#criminal minds fic

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[mggslover]

MR. HOTCHNER — aaron hotchner

In which being a nanny for the Hotchners doesn’t only mean taking care of Jack, but also pleasing your boss

genre smut (18+) cw free use arrangement, nanny!reader, age gap (r is in 20s), post haley, mentions of jack, lowkey toxic relationship, soft to hard cock, thigh biting, some brat taming, praise, shower sex: oral (f receiving), p in v, use of showerhead, body painting wc 5k a/n i have been feeling #insecure about writing, but it's the same as when you haven't driven in a while and you're like "fuck i need to go on a ride otherwise i'll be too anxious to ever do it again", so here is me ignoring my inner demons yelling at me and posting anyway. oh and this is also my formal job application to be hotch’s free use nanny!!

You are a feminist, obviously. But beliefs tend to change in certain situations. To be precise, around certain people. The certain people in question being Aaron Hotchner.

You’d been babysitting throughout your entire college career—a job not only you, but all of your friends did. It’s no one’s plan to continue their college side job after getting a degree, but sometimes there isn’t much of a choice. You didn’t know what to do with your life after graduating, not sure how to navigate the struggles in your twenties while it seemed like everyone else had their shit together. A stable factor in your life was what you needed, and with capitalism taking over the world, the money was welcome too.

Nannying for the Hotchners was better than the families you babysat for in college. The term says it already; you were a nanny now, a live-in nanny at that. You had a home, a stable income, and took care of a shy but very sweet kid who grew more comfortable around you every day. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture this being your life: the apartment you clean and cook warm meals in being yours, the mothers at Jack’s school seeing you as their equal and not just as “the nanny of”... And if you squint hard enough, you could imagine Aaron being your partner, the one who brought in the money so you could be a stay-at-home wife.

It’s not as delusional as it sounds, promise. Even though you and Aaron weren’t actually dating, at this point you might as well be. Because, honestly, can there really be any love involved with a man who always prioritizes his job? You lived in his house, took care of his kid, and besides that, there was only one more thing needed for the label of having a relationship: sex. And sex there was. Lots of it.

Okay, again, it might not be like the sex you’d see in a traditional relationship, but you lived in the 21st century, for Christ’s sake. It counted as something. At least to you. 

It had been a couple of months since you started working for Mr. Hotchner when you had made the mutual decision to add an extra addition to your contract: a free use policy.

The decision didn’t come out of nowhere. The second you had met up with Aaron over coffee to see if you were suitable for the job, there was a tension that neither of you could deny. An undeniable attraction that lingered in the air when your eyes first met across the café. A spark that coursed through both of your veins when he held out his hand and cupped your smaller one in his. The way your heart did a jump when he pulled out a chair for you and how his body had the same reaction at seeing your dress ride up when you sat down, revealing the slightest sliver of skin. 

This arrangement was destined to work. Aaron was stressed out and on the verge of breaking down if he didn’t get the relief of tension he so desperately needed after a long day of work. You needed to feel useful and worthy. Wanted by someone that in your eyes had it all. 

One and one make two.

It sounded simple enough to you: being each other’s sex buddy, satisfying each other’s needs without overcomplicating it. But it wouldn’t be your life if the execution of this plan went that smoothly. 

During a late night on the couch, several glasses of wine in, you tried making a move on Aaron. Your legs were intertwined, bundled up beneath a warm blanket. His fingers had found the bare skin of your calves, drawing slow circles as he listened to you recalling your day with Jack. His lips would curl ever so slightly when you mentioned Jack getting a compliment from his teacher or when you laughed as you repeated the pun you had learned from his son.

Still, the tiredness in his eyes remained, just like the dark circles beneath them that never seemed to fade.

You just wanted to help, make him feel comforted in a way you knew would work. He didn’t object when you scooted closer, turning your upper body to his to rest your head on his shoulder. He didn’t react when you used the tip of your nose to lightly graze his neck—apathetic to the small shiver of his shoulders and the trail of goosebumps that followed with your movement. He did not even flinch at the first couple of kisses that you pressed to his skin.

It was only when your hot breath fanned over the shell of his ear that he had stopped you. 

“We need to set boundaries. This isn’t professional.”

You swallowed down your sigh, chirping out a high-pitched sure. Deep down you could’ve predicted this. Aaron was the type of man disciplined enough to print out another copy of your contract, all the while ignoring the hard-on that was uncomfortably pressing against the zipper of his pants. 

It was admirable how he took the time to explain this “free use” arrangement to you. Despite you working with kids, you weren’t as patient. You were getting sex. That was all you needed to know. So you politely nodded along to his words as he scribbled down new information on the contract. 

“I need you to sign here,” Aaron murmured, glancing up at your position on the couch.

With an inaudible huff, you stood and walked up to the wooden table he was bent over. Aaron took a step back, giving you the space to prop yourself in between the table and his frame to take a better look at the paper.

Your eyes flit over the rules:

No kissing

Minimal talking during the act (sounds of pleasure and code word allowed)

No talking about the act outside of the act

And most importantly, since he is the boss, he makes the calls on when you’ll be having sex. No arguments.

The second you had scribbled down your signature on the new document, Aaron had pressed his body to yours. Large arms wrapped around your waist, his palms finding a home on your lower stomach. The erection you had spotted earlier wasn’t gone, as it now poked against the soft curve of your ass.

A breathless sound escaped your mouth, quickly turning louder when Aaron’s short, dark hair brushed against your ear, placing open-mouthed, wet kisses on the place where your neck met your jaw.

You remembered how his hand slid into your jeans next, his fingers expertly slipping between the puffy folds of your pussy. His breathing heaved with every curl of his finger, and so did his movements as he rocked his hips into your back. He was visibly enjoying making you feel good. That much you could tell, but still you had thought that this was just a warm-up to get you ready for him. But when you came—with a loud cry he had to muffle with his other palm—he had simply left the room.

It had been like this for the next couple of times: Aaron worshipping your body with his mouth or hands but never asking for anything in return. Maybe it was a boundary he wasn’t ready to cross yet, or maybe watching you come undone was enough to satiate his needs and take away his stress. No matter his initial reasons, eventually he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, your endeavors more often turning into you sucking him off while he’s on a tense phone call or having a quickie in the kitchen before the workday would start. Yes, specifically in the kitchen. Or any location other than the bedroom, for that matter. Because although not on the list, having sex in bed was an unspoken form of intimacy you agreed on not having.

But all sexual acts aside, at the end of the day you were a nanny. One who had a job to do. 

With a long stretch of your arms and a loud groan, you climbed out of bed this morning. The weekend—two days filled with cheering Jack on during his soccer matches and baking chocolate chip cookies—unfortunately has come to an end. 

Your feet moved on autopilot, still in a dazed state from your sleep, until you found yourself in Aaron’s bedroom. It was only to enter the connected master’s bathroom. It was probably against the “rules”, but no one could deny that his bathroom was superior to the guest one: it had a large shower cabin made out of glass, a window where the perfect amount of sunlight beamed through in the mornings, and there were discreet spotlights hidden in the ceiling that illuminated the room in a romantic setting during late night showers.

You never showered here when Aaron was at home. But he had been on a case this entire weekend, giving you the opportunity to fully enjoy the luxuries of his apartment. You did suspect that he was aware of your sneaky endeavors. One day he had come out of the shower smelling exactly like the vanilla scent of your shampoo—the shampoo you had forgotten to take back to your room with you.

Turning on the shower made you realize why waking up early was worth it. Warm drops of water fell down your skin, the fog that came free wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You had exactly one hour until Jack would wake up, one hour to abuse Mr. Hotchner’s water bill and carry out your sacred full-body routine.

You were in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when the creaking of the bathroom door sounded. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blindly reaching for a towel to dry your eyes from the prickling foam that’s running down your face. 

“Jack, what did I tell you about knocking when—“

Standing in front of you, barricaded only by the fogged shower doors, stood a man that—considering someone couldn’t grow twenty inches overnight—was not Jack. 

The dark, short-cut hair and the black blazer that was thrown over the figure’s form gave him away. It was none other than your boss standing in front of you.

“Jack’s still asleep,” Aaron said matter of factly as he tugged the blazer off his arm before dropping it into the laundry basket.

A tinge of worry filled your chest, your mind running in a million different directions as it tried to come up with the most natural and fast explanation for you being here. “I didn’t want to wake him. Your room is at the other side of the apartment, and you weren’t home, so—“

He waves you off with a motion of his hand. “Good call, he needs his sleep.”

The fogged glass hides the deep breath of relief you're letting out at hearing his approval. 

With the anxiety slipping away, you carefully reach out to wash the rest of your hair. You should turn around, face your back to him, and get the job done as fast as possible, but your boss had this essence that was too captivating to look away from. Squinting your eyes, you could make out the exhausted expression that lingered on Aaron’s face as he was busy untying his tie. 

“Rough weekend?”

He gave a short snort. “As always.”

You nodded in understanding, although he couldn’t see. Another silence followed, causing you to finally look away. It didn’t take long for your curiosity to be piqued again, when the sound of a belt buckle unclasping and the soft thud of a shirt falling to the ground interrupted the steady stream of spilling water. 

Turning your head, you could make out a vague tanned beige color where you previously saw the white of his dress shirt. The skin… the belt… Fuck, was this man getting naked?

“What are you doing?” You gulp when a strong hand reaches out for the shower’s doors. 

“Joining you.”

Such a deadpan tone, like your boss joining you in your morning shower is the most normal thing to happen on earth. But this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To feel like it was a mundane thing. For it to feel like you had an actual, healthy relationship with Aaron, that you weren’t essentially getting paid for your services.

“Okay,” you respond back with a newfound confidence.

You weren’t sure whether Aaron had waited on your confirmation, but the second the approval left your mouth, the doors were being opened. 

There was no need to hide your body; it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. The way he looked, however, was different. You’d only seen Aaron in a state where he was turned on, where he’d either been fantasizing about you all day at work—walking around with a painful boner all day—or where you’d been teasing him before you had greedily pulled his pants down. Now, however, he was still soft.

It wasn’t a sight you’ve often seen in your life, most men that you’d encountered feeling ashamed of the flaccid state; being a grower, or not thinking it looks sexy. So the fact that Aaron didn’t think twice of walking in showed a sense of trust and intimacy that made your stomach flutter. Besides, he had no reason to worry about his looks, because he looked good in this state. His balls were tight and roundly shaped, his length looked a bit shorter when soft but hung thick and heavy over said balls, and what drove you even wilder was the way his full tip twitched when his eyes had landed on you.

“Can I help you with that?” He asked, nodding down to the pink loofah in your hand.

You answered by taking a step back, giving him the space to fully enter the shower and close the doors behind him. He reached out his hand, and you had to blink a couple of times to make sure that this was really happening before handing him over the sponge.

Aaron accepts it. His other arm extends, almost brushing against yours. You inhale a deep breath, only to find out he was reaching for the shower gel behind you. With the use of his thumb, he clicks open the cap and squeezes a generous amount of liquid onto the loofah. 

Aaron’s eyes flick over your body, as if deciding where to start first. It was difficult for him to imagine that he had you right where he wanted. That you were standing right in the spot where he had fisted himself for months to the thought of you. The way you looked, with your curves bare on display as drops of water fell down the side of your body, was beyond any visualization his own mind could’ve ever come up with. 

Your nipples harden under the weight of his long, dark gaze, and it seems like the decision is made for him. Gently, he places the sponge on your collarbone, then moves it down in a slow stroke, following the curve of your breast. Your eyes close shut when the rough material catches onto your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

With curious eyes he takes in your reaction, then repeats the movement, moving the sponge back up. Your breast sways along, causing Aaron to swallow back a groan. In circular motions he moves on to your other breast. You hum in pleasure as he repeatedly caresses the pebbled bud while covering you in little bubbles of soap. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he teases. “Is it that relaxing?”

The corners of your lips lift up, it’s not often that he breaks his own rules by talking to you. When you open your eyes, you notice a mischievous glimmer behind the stoic facade. It’s not just that that you notice: the proximity is undeniable. In the few seconds your eyes were shut, Aaron had moved closer. So close that his forehead was nearly touching yours. So close that you could almost count the curly hairs on his chest that have deepened in color because of the streaming water. 

It was a mistake to look down.

