arousal that was firmly settled in your body for dominance. 

The anger won out. 

You grabbed books from your desk, files, and papers from the side table by the couch and your laptop from your desk and left the room quickly. 

You slammed the door, and you didn't look back, knowing that if you did, you'd see his winning smirk staring right back at you.

You marched yourself right to the staff administration office and put in for a week of leave. Spencer had one more week of work at the university, and then he would go back to being a regular FBI agent. 

Your paths wouldn't cross because you wouldn't let them cross, not when it meant for certain that you would give in.

You spent the week working to distract yourself from work. You finished books for your next semester courses, highlighting the better articles and essays to use, going through each bibliography to find better sources if they weren't good enough. You wrote more of a research paper you didn't have time to think about with so much going on. You corresponded with students, with TAs, with the other professors who wanted to know where you were. 

Okay, that was a lie. You aired the professors, but you did look out for any inboxes from him. Surprisingly, there were none. 

You spent a week throwing yourself head first into your work, and still, each night, you felt his phantom touch on you. No matter how exhausted, your brain still co jured images of his hands grasping your wrists, pushing them above your head and forcing his cock into you, his lips biting against your skin, the fire of his kisses leaving scars where they trailed down. 

You were running on three hours of sleep per night, sure, but at least you were as far as you could possibly get from the man ruining your life. 

You poured yourself a glass of wine the next Sunday, knowing that when you went back to work the next day, he'd be gone.

You wrapped yourself in blankets and put everything else off for the day, ordering food and eating it and not moving as you worked your way through boxes of pizza. 

It was when you finished your first glass and went to pour yourself another that there was a furious pounding at your door. 

“Y/N, I know you're in there, open the door.” His hand sounded again, and you nearly dropped the glass at the sound of Apencer Reid's voice. 

Your body acted alone, immediately following his directions as you damn near tripped over your own feet to open the door for him. 

Throughout all of your arguments, all of the quips you'd thrown at him, every stupid little thing you'd done to get under his skin, you had not once seen Spencer Reid looking this angry. 

His brow was furrowed uncomfortably, as if it were frozen in place. Gone was his perpetual smirk. 

“Spencer, what the fuck a-” 

“Thoughtless. Careless. Do you even know what you've done?” He snapped at you, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself as he immediately walked into your space and began touching things.

“Stop! Fucking stop it, Spencer!” You said grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face you. He brushed you off quickly and worked his way through papers you'd left on your coffee table. 

“No. You stormed out over a week ago, you blocked my number, you did not answer any of my emails-” 

“I didn't get any emails,” you spit back, pushing yourself between him and your things now, bodies so close they were touching. 

“Then you blocked my email, too. You don't even know what I'm looking for or the damage you could have done, do you?” His hands were on you then, not threateningly, as you'd expect, his anger still burning through him if his shaking voice had anything to say for it. 

His hands stroked up your sides and back down again, smoothing away your need to think. 

“My files. My team sent me a file. It was on the coffee table, and you took it with you when you left. The case is ongoing, and I'm flying out tomorrow, and without some of the classified information in that file, we will be at a disadvantage. Our odds of catching our unsub fall from 83% to 47% without all of the pertinent information.” 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer. 

“So yes, I'm going to go through your things, and if you're a good girl, you'll root through with me and help me find it.” 

He stepped away then, and you held your tongue. As much as you hated him, he was right. You knew what he did, you knew who he was and to trust him not to lie to you about his chances without this information. 

“The files on the coffee table are research notes, everything I took from the office is in that case over there,” you said pointing at a bag still where you'd dropped it by the door a week earlier. 

He walked to it and rooted through it quickly before finding the file he obviously needed and letting some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“You're probably glad to see the back of me, right?” He said, laughing bitterly as he turned back around to you. 

“Obviously not as happy as you are,” you spat back, stepping back over to him. 

“If you ever speak to me that way again,” you started, spitting at him in the most threatening voice you could muster. “It won't be a fucking unsub that ruins your life.” 

“And how are you going to manage that, Y/N?” He said, stepping closer to you until he had you backed up against the wall, trapped in by his bigger frame, using it to his advantage to intimidate. 

“How will you manage to ruin my life,” he said, his voice softer as he finished his sentence, but not by much. “When you shake with just every time I get close?” 

“This is not lust,” you growled the words out, but try as you damn might, you were shaking, vibrating even. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Hatred, dislike, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, fuck Spencer, you can pick up a thesaurus yourself and find out.”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll believe your lies for a second.” He walked away, he was walking away but the fire was ringing in your ears and you needed him to stay fucking put so he could take it all. 

“You're a jackass.”

“Original.” 

“You slammed into my life, expecting me to bend to your will and be at the mercy of your needs, your wants. Your office space, your fucking case files, your job-” 

“None of that was my choice.” 

“And it wasn't mine either, but at least I fucking left you alone. I spent the week in this apartment and left you the fuck alone, and you couldn't even allow me the same.”

His focus was back on you again, but you refused to be backed against a wall this time. 

“What did you say?” 

“You will not let me know peace. I have lost my security, my patience, my fucking sanity with each word you have said, my peace of mind, my sleep, my fucking sanity, Spencer.” Your chest was heaving, touching his with each exhale as he too held his place in front of you. He was so close, you'd practically spat the words directly into his mouth. 

“How is that my fault?” He whispered, voice still dripping with disdain even as his hands again wrapped themselves in your hair, and he tugged your head back, baring your neck to him as he leaned down into you. 

“How do you know that you're not doing the same to me?” 

You refused to answer, though, meeting his eyes for one last second before you grabbed his hair in your hands and yanked him down to your mouth. 

It wasn't so much a kiss as a battle for dominance, each trying to torture a surrender from the other with clashing tongues and teeth. 

You made the first move, but he was obviously expecting it, and he didn't even pause before launching his own attack, finally pushing past your strong defence to walk you back to the sofa you'd abandoned earlier. 

His tongue still lashed against yours as you retreated, refusing to give up your upper hand even as you moaned into his touch. The couch hit the back of your knees, buckling, and you silently cursed your lack of sleep for leaving you so unstable right now. 

No, that wasn't true. It was him. He had left you so unstable, moving between happy and playful to angry and wrathful in the space of a week without you, and you'd been denying yourself the ability to even entertain any of this happening. Now that it was, your body was unprepared, totally at his mercy, as he pushed you to your back and pushed up your skirt. 

“You're already so fucking wet,” he groaned slipping two fingers inside you as you moaned around him, no longer capable of thought. This was the moment, this was when he was going to make you submit to him finally. 

Instead, he dropped to his knees and you gasped as his to guess found your sweet cunt and he began sucking to your clit. 

You were on fire, skin scorched from the inside out, spreading in waves from your pussy to the furthest regions of your body. 

With one hand, he spread your thighs further apart and pushed his entire face further into your cunt, tongue pushing inside right by his fingers, nose pushed right up against your clit as he didn't relent. Every movement was another curse falling from your mouth. 

“Shit, Spencer, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, hips rocking back and forth as you tried to fuck his face, begging for more. 

To your surprise, he didn't keep your hips still but let you keep riding his face, riding his fingers as you chased your first orgasm.  

It came quickly, overwhelming you with the impact, jolting through your body like a lightning bolt as he let your hips shake and crash across his tongue. 

When he finally pulled his face away, it was glistening, and he wasted no time shoving his tongue back in your mouth. His message was clear - he may have let you take whatever pleasure you'd wanted with him, but he was still the one in control. 

You trailed kisses along his cheeks, neck, shoulders as he divested himself of clothing, shirt, belt, pants, ripping at yours to free your body as well, until the two of you were only left with underwear and you'd picked up every last drop of your cum left on his skin.

“On your back, now,” he said, and you complied. You spread your legs, and rubbed at your still wet cunt, jolting as he finally lined himself up with your cunt. 

But he didn't push in yet. Instead he wrapped two arms under your knees and pulled you closer, so his cock rested over the top of your stomach, and leaned down, his face hovering inches over your own, holding himself up with a forearm rested just above your head. 

“You see that?” He said, glancing down. “That is how much I am going to fill you. That is how deep I am going to ease into you. That is how far I am going to go to claim you. You can take it like a good girl, right?” 

“Just shut up and put your cock inside me, Spencer.” 

“You're so fucking pushy for a submissive little slut,” he said, smiling finally. 

“I am not a-” you started to protest, but he slid inside of your hot cunt and you lost the ability to focus. 

“Not a what, Y/N? Speak up,” thrusting shallowly as your cunt grabbed him and held tight. 

“I'm not a- SPENCER!” You screamed his name as he pulled out quickly, thrusting into you again with a speed and strength that had you wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, fighting for him to stay right there deep inside. 

“Not a sub? Y/N, you're whimpering and drooling right now. You're three seconds away from begging for my cock, why the fuck can you not be honest with yourself?” 

“Fuck…you,” you said between moans as he rutted into you like a beast. He wasn't man anymore, bit monster, and he was claiming you inch by disgustingly perfect inch. 

“Let go. Let me take care of you, let me control you. Come on, baby, you know how good it would feel,” he said, before ducking his head and wrapping his tongue around a nipple. 

You screamed his name again, but you still tried to resist. 

“Come on, Y/N. Show me. Cum on my cock.” 

For a brief moment, you'd thought you'd resisted the demand. But then your brain faded, and your nails cut into his back like daggers as your body followed his commands and you came on his cock for a second time that night. 

“Perfect. One more, you can do one more,” he said, kissing your lips and lifting himself back up so he was sitting on his knees as he again picked up the pace. 

You mumbled his name over and over again as he fucked out all of the frustration in your body. Every thing either of you had said or done melted away in the glow of pleasure, your body buzzing from the feeling of him taking ownership of you. 

“One more, Y/N. One more, you need to cum one more time.”

“I can't, I can't I can't I can't, Spencer I can't I really can't,” you said, voice growing pathetically whiny as the tears sprang to your eyes and you choked back a sob. 

“Yes you can, one more. Together, we can do it together,” he said, groaning as you clenched around him.” 

He claimed your mouth again, his hand wrapping around your throat as he cut off your air supply for a second, then two, then three, as your ears buzzed and you finally slipped over the edge again. 

But this time, as promised, you weren't the only one caught in the pain of pleasure. Spencer collapsed on top of you as his dick spurted inside you, holding you close as he unloaded everything he had into you. 

He sat there, warming his cock as he lazily kissed open mouth kisses into every inch of your shoulders, collar bone and chest. Everywhere he could reach without pulling out of you and leaving you there. 

After weeks of no sleep because of him, it was his soft lips that finally enticed you into the hands of the sandman, his weight a comfort as you closed your eyes. 

When you woke in your bed, clean and clothed, he was gone, and so was every sign that he'd ever been there in the first place. 

🔖 @stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @nox-sprite @alondralolll @allspicestones @chiyozai @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @tiyuel @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read @ari-aurelia

(Note: There are multiple broken tags above. Please check your account settings and make sure you can be tagged when signing up for the tag list. I'll remove all dead tags after two chapters of broken tags!)

[summertime-pills]

………..somno harry????? is that too #inappropriate *in invisible ink*

not too inappropriate as long as we specify that frat alpha harry and y/n discussed this at length beforehand, both gave consent the night before, and have safe words/safe hand gestures in case either one decide they're uncomfortable !!!!!

I know this isn't everyone's thing so pls feel free to skip !

. . .

Harry's body wakes up before his mind fully grasps what's going on.

His hands are already gripping the soft sheets, a low groan ripping from his throat as his ears perk up to the sound of Y/N gagging on his cock.

An involuntary fuck falls from his lips as he slowly bats his sleepy, puffy eyes open. They immediately zero in on his sweet omega girl, who's currently situated between his thighs, her throat stuffed full with his erect length.

She peers up at him through her lashes, a silent way of making sure this is still something they're okay with doing. He exhales sharply at the sight of her wide eyes and his hand makes the journey down to her scalp, finding the back of her head and twisting his fingers in her hair. She chokes again, this time her eyes welling up slightly.

"Naughty fuckin' minx," he mutters, holding back a moan, "Couldn't even wait for your alpha to wake up. Just had to take me in your mouth like the greedy girl you are."

She nods around him, drool seeping out from the corners of her mouth.

"Go ahead, then. Make it worth waking me up or else I'll spank your ass raw."

[summertime-pills]

can you do a blurb about alpha harry freaking out when yn comes to his place smelling like another alpha (she hugged one or bumped into one or something) and being all grumpy and wanting to get rid of it 🤭

oh absolutelyyyyy we love our possessive frat alpha harry!!!! this is on the shorter side but part two will be the mating blurb😙😙

word count: less than 1,000

content warnings: a/o/b content (mentions of knotting/spicy but no smut), harry being jealous and possessive

frat alpha harry concept tag

main masterlist | talk to me

patreon

. . .

Harry wrinkles his nose the second Y/N steps into his bedroom.

"You reek."

It comes out without him even thinking about it, Y/N's jaw immediately dropping as she whips around, a shocked expression on her face.

"Sorry— sorry, that was rude," he mumbles, raising his hand to tug at his messy curls, "It's just— you smell like another alpha. A different one... like, not me."

"You could've stopped at 'another alpha.' I got it then."

He's currently resisting the urge to plug his nose — all he wants to do is throw her over his shoulder and put her in the shower, washing away the fragrance of whoever she'd been around, and scenting her until he couldn't tell who was who. The thought of his omega girl smelling like an alpha that wasn't him made him feel physically sick, bile rising in his throat as the smell continues to permeate his small bedroom.

"Who were you with?" he demands, any attempt at niceties being thrown out the window. It was difficult for him not to get increasingly aggressive the more she stood there, arms crossed over her chest like this whole thing wasn't making Harry sick.

"I told you, I had to work on a group project with some people from my humanities lecture. I just spent, like, three hours in the library with them."

"And were you sitting in a nest of their stuff or something?"

Y/N sends him an annoyed glare, toeing her shoes off in the entry of his room. There's still a decent distance between them, Harry all the way on the other side with an irritated wrinkle formed between his brows.

"Harry, you know I wasn't," she lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over her face. "I'm exhausted. I don't wanna argue about this, you know it's not my fault."

The genuine response strikes a chord within him and he suddenly feels awful for accusing of her doing anything that would purposely cause her scent to alter. He swallows harshly, trying to push away his natural alpha instincts in favor or apologizing to his girl.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, eyes falling to the carpeted floor. "You're right, it's not your fault. It just... pisses me off."

"I know it does. I'm sorry, too. I could've gone home and showered before I came over."

Harry shrugs, though his heart twitches at the thought of her natural fragrance: sweet and woody, nostalgic and comforting. The only thing he ever wants to smell for the rest of his life.

"But... you know," she says softly, a flirtatious lilt to her voice, "No alpha would even think about getting close to me if I had a pretty bite mark on my neck."

A breathy chuckle leaves Harry. "I know, baby. You deserve more than just a random night in this shitty frat house, though."

"I don't care, though—"

"I know you don't, but I do," he murmurs lowly, taking a step towards her. "You're my mate, yeah? Wanna make it perfect."

He lifts his thumb to pluck at her bottom lip.

"Are you gonna let me make it perfect for you?"

The sentiment makes her feel melty and weak in the knees, so all she's able to do is nod her head slowly. He smiles.

"There's my good omega," he says, and her stomach starts to feel like Jell-O. It's always this way when his voice starts to lower and he speaks to her as if she's the only person in the world. She gets tunnel vision, like he's the sole focus of her attention, and it'll only ever be that way.

"How will you make it perfect?" she manages to whisper out.

"Hmm," he hums, tilting his head slightly as he contemplates her question. "Think I'll take you on a trip somewhere. Maybe somewhere tropical so you can walk around in those pretty bathing suits I know you're dying to wear," she blushes, and it makes him chuckle. "I'll spend the whole day spoiling you. We'll lay out on the beach and I'll put sunscreen all over that perfect body of yours. And when we get tired, I'll carry you back to our room."