Just an inch away from your stomach, heaved Aaron’s rock hard cock—that’s how fast the transformation can go. The large vein that you could dream at this point had made its appearance, and his bulbous head was shining in pre-cum. A thick drop hypnotizingly coating the slit.

“That’s what you do to me,” Aaron breathes out, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour. He could kiss you right now, his lips impossibly close to yours as he wet them with his tongue. Instead, his mouth moved: “Up.”

Before you were able to squint your eyebrows in confusion, Aaron had his arms wrapped around your thighs, giving you a firm tug up, allowing you to jump like he’d asked you. 

In a smooth—way too smooth—motion, you were thrown against the cold tiled wall, legs wrapped around his waist. Then he said it again. Up. 

Like a toddler being lifted by their parents, Aaron had managed to climb you up so that your thighs were seated against each side of his face, legs dangling over his shoulders and the back of your calves planted firmly against his lower back.

“How the fuck…” you gasp out in belated shock.

“Don’t waste your words asking questions,” he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your spread pussy. Not like you’d be able to in the state he’s got you in. “Just enjoy yourself.”

With his hands pinning you against the wall, he used the sole power of his neck to dive in. No time was wasted as his wet tongue split open the folds of your pussy, immediately latching onto your swollen pearl—completely magnetized by it.

Your thighs clenched around his head, a sound in between a moan and a gasp escaping you as you threw your head back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the back of your head making contact with the cold surface. 

Aaron groaned. You knew him well enough to know that it was a sound of disapproval, one of his dad-like “I told you to be careful” huffs. It didn’t have its designated effect, though; his muffled sound vibrates through your body, causing a wave of tingles to ignite your skin, your clit twitching against his tongue. 

When you looked down, he was rolling his eyes at you. “Are you serious?” his face spoke. A giggle left your chest, you couldn’t take the stern attitude seriously. 

Apparently, he did take it seriously. Aaron leaned back just enough to turn his head, and you missed the warmth of his mouth on you already. The light stubble that covered his jaw from being away on a case all weekend grazed along your inner thigh. 

“More,” you whimpered, lifting your hips from the wall and driving your cunt into his face.

His eyes flick to yours for a split second. It was easy to miss the moment, but something behind his eyes shifted, reaching the max of dealing with this daring disobedience of yours. Your breath gets caught before it happens: his teeth sink into your thigh.

You sputter in his grasp, legs locking tighter around his waist. He didn’t bite hard enough to cut skin, but he was definitely leaving a mark. You were sure of that when, after the use of teeth, he wrapped his lips around the aching spot, sucking and not stopping despite your sharp nails digging into his back.

“Are you going to be good for me now?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise!”

Wrong answer. Another bite.

This time you just nod, not speaking any excessive words. 

His teeth are replaced by his lips. He leaves two featherlight kisses on the bruised spot and moves back to your needy hole.

“Haven’t touched you in a minute, and you’re already dripping.”

Apparently the rule of not speaking doesn’t apply to Aaron Hotchner today. Not that you minded.

He licked the sweetness off your pussy, getting back into rhythm. Aaron’s lips sealed around your labia, gently suckling until the only sounds leaving your mouth were passionate moans. 

At this point it was impossible to decipher whether the wet, sloppy noises came from your pussy or from the water that dripped out of the shower's head, warming the sides of your bodies. 

You dug your nails lightly into his shoulders, grounding yourself from the accumulating heat that was starting to form low in your stomach.

With every up and down of his chin, Aaron’s nose would bump against your clit, making it twitch in desperation.

“Mmph,” you whine in response to his actions. I’m close! Aaron, please! Is what you wish you could scream out to him right now. Wishing you could beg for a fast release as the obscene sounds grew louder around you. But you couldn’t, not if you wanted to have any release at all. Forced to endure his sweet torture.

Aaron lifted his head, his mouth inches away from where you needed him most. 

“Are you close?”

You obediently nod up and down, making sure he gets the memo. 

“Will you cum if I touch her?” 

You vehemently nod, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Please, touch my clit, Aaron. 

His hot breath ghosted over the swollen bud. “Hold on tight.”

You moved your fingers to wrap tightly in his locks, right on time as Aaron wraps your throbbing clit in between his lips. It was a combination of his satisfied moans and the slurping of his tongue that tipped you over the edge.

By the time Aaron had placed you back on the ground, you were wobbling on your legs, and your throat felt sore from the cries that had tumbled from your lips. 

There wasn’t much time to recover, Aaron’s hands finding your waist, warm palms burning your skin as he turned you around. Your chest heaved from your orgasm, and your heart rate only sped up when his fingers made contact with the back of your arms. He guided his hands up until your fingers locked. 

The bathroom tiles weren’t as cold as you expected them to be when you placed your palms against them, still heated by Aaron’s hands that were pressed against the same spot only a minute ago.

“Arch your back for me, sweetheart,” he instructed. 

The nickname had your legs close to giving out. You clawed against the wall as you arched your back, ass raised high in the air, your cunt making contact with his poking cock as it pulsed from the sight of you. 

An arm cups around your frame, holding you steady against him. With the other, he brushes the skin of your curves, mapping out his favorite spots.

Aaron’s thick fingers grip around the cheek of your ass, spreading you open and watching you in a mix of lust and adoration. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, as if he’d just witnessed the opening of an exotic flower.

You felt the weight of his solid chest against your back, dew drops falling from his skin and melting onto yours. Aaron bent slightly through his knees, enough to line himself up with your hole. Then he pushed in.

“That’s it, you can take it,” he encouraged as his throbbing length entered you inch by inch. “Almost there. You’re doing so good, taking all of me.”

“Feels good,” you whisper softly, not able to help the words from spilling out.

“I know, honey. Going to make you feel even better.”

With that, he started pumping himself in and out of you, creating a mark in your cervix that he kissed with every thrust of his hips. It was hot. So fucking hot. The steam that has built up in the shower cabin, the warm press of Aaron’s body, the fullness of him inside of you, the heaving of his breath in your ear… Too hot.

It’s like he heard you, because in the next moment he had you pushed up against the cool expanse of tile. A shiver ran through your body, a pleasant one, as your nipples peaked against it, stimulated by the continuous rubbing against the surface as Aaron moved your body up and down his cock. 

A groan tore from his throat, the sound lightning through your body. “I missed this. Missed having you wrapped around me.”

The words were dirty, definitely, but it was the most affectionate thing he’s ever said to you. You could do this for the rest of your life: have him use you, be the reason he feels good, because there truly was nothing that made you feel more whole than to be praised by him. 

You fluttered your pussy around him, enticing another deep groan from him. 

“I’m getting close,” he hisses, and you nod. Give it to me, please. 

Instead of speeding up the slapping of skin, he halts his movements, pulling a whiny no out of you. 

With your back facing him, you don’t catch on to how he’s taking the shower head from its bar. Not even noticing the change of there being no more water falling down your body. 

What you do take in, is him hungrily cupping your mound. And you are definitely aware when he uses two of his fingers to spread your lips. You swear you can feel his grin against your neck when the shower head magically appears in his hand, turned to a setting where a strong current of water spurts out, which he places directly above your clit.

A high-pitched cry leaves your mouth, making you wiggle in his grasp. If he didn’t have you pinned against his body, you would’ve fallen to the ground, your legs feeling like complete jelly.

“Hold yourself open for me.”

Regret followed later, when you realized that Aaron would pick up his pace again, all the while your clit was being overstimulated by the flow of water.

Your mouth was agape, moans and gasps and cries tumbling out—sometimes loud, sometimes utterly breathless. The last sound that left you was a scream of Aaron’s name as you came around his cock. 

Your hand had left your pussy, reaching back to grip Aaron’s ass—the most accessible, and convenient place to hold—as your orgasm stuttered through you. You held him tightly, forcing a few more deep thrusts out of him before he pulled himself out.

“Knees. Now.”

The next moment passed in a blur. You fell to your knees, your legs squeaking against the cold, wet floor. You didn’t have the time to decide where to settle your eye: on his thick length that he held tightly in his fist, on his soft stomach and chest that heaved in anticipation of his orgasm, or on his face that was barely visible with the way he had his head thrown back, lip caught in between his teeth. 

His hips twitched, and his muscled thighs clenched as a white-hot fountain erupted on you. His release fell down your body, covering you from your breasts to your stomach to your legs. He even made a mess of himself, his hand covered in his essence, spread all over his cock by the jerking of his hand.

“Jesus,” Aaron curses, using his clean hand to push his hair out of his face. 

When his eyes fell back on you, he caught sight of you obediently sitting in front of him, using your thumb to flick a white stain off your breast before swirling your tongue around the digit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You pick up the shower head that was thrown beside you on the ground, then place your hand around his thigh for leverage, wanting to clean him up.

Aaron sharply inhaled, body tensing when the stream hit his sensitive cock. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry!” You quickly apologize in a stutter, then burst out in small laughter.

He shakes his head, opening his palm. “Hand it over to me.”

For a second you’re afraid he’s planning his revenge, but he turns the handle so that a gentle and even stream flows out of the head, then holds it above your body. Your personal waterfall.

With a hum, you wash yourself clean, almost sad to see the proof of his loving vanish from your body. 

“Come here,” he whispers when you’re done and helps pull you up by your arm.

Surprisingly, he wraps a strong arm around you, the back of his fingers running across your cheek to put the wet strands of your hair back in place. 

“I can bring Jack to school today.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure? You haven’t slept all night. I don’t mind—“

“Me neither,” he assures. “I know the work here is tiring too.”

It was. You knew nannying wasn’t an easy job, but nothing had prepared you for the days and nights spent alone while Aaron was catching killers in different states. It wasn’t easy being the main responsibility of a child in his most formative years, no matter how much gratification the work gives you.

“Okay,” you hum. “Thank you.”

“I have some free time when I get back.” His eyes search for yours as he speaks the words, awaiting your reply to the invitation. His eyes soften when they catch your small smile.

“Sounds good.”

He nods. “Good.”

[jareaufiles]

LIVE STREAM - a.hotchner x female reader

PREMISE: You’re doing a live-streamed cam session for fans. Aaron surprises the audience by joining. You try to maintain composure as he takes control slowly, his hand between your thighs as he murmurs, “Let them watch what’s mine.”

WARNINGS: pornstar AU, possessive dominance, cockwarming, face-fucking/deepthroating, cumplay (cum on face and in pussy), overstimulation, dirty talk, public (livestream) sex acts including oral sex, rough face-fucking, intense orgasm descriptions, soft possessiveness/obsessive language (“mine,” “good girl”), mild degradation (filthy teasing and verbal ownership), implied breeding kink (references to being “full” and “bred”), intense marking (facial, internal, and bodily cum mess emphasized), and explicit aftercare scenes including cleaning, dressing, caretaking, emotional tenderness post-scene, and hints of growing emotional intimacy between characters.

WORD COUNT: 6.3K

A/N: scheduled post!

NAVIGATION

The little red light above the webcam blinked on, and instantly the chat blew up. You let a sly grin spread over your lips, leaning back in the big velvet chair, which was your favorite one, the one everyone knew by now, deep crimson with arms you could grip when things got messy. The silk robe you had on was barely staying put, slipping off one shoulder as you shifted, letting the camera catch a teasing glimpse of skin, the way your tits rose and fell with every breath.

You weren’t wearing anything else. That was the point. Just you, a late night tease, soft lighting making your skin glow, the silk brushing against your nipples, leaving them stiff and aching. The robe hung open just enough to show the curve of your cleavage, the soft slope of your belly, and lower to the bare, neat lips of your pussy, already a little slick because you knew what you were about to do. You had planned to take it slow, work yourself open, let the chat beg while you teased your clit with lazy, slow circles of your fingers.

And the chat was already unhinged.

[“LOOK AT THAT FUCKING BODY.”] [“THAT ROBE. SHE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT SHE’S DOING.”] [“CLOSE UP OF THAT PUSSY PLS.”]

You laughed under your breath, a soft, breathy sound that made donations ping across the screen. You spread your legs just a little wider, showing them the soft folds of your cunt — pink and swollen, glistening faintly under the soft glow of the overhead light. Your lips were plump, perfect, with the barest hint of wetness starting to gather where your folds met. Your clit peeked out, flushed and needy. It was obscene how ready you were without even touching yourself.