Her breath hitches in her throat, the imagery clear as day in her head as he speaks.

"Won't even care if your hair's dirty from the ocean or you have sand everywhere— I'll kiss every inch of your body, hm?" he presses a kiss just below her ear lobe and she shivers. "Stick my tongue in that cute pussy and make you squirt over and over until you're begging for me to mate you. Make sure you cum plenty before I put my cock inside of you and fuck you 'til you're all swollen with my knot."

He catches her ear between his teeth, biting gently. He can smell the arousal slicking in her panties and the warmth radiating from her desperate pussy. "And then... when you're shivering and shaking the way you do, I'll bite you. Make you my pretty fuckin' omega girl with the sweetest bite mark on your neck."

She swallows loudly and he hums, giving her hip a small squeeze.

"Now go take a shower. I need to scent you before I go insane."

[summertime-pills]

i don’t think there’s anything funnier than saying “god forbid women do anything” in response to women doing the most objectively horrifying actions possible.

[summertime-pills]

Lapse

~2.5 words

From me: Just a silly little thing I was thinking about. Not a lot of background. Probably has some plot holes. Currently thinking it will not continue.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers (you came, you called)

Summary: She doesn't like Harry. Which is fine because Harry doesn't like her either. Except both of them are lying.

Harry didn’t like her. But to be fair, she didn’t like him either. For albeit stupid reasons on both their parts that had prolonged throughout their lives. She was best friends with Eleanor. By proxy Eleanor’s boyfriend Louis and his circle of friends were therefore inextricably linked to her. Which meant she and Harry were around each other.

A lot.

To everyone’s dismay.

It was an offhanded comment, one that Harry never should have made but it soured her to pieces. “Only an idiot would do something like that,” he said, quietly. Only Louis overheard.

And her.

That was Harry’s mistake.

But she wouldn’t take it lying down. Harry could call her stupid all he wanted; she wouldn’t let anyone get away with saying it to her. So she told him off.

It was probably the first time in his life anyone had ever stood up to him. She found that when people were attractive, they were more likely to get away with bullshit that others would put up with even though they didn’t need to. Someone like Harry was more likely to say whatever he wanted and just assumed no one would tell him off because he was pretty.

Harry shouldn’t have called her an idiot. It wasn’t kind. Maybe he was jealous because honestly, watching her follow her passion was admirable and if the light hit her just right maybe he would have agreed that she was cool for doing what she wanted despite all the naysayers like him.

Even if it was embarrassing to be told off in front of their friends.

“Damn,” Louis whispered making everyone snicker. Harry was fuming. His eyes practically turned red with anger while he glared at her.

So, they weren’t friendly.

But given they were stuck in one another’s lives they learned to be... cordial. As cordial as two people could be when she absolutely wanted to claw his eyes out.

*

An hour.

That was how long she waited inside before she realized it was no use. No new messages, no phone calls. Nothing.

For whatever reason, she imagined Harry’s smug smile saying something to the effect of “I told y’were an idiot.”

It fueled her anger, and she silently blamed him for her date’s inability to appear. Which made no sense at all. Harry had no idea she was even on a date. But she had waited too long and honestly couldn’t disagree with the British voice mocking her inside her head. She was an idiot for waiting so long.

Her phone gave her more disappointing news but she was grateful she had service.

“Hey, uh... Uber is going to be... a wait,” she mumbled quietly standing just inside the entryway of the restaurant she had stayed at far longer than any sane person would have. “I know you’re on a date, I’m so sorry. I just... any chance you’re around to come get me?” She asked through her phone. The anxiety filled her lungs and a single tear rolled down her cheek. It was so typical that she didn’t have anyone to come get her.

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry. Louis and I have been drinking and—”

She nodded, closing her eyes. She knew it was a long shot. If it were any other time, she had no doubt Eleanor and Louis would be there for her. “Oh, you know what,” she laughed quietly. “The app just updated their time. They’ll only be five minutes,” she assured her. “Sorry to bother you,” she sighed looking at the time on the app that increased by another half hour.

“Not at all, you know I’d be there as soon as I could,” Eleanor assured her.

She texted her mom, her sister, even her sister’s boyfriend and was met with no response from any party. Her toes were numb from the chill in the air and uncomfortable shoes. It was unfair. No one was there for her when she needed them. Ever. It sounded so dramatic but it was true. She wanted one nice thing. She wanted a nice date. A night out. It wasn't supposed to be hard.

Anxiety rolled through her with each passing second on the cold street. Her throat felt tight as she scrolled through her contacts one last time and realized there was one and only option left. But she sure as hell wasn't going to call him.

Are you busy?

Is this a joke?

Well, that was a short-lived idea. God, he was the worst.

Forget it.

What? Your date stood you up?

I said FORGET IT.

Why did you text me, then?

Lapse in judgment. Won’t happen again.

Her phone illuminated with Harry’s contact, no picture. Just his name. Not even an emoji to recognize she had known him for ten years. She may as well have had his number for no longer than a week. “What?” She snapped.

He snorted. “Let’s get it straight, love. You contacted me.”

“And I told you to, ‘forget it.’”

“Are y’seriously that stubborn y’won’t tell me?”

“No, I’m not stubborn,” she was very much so stubborn. “I will not let you berate me and call me stupid or make fun of me for going on a fucking date. I needed help and I will admit. I was stupid to call you thinking you would do anything but sit on your throne of self-adoration and help someone else. As I said, it was a lapse in judgment. Good. Bye.”

*

With an invigorated sense of frustration and anger, she had determined walking was her best bet. It had only been five minutes since she spoke to him. Her feet were aching, the chill gripping every inch of her body, when a car slowed beside her. It parked and she heard the door open. She didn’t turn around. Anxiety crept through her veins. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she tried to remember the self-defense moves she had learned in a seminar put on by her dorm her freshman year of college.

“How much for an hour?” Harry’s voice cut through the cold air. She wanted to be mad. Wanted to snap something at him. But the relief crushed her; she couldn’t help but feel grateful for his familiar voice.

“You couldn’t afford me,” she grumbled turning back toward him. He was leaning against the side of his car—just by the front wheel. Ankles crossed; hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. He looked like a model for either the car or his coat. Hell, he could have been a model for the laces of his shoes. He was utterly beautiful.

He scanned her up and down. “S’that how you dress for all your first dates?”

“Shut the fuck up, Harry,” she muttered. A blush painted her cheeks as he scanned her. It felt so judgmental she wanted to punch him. She stood in front of him several feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. She didn’t know how he knew where she was. Didn’t know why he even decided to show up. Honestly, she thought maybe he was just driving around and was going to just get back in his car and leave her.

He snorted, scuffed the bottom of his shoe on the sidewalk. “You look nice.”

“Nice?” She repeated. “Is this a joke?”

“A lapse in judgment,” he rolled his eyes. ��Are you getting in or what?” He asked pushing himself off his car and opening the passenger door.

“Why did you even come here?” She asked. The warmth from his car hit her like a blanket and she wanted nothing more than to dive in and snuggle into the front seat, blast the hot air at her toes, and fall asleep against the heated seat he knew she had from all the times Eleanor talked about it.

But she was stubborn.

“Obviously it was a mistake,” he closed the door again and made his way toward the driver’s side. “Could leave you here instead,” he shrugged eyeing her over the top of his car. Like a game of chess. It was her move. She glared at him and put her hand on the car handle. He locked the door as she pulled and smirked at her. “So easy,” he mumbled.

She thought taking her chances walking would be better—her toes were going to fall off and the numbness was creeping up her ankles and making way for her legs. “Oh, forget it,” she grumbled and stalked back down the sidewalk.

Harry groaned as if truly pained by her existence. “Oh, for God’s sake, love! It was a joke,” he was by her side before she had taken ten full steps.

“What are you doing here, Harry? Huh? Just here to rub salt in the wound? I got stood up, okay? You were right. Happy? I just wanted to—”

“Idiot.”