You were about to dip your fingers between your thighs when you heard it. The soft creak of the trailer door. Heavy, measured footsteps. And then — that voice.

“Didn’t I fucking tell you not to start without me?”

You froze. Your stomach dropped, cunt clenched, heart hammering in your chest. You turned your head slowly, already feeling the heat rise under your skin, and there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Tall, broad, dressed like he’d just walked off a crime scene (a/n - pun intended, lmao)— black button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, belt still on, hair slightly mussed. He looked every inch the predator, sharp-eyed and entirely unbothered as he stepped into the frame. You could already hear the chat blowing the fuck up.

[“IS THAT HOTCH?”] [“COLLAB OF THE YEAR I’M FUCKING SCREAMING.”] [“PLEASE LET HIM RUIN YOU.”]

You opened your mouth to explain that this wasn’t supposed to be a joint stream, but before you could get a word out, he was behind you, one hand heavy on your shoulder, leaning in until his mouth brushed your ear.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart. Be a good girl for them.”

Your breath hitched. Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, your knees were parting, the robe falling open completely now. You were bare, flushed, and soaked, and the cam had the perfect angle on it. The soft lips of your pussy gleamed, your clit swollen and throbbing, your skin flushed from your chest down to your belly.

The chat absolutely exploded.

[“LOOK AT THAT PUSSY FUCKKKKK.”] [“TIGHT LITTLE CUNT I’M LOSING IT.”]

“That’s it,” Aaron murmured, his hand sliding down the length of your thigh, big palm warm against your skin. His fingertips brushed along your inner thigh, then drifted up, knuckles grazing your slick folds. You were already so wet it left a smear of shine on his skin.

He pushed your chair back a little so the camera caught every angle — your face, your tits, your messy pussy glistening in the light. And then he cupped you fully, palm pressing against your slit.

“Smile,” he muttered, “or I stop.”

You forced a trembling grin as his thumb slid over your clit, pressing down hard enough to make your hips twitch. Two thick fingers slid between your lips, parting them, teasing the entrance of your cunt before sinking inside. You were so wet they slid in to the second knuckle with barely any resistance, the obscene squelch of your slick loud in the quiet trailer.

“Jesus,” he groaned, leaning down, lips against your ear. “You were this fucking wet for them? Or was it for me?”

You couldn’t even answer — your head tipped back as his fingers started to move, slow and deep, curling up to stroke that spot that made your vision blur. His thumb kept circling your clit, relentless and rough, and the way he fucked you with those fingers — thick, strong, curling and pressing — had your thighs shaking in minutes.

The chat was losing it.

[“I CAN HEAR HOW WET SHE IS HOLY SHIT.”] [“FINGER HER FASTER KING.”] [“LOOK AT HER FACE SHE’S GONE.”]

He added a third finger without warning, stretching you wide, and you cried out, body arching, cunt clenching around him. He fucked you hard, fingers pumping fast now, his thumb never easing up. Your clit was throbbing, your slick running down onto the chair beneath you.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he muttered, watching your face. “Come on, let them see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

You shattered in seconds. A loud, broken cry, your cunt squeezing down around his fingers, your legs shaking, juices coating his hand. You came so hard it made your vision go white for a second, the pleasure sharp and brutal.

He kept going, fucking you through it until your hips bucked, until you were whimpering for him to stop. Then, finally, he pulled his fingers out, wet and messy, slick glistening in the low light. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean with a low, satisfied hum.

“Tastes like heaven,” he growled, licking his lips.

The chat was a fucking riot.

[“I’M FUCKING CUMMING.”] [“LICK HER CLEAN YOU FILTHY GOD.”]

And then he was on his knees between your legs, grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the very edge of the chair so your pussy was right in his face. He didn’t tease, didn’t waste a second. His mouth latched onto your cunt like a man starving, tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit before flicking it hard. He groaned against you, the vibration making your whole body twitch.

He ate you like he meant to ruin you. His tongue fucking inside you, then lapping up the mess he made, sucking your clit into his mouth until you were gasping, your nails digging into the arms of the chair. You could feel your orgasm building again, fast and ruthless.

Aaron pulled back just long enough to speak, his lips shiny with your slick. “I want them to see your face when you come on my tongue,” he growled. “They can jerk off to it — but I’m the one who gets to fuck you after.”

Then his mouth was back on you, relentless, tongue flicking and curling, sucking your clit until you shattered again, louder this time, hips jerking, thighs closing around his head. He held you there, kept licking you through it, not stopping until you were sobbing his name.

When he finally pulled away, his face was a mess, eyes dark and fucking feral.

And you were wrecked.

And the chat had officially lost its goddamn mind.

Your hands were trembling, pussy still throbbing from the aftershocks of his tongue, but you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed Aaron by the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric tight in your fist, and yanked him up toward you.

His breath was hot against your mouth, lips slick with your own taste, and you moaned as you kissed him, deep and filthy. The taste of yourself on his tongue made your head spin, your hips still twitching involuntarily.

You licked his face between kisses, slow and deliberate, chasing every drop of slick he’d left there. Your tongue traced his jaw, licked over the stubble on his chin, tasted the corner of his mouth. His breath hitched, eyes hooded and dark as sin, and you knew the chat was losing their collective minds even before you glanced at the screen.

[“SHE’S FUCKING LICKING HERSELF OFF HIS FACE OMFG.”] [“KINKIEST STREAM EVER.”] [“BRO IM GONNA CUM ALREADY.”]

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, fingers working his belt open, tugging it free with a sharp snap. You made quick work of the button and zipper, then shoved his jeans and boxers down in one motion, his cock springing free, and just like you remembered, he was perfect.

Big. Thick. Heavy, the flushed head leaking precum, a drop glistening at the tip. His cock was smooth, clean-shaven just like the rest of him, not a single hair from his balls up. The veins running along the shaft made your mouth water, and his balls hung heavy and tight beneath, the sight of him making your already sore cunt clench again.

[“HOLY FUCK LOOK AT THAT COCK.”] [“CLEAN SHAVEN KING. I’M DEAD.”] [“SHE’S GONNA CHOKE.”]

You smirked at the chat and stood up long enough to push him down into your chair, making sure the cam caught every second of it. Aaron spread his thighs, cock standing proud against his stomach, and you dropped to your knees between his legs like you belonged there.

“You gonna be good for me now, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, hand brushing your hair from your face.

You didn’t answer with words — you just wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, the heat and weight of him making your palm tingle. You gave him a few slow strokes, spreading the slick over the head with your thumb before leaning in and licking a long, teasing stripe from base to tip. He let out a soft grunt, hips twitching, and you swirled your tongue around the head, tasting salt and heat.

Then you took him into your mouth.

The first stretch of your lips around him made your jaw ache in the best way, the thick head pressing against your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks. Your spit mixed with his precum instantly, dripping down your chin as you started to work him deeper, your hand twisting at the base while your lips slid down his shaft.

The chat was fucking losing it.

[“I’M FUCKING DONE SHE’S TAKING ALL OF IT.”] [“THAT SUCKING SOUND OMFG.”] [“CHOKE ON IT BABY GIRL.”]

You gave him a sloppy, wet blowjob; spit trailing down your chin, pooling at the base of his cock. Your lips stretched wide around him as you took him as deep as you could, gagging just a little when he hit the back of your throat. The sound only made him groan, his hand threading into your hair, not forcing you but guiding you, holding you there.

You bobbed your head, mouth slick and hot around him, tongue flicking over the underside, tracing the thick vein there. You pulled off with a gasp to catch your breath, stroking him while spit connected your lips to the head of his cock in a shining string.

“Messy fucking mouth,” Aaron rasped, thumb wiping your chin before shoving the digit into your mouth for you to suck clean.

You swallowed around him again, faster this time, your throat working around his cock, spit dripping onto your chest. Your hand twisted at the base in time with your mouth, making obscene, wet sounds that had the chat melting down.

[“SHE’S GONNA MAKE ME CUM JUST FROM THIS.”] [“THAT COCK DESERVES TO LIVE IN HER MOUTH.”]

His breathing was getting rougher, jaw tight, but he didn’t let himself go, pulling your head back by your hair before he could tip over that edge.

“Not yet,” he growled, his cock glistening with your spit. “You’re not getting my load until I’m buried in that tight little pussy.”

And fuck if your cunt didn’t clench at just the sound of it.

Your throat was sore, lips swollen and shiny with spit, and your chest was rising and falling in sharp little breaths when Aaron’s hand curled in your hair and tugged you off his cock with a wet pop. Your jaw ached in the best fucking way, drool running down your chin, strands of it still clinging between your lips and the flushed, slick head of his cock.

He didn’t give you a second to recover.

“Come here,” he rasped, voice thick and dark as sin. His big hands gripped your hips and hauled you up onto his lap like you weighed nothing, making sure the camera caught every second of it. His cock was hot and heavy against your belly as you straddled him, your slick cunt leaving a glossy trail over his length.

The chat was nothing but chaos.

[“FUCK YES FUCK YES FUCK YES.”] [“SHE’S GONNA RIDE HIM LIVE.”] [“HOTCH YOU LUCKY BASTARD.”]

You grinned, dizzy with it all, the room feeling too hot as you reached down, guided the thick head of his cock to your soaked entrance, and slowly, so fucking slowly, sank down onto him. You both groaned, the stretch making your eyes roll back as your pussy took every thick inch of him. He filled you up so good, the delicious, almost painful stretch leaving you trembling. It was obscene how well you fit together, like your body was made to take him.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” Aaron growled against your ear, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

Once he was fully seated inside you, the base of his cock pressed snug against your slick lips, you let your back fall against his chest, his strong arms coming around to hold you there. His cock was so deep you swore you could feel it against your cervix, your cunt already fluttering around him from how good it felt.

But you didn’t start moving. Not yet.

You sat there, cockwarming him, keeping him buried to the hilt inside you while you both turned your attention to the stream. Your face was flushed, your skin damp, hair sticking to your temples, and your nipples were hard, aching, the silk robe still hanging loose around your elbows now, forgotten.

Aaron reached up and palmed one of your tits, fingers pinching your nipple as he addressed the camera, his voice smug and dark.

“You like the view?” he murmured, his other hand sliding down to cup your mound, the base of his palm pressing just above where you were stretched around his cock. “Look at her. Stuffed full and still smiling for you.”

[“I’M FUCKING CUMMING BRO.”] [“THIS IS THE BEST STREAM I’VE EVER SEEN.”] [“SHE’S SO FUCKING FULL OMFG.”]

You laughed breathlessly, rolling your hips a little, the movement grinding your clit against his pubic bone. The drag of his cock inside you, even with those tiny movements, made your toes curl. Every now and then you rocked your hips just enough to feel him shift inside you, enough to hear that soft, filthy wet sound your pussy made as it clenched around him.

Aaron’s fingers toyed with your tits, pinching, rolling your nipples between his rough fingertips until you were squirming in his lap, the ache in your cunt impossible to ignore.

“She can’t sit still,” Aaron murmured for the chat, his hand sliding down your belly, fingers tracing the subtle bulge where his cock filled you so deep. “So greedy for it she keeps trying to fuck herself on my cock.”

You moaned, breath catching as his hand pressed down, adding pressure to that spot, making the sensation of fullness even more intense. You bit your lip, but you couldn’t help it — you rocked your hips again, your cunt clenching hard around him.

The chat blew up.

[“FUCKING BURY IT DEEPER.”] [“LOOK AT HER SQUIRM.”] [“FUCK I WISH THAT WAS ME.”]

You turned your head, licking up the side of Aaron’s throat, tasting sweat and your own slick still clinging to his skin. “They’re fucking loving this,” you whispered against his ear, your voice a soft, fucked-out purr.

He grinned, teeth flashing as he pinched your nipple harder, making you gasp.

“Good,” he growled. “Because they can watch you take it, they can jerk off to your face when you come, but this pussy’s mine.”

His hand slid between your legs again, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight little circles as you sat stuffed full of him, back against his chest, your cunt stretched and drooling around his cock.

You moaned loud and open-mouthed, the sound making the chat absolutely explode. Every roll of your hips made you feel the thick, hard slide of him inside you, even though you weren’t bouncing on him yet, just keeping him buried deep while you teased them both.

The longer you sat there, the more desperate you got. And judging by the twitch of his cock inside you, the tightness of his grip on your tits, Aaron wasn’t far behind.