Fury pulsed through her at his interruption. At the insult. She slapped his cheek before she could say anything else. Before she could think of anything else. His head was still turned to the side when she marched further down the street without waiting to see his reaction. The numbness of her legs didn’t deter her. The heat of her embarrassment flooded her and warmed her plenty to make it somewhere nearby that would have more accessible Ubers.

“What the fuck was that?” He snarled, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. It shouldn't have been a surprise he caught up to her so rapidly.

“You called me an idiot,” she snapped back.

He chuckled darkly. His grip tightened on her wrist, and he shook his head. The laugh hadn’t a trace of humor in it. “He. Your date. He’s an idiot.” She glared at him waiting for him to make another joke at her expense, but it never came. They stood still on the sidewalk. Harry’s hand holding her wrist like she might bolt at any second. Lord knew she was thinking about it. His gaze didn’t stray from hers. Intense.

And really fucking beautiful.

“Get in the car,” he ordered.

Which she didn’t take kindly to. “I’ll take my chances,” she sniffed and tugged, trying to release his grip. He didn’t budge, not even a millimeter.

“M’not asking,” his voice was low. “Get in the car, or I’ll drag y’in,” he promised.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, love.”

The thought of Harry dragging her in the car didn’t seem like a good idea. It would only embarrass her further. “Why did you even come here? I told you to forget it,” she muttered.

He opened the passenger door and the warmth once more enveloped her like a hug. He gently touched her shoulder. She turned in the space between the opening of his car and Harry. He stared at her again. “You called me,” his voice was gentle. Unlike anything he had ever heard from him—especially directed toward her. There was no shrug, no indifference, no irritation. He was breathing evenly. As if they had done this a thousand times. As if he looked at her like she was... precious all the time.

There was a thud in her chest, her heart stuttered unevenly against her ribs. Her lips parted and she didn’t know what to say or do. Her toes weren’t numb anymore. She wasn’t cold. There was a silence that filled the space between them as he stared at her and part of her believed if they just never spoke again maybe they could be friends.

“If some idiot guy can’t see how special you are then s’his loss. Only his loss. Standing up anyone is horrible. Standing you up...someone so pretty, so intelligent, so kind, should be a crime.” The words escaped her. The air in her lungs was gone. “M’always gonna be there for you,” it felt like a trap to let him say something like that to her. His hand reached up from his side, he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I don’t know what happened, love,” he murmured. “I... I was so worried. And I truly would pity the person that tries t’take you on,” a smile danced at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t smug. It was beautiful and melted her further and it wasn’t even a full smile. “And I was still so worried... I jus’,” he shook his head. “I think I ran two stoplights,” he admitted. “S’like a switch flipped, love. Never been so worried ‘bout anyone like that,” he continued holding her gaze.

She bit her lip and looked at his chest. “Are you fucking with me?” She asked quietly. Her voice defensive but low. Afraid to believe him.

But more afraid to not believe him.

“No, love. Not even a little... well, jus’ the part ‘bout taking you on. S’quite the slap y’gave me,” his smile grew, and he rubbed his cheek as if it really hurt him. Maybe it stung, but she didn’t think it really was all that hard.

“Been like ten years of build up to that.”

He chuckled quietly. “S’all you could muster?” He challenged.

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Genuinely. It felt weird to say it to Harry. Felt weird to be in such a position. But she couldn't help but feel that she liked it.

“Always, love. And I meant it. Y’look beautiful.”

Her heart was doing things that she didn't know Harry could do to her. She blushed, looked at her shoes; her toes numbing in the chilly air. “Well, his loss right?”

“My gain,” he winked at her and gave her arm a gentle squeeze as he left her side of his car for the driver’s side.

“Have you just been jealous all this time?” She asked as he settled behind the wheel.

“No,” he rolled his eyes. The silence was companionable. The first time in knowing Harry that it felt anything other than hostile. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Maybe?” Her eyes were delighted, and she smiled at him. “You like me.”

“Oh, bite me,” he grumbled. “I do not.”

“You so like me,” she teased. Her cheeks were warm making her forget about the cold. He didn’t say anything. Just the gentle hum of the road filled the car. “For what it’s worth, I like you too,” she murmured tucking herself to turn sideways in the seat. Her face squished against the back of the warm seat. “Probably more than a lot,” she admitted. “I guess," she took a deep breath, scared to say it, but Harry had called her pretty, intelligent, and kind. She couldn't let that go unnoticed. Her declaration wasn't as pretty as his but she needed to say something. "I think my brain mixed up my emotions. I was... very unhappy that you didn’t like me all these years.”

“God, love, you're ridiculous,” he grabbed her hand without moving his eyes from the road. He squeezed her fingers but it felt tied directly to her heart. “How could I not like you?"

--

taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[summertime-pills]

to new beginnings

summary - you and harry are drunk on the streets of rome

word count - ~1k

pairing - husband!harry x reader

✨☀️💛☀️✨☀️💛☀️✨☀️💛☀️✨☀️💛☀️✨

“It’s literally this way.”

“No it isn’t.”

You tugged on Harry’s hand, attempting to make him follow you down a road - that looked like an alley - that you were sure would lead you to the main square.

Harry was insistent you were going the wrong way, but who could actually tell when you were both as drunk as each other.

Harry stood still as he watched you were drunk eyes and a soft smile, as you tried to tug him your way.

“Haarryy!”

“Y/NN!”

“Come on! I know what I’m doing.”

“No you don’t. You’re sloshed!” Harry laughed, watching you spin around in circles for whatever reason.

“I’m not sloshed… I’M IN LOVE.” You shouted to the universe, and also the unfortunate old couple that just happened to be walking past at the same time.

Before you could apologise, the old man spoke; “I remember when we were like that, Carla.”

You smiled warmly, looking from them to Harry. Harry was already smiling towards you, that spark still in his eyes for you even after 5 years together.

5 years together but only 2 days of being married.

Marriage was pretty happy so far.

“We still are.” The old woman smiled at her husband as they passed by.

You continued to walk off then, walking down the road you wanted to go down.

It was a very small and quaint alley, lots of balconies with hanging green baskets and drying clothes. You looked up at them as you passed by, your trainers padding along on the cobbled floor as you walked.

As you were in your own little world, you didn’t hear Harry sneak up on you until his arms were around your waist and lifting you up in the air to spin you around.

“Harry!” You laughed, your jaw hurting from smiling so much.

“Will you ever learn to listen to me?” He bit playfully onto your exposed shoulder, where the thin strap of your dress lay.

“Never!”

“Is that how marriage works? You being in charge?”

“Obviously.”

He safely set you on the ground and you brushed your dress-skirt down, before twirling around and throwing your arms around his neck.

“What?” He asked, smiling down at your happy face.

“I’m in charge.” You tried to say seriously, but you were too drunk to be in complete control of your face.

“Okay.” Harry gave in, kissing your forehead.

“No, I am. I really am.”

“I know.”

“That means I can control you to do loads of things for me.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Harry asked, even though he was ready to say yes to everything.

“Umm, buy me flowers every day.”

He kissed you then, “Done.”

“Okay,” You blushed, “Hmm. Come on beach walks with me every weekend - no matter how far from the coast we are.”

He kissed you again then, “Yup.”

“Uhh what about…”

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “Yes, yes, yes. Yes to anything and everything. Boss me around all day everyday, I don’t care as long as you’re happy, my love.”

“I am. Very happy.”

You leaned up to kiss him properly then, showing him just how much you love him. You scrunched the small hair on the back of his neck and pulled him closer, moving in tandem with each other like you’d known each other a lifetime not only five years.

You pulled away first but quickly moved to kiss his jaw and leading down his neck, kissing and nipping at the skin to give him a hickey.

“Babe… No!” Harry laughed, knowing how much you loved giving him hickeys but never somewhere everyone could see.

“Nooooo.” You whined as he pulled your head away from his neck.

“Baby, you’re drunk and I’m drunk but I know we’re going to be mad at each other if you give me a public hickey. So be good and stop.”

You scrunched your face up in pretend anger.

“You’re annoying.” You kiss him on the lips once more.

“So are you.”

“That’s not very nice.” You feigned shock.

“Aww, are you sad?”

“Don’t taunt me.” You rolled your eyes.

“Lemme kiss you to make up for it.” Harry leaned in to kiss you but you shoved your hand on his face and pushed him away before he could.

You laughed as he pretended to be hurt by your action, but you ran off down the road before he could say or do anything.

He shook his head with a smile as he watched you go, nearly tripping over a cobble stone even in your flat shoes.

“Y/N/N, be careful.”

You stood at the end of the alley watching Harry still standing there with a fond smile.

“C’mon! I hear music.” You urged him.

So he came.

He wandered over to you casually, feeling like he had all the time in the world to spend with you. Every moment of his was now yours and he couldn’t be happier to share them all with you. You. He sometimes couldn’t believe he’d managed to end up with you.

You held out a hand for him and he took it, slinking his fingers through yours.

You hummed in delight and the both of you walked in silence, off towards the vibrant music of the city to dance the night to new beginnings.

[summertime-pills]

drunk confession-a.hotchner

-----------------------------

-----------------------------

a/n: omg i just started watching dharma and greg (another thomas gibson show) and it's so funny like wtf (greg is such an airhead its adorable)

summary: aaron admits some very cute things when he's drunk.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

warnings: none

-----------------------------

The team constantly forgets that you and Aaron are together. You two don’t touch each other at all during the job. Both of you are very pda-averse and you like your own space. 

That does not translate to a drunk Aaron.

-----------------------------

It had been an awful case, and you’d decided to go out with the team for a few drinks. Somehow, Penelope and Derek had gotten Aaron so drunk, that his hands were all over you and he was sporting his little-seen smile. Your co-workers had decided to take the absolute piss out of him for it, which meant you were being mocked as well. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Aaron gushed to the team as he slung an arm over your shoulder.  

“Thanks baby,” you grumbled over the laughing of our coworkers. You could feel Aaron’s hand on your waist slipping lower and you knew you’d have to get him out of here before he did something down-right indecent. “How about we get you home? You look tired,” you offered and he nodded his head like an overactive puppy. 

After one more round of embarrassing questions, you finally get Aaron into a cab and back to your hotel. You laid him down on the bed and hurried to the bathroom to take off your makeup and get ready for bed before Aaron got up to find you.

“Aar-” You started until you felt his hands on your waist and the rest of his body leaning on your. It took a lot of strength to keep both of you upright and not on the floor but you managed. 

“I wanna go to bed,” he slurred. 

“Then go back to bed,” you laughed.

“With you. Only with you.”

You giggled at him. “I’ll be there in 3 minutes, go lie down-”

“NO. I wanna do everything with you for the rest of my life, I’m not going to bed on my own,” he confessed with a shy smile. His confession sobered you up quite a bit. 

“Aaron, what?” Your chuckle got caught in your throat. 

“I wanna be with you for the rest of my life,” he smiled, puppy-dog eyes making you weak in the knees. 

“You’re drunk,” you dismissed him.

“I’m in love,” he ‘corrected’. 

“You’re very, very drunk.”

“I’m very, very in love,” he chuckled, pressing kisses up your shoulder as you washed away your makeup.  “Imagine it, we’d get married in a nice church, go on our honeymoon in Italy- where you’ve always wanted to go.”

“What about Jack?” You smiled at him. 

“He’d stay with Jessica for a couple weeks, I’d need some time to fuck you properly-”

“Aaron!” You chastised. Aaron became a lot more loose-tongued when he drank as well. 

“What? You don’t complain,” he laughed and it made you laugh. 

“You’re so drunk, and you’re going to be so embarrassed when i tell you in the morning,” you started to lead him to bed as he kept rambling on. 

“And when we get back we’ll find out you’re pregnant, It’ll be a girl, of course. You’ll have no complications and then a year later we’d be pregnant again, twins this time, so we’d have to move. It’ll be two more girls, and then our last kid will be a boy but we’ll also be preoccupied with Jack’s pre-teenager hatred phase so our youngest will probably have the most troublemaker-tendencies, but neither of us will mind because he’ll be so cute,” He smiled. “We’ll get one of those big houses in the country on a bunch of land. And I’ll stay at home with the kids, and you’ll work lecturing at a college nearby and we’ll be so far away from all the horrors of the BAU that we won’t even remember what happened before.”

You didn’t even realise it, but you were tearing up thinking about this beautiful life Aaron had planned for the two of you. 

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” He smiled and turned to you, his arms wrapping around your torso. 

“That sounds perfect,” you whispered through tears. “Perfect Aaron,” you smiled at him and kissed his cheek. 

“Good ‘cause I have the ring picked out, but don’t tell Y/n!” 

“I won’t don’t worry,” you chuckled and kissed his cheek again.

You fell asleep excited to tell him all the embarrassing things he admitted, and excited about the proposal yet to come. 

-----------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[summertime-pills]

Can you write something about love bites pretty pleaseeeeee like Harry’s obsessed with giving them

Yes 🤭🤭🤭🤭 here is a tiny one!

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- kinda dirty hehe

——

“So pretty.” Fingers brushed over her sensitive skin as she looked in the mirror, trying her best to ignore how the sensation wanted to make her shiver. The large form behind her wasn’t helping her achieve that at all. “You look so gorgeous tonight but… my favorite are these.” The marks on the curve of her neck that he’d sucked into pretty bruises, blooming purple.

It was no secret between them that Harry quite liked the marks on her, but he liked putting them there the most. “Thank you.” She laughed through her nose, blending the makeup on her cheeks before setting the little sponge down. “But you’re very distracting, you know that? How am I supposed to cover them if you’re petting all over them?”

“Don’t!” The whine was nearly comical as she caught his scowl in the mirror. “Don’t cover up the art, precious. Leave ‘em there.” It was a travesty, in his opinion, any time they were covered with makeup. Even if she was quite talented at the magic of making them disappear, he didn’t appreciate his little marks of love being covered up. “S’not like we’re going to the Louvre- which, they’d probably appreciate the art anyways. We’re goin’ for drinks at a dingy club to buy overpriced martinis while we chat shit while I wait for you t’get tired enough for me to bring home and love on you.”

Harry was many things. Blunt was one of them.

“Tell me how you really feel, H.” She snorted, putting powder under her eyes. Her hand stuttered though, when she felt him tuck his face into her neck and a wet, hot swipe licked over the marks. It was a bit pathetic how quickly she felt lax, like a dog rolling over for belly rubs, but she gave a shaky exhale as his teeth found a new patch of skin to nibble on.

“I feel like… you should leave those marks so people know t’fuck off, that you get fucked well, that you’re mine. Let their imaginations run wild about how I gave ‘em to you balls deep, or if I did them just like this. As long as they know that you’re a loved and taken woman, m’a happy man.” The grumbles against her skin were finished with another bite, eliciting a noise blooming from her throat.

It was hard to say no to the man in most capacities, with his soft green eyes and his strawberry pout, but when he ran his hands over the front of her dress and his tongue over her throat as he found a new patch to work on, sucking harshly enough to make her knees weaken and her clit throb between her legs? It was impossible. “Harry…” the sigh of his name was accompanied by the lull of her head back against his shoulders, letting him slip his hands under the front of her dress and the makeup brush fall into the sink.

“Lucky we’re even goin’ out when all I want to do is worship that sweet cunt all night. But I’ll be good, I’ll let you get finished with your makeup and all that if you leave ‘em be. Show ‘em off for me. Please?” The plead was melted into her bones, breathing picking up as his fingers cupped over her lace covered cunt, holding it firmly. The man knew how to get his way and this was a solid example. The sweet and silly vibe of the room transforming into the hot and sensual teasing one that he had mastered the art of. “I’ll let you choose whatever you want me t’do to you tonight. Whatever my girl wants. Jus’ let me give you another one and leave my art alone. Everyone should be able to see it.”