Your whole body was buzzing. Your pussy was stretched wide and soaking, wrapped around every inch of Aaron’s thick cock while he sat still beneath you, just holding you there — full, twitching, leaking, but not letting you move. Your cunt throbbed around him, clenching with every breath, every slow twist of your hips. It was torture, your clit swollen and slick from how often it rubbed against the thick base of his cock or the rough skin of his lower stomach every time you shifted just a little.

You could feel the veins in his shaft pulsing against your soaked walls. You were so full you could barely think straight.

“Aaron,” you whined, breath hot and desperate against his jaw, “please. I need it — I need you to fuck me. Please.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just kept palming your tits with one hand, teasing your nipples, rubbing soft circles over the bulge in your belly where his cock sat buried inside you.

Your head tipped back against his shoulder. “I can’t take it anymore,” you whispered, moaning through the words, rocking your hips in tight little circles just to feel some kind of friction. “Please, Aaron. Fuck up into me. I want them to see what you do to me.”

That was what broke him.

His hands clamped down on your hips, and before you could even gasp, he planted his boots on the floor and fucked up into you — hard.

You screamed, your whole body jolting as his cock slammed into your deepest point, the stretch instantly overwhelming. He didn’t ease into it. He held you down by your hips, locking you in place, and drove up into you again. And again. And again. Deep, brutal thrusts that made the sound of skin slapping skin echo through the trailer, your pussy squelching around him, wet and obscene.

The camera caught everything.

[“FUCK FUCK FUCK.”] [“LOOK AT HER BOUNCE.”] [“THAT PUSSY’S SO LOUD BRO I’M DONE.”]

You could barely breathe. Each thrust shoved you forward, your hands scrambling to grip the chair’s arms for balance, your back arching away from his chest. But he followed, pressing his body up into yours, breath hot at your ear, voice a low, gritted growl.

“You want them to watch?” he rasped, fucking into you even harder. “Want them to see how fucking deep I am inside you?”

You couldn’t even speak — just nodded frantically, mouth open in a silent moan, the heat building in your gut unbearable. He was so deep, the head of his cock punching into your cervix, the friction dragging along every sensitive inch inside you. Your pussy was soaked, slick dripping down his balls and your thighs, the chair beneath you shiny with your mess.

Aaron’s hand moved from your tit to your throat, not choking, just holding — firm, possessive. He tilted your head back, forcing you to look at the camera.

“Look at them,” he growled. “Let them see your face when I ruin you.”

And ruin you he did.

He fucked up into you like he wanted to break you open, his pace brutal, fast, relentless. You bounced in his lap from the force of it, your pussy making the wettest, filthiest sounds with every thrust. His other hand worked your clit, rough circles that had your whole body jerking, your orgasm racing toward you like a goddamn freight train.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna cum,” you sobbed, voice high and wrecked. “Aaron—fuck—please.”

“Cum on my cock,” he growled into your ear. “Let them watch this tight fucking pussy cream for me.”

Your orgasm slammed into you with no warning; your body tensed, then shattered, your cunt clenching so hard around him it forced a groan from deep in his chest. You cried out, full-body trembling, nails digging into the arms of the chair, pussy fluttering and gushing all over him. You could feel the mess, the slippery rush of wetness as you came around him.

Aaron didn’t stop.

He grabbed your hips and fucked you through it, still grinding his cock deep into your spasming cunt, still using you like his own personal toy. You were half-crying, half-laughing from the pleasure, babbling nonsense, barely aware of the chat blowing up in the background.

[“SHE’S CREAMING HOLY SHIT.”] [“I CAME I CAME I CAME.”] [“RUIN HER KING.”]

Then Aaron gave a deep, broken grunt and slammed up into you one last time — hard, deep, staying there as he came. You felt it, the pulse of his cock, the way his cum spilled out in hot thick waves, coating your walls. His grip on your hips tightened, and he held you down, making sure you took every drop.

You sat there, trembling, stuffed full and soaked, his cock twitching inside your messy, stretched cunt. His arms wrapped around you again, one palm flat on your stomach, the other between your legs, pressing possessively against your swollen pussy.

“Smile for the camera,” he whispered, breath ragged, still inside you. “They just watched you get fucking bred.”

Your body was still twitching, nerves fried, clit throbbing, your chest heaving against the sticky warmth of Aaron’s chest. His cock was still buried deep inside you, the thick, satisfied weight of it pressing up against your tender walls, his cum already seeping around the base. You could feel it — hot, thick, the obscene fullness making your overstimulated cunt flutter all over again. The trailer was humid with sex, the air thick with sweat and the filthy scent of your combined orgasms.

You swallowed hard, your lips parted in a fucked-out grin as you turned your head to nuzzle his jaw. “They’re not done,” you murmured, voice wrecked and breathy.

Neither was he.

With a shaky hand, you gripped the arms of the chair and slowly lifted your hips. The thick drag of his cock pulling from your swollen, used pussy made you moan, your walls clinging greedily to him on the way out. You both watched, and the stream definitely saw, the way his cock glistened, slick with both your mess, pearly streaks of cum clinging to the shaft.

And then it happened — the thing the chat had been begging for.

As soon as you lifted high enough for him to slip free with a wet, lewd sound, a thick, milky drip of his cum slid from your stretched hole, trailing down your folds and onto his cock, pooling at the base. You bit your lip, rolling your hips to tease it out, watching another slow, viscous string spill down, catching the light before landing on his stomach.

Aaron groaned deep in his chest, a dangerous, satisfied sound. “Look at that,” he muttered, grabbing the base of his cock, stroking it lazily through the mess as he stared at your ruined cunt. “Fucking wrecked. You see that, chat? This is mine.”

The chat exploded.

[“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”] [“CUM DRIP OMFG I CAN’T BREATHE.”] [“SHE’S STILL LEAKING JESUS.”]

Aaron wasn’t done showing them, either.

Before you could even lower yourself fully, he slapped your pussy — a sharp, wet smack against your swollen, messy lips. You cried out, your whole body jolting, another little gush of his cum spilling from your hole at the impact.

“Keep that shit inside next time,” he growled against your ear, grabbing your hips tight and pulling you down hard onto his cock again.

You moaned loud, back arching, feeling every swollen inch stretch you open all over again. The squelch as you bottomed out was obscene, cum squishing up around the base of his cock. Aaron held you there, his hand slipping between your legs to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles while you both turned back to the cam.

You were a mess. Hair sticking to your face, lips kiss-bruised, sweat slicked, tits flushed and rising fast with every panting breath. The robe was long gone, crumpled on the floor. And you didn’t give a single fuck.

Aaron nipped your earlobe and spoke for the stream again. His voice low, wrecked but smug. “That’s what happens when you fuck with a real man, sweetheart,” he rasped, grinding up into you once, your whole body jerking. “You’ll drip for hours.”

You giggled, biting your lip and resting your head back on his shoulder, still cockwarming him, feeling his cum mix with your slick deep inside.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” you purred at the cam, voice rough and sweet at once. “Bet you’re all sitting there with your dicks in your hands wishing you could be this full.”

The chat went feral.

[“I’M CUMMING AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD.”] [“FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.”] [“PLEASE LET ME CLEAN HER UP.”]

Aaron chuckled darkly, pinching your nipple and making you squirm on his cock.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered, eyes locked on the screen, one hand still working lazy circles over your clit, “she’s not done yet.”

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears, pussy still stretched and messy, but the desperate, lingering ache in your throat had you craving something else. You could feel Aaron twitching inside you, still hard, thick and impossibly hot, his cum thick inside your cunt, but you needed the taste of him.

Needed it down your throat, coating your tongue, owning your mouth the way he’d just owned your pussy.

You shifted in his lap, your soaked cunt making a wet, filthy noise as you lifted off his cock, another slick strand of his cum clinging to your inner lips, trailing down as you dropped to your knees between his thighs again.

The webcam caught everything; the way your used pussy clenched, the creamy mess smearing down your inner thighs, your tits bouncing as you settled on your knees like you belonged there, mouth already parted and hungry.

Aaron’s cock was a beautiful fucking mess. Slick, flushed, still so hard, smeared with both of you, and glistening in the soft light. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of it, thick veins standing out along the shaft, his balls heavy and tight beneath. You grinned, wiping your spit-slicked chin with the back of your hand before wrapping your fingers around the base.

The chat was already going absolutely feral.

[“SHE’S FUCKING GOING AGAIN.”] [“DEEPTHROAT HIM BABY GIRL.”] [“I’M SO FUCKING HARD I CAN’T TAKE IT.”]

You didn’t tease this time. You leaned in, lips parting, tongue tracing the underside of his shaft from base to tip, savoring the mix of your combined slick. He groaned low, the sound punching straight to your core, and you flattened your tongue, taking the head into your mouth and swallowing him down.

His cock hit the back of your throat in one smooth, practiced motion, the stretch making your eyes water instantly. You gagged softly around him, throat spasming, but it only made him growl. His hand shot to the back of your head, fisting your hair, holding you there while your throat convulsed around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, hips lifting just enough to bury the last thick inch of him down your throat. “God, you take me so good.”

You moaned around him, the sound muffled but filthy, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, drool slipping down your chin as you started to work your throat around him. Your nose pressed to the base, the dark hairless skin against your face, his scent thick and raw. You swallowed around him, muscles squeezing his cock, and his grip tightened in your hair.

The chat was pure chaos.

[“FUCK THAT DEEPTHROAT.”] [“GAG ON IT BABY.”] [“I’M CUMMING I SWEAR TO GOD.”]

Tears stung your eyes, your throat raw and aching in the best way, your cunt still twitching from the fullness, but you didn’t stop. You pulled back enough to catch your breath, spit trailing from your lips to the flushed head, before sinking back down, faster now, fucking your throat on his cock with slick, messy sounds that filled the humid air.

Aaron’s breath hitched, his muscles tensing under your hands as you gripped his thighs for leverage. His balls drew up, cock twitching hard against your tongue, and you felt the telltale jerk of his hips.

“Shit — fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” he managed, voice wrecked.

You whimpered around him, moaning eagerly, and that was it.

He pulled you off his cock at the last second, his hand tight in your hair, and stroked himself twice, fast and rough. The first thick rope of cum painted your cheek, hot and heavy, followed by another across your lips, your chin, splashing onto your tongue as you opened your mouth to catch it.

Aaron groaned deep, head tipped back, chest rising in sharp, ragged breaths as his load spilled over your face, marking you, claiming you in front of everyone.

The chat absolutely lost it.

[“CUM SHOT FUCKKKKKK YES.”] [“ON HER FACE OMFG I’M CUMMING.”] [“SHE LOOKS SO FUCKING GOOD LIKE THAT.”]

You sat there, cum dripping from your chin, smeared across your lips, your throat aching and your cunt still soaked, grinning like the filthy, cockdrunk girl you were. You licked your lips, swallowing down what landed there, and looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Told you they’d love that,” you rasped.

Aaron’s smirk was lethal as he pulled you up by the hair and kissed you, messy, filthy, cum-slick kiss for everyone to see.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled against your lips.

And you were.

You could still feel his cum cooling on your skin, thick streaks on your cheek and jaw, a few drops slipping down to your chest. Your throat was raw, your pussy tender and aching, the room stinking of sweat, sex, and slick — and you were so goddamn satisfied you could barely keep your eyes open.

The chat was still a riot of unhinged, desperate messages.

[“I JUST BUSTED THE HARDEST NUT OF MY LIFE.”] [“BEST STREAM EVER NO DEBATE.”] [“PLEASE LET HIM FUCK YOU AGAIN TOMORROW.”]

You wiped your lips with the back of your hand, snorting out a breathless laugh as you pushed your damp, tangled hair out of your face. Aaron was still sprawled in the chair, lazily stroking your thigh, his cock finally softening against his stomach, a smug, worn-out grin on his face.

“Alright, you filthy little pervs,” you rasped, leaning in close to the camera, still smeared in his cum, your lips puffy and eyes heavy-lidded. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

A chorus of heartbreak filled the chat.

[“NOOOOOOO.”] [“ONE MORE ROUND PLEASE.”] [“I’LL PAY ANYTHING.”]

You giggled, biting your lip, giving them one last, messy smile. “Maybe next time,” you teased, glancing back at Aaron, your voice low and sultry. “If he promises to behave and not crash my fucking stream again.”

He just smirked, unrepentant, giving your ass a sharp smack that made you yelp and laugh.

“Say goodnight, baby,” you murmured, nuzzling under his jaw.

Aaron lifted a brow, leaning in close enough so the camera caught his smirk. “Goodnight, degenerates,” he rasped, voice still wrecked from growling in your ear all night. “She’s mine now.”

You both reached out and hit end stream together.

The little red light blinked out.

Silence.

For a second, it was just the hum of the trailer’s AC unit and the heavy sound of your breathing, your body still trembling from everything. Aaron’s hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer, his lips pressing against your temple.

“Jesus,” you sighed, letting yourself collapse against his chest. “I am so fucking sore.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through you, his palm rubbing slow, soothing circles up and down your back. “Good sore or bad sore?”

You smirked into his neck, too content to move. “Good. The best. The kind that means you owe me breakfast tomorrow.”

“I’ll make it,” he promised, kissing the top of your head.

A beat passed before you pulled back, grinning at him.

“You know you totally hijacked my stream, right?” you teased, tracing a lazy pattern over his chest. “That was supposed to be me teasing them with my fingers for like twenty minutes, maybe a toy… and then you kicked the door in like some jealous mob boss and ruined my whole plan.”

Aaron grinned, completely unrepentant. “Jealous? No. Possessive? Always.”

“Mmm, you’re lucky you fuck like that, Hotchner,” you purred, leaning in to kiss him slow and deep. “Or I’d be mad.”

“You weren’t complaining when you were creaming all over my cock,” he murmured against your lips.

You snorted, rolling your eyes and settling back against his chest, still basking in the lingering heat of it all. “Next time, you let me start the stream alone. Then you can crash it.”

“Deal.”

You sighed happily, melting into him, his arms tight around you as you both let the post-fuck haze settle, the world outside that trailer forgotten for a while.

The sticky heat of the room was starting to settle into that soft, heavy afterglow, the kind where every part of you felt loose and sore and satisfied.

You peeled yourself off Aaron’s lap, your legs shaky and your inner thighs slick with a mess that had no right being as obscene as it was. Your skin was tacky with sweat and dried cum, and your throat still felt raw from how deep you’d taken him.

You grabbed the packet of wipes from the counter, grinning to yourself as you pulled a few out. “Alright, come on, porn god,” you teased, tossing one at him as you started dabbing at your face and chest. “Let’s clean this mess up.”

Aaron just smirked, catching the wipe one-handed, but instead of using it, he reached for yours, tugging it gently from your fingers. “Nah,” he said, low and easy, voice softer now, eyes warm in a way that always caught you off guard. “Let me. I’ll take care of you.”

You paused, heart giving a little skip in your chest, and let him.

He wiped your face first, slow and careful, clearing the streaks of his cum from your cheek, from the corner of your mouth. The way his eyes followed the movement of his hand, the way his thumb brushed your jaw after, like it was instinct, made your stomach do a slow, stupid flip.

He worked down your chest, across your stomach, making sure you were clean before reaching between your thighs. You hissed a little at the sensitivity and he gave a crooked grin.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, so gentle now it was almost funny after how he’d split you open minutes ago. “Still a little tender, huh?”

“Gee, wonder why,” you muttered with a grin.

Aaron cleaned himself up next, tossing the used wipes aside, and it struck you how normal it felt now — the easy way you moved around each other, the way he knew where your towels were, how you kept a bottle of water on the counter after streams. It wasn’t just this scene. It hadn’t been for a while.

Ever since your audition a month ago, when you’d shown up a little too cocky and he’d called you out in front of the crew — then later bent you over his trailer couch for a chemistry test neither of you admitted to but both of you kept repeating — things had blurred. The casual scenes, the streams, the backstage teasing. It wasn’t just porn. It was… something else.

You stepped into a fresh pair of panties and grabbed your phone, starting to gather your things as the night wound down. Aaron tugged his jeans back on, zipping them up, and grabbed his keys off the counter.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said casually, like it was obvious.

You gave him a look. “I can call a car, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, shooting you a half-smile, leaning in the doorway as he watched you wriggle into a clean tank top. “But I’m driving you anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning as you turned away to grab your robe from the floor. When you caught him staring, that soft look in his eyes that made your chest tighten, you raised a brow.

“What?” you asked, smirking.

Aaron just shrugged, stepping closer, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “Still makes me chuckle,” he said, voice rough and fond. “You’re the only one who calls me by my first name.”

Your heart did another dumb little flutter. You sighed, shaking your head fondly as you pressed up onto your toes and kissed him, slow and easy, tasting the ghost of earlier on his lips. “Must be a crush,” you teased softly against his mouth.

He laughed, a real, deep laugh that made you grin.

“Come on, trouble,” you said, playfully shoving him toward the door. “You can brood behind the wheel while you drive me home.”

He grabbed your hand before you could pull away, lacing your fingers together for a second, giving them a squeeze before letting go. And just like that — easy, unspoken — you both stepped out into the night, into the cool air and the dark lot outside the trailer, something warm and quiet humming between you.

And fuck… it felt good.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

The Truth²

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: Aaron had always valued the truth above all else. But sometimes the truth isn't enough. Warnings: home invasion, murder (self-defence), cm-typical cases, references to foyet arc and haley's death, aaron was mean, grovelling, complicated relationships, lots of angst Words: 4.7K

Masterlist | Part 1

a/n: omg, i'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging! i genuinely forgot ab this with exams and everything. but thank you so much for all the love! it means the world. lmk if you want a part 3!

Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

"Hotch."

Aaron looked from the papers haphazardly placed across the table, seeing Morgan standing in the threshold. "Yes?"

Derek nodded his head outward. "Garcia's on the line. We've got a lead."

He was up before Derek could finish his sentence, following him out of the makeshift office and into the conference room where the rest of the team sat. 

"Go ahead, babygirl."

Garcia's voice crackled to life from the receiver on the table. "Okay, so after some deep, deep sleuthing, I have found that the victims do all indeed have something in common. Each of them has been involved in a court case, specifically domestic disputes, that kind of thing. Andrew Sykes was a character witness in a rape trial, Maya Zhao the plaintiff in another, and Carson Williams the accused. The only reason Carson's name didn't come up immediately is because his record was expunged—he was a minor at the time."

Emily raised her hand into the air, her eyebrows scrunching together. "Wait, wait, wait. So the unsub is targeting just random people who've been involved in rape cases?"

Reid tilted his head. "Garcia, what was the outcome of each case?"

"Um..." she paused, her keyboard clacking. "The first case with Sykes was dismissed, Maya's rapist was found guily, and Carson was found... not guilty."

"Guys, what if the unsub doesn't just choose his targets because they're involved? What if he's choosing them because he thinks they're lying?"

JJ raised a brow. "Lying about the crime?"

"Yes! What if that's the link? Not because of the lives they lead but the choices they made?"

"That would explain the overkill," Rossi added. "If the unsub believes the victims are disingenuous, ruining people's lives, then that may be his justification for taking them."

Hotch nodded, going over the details in his head before he agreed. "We're ready to give the profile. Thank you, Garcia."

"You got it." A click resounded, signalling the call was over. Similarly, everyone cleared the room, slowly filtering out. 

Emily was the last one in the room, appearing to be grabbing her files before setting them down on the table once everyone was gone. "Hotch."

He stopped turning halfway through, turning to give her his attention. While he expected curiosity on her face, what he didn't expect was the pure inquisitiveness, if not interrogation, that he saw.

"What's going on with Y/N?" 

He had to stop himself from intaking a breath, but he knew even that was futile. Emily was nothing if not a great profiler, and she had taken to profiling him very well. When he saw the curiosity on her face start to resemble accusation, he knew that he gave something away, anyway.

Before he could even think of anything to say, she continued, "She hasn't been to work in days. She says she's sick, but... you haven't called her once to check in on her. And normally you call her all the time when she's in perfect health." She tilted her head in a way that felt like a challenge and then repeated herself. "What's going on?"

Hotch's first instinct was to defend himself, even though Emily didn't know anything about what happened. He could explain it, but then what would he say? That he told you that you weren't Jack's mother? That he called you an accessory? That he was cruel?

He implied that you weren't a member of this team. But the way Emily was searching for information told him otherwise.

This wasn't a case. He couldn't lay out all the facts and present it to jury. And he couldn't coldly tear you down like you were a defendant in need of prosecution.

But you did, his mind echoed. You already did that.

He wished he didn't.

He stopped avoiding Emily's eyes, and he told the best truth he could tell at that moment. "We got into an argument," No, he berated you. "and we haven't spoken since. I've been... trying to give her space."

Emily looked as though she were mentally calculating what he could've said to warrant so much space. But if he told the full truth, the honest truth, then she would know that he created a distance between you that he didn't know how to bridge.

"Hotch—" she paused like she was debating whether or not to speak her mind. "Don't take this the wrong way, because I'm saying this with the utmost respect. But you have a great thing with a great person." She let her words soak in before delivering the final blow. "Don't mess it up."

Hotch didn't need to respond to that, and Emily didn't need to say anything else, leaving the room right after. He already messed up a marriage, and she knew that. She was there when he received the divorce papers. So were you. Yet you let him fall in love with you anyway, and you loved him back with everything you had.

But at that moment, he felt like he didn't deserve any of it.

— 

Standing in the police station's bullpen, Aaron's fingers hovered over his keyboard, twitching with uncertainty. He didn't know what to type.

He was good with words. He sent people to prison with compelling arguments. He co-wrote the textbook on hostage negotiation. He didn't need Reid's lexicon to know he was good with words. But maybe it would help with knowing what to say to you.

There were too many things to apologize for, and not enough variations of the word sorry to account for any of it. Sorry didn't hold enough weight.

But it was all he could think of that was acceptable to say over text, and Emily was right: he couldn't afford to mess this up.

So he started typing, starting with an absolute truth before he said anything else.

I love yo— 

Garcia's contact filled his screen, interrupting his message. He sighed, and then immediately felt guilty about it. He had three victims and the potential for more. The case had to be his focus, not his wrongdoings, no matter how wrong they were.

He accepted the call, pressing the phone to his ear and getting straight to the point. "Have you found anyone in connection with the three court cases?

"No! Well, yes, but no, that's not what I'm calling about. Sir—" Garcia cut herself off with something that sounded like a sob.

Hotch furrowed his brows. "Garcia?"

"Hotch. Some— something happened." Garcia took a deep breath. "It's Y/N."

Hotch felt his world stop. All time and reason and logic ceased to exist. All he could hear were Penelope's words, playing on a loop like a broken record he never wanted to hear.

It's Y/N. 

Just like that, the earth started spinning again, making bile rise in the back of his throat. "What happened?"

From the corner of his eye, he could just barely see the team looking up at him. He couldn't really pay attention to it.

When the silence went on too long, he repeated himself. Sharply. "Garcia. What happened?"

"There— there was a break-in at— at your house." Hotch's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. No. No, no, no— "Jack is fine, he's completely unharmed, but Y/N—" Garcia's sobbing cut her off once more.

"Where is she?"

"Bethesda, at Suburban Hospital."

"I'm on my way there right now." Hotch immediately hung up. When he looked up, he found expectant faces staring back at him.

Rossi broke the silence. "Aaron?"

Hotch didn't waste another second. "My house was broken into. Y/N's been—" He didn't even know. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. "Y/N's in the hospital. I need to leave."

Everyone was quick to rise to their feet. "What?" Morgan's voice cut through the air. "Hotch, we can't just stay here. This is Y/N we're talking about."

Hotch had completely forgotten about the case, but it was brought right back to his mind. "No, you have to. This is still an active case—"

"Your house was broken into. You don't call that an active case?"

"It is. But we can't all leave. Garcia has another update, call her back and find out what it was." He didn't stay any longer than that, leaving the room without another word.

He stormed past officers gazing at him curiously. He couldn't bring himself to care about any of it.

He threw open the door to the SUV, the keys nearly falling out of his hands for how badly they were shaking.

You aren't needed.

"Aaron!"

Hotch wouldn't have heard the calling of his own name if the car door hadn't opened, startling him. He looked over, seeing Rossi get in the passenger seat.