How could she say no to that?

[summertime-pills]

Give This Old Man a Heart Attack - A.H

a/n: incredibly self-indulgent per usual because i'm the biggest cry baby to ever exist

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you make a mistake that almost gets you killed and hotch has a few choice words about it

warnings: slight angst, happy endings, established relationship, you're in trouble, suggestive ending nothing crazy, hotch is a sucker and gives in way too easily to you

wc: 0.9k

You were an idiot. You were so utterly stupid, and you could feel the heat coursing through you, prickling at your fingertips and scorching your ears. You had braced yourself for this moment all day, but the sheer anger in Hotch's eyes was something no amount of bracing could shield you from.

You were quite accustomed to his eerily tranquil expression, often misleading, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Today though, you were the focus of that discerning stare. 

"Do you understand that gravity of your actions today?"

You were fighting every urge to cry. Confrontation had always been your Achillies' heel, a fact that seemed laughable given your line of work.

You weren't talking about the type of confrontation that came with gunning down unsubs or running into burning buildings. No, it was the intimate kind, the kind that involved the disappointment in the eyes of those you cared about, those you respected, especially him.

So here you stood, tears simmering at the edges of your vision, your hands fidgeting and folding over themselves, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

Your lips parted, ready to speak, to defend yourself, but the rising lump in your throat held the words captive. Silence seemed like the better choice, so you offered a nod instead.

Hotch's hand briefly obscured his face, thumb and middle finger pressing against the bridge of his nose, as he cast a handful of documents onto his desk. They landed haphazardly, a chaotic reflection of the mistakes you made on this case.

"You could've gotten killed." Each word was forced out between clenched teeth. Never a good sign. "In fact, you were this close."

You felt his assessment was inflated, but now was definitely not the right time to point that out. You swallowed the rising retort and cautiously shifted a fraction closer to the desk, eyes flicking to the closed door behind you.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," you said softly, voice betraying the slightest fracture. "It won't happen again."

The sound of your strained syllables caused his head to jerk up. Contrarily, you recoiled, bowing your head into your chest as you feigned interested in the carpet's intricate threads. It was an interesting color. 

You failed to register him circling the desk. Not until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. The toe of his shoes just within your field of view. They were semi-brogue oxfords. His favorite.

The accumulated emotions of the week finally broke through, your shoulders trembling as you frantically brushed away the mortifying tears with your sleeve, only to feel his hands on your shoulders, drawing you into his chest.

"No, no," you protested, but the resistance in your voice was absent in your actions, as you found yourself easily giving into the warmth of his chest. "Don't feel bad for me just because I'm crying."

He said nothing, just a faint hum that filled the space, the vibrations sending ripples across your cheek. 

"You—, you were reprimanding me," you paused to sniffle, "and I deserve to be reprimanded. I know what I did was stupid."

"It was." His hand lay on your back, thumb circling lightly through your dress shirt, nearly burning through the fabric. "But I'm not going to continue to berate you when I feel as though you've learned your lesson."

"You weren't berating me," you mumble against his shirt.

"I made you cry."

When you looked up, your saw the concern etched on his face, brows pinched, a frown marring his handsome face. His hands cradled your face, thumbs gently clearing the tears as you breathed out a sigh.

"I think you know me well enough to know that it doesn't take much to make me cry."

This was true. You kept your emotions were always close to the surface, whether from happiness, sadness, or sheer frustration. 

Once you had sobbed over the unequal lengths of your shoelace bows. Morgan then proceeded to ask if you had ever been tested for autism.

"It doesn't make it any more disheartening to see," he said, shifting his hands to rest on your shoulders. He looked tired and it made you want to cry all over again.

"Would you feel that way if I was Reid?" You asked. It was a loaded question. One you peppered him with often.

You had strived to draw clear lines between your professional and personal lives, but moments like this made it very difficult. 

He didn't even bother you with a response, and he didn't need to. You knew the answer.

Another quick look over your shoulder, and you pressed a swift kiss to his lips. There was a moment of hesitation from him, the stickler for rules that he is, but soon his restraint gave way, his hand seeking you with a desperate intensity.

He drew back just enough to study your face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory, like he was making sure you were really there.

"You really scared me today," he confessed, your foreheads resting together as your eyes locked.

"I know."

"Please don't do that again," he implored, pausing only to plant another quick kiss on your upper lip. "This old man's heart can only take so much."

You beamed at him with a cheeky smile. "I can't make any guarantees."

As you headed for the door, he sent a quick slap to your ass, drawing out a bubbly giggle that vibrated through the room.

That old man's heart definitely might give out after what you had planned for tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[summertime-pills]

Hiii!! Could you write a request where reader and Aaron are sitting on the couch watching a movie, and then reader sits on his lap and Aaron is a bit flustered 🤭 and reader ends up riding him?

nsfw | mdni

as you and aaron sat on the couch watching some dumb action movie, you couldn’t help but just want to crawl into aaron’s lap and ride him. he was wearing a casual t-shirt with a pair of jeans and while you adored his suit combos, aaron in casual clothing never failed to turn you on.

so, you being you, crawled into aaron’s lap, blocking his view of the tv while giving him a smirk. “hi,” you said, putting your hands on his shoulders.

aaron’s reaction was exactly what you wanted as his cheeks grew pink. “uh- well hello,” he replied, giving you a small smile. his hands landed on your waist instinctively, holding you in place. “what brought this on?” he asked.

“i want to ride you,” you said bluntly, tilting your head slightly to the side.

aaron’s eyebrows went up in slight surprise before he lowered his head. he was clearly flustered and you absolutely soaked it in. it wasn’t often that you could get aaron hotchner to be flustered. “is that so?” he whispered, bringing his gaze back to you.

you nodded your head, biting your lip. “yes,” you replied.

which led to the both of you being unclothed as you bounced up and down aaron’s cock. his fingers were gripping your waist, guiding you onto his length. you moaned shamelessly, loving the feeling of aaron’s cock disappearing in and out of your pussy.

aaron let out low moans of pleasure, his head thrown back on the couch. “you always feel so good,” he said, licking his lips.

“so do you,” you replied breathlessly.

“mmm,” he said before thrusting his hips upwards, hitting your g-spot dead on.

“o-oh fuck,” you moaned, stopping your movements to allow aaron to take over. and of course he did.

he thrusted up into you, fucking you at a normal pace. “look at you,” he murmured into your ear, his hot breath on your skin. “one movement and you’re completely turned to mush. love when i fuck you that much?”

you nodded your head pathetically, relishing in being fucked. this as a frequent thing that happened. you’d try to take control over the situation but the moment aaron made a movement, your brain would fog up and you’d just be mush. and it was fabulous. it was like getting drunk off of aaron’s cock.

aaron’s thrusts quickened, making you whine and moan like a whore as his cock continuously hit your g-spot dead on. “oh my-oh fuck,” you moaned, gripping aaron’s shoulders.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he grunted. “gonna cum for me soon?”

you nodded your head. “so close, aaron,” you whined, closing your eyes in pleasure.

“go ahead, sweetheart,” aaron urged, moving his hips. “cum for me. cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

and so you did with a loud whine and your body shaking as you came on aaron’s length. it didn’t take long for him to follow suit, cumming inside of you without a care of the consequences.

when both of you had finished, you stayed still for a moment. until aaron looks at the tv and sees the credits. “damn it, i wanted to see what happened in the end,” he exclaimed, looking back at you with a smirk.

you had been resting your head on his shoulder but as he said that you looked up and gave him a “are you shitting me” look. “i think you can deal with it,” you exclaimed, smiling as you rolled your eyes.

“i’m sure i can,” he said as he leaned in to kiss your lips lovingly.

all and all a very great and productive date night.