"Dave—"

Rossi appeased, "It's alright. I left Morgan in charge. Told the others to update me and I'd update them. Now, let's go."

If Hotch had the will or the energy to argue, he would've. But all he could think about was you. The same you he callously tore down without care for your feelings. The same you who said yes without thinking twice when he proposed. The same you who could be in any condition right now, not knowing how much he loved you.

So, he just nodded. He started the car, squeezing the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white to stop his hands from shaking, praying that you were okay.

He prayed that you knew the truth. Unsent messages and unsaid words. 

I love you.

—

When Aaron got some of his wits back, he realized he had to call Garcia. It was stupid to sit on the jet without knowing how you were.

You were shot. While protecting his son.

Your son.

Sharp words echoed through his head, words he knew would cut deep and said them anyway. Now you were the one bleeding in an operating room while he was still hours away, and the distance between you had never been so large.

You are not his mother!

"Aaron."

Hotch looked up, finding Rossi staring at him with concern swirling in his eyes. Whatever he was going to say to comfort him wouldn't work. This wasn't something Hotch could be consoled over.

"She's going to okay," Dave reassured. He looked like he truly believed it, but Aaron knew the importance in not making promises you couldn't keep. "She shot the guy back—put a bullet right between his eyes. Whose influence do you think she got that from?"

Aaron sighed. He taught you how to shoot a gun. But he may as well have been the one to pull the trigger. "It's my fault, Dave. If I had never left her there—"

"She still would've gone home, Aaron."

"No, you don't understand. I left her." Aaron met his eyes, even though Rossi's figure started to blur. "I left her, and I—" he cut himself off, swallowing harshly.

He couldn't even believe that he said it. Before this, he couldn't have imagined a world where he said any of it.

You were his world. You and Jack were his family. But he made you feel like you weren't part of it at all.

Dave cocked his head. "Something happened between you two," he stated. Not a question.

Aaron swallowed a second time. "Yes."

He almost thought Rossi would ask him what happened, but he did the opposite. He only sighed. "Look, Aaron. I don't know what happened between you, or what you said that has you ruminating so deeply. But whatever happened, you have to know that it is not your fault that this happened to her."

"Dave—"

Rossi waved his hands in the air. "No, I don't really care for whatever illogical, self-deprecating argument you have right now. She wouldn't, either." He sat up straighter in the seat across from him, leaning forward. "What you need to think about right now is the fact that she's okay. That is what you need to believe. She shot this asshole, and we'll figure out who he is as soon as we touch down. You can apologize later. But she is okay, Aaron."

Were you, though? Even if you were physically okay—which he had no way of knowing—were you okay mentally? What about your relationship?

Another lifetime ago, Hotch could remember a relationship with a wife who grew to resent him. The image of her body sprawled across the ground was etched into his memory.

He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he was blinking tears away. "This has happened before, Dave."

Rossi didn't have any real response. Quietly, he said, "I know." He remembered just as well as Aaron, just as well as everyone else.

No one had ever forgotten.

— 

By the time Hotch and Rossi got to the hospital, it was already dark out. Rossi insisted that he be the one to drive. Hotch was getting out of the car before it'd even fully stopped.

Garcia already told him what floor to go to. She was there when he came running out of the elevator.

She quickly stood up. "Sir—"

"How is she?" He was out of breath.

"I-I don't know. She's still in the OR. They— they've been in there a while, but no one has been out to update me yet— oh, God. Oh, God, I hope she's okay."

Hotch ran a hand through his hair. You were still in surgery. He didn't know what that meant.

He couldn't think about it. If he thought about it, then—

"Jack?"

"Oh! Yes, um, he's with Jessica. They were here but I told them to head home. I'm so sorry, I didn't even think— of course, you would want to see him. I can—"

"No, that's okay," he assured, even though it looked more like he was assuring himself. "He should be in a place that's familiar to him right now." Oh, his poor boy. His poor, sweet boy had seen enough blood to last a lifetime. Hotch couldn't help but think that Jack already lost a mother once; he couldn't lose one again.

You are not his mother.

He released a shaky breath, then tried to school his expression. "Okay, what do we know about the unsub?"

Garcia's eyes widened. "Everything! I have him dead to rights, Sir." Without reading from a screen, she recited, "Forensics ID'd him as Joshua Lawrence—"

Hotch cut her off, recognition flashing in his brain. "Lawrence?"

"Yes, Sir. Lawrence was the unsub in a murder case you prosecuted back in '94. Went to prison for life after being charged with second degree murder of his girlfriend when he was 16. He was just released on good behaviour 2 days ago."

The pit in Hotch's stomach deepened. His voice was grave. "And so he wanted to punish me by going after my family."

Penelope winced, not for the first time since their conversation started. "Yes, Sir. And he's dead now." For some reason, that didn't make Hotch feel all that better. His family was still paying for his sins. Jobs he had. Deals he didn't take.

Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

"For Y/N Y/L/N?"

Both Aaron and Penelope turned around in quick speed. A doctor in blue scrubs stood before them, a scrub cap still sitting atop her head. Aaron stopped breathing. He barely even noticed Rossi coming to stand beside him.

But he was the head of the BAU, and he could spot the doctor's cool expression a mile away. So the weight on his chest felt lighter before she even said a word.

"I'm Dr. Reyes. Ms. Y/L/N is stable. We removed the bullet, and she should make a full recovery. There were some complications during surgery. The bullet knicked a major artery, but we were able to replace the area with a graft. She is incredibly lucky," she emphasized. "If the police hadn't been called at the time they were, the outcome could have been entirely different."

Aaron let out a breath of relief while Rossi asked the questions he didn't have the mind to ask. "How long will she be in recovery?"

"I'd like to monitor her here for about a week," Reyes replied. "She's resting right now in room 305, but I can allow one of you in there."

Finally, Aaron could speak. "Thank you, Dr. Reyes." He couldn't truly put his appreciation into words.

Reyes nodded, and then she turned and walked away. Rossi and Garcia immediately turned back to him. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go see her," the former urged.

Hotch hesitated, much unlike the man his team was used to and much unlike the man he was used to. He masked it with careful redirection. Turning to Garcia, he asked, "Where are we with the case?"

The blonde was wiping mascara from beneath her eyes, looking confused for half a second before realization dawned on her. "Oh, um, the case has been solved, Sir. Stenographer Albert Brown was the culprit; Morgan et al. pursued him just an hour ago. They should be wrapping up at the station now."

Hotch nodded. "Good."

Tiredly, she added, "Would've found him sooner if we'd made the connection between the cases earlier. Y/N/N had a hard time with that one record since it was expunged and all—"

Hotch's brows furrowed. "Y/N? She hasn't been to work."

Garcia's glasses suddenly fell back to her nose, her eyes widening in a way that told them both she'd said more than she meant to. "Right," she whispered. "Right, she hasn't. Except— she has. She comes in right after dropping off Jack and leaves when it's time to pick him up." 

Despite the way the words rapidly tumbled out of her mouth, Aaron understood every word. You were still coming into work. Doing the job without receiving any credit for it. Even after what he said to you. Not only that, but you were staying with Jack like it was your top priority, even though you were working.

If Aaron hadn't felt sick before, he surely felt sick now.

Rossi was looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb set to explode, Garcia bracing herself for the impact. 

Hotch cleared his throat. "I'm going to see her now," he informed them. Neither of them said another thing as he walked in your direction.

But deep down, he didn't feel like he deserve to see you at all.

—

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you did was close them again. The light was too much, and your eyelids felt as though they were being weighed down.

The dull throbbing in your abdomen made you open your eyes again, looking down to see your body covered in a hospital gown atop a hospital bed. For a second, you were confused, until the memories hit you like a train.

Doorknob. Gun. Man. Blood.

You took in a sharp breath, which made the pain worse. As if the noise had triggered it, movement started to your left.

You turned your head, seeing a man in a suit sitting in the chair beside your bed. Light streamed in from the curtains, highlighting his brown hair. And although you couldn't see his face right away, you only knew one man who would sleep in an uncomfortable chair in a suit.

Aaron.

He rubbed at his eyes, and you deduced that he must've been there for a while. When his eyes were no longer obscured by his hands, they locked with yours. You watched them soften in real time. 

Quietly, he said, "Hi."

Your heart squeezed. "Hi—" your voice broke into a cough. Aaron was quick to grab the water at the side table, guiding the straw into your mouth. The water felt cool travelling down your throat, but you couldn't stop the way your face warmed.

Aaron put the water back when you signalled you were done, and then he stood there awkwardly. Under different circumstances, you would've found it cute. But how could soft eyes and gestures mean anything to you when you could still remember the hardened scowl on his face before he left?

You don't know how long the silence lasted before he spoke. "Y/N—"

"Can I see Jack?" You didn't mean to cut him off, not really, but it was instinctual. You didn't know what Aaron was going to say, but you knew you didn't want to hear it yet.

Aaron's shoulders deflated, but he didn't say anything in protest. "Yes, of course." He nodded—to you or himself, you weren't sure. "I'll go call Jessica now."

Aaron left the room, phone in hand. As soon as he was out of the room, you sighed to yourself. At the sight of your engagement ring glinting in the light, you screwed your eyes shut once more.

Not a mother. Not a team-member.

Were you still a fiancé?

—

"Y/N!"

At the sight of a blonde flurry of hair rushing your way, you smiled wider than you'd smiled in days. You laughed, despite the fact that it made your stomach hurt. "Jackers."

Jack rushed the side of your bed, only stopped by his father's voice. "Easy, Jack." The smile on your face faltered slightly at the sound, glancing at Aaron standing in the doorway. His eyes were fixed on his son. "Remember what we said, okay? Y/N's been hurt, so you have to be gentle." He glanced at you momentarily during the explanation, looking strained. 

"Yes, Daddy. I know." After his confirmation, Jack's attention was back on you, concern colouring his features. "Are you okay, Y/N?"

You softened at the serious look on his face. Aaron used to joke that he was all Haley, but that look was purely him. "Yes, I'm fine, buddy," you lied. "Don't worry about me."

Jack didn't look like he believed you. You didn't blame him. "Are you sure? There was a lot of blood."

You took a deep breath. In your peripheral vision, you could see Aaron take a step forward, but you collected yourself before he could say anything. "I know. And I'm really sorry you had to see that." You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes. "You did very good, Jack. Listening to me and calling the police."

Jack's grin stretched from ear to ear. "I did?" he echoed.

You nodded, smiling back at him. "You did. Thank you."

"I'm just glad you're okay, Mommy." Your breath hitched, but Jack looked none the wiser. If you dared to glance at Aaron, you would see him in the same speechless state. As if he didn't just turn your world upside down, Jack followed up, "Can I come lay with you?"

This time, Aaron intervened. "Jack—"

"Of course, sweetheart. You can come sit right here." You moved over on the bed, ignoring the ache altogether. And for the first time since Jack entered the room, you looked directly at Aaron, silently asking him with your eyes to help him onto the bed.

The cautious look in his eyes told you he disagreed with you, but he still walked over and helped Jack up, anyway, carefully placing him on the bed. You immediately wrapped your arm around him as he settled into your side. The feeling calmed you down more than the morphine pumping through your veins.

Jack yawned, prompting you to ask, "Do you want a bedtime story?" He nodded fervently, despite whining that he was 'too old' for that now, causing you to giggle. Running a hand through his hair, you started, "Okay. Once upon a time, there was a princess, hiding away in a tower. You see, it wasn't safe outside. Someone had captured the sun and made it so dark outside that she couldn't leave. So she waited, and waited, and waited for the day the sun would return. And one day, her saviour came. A knight arrived, and he courageously fought the sun thief. He was scared, too, but he was brave enough to do what was right. And so, the next day, the princess watched the sun rise for the first time after so much darkness." Your voice lowered as Jack's eyes fluttered closed. "She thanked the knight for bringing her light back to her, and everyone in the land lived happily ever after."

You caressed Jack's hair as he fell asleep, smiling at the sight, even as your eyes burned. You didn't know if this story would have the happily ever after you wanted it to.

Aaron's voice penetrated the silence, reminding you that he was there. "I told the team to come back tomorrow once you've gotten more rest." He was quiet, mindful of Jack.

"That's good," you responded.

"They were really worried about you." Pause. "I was really worried about you."

You sighed. "Aaron—"

"I'm sorry." He sat down in the chair beside you, desperately trying to meet your eyes. "I was spiteful and purposelessly cruel. I had no right to be angry, and I should not have said any of the things I did."

When you finally met his eyes, a tear fell down your cheek. "But you said them."

"I didn't mean them," he disputed, begging you to believe him. "Everything I said was untrue."

"No." A humourless chuckle left you. "I'm an accessory. Garcia doesn't need me to excel at her job, and the BAU certainly doesn't need me for anything she can't already do." Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but you continued, more tears falling from your eyes. "And I'm not Jack's mother. He's tired, and he slipped earlier, but that doesn't make me his mom."

"Y/N—"

"But Aaron," your voice cracked. "Even though I am not Jack's mother, he is my son. And you have to know that."

"Y/N." Aaron reached out for your left hand, engulfing it in both of his. If your eyes weren't so blurry, you would've seen the tears in his eyes, too. "You have raised Jack for over half of his life. You are his mother. I wouldn't take that from either of you. I'm sorry for ever implying otherwise. And I'm sorry for implying that you weren't a part of the team. Garcia told me how you linked the victims together while only being there 6 hours out of the day. You are the reason that case was just solved. You are an integral member of the BAU, and I took that for granted."

"No, Hotch, you don't get it." Hurt flashed across his face at the name, but you held your resolve. "You didn't just imply that I wasn't a part of the team. You implied that we weren't a team, and that is what killed me inside." You ripped your hand from his, but it didn't escape either of you that you then used your other hand to wipe away your tears.

Aaron swallowed, letting his hand fall to the mattress. "We are a team. You're the love of my life." Even he could hear how he was grasping at straws.

Lightly, you shook your head, staring back at him with a pitiful smile. Pity for him. Pity for yourself. "You didn't make me feel that way."

A sense of inevitability settled over the room. Aaron's gaze was drawn to the ring on your finger before he looked back up at you. "I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you if you let me," he promised. You both understood it for what it was: a plea.

"I know." No tears fell this time, despite the lump lodged in your throat. Just above a whisper, you put forward, "Just give me time, okay?"

Aaron didn't respond immediately, but you could see the shift in his eyes. Not quite the look of a man who lost, but not quite the look of a man who won. 

"Okay," he whispered back. 

You thanked him, going back to caressing Jack's hair. The silence was less loud now, punctuated by the truth.

Your story with Aaron didn't start with Once Upon a Time. And it didn't end with Happily Ever After.

But you ended with the truth. And that's all you asked of him.

taglist: @hotchnerave @cantbecreative @holmesry @amber97 @queenofvelaris @midnghtprentiss @deeninadream @michasia24 @donttrustlove @sjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj @allysunny @jessjessmarvelandhp @burkayyy @mrsxyz480 @loki101 @athanasia-day @mischiefmanaged71 @beardedhotchner @doe-eyed-diva @witchcraftandwit @diabolichii @vivs30 @burrithorr @racoonkitty @gemininormouzz @wallowingselfpity @singlepringle4you @pillkits @alice07ea @storiesbynova @mmmunson @rannifer @dedicatedfangirl2001 @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @jencole214 @ssa-danhotchner @kcch-ns @cultish-corner @fckgrier @aasmalfoy @cocopuff213 @axionn @ponyosmom35 @phaedrashafiq @planetsnshit @laufeysvalentine @anthropsych @thatkidofwarandpeace @cassiesversion @person-005 @wilmalovegood @leclercprettyeyes @esw1012 @lafrone @elliewhite-123 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rethasavedlives @anninhaaagomes16 @doyoulovemenough @yousigned-upforthis @msfreedom @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrywoods1245 @nessjo @wh0rezs @messageforthesmallestman @thecutestaaakawaii @starrynightsil @redama @batmanunicorns523 @spideyreid @sillymuffintrashflap @bennetbreakdown @girl-who-loves-books @onedgirl10 @fallen-angels2213 @aaaaau @notsochillnerd @swag13r @rousethemouse @cumuluscranium @maximoffwitch @youunravemerblgs @tearykth @sexlapis @guilty-cheese @rauspberries @kaetastic @dakotapaigelove @softtdaisy @fanfareofafangirl @love-dray @elyjellybelly @rivaiken @softlyspencer @chill-out-imqueen-persephone @spideystar @siampie @ssa-writerminds @kouibin

additional a/n: thank u all for ur kind words! i basically tagged u if u commented or reblogged (tysm for supporting!). lmk if you'd like to be removed from the taglist for this series! also, many of ur tags aren't working, and i don't know why! they're underlined on my screen, but when i leave edit mode, half the tags aren't working anymore. if anyone has any insight, pls let me know.

[kimstills]

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

[prettylittlepluviophile]

fuck. yes. to all of this!!!

Discretion

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: You and spencer are confident you are being discreet about your relationship (you are not) warnings: very raunchy making out in the elevator but otherwise it's fluffy like a freshly shampooed cow a/n: is three sugars too much for coffee? i have no idea how much is too much when i write spencer's coffee order. let's just say 3 is too much because this man drinks his coffee SWEET

To say that Penelope Garcia was a naturally curious woman would be underselling it by a criminal degree. And when it came to her friends— her team, her family— that curiosity was lovingly relentless.

Which is how (Y/n) found herself cornered in the tech room at exactly 8:32 a.m. by both Garcia and Emily, coffee in hand, nowhere to run.

“Okay,” Emily said, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked. “We’ve been patient.”

Garcia chimed in, “Painfully patient.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” (Y/n) said, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t heard them.

“Oh, please,” Emily scoffed. “You’ve mentioned your boyfriend a grand total of two times.”

“Three,” Garcia corrected. “But one of those was just ‘my boyfriend likes mango,’ which doesn’t even count.”

“I’m a private person.”

“You work with federal agents,” Emily deadpanned. “We find things for a living.”

(Y/n) sighed. “Fine. He’s... sweet. Thoughtful. Overly romantic, if I’m honest. In the best possible way.”

“Oh?” Garcia leaned in. “Like how?”

(Y/n) paused too long.

Garcia gasped. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are,” Emily grinned. “Spill.”

“Okay, once,” (Y/n) said reluctantly, “he emailed me a PDF file titled ‘just because.’ It had scanned pages from an annotated copy of my favourite book, with his notes in the margins. Like, handwritten. From when he first read it.”

“That’s actually disgustingly romantic,” Emily muttered.

Garcia blinked. “Who emails their girlfriend a PDF?”

(Y/n) smiled in sweet recollection of that memory, how it was so unapologetically him— precise, nerdy, and quietly sentimental. He hadn’t even said anything when he sent it, just a subject line that read “Thought of you while reading.” And the book? It was something she mentioned offhandedly during a debrief three months prior. Of course he remembered. He always did.

Meanwhile, across the bullpen, Derek Morgan nudged Spencer Reid with the edge of a manila folder.

“You’ve been annoyingly chipper lately,” Morgan said.

“I’m always chipper.”

“No, you’re twitchy and anxious. This”— he gestured vaguely at Reid’s face— “is new. You’ve been smiling like someone who’s gettin’ some.”

Spencer flushed but didn’t deny it. Just shrugged, soft and smug.

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Pretty Boy has a secret.”

——————————————————————————————————

It was early— too early, by most of their standards. The bullpen still had that quiet, sleep-hazed hush to it, the kind that only ever lasted until the second pot of coffee kicked in.

Spencer was already at his desk, half-slouched over a file, tapping a pen against the paper in a steady rhythm. His brow was furrowed, curls slightly unkempt, cardigan sleeves already shoved up to his elbows like he hadn’t even noticed the chill in the air.

(Y/n) walked in, hair still damp from her shower, nursing her own cup of caffeine like it was oxygen. Without a word, she stopped beside him, set a second cup of coffee on his desk— black, three sugars, extra hot. Just how he liked it.

Spencer looked up, blinking. And then smiled.

Not the polite kind. Not the absentminded “thanks” he gave to Morgan when he handed him a report. This one was soft. Familiar. The kind of smile that landed a little too slow and lingered a little too long.

She smiled back— tiny, sleepy, warm— and kept walking.

From his desk, Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“You two telepathic now?” he called.

(Y/n) didn’t miss a beat. “He just looks like a three-sugar morning.”

Spencer flushed lightly. Tried very hard to look engrossed in his file.

Morgan tilted his head, amused, but said nothing else.

For now.

——————————————————————————————————

The post-briefing hallway was always a mess— agents filtering out in loose, staggered clusters, already juggling phone calls and folders and to-go cups. (Y/n) and Spencer walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, debrief sheets tucked under their arms.

It was nothing new. They always walked like that. But someone turned the corner too fast— an intern, maybe— nearly colliding with (Y/n) in the narrow hallway.

Spencer’s arm was around her waist before she even had time to react, catching her with practiced ease.

“Careful,” he murmured, the word quiet and close, his eyes flicking over her quickly. Not panicked. Just... thorough. Like he had to be sure she was still in one piece.

She nodded, barely flustered. “I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move right away.

His hand stayed at the small of her back— gentle, warm, grounding— for just one second too long.

They started walking again like nothing had happened.

Except Emily had seen the whole thing.

She stopped mid-step, one brow raised, lips pursing in suspicion. Watched them disappear around the corner with narrowed eyes.

Then shook her head once and muttered under her breath, “Nah. No way.”

And kept walking.

——————————————————————————————————

It was supposed to be a routine systems check.

Garcia was combing through the security logs for the east wing elevators— standard operating procedure after a glitch flagged a potential breach. Ninety-nine percent of the time, this kind of thing amounted to someone forgetting their badge or JJ carrying Henry in through the staff entrance.

She wasn’t even paying that much attention. Fingers flying on autopilot, her mind already halfway on her lunch order, until the timestamp 22:41 popped up.

She blinked. Squinted. Paused. Rewound.

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh my god.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. She rewound again. Yes. Still there. Not a hallucination. Not her mind playing tricks.

Definitely Spencer Reid.

And— holy shit— definitely (Y/n).

In an elevator.

Making out.

Not cute-office-romance making out.

No, this was pressed-up-against-the-wall, hands-everywhere, breathless and starved and feverish kind of making out. Spencer's hand was on her waist, then in her hair, then gripping her thigh as he practically lifted her off the ground. And (Y/n)? Her mouth was at his jaw, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt like she was trying to burn the feel of it into her palms.

Garcia made a high-pitched, involuntary squeak.

Then slammed her hand on the desk phone.

“Derek Morgan. Tech room. Now.”

Morgan arrived first. Followed by Emily, who walked in brow furrowed. “You paged me? What’s the—?”

She cut herself off.

“... Is that the elevator?”

“It is,” Garcia nodded solemnly.

Emily leaned forward. “Wait— is that (Y/n)?”

“Is this— ?” Morgan started, but the words died in his throat as he looked closer.

His jaw dropped.

“Is that— ?”

“Oh, it is.”

A long beat of stunned silence.

Then, slowly, “Spencer?” Morgan said, voice incredulous.

“Oh, it gets better,” Garcia said, grinning wickedly as she hovered over her keyboard.

Morgan and Emily were already leaning in close, popcorn-level invested.

She hit play again.

The footage resumed.

At first, it was just (Y/n) and Spencer standing in the elevator, talking— innocent enough. Until Spencer said something— inaudible, but clearly effective— and (Y/n) rolled her eyes, stepped forward, grabbed him by the tie, and yanked him down into a kiss.

Morgan let out a low whistle.

But that wasn’t the part Garcia was talking about.

At around the 45-second mark, Spencer’s hands slid down (Y/n)’s back and landed firmly on her hips, then lower.

“Oh my God,” Emily said, eyes wide.

Then (Y/n)’s back hit the elevator wall, and Spencer didn’t even hesitate— one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding beneath her blazer, under her shirt, palm flat against her bare waist.

He kissed her like they were the only people in the world. Like it was muscle memory. Urgent. Confident. Completely un-Spencer.

And then she moaned. Audibly. In the security camera footage.

“Oh my God,” Garcia repeated, one octave higher.

Morgan just stared, stunned silent for once in his life.

Spencer pulled back for a breath in the footage, then leaned in again— kissing her jaw, her neck, his hand definitely not on her waist anymore.

Emily had to fan herself with a stray file.

“Spencer Reid,” she said, breathless. “Has game.”