[summertime-pills]

Ideas From a Book - A.H

a/n: im writing what i want !!!!!!!!!!!!! i have a gun kink SUE ME !!! if you don't like it don't read it !!!!!!!

anyhow HAPPY READING

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch comes home to find you reading and draws some ideas from your lil romance book

warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot going on here yall idk, gun going in ur vag, reader loves smut she's just like me fr, gun kink!, dirty talk, established relationship, yada yada

wc: 2.3k

When Hotch returned home from work, the ritual he had was comforting in its predictability: shedding his coat and shoes, setting down his briefcase, and locking up his gun. Then, he'd find you, as he always did, nestled into the couch, book in hand. 

It was something he could count on, as reliable as the sun rising in the morning. Your bookshelf was a spectrum of genres--science fiction, poetry, mystery, historical, fantasy--name it, you've likely read it. Among these, he had noticed a trend--your favoritism for romance. It was fitting, as you've always been an ardent believer in fairytales and happy endings. It was a belief he intended to uphold, a fairytale ending he was set on creating for you. 

The book you held today had a cover he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat, announcing his arrival. Your eyes met his in an instant, and he was struck anew by just how pretty you are. Effortlessly so. He told you as much, though you seldom accepted the compliment. 

"Hi, handsome," you said, infusing your words with honey as you folded the corner of your page and laid the book aside. Spencer would scold you for that. "How was work?"

A shrug rolled off his shoulders, fingers working to loosen the tie that felt like a noose after a long day. Stepping further into the living room, he sighed, "Heavy with paperwork."

"That's no fun," you said, lips curving into a delicate pout. 

It was an invitation he couldn't ignore. Leaning in, his hands found your face, and as your lips met, you giggled, pulling back just enough to study his face, the harsh lines under his eyes, reading the fatigue on his features like a well-thumbed novel. 

"What are you reading?" he questioned, easing down next to you, the couch dipping to his weight. 

You dodged his eyes, fingers absently fidgeting with your earlobe as you gave him a half-smile, tilting the book just enough so he couldn't catch the title.  

"Just some romance book," you admitted, with a slight uptick in your voice. "Garcia recommended it."

He regarded you with a contemplative frown. Normally, a book you would have gone on for hours, detailing every character, plot twist, and subplot, dissecting its layers and intricacies in exhaustive detail. 

Aaron watched as you placed the book on the side table, movements deliberate. You positioned yourself across his lip, a seemingly innocent distraction. It almost worked. Your soft thighs sinking into his calloused hands, as if they were crafted just for him. He recognized your ploy, though, giving your leg a squeeze a little tighter than necessary. 

You leaned in, your breath tinged with the minty traces of your afternoon tea, a detail as intimate as any secret shared between lovers. He nipped at your lip, a gentle diversion, as his hand crept towards the book.

You wriggled in his hold, vying to get there first, but he was faster. Much faster at that, although you loved to challenge him on that. He secretly loved when you did. He loved you. 

"What are you doing?" Your voice was rising in a panicked pitch. You stretched your hand out, trying to reclaim it, but he kept it just beyond reach.

Aaron's arm formed a band around you, effectively pinning your arms to your torso while you writhed within his grasp. A groan was stifled in his throat. "Quit that."

You smiled, a hint of tease in the curve of your lips and stilled. You were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it was a feat achieved with little effort. 

"Why are you being so secretive about this?"

He nodded to the book. The cover was unassuming, black with a smattering of designs that sprawled across it. It looked like any other book you read.

"I'm not being secretive," you insisted, deliberately avoiding his probing gaze. "You're just being nosy."

"Oh, am I?" He couldn't help but laugh, nose crinkling as he dismissed the notion with a shake of his head.

You nodded, not saying anything in response. He thumbed through the book, opening it to a random page.

"Wait--," you pleaded, but his attention was already glued to the ink. You wrapped yourself around him, your face buried in the folds of his crisp dress shirt as you murmured into the fabric, "please don't."

His arm shifted from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. "Gasping at the cool metal of the gun running across my belly, I want him press it into my panties."

Your breath caught, warmth flooding your cheeks as you pressed your face deeper into his chest. "Aaron, stop."

But he didn't, of course, he was far too intrigued.

"Parting my legs, I roll into the metal. He runs it back and forth across my pussy, wetting it against the barrel to my entrance," He continued, wetting the pad of his thumb as he turned the page, eyes meeting yours. 

He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for your response. You didn't give him one, huffing a sigh as you plucked the book from his hands and flung it onto the cushions of the couch.

"Are you...into this?" He articulated each word with deliberate slowness, as if navigating a minefield. "This is a little intense."

You groan, tucking your chin down to your chest as you fought against the tingling sensation clawing up your spine.

"I don't know." The words tumbled out in a murmur, a feeble shield against the embarrassment flooding your senses.

It was the truth. You didn't know. Ink on a page was a far cry from reality. Nonetheless, your recent daydreams were filled with images of Aaron with his gun. God, forbid you see him on duty.

He shifted you off his lap, and you felt the corners of your mouth turn downward involuntarily. You watched his retreating figure vanish down the hall, your thoughts racing at breakneck speed, gripped by the fear that you had scared him off, that this was his tipping point.

The welling tears were poised to fall, but they paused as he came back into view. Holding his gun.

Your breath halted, a knot forming in your throat as you clumsily rose to your knees on the couch, your eyes wide and transfixed on him.

You watched, more like ogled, as he methodically removed the magazine, opening the action and ejecting the cartridges of the gun, putting the safety into place. Your throat felt dry. His advance towards you was predatory, a slow march that rekindled a well-known flutter in your stomach.

"Aaron?"

He stepped in front of you, the firearm dangling loosely at his side. You gazed up at him, peering through the shelter of your lashes.

"Do you want me to fuck you with this?"

You knew you said you didn't know if this was something you were into, yet here you were, retracting every syllable. Suddenly so incredibly turned on it almost hurt.

You nodded vigorously, your enthusiasm outpacing your self-awareness.

The look he gave you was one you recognized instantly, eliciting yet another soft pout before you gave in. "Yes, please, Aaron."

"Good girl," he said, making your heart skip a beat as he pressed the nose of the gun into your chest, forcing you backward. "Always so good for me."

You nodded again, even though there was no need to, but you weren't really focused on his words. You were focused on the gun pressing into your body, imagining it pressed against your clit, up your pussy.

"You're sure, um," you managed, trying to catch your breath, pausing in the middle of your sentence to clear your throat, "that all the safety stuff is on?"

You sounded dumb, you were aware, but all intellectual thoughts were out the window.

He let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending another wave of desire straight to your core. "Yes, baby, all of the safety stuff is on."

"Okay, good."

He pressed his lips to yours, the gun still flush against your chest, now grazing your nipple as you arched into him.

He pulled back only enough to speak into your mouth. "What's your safe word?"

"Mercy."

He hummed in response, fingers threading through your hair as he pushed the barrel of the gun down your stomach. You froze, a subtle gap forming between your lips as your eyes remained locked on the motion.

He brought his mouth to your ear, nipping at the skin lightly as he pushed the metal further down your body, lifting the hem of your shirt with it. You gasped at the feeling, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you tried to hide just how affected you were.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes." It was immediate. Without hesitation.

He kissed your lips, gentle and unhurried, as if he was savoring the sensation, like he thought I might crumble under too much pressure. He might be right.

"Take these off."

His gun pressed against the waistband of your shorts. You didn't waste a second, lifting your hips and shimmying out of the fabric. A sound of approval vibrated from his throat, his fingers entwining in your hair, gently drawing your face closer to his.

"Are you sure about this?"

A nod came naturally, followed by a yes breathed out like a prayer, as your eyes trailed down to in between your thighs where the gun was now sitting. 

"Aaron, I need it."

"Oh, you need it, huh?" He tsked his tongue, running the nose of the gun over your clothed heat. "I can tell."

You let out a sharp gasp, bucking your hips into the device as you met his eyes, willing him to keep going. You had never been more turned on in your life. His hand moved from your neck to the small of your waist, pinning you in place. With one hand. Fuck.

He laid the gun beside your hip on the couch in order to pull your panties off. You squirmed at the rush of cold air encompassing between your thighs. His eyes were glued to your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips.

"Christ sweetheart," he hissed, sliding one finger through your slit, showing you the moisture you had produced. "Needy girl."