“Game?” Morgan echoed. “That man is playing a whole ass league.”

“WAIT. OH MY GOD. SPENCER IS PDF GUY?!”

Morgan looked between them. “Wait. Who the hell is PDF guy?”

“Long story,” Emily muttered, eyes still glued to the screen. “Holy shit.”

They all watched in silence as the footage looped again.

Spencer leaned in, said something at her ear. Whatever it was, it made (Y/n) flush, then pull him in again, mouths meeting like it physically hurt to be apart. His hands— decidedly not where they should be— disappeared beneath the hem of her shirt just as the doors started to open.

Then they broke apart like nothing happened, like they weren’t seconds away from defiling federal property, both adjusting their clothes with the sort of casual precision that only came from lots of practice.

The video ended. Nobody said anything for a full five seconds.

Then Garcia breathed, “Our little genius is secretly a menace.”

Emily nodded. “Remind me to never underestimate Spencer Reid ever again.”

Morgan just whistled. “Damn. Pretty Boy really is full of surprises.”

——————————————————————————————————

It started innocently enough.

Spencer and (Y/n) were at their desks, quietly reviewing case files. Garcia strolled in, followed by Emily and Morgan, all three of them wearing suspiciously gleeful expressions. Spencer looked up first, sensing the shift in energy like a deer catching the scent of danger.

“Morning,” he said slowly.

Garcia beamed. “Oh honey. Don’t be coy.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “Coy about what?”

“Oh, just your scandalous elevator escapades.”

Spencer blinked. “I— what?”

Garcia spun her laptop around with a dramatic flourish. “Roll tape.”

On-screen, the infamous elevator footage began to play. There they were— Spencer and (Y/n)— barely waiting for the doors to shut before she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him into a kiss that could not, under any circumstances, be labelled work appropriate.

(Y/n)’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in horror. “Where did you— how did you—”

“I run the surveillance system, Doctor Love,” Garcia said, smug. “A glitch flagged the camera, and lo and behold, I find this cinematic masterpiece.”

Morgan leaned in, whistling low. “Spencer Reid, you sly bastard.”

Emily made an impressed sound. “Honestly? Respect.”

Spencer looked like he was about to pass out. “Please don’t show anyone else—”

Right on cue, JJ walked in holding a folder. “Show anyone else what—?”

Garcia spun the laptop before anyone could stop her.

JJ saw exactly three seconds of the video before she yelped and turned away. “NO! MY EYES! What the hell?!”

(Y/n) groaned, slumping forward into her desk. “This is great. This is all so great.”

Spencer reached over and shut the laptop with a decisive click. “Okay. We’re done. The video is gone now. That’s the end.”

Emily elbowed Garcia. “I’m not deleting that.”

Morgan grinned. “Pretty Boy’s been hiding a whole new playbook.”

Before either Spencer or (Y/n) could respond, Rossi strolled into the bullpen, sipping his coffee. He stopped briefly, looked around at the wide eyes and pink faces, clocked the shut laptop, and said calmly—

“Took you all long enough. Some profilers you are.”

Spencer looked up, shell-shocked. “Wh— You knew?”

Rossi shrugged. “There was palpable tension. I could taste it in the air.”

JJ, still blinking the trauma from her eyes, turned to Hotch as he passed by with a file in hand. “Hotch, did you know?”

Without missing a beat, Hotch said, “They filled out the disclosure forms nine months ago.”

"Nine months? You guys lied to us for NINE MONTHS?" Garcia was startled to say the least.

Hotch looks up briefly, expression unreadable, and mutters, “Next time, if you’re going to be subtle, try harder.”

(Y/n) made a noise that could only be described as a whimper and slowly began sinking into her chair like she hoped the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Spencer leaned over, voice low and a little sheepish.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I’d do it all over again.”

(Y/n) looked at him, still half-hidden behind her hands.

“…Even the elevator?”

He gave a faint, conspiratorial smile. “Especially the elevator.”

[goofygubegubler]

𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?

Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.

wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk

A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)

Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.

You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.

And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.

"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.

"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.

His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.

But not tonight.

You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."

His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.

He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."

"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.

"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."

You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.

Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”

A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”

A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.

That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.

“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.

Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.

The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.

Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."

You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."

Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."

He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."

[raekensluver]

18+, mdni - masterlist | main masterlist

spencer reid is the kind of man who whimpers when you suck him off - soft and desperate, like he’s never been touched like this before and doesn’t know what to do with it.

his hand’s already in your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs the anchor. his thighs are tense, breath coming in short, broken little gasps as you work him deeper. his hips twitch once, then again, and the sound he makes when your tongue flicks just right is downright sinful.

it's high and breathless, like it’s being dragged from his chest without permission. he tries to keep still, tries to be good, but you can feel it: the way his thighs tense, the way his abs clench as he groans, “fuck, that feels- so good-”

his fingers tighten in your hair, not pulling, just anchoring. his eyes flicker down to watch, and the sight makes him stammer. “i- i can’t,” he pants, head falling back. “i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna cum-”

he tries to warn you, he really does, but it all falls apart when you hum around him.

“oh my god,” he gasps, voice wrecked. “fuckfuckfuck-”

he cums with a choked moan, hips twitching, your name slipping out of his mouth like a secret he didn’t mean to say. his fingers tighten in your hair just for a second - reflexive, overwhelmed - before he’s slumping back against the bed, chest heaving.

you pull back slowly, wiping the corner of your mouth, and look up to find him flushed and breathless, eyes half-lidded and dazed like he’s still catching up to what just happened.

his hand, still trembling, gently cups the side of your face. not possessive. just soft. grounding.

“jesus,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “that was...i’ve never- ”

he trails off, blinking down at you like you just rewrote the laws of physics in front of him.

you smirk, just a little. “yeah?”

spencer nods, swallowing hard. his thumb brushes your cheekbone.

“you’re incredible.”

quiet. honest. a little stunned.

and when he leans down to kiss you - slow, messy, grateful - it says everything he’s still too breathless to put into words.

[monzabee]

father figure - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: hotch meets a mysterious woman on a solo night out, and realizes that they both have daddy issues.   

Pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of daddy issues, age gap, kinda suggestive, allusions to sex and one night stands 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Hotch couldn’t tell you the last time he’d been in a bar all by himself—he just couldn’t. When Haley was still alive, the operative word being alive, they would have the occasional and very rare date night to go to a bar together, sure. And he did try to participate in the team outings as much as possible as a single father. But the last time he was in a bar, alone? Now that seemed like a lifetime away.  

But some things never change, he supposes. The whiskey still burns down his throat after each sip, something so comforting in a way he couldn’t quite explain. There’s still some football match playing on a TV somewhere in the bar—as he could hear the announcer and the occasional outburst of cheers or groans from the booths behind him. The lighting is still dim, low enough to make people feel like their mistakes might not follow them home. And the music—an old Springsteen song bleeding faintly from the speakers—still manages to make everything feel just a little more cinematic than it really is. 

He likes that. The illusion of meaning. 

Aaron Hotchner isn't the kind of man who does things spontaneously. Everything in his life—every choice, every movement—is measured. Precise. But tonight, he finds himself wanting not to think. He doesn't want to calculate or lead or fix. He just wants to be. 

That’s when he notices you. 

You’re seated two stools down, legs crossed, fingers lazily circling the rim of your glass. You look like you belong there—like the bar is an old friend, not a crutch. There’s something magnetic about you: the way your lipstick’s slightly smudged, the way you watch the world with a kind of detached curiosity, like you’ve already heard every story and none of them have surprised you in a very long time.  

You feel his eyes on you before you see him. “Careful,” you say, still looking straight ahead. “Staring too long might make me think you’re interested.” 

Hotch smiles behind his glass. “Would that be a problem?” 

You finally turn to look at him. He’s handsome—sharp suit, tense shoulders, tired eyes that look like they’ve seen too much. You can tell immediately that he didn’t come here looking for trouble. Which makes you want to be it more than anything. “Depends,” you say, cocking your head slightly. “Are you the type to make polite conversation, or the type to make confessions?” 

He considers your question like it’s a riddle. Like you’re a case file. Then he adds, “Depends on which you’d prefer.” 

You smirk. “Confessions, then. Polite conversation is for people who plan on remembering this in the morning.” 

His brows lift—just barely. Enough to give him away. “So you’re not planning on remembering?” 

“Oh, I’ll remember,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But I’m not expecting anything more than the night.” 

There’s a flicker in his eyes. Interest? Intrigue? Maybe even relief. He shifts in his seat slightly, closer. “Alright then,” he murmurs. “A confession.” You raise a brow, nodding for him to go on. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” he says. “I don’t even know why I came here.” 

You lean in, whispering conspiratorially loud enough for him to hear. “That wasn’t much of a confession.” 

He glances at your lips, then your eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I came here because I didn’t want to go home. And because sometimes, drinking alone in a crowded room feels less lonely than being in your own house.” 

That shuts you up for a second.  “Okay. Now that’s a confession.” You nod slowly. Then, think about his answer for a bit, and giggle while adding, “A bit poetic too, are you a poet?”  

“No, definitely not.” He laughs softly. You tip your glass in a silent toast, and he mirrors the gesture. “You?” he asks. “Your turn.” 

You shrug, swirling what’s left of your drink. “I have a habit of liking older men. Usually ones with tragic backstories and sharp jawlines.” 

He chuckles—quiet, low in his chest. “That sounds specific.” 

“Huh,” you hum, taking a generous sip from your drink, “is it?” You roll your eyes subtly to the unamused look he attempts to give you.  

His mouth twitches again, like he’s fighting back a smile. “Do you say that to all the older men in bars?” 

You feign offense, hand over your heart. “Only the ones who look like they haven’t smiled in a decade.” 

He exhales a curt laugh, and for the first time tonight, it reaches his eyes. “And what does that say about me?” 

You lean in slightly, resting your elbow on the bar. “It says you’re overdue.” There's a silence for a brief moment, and your eyes curiously watch over him as he takes a few steps closer to you and place himself onto a nearby stool.  “Your turn again,” you murmur as you push your glass towards the bartender for a refill, not breaking eye contact. 

Hotch considers you carefully, like he’s weighing whether it’s worth crossing a line. Then, with a voice quieter than before, he says, “I think... if I were twenty years younger, I’d ask for your number.” 

You smile. “You think age is the problem here?” 

He doesn't answer right away. Just watches you, eyes dark with something unspoken. “I think you’re dangerous.” 

That makes you grin—genuine, mischievous. “Funny. I was going to say the same about you.” Then you gesture to his suit, “You’re either an accountant or a spy, and I don’t peg you for someone who has much interest in numbers.” 

He watches you for a beat, something sharper slipping into his gaze. His voice drops lower—barely a murmur between you. “How’s your relationship with your father?” 

You blink, startled by the shift. “Not particularly great, why?” 

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We’re going to get along great.” 

You nearly choke on your drink, laughter bubbling out of you. “Jesus,” you whisper, setting the glass down as you catch his eye. “That was a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” 

He shrugs, unbothered, eyes still pinned to yours. “You said confessions, remember?” 

You lean closer, fingers ghosting over the rim of your glass again—only now you’re not fidgeting. You’re daring. “Alright then, confession number two: I’ve never wanted to kiss a man as badly as I do right now.” 

Hotch doesn’t move for a second. Then he shifts on his stool, knees brushing yours beneath the bar. “That so?” 

“Mmhm.” You tilt your head. “But you strike me as someone who doesn’t do casual.” 

“Normally, I don’t. But tonight, I think I’ll make an exception.” There’s a beat, a shared breath, and then he’s reaching out, fingers brushing the underside of your jaw, guiding you to him like he’s done it a thousand times before.  

The kiss is slow, precise, controlled at first. But it doesn’t stay that way. Your hand fists in the front of his suit jacket, dragging him closer until it’s mouths and heat and the steady thrum of restraint slipping between your teeth. When you part, breathless, you stare at him like you’re not sure whether to laugh or drag him into the nearest dark corner.  

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice low. 

You glance at the untouched rest of your drink, then back at him. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

[mrs-weasley-reid]

PRETTY FACE

bau team x liaison!reader

Synopsis: As the BAU's communications liaison—with a pretty face—you're in charge of peace. But what happens when you're not feeling so peaceful? Word count: 2.2k WARNING: fluff. but also fem rage