"Aaron, please." You needed something inside of you.

He laughed, at your expense, but you didn't care, concentrated on his hand grabbing the Glock and repeating the action his finger just did.

You choked out a sound, stuttering against the touch. He in a merciful mood apparently, pushing the gun slowly into your sopping cunt. You were writhing against it, your mouth parted as you tried to get used to the foreign object.

"You okay?" He asked, pausing his motions, giving you a second to adjust.

You swallowed; gaze drawn down to where he was sliding the gun into you. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Yes."

"You can take it," he said, but the way the firearm was stretching you made you unsure.

It wasn't the size necessarily, but the way the groves and magazine were cramming into you was making hold your breath, which him being him he noticed immediately.

His hand rested gently against the pouch of your stomach. "Breathe."

The pent-up breath escaped your lips, and he rewarded you by sinking the gun further into your pussy. You fingers wrapped around his biceps, the tips digging slightly into the constellation of freckled skin.

One final thrust and it was fully in you. You could feel every groove and contour of it, cunt clenching and unclenching at the sensation. 

"Look at you," he drawled, beginning to fuck you with it. It transcended the prose of any book, a sensation that no array of printed words could fully capture. "You like that?"

Nodding was your only recourse, mouth hanging pathetically open as you moaned and whined. You were in a daze-like state, every sound and motion involuntary.

"This is the Glock 17," he explained, thrusting the gun faster, causing you to tighten your hands around his neck, bringing him so close his words were melting into your skin. "It feeds from a staggered-column magazine that has a 17-round capacity. It sends 115 gr bullets downrange at about 1200 feet per second."

You could feel your arousal leaking to your thighs, coating his forearm in the process, but that would never stop him.

"This gun has taken the lives of nineteen unsubs."

You know this should make you coil away, that it should feel wrong somehow, but all you felt was that growing tightness in your core, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace.

"You don't even care, do you? All you care about is getting yourself off." His chuckles wove through his words, and his motions didn't falter, intent of ushering you to your peak. "My dirty girl."

You were so close, the edges of the gun managing to hit every spot just right.

"Come on, honey."

Fuck. You let out another strangled gasp, way louder than intended as your back arched like a string of a bow, and then suddenly you released.

A prism of colors exploded behind your squeezed eyes. A collage of musical notes falling over your ears. Your whole body was being ignited as you gushed around the gun.

"Christ." His new favorite word as of late. He withdrew the weapon from you.

You let out a subdued hum, propping yourself on your elbows, your eyes lazily rising to meet his with a tender flutter.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, the compliment settling on you like dew on morning flowers. Your gaze caught the gun, now bathed in a liquid gloss, cradled in his hands.

"Oh my god," you said, hand covering your mouth.

He laughed softly, placing it on the coffee table before his lips brushed against yours, a soft and measured caress that belied his previous urgency.

"You might need a new one," you said sheepishly, heat creeping into your ears as he pressed another soft kiss to your cheek.

"Absolutely not," he murmured into your flushed skin. "It just became my gun of choice."

You were going to give him the best head of his life.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[summertime-pills]

okay imagine a reader who’s clumsy asfff, and aaron is always there to stop her from falling flat on her face ahaha

falling for you

cw; clumsy bau!reader, established relationship, aaron's injured and minor blood mentions, angst? if you squint, fluff <3

A rural town surrounded by acres of woods: a serial killer's perfect playing field. Plenty of remote, secluded places to dump victims.

The trail on which you were walking was barely passable; narrow, obstructing hanging branches, the dirt path littered with slippery rocks due to the rainstorm the night prior.

One wrong step, poor footing on an angle, could result in sliding down a steep ledge. It wasn't comparable to a cliff - an eight foot incline at least - but could easily result in injury nonetheless.

Which naturally you of all people were bound to intercept; always moving too quickly for your own good, more focused on the destination rather than the journey - ultimately feeding into your habitual clumsiness.

Aaron took notice of the rock slab before you did, reaching out suddenly to grab at your arm the second your foot took a dive off the side. While you managed to escape unscathed due to his heroism, he wasn't as fortunate.

You had coerced him onto the passenger seat - if it were up to him, the two of you would've continued to the crime scene - cleaning and bandaging the bloody gash on his forehead yourself. He hadn't fallen, but knocked into a firm, solid branch, as well as scraped his arm on another, ripping his sleeve in the process.

"Stop moving so much."

Aaron's chest huffed in a faint laugh, "I'm not even moving."

A subtle glare came from you, "You could be concussed."

"I'm not concussed. Banged up maybe, but not concussed."

"Maybe?" The sight before you tore at your heart, Aaron's pretty face scraped up. "You mean definitely. And prove it."

A clever, amused expression formed on his face, "The United States government consists of-"

"Okay, okay." You surrendered with a playful eye roll, dismissing his impending recitation.

Admittedly you were flustered, solely for the fact that it should've been you - the one bumped up and bleeding. Your bottom lip was sticking out in a pout, cleaning his wound with an alcohol wipe.

He winced briefly at the sting, eyes watching your movements. "I know what you're thinking."

"You should've let me take the fall." As if by clockwork, the bandaid in your hand fell onto the wet asphalt. Annoyedly you reached down to pick it up, hastily tossing it to the SUV's floor before grabbing a fresh one from the first aid kit.

Aaron scoffed lightly, "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious," Your lip jut out even more, pulling your gaze to his exasperatedly. "Or Morgan should've at least accompanied you."

"Sweetheart, you know I'm in better company when you're around."

"He's more coordinated than I am," you insisted, your fingers fumbling together as you peeled the bandaid open, smoothing it over his broken skin. Carefully. You repeated the same for the gash on his forearm. "He can duck and leap from side to side without a second thought, has a much faster reaction time and, well, he's Morgan."

"Sweetheart-"

"He's not clumsy," you huffed out, crumbling the plastic in your fist. Your clumsiness, as incredibly inconvenient as it was, had never 'bothered' you to an extent.

But now that you had caused Aaron to get hurt, everything changed. It was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner, and it was only a matter of time before you caused another incident. One with a larger, more menacing result.

"In a terrain that's damp and woodsy and has twigs and leaves poking out, I should be the farthest person away," you rambled, covered with guilt. "Why they even let me join the field in the first place... I don't know."

"Because you're an outstanding profiler, have a keen eye that catches details the rest of us overlook, never backs down despite heinous barriers. Must I go on? I can, the list is quite extensive."

"Regardless, it doesn't excuse the fact I'm accident prone." You insisted, your sentence ending on a deep sigh.

"You aren't-"

"Aaron," you interrupted, "how many times have you reached out to stop me from flying into a table, or have reminded me to slow down. Look what just happened."

"You didn't fall because you're clumsy, honey. You fell- no, tripped because it rained and your shoes lacked the proper traction."

"But because of me, you're hurt." Your voice wavered the smallest amount, you could cry if pushed.

"And I'd do it again if it meant saving you." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, eyeing the CSI agents not too far away. "And again," Another kiss, this time on your lips, "and again. It's a small price to pay if you're unharmed."

"Kissing me at a crime scene? You must be concussed." You quipped softly, lips itching to smile. Although you wanted to continue sulking, he was making it awfully difficult.

A laugh exited him; the rare laugh of his that minimal people experienced, and one that could lift your spirits in less than a milli-second. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm not concussed."

You still weren't convinced - your inelegant tendencies not to disappear by morning - but you did feel better compared to how you felt five minutes ago. "Thank you."

Your hand grabbed onto his arm lovingly, a grateful gesture, but produced an immediate flinch from Aaron.

Your eyes widened in horror, heart nearly stopping, "I'm so-"

"You're welcome." Aaron stopped you, grabbing your hand and providing a reassuring squeeze. His expression was kind, compassionate although you should've been the one soothing him.

You exhaled deeply after a moment, readjusting his rolled-up cuff sleeve. "I owe you a new shirt too."

He smiled, his hand lifting to chuck you under your chin gently. "I'll add it to your tab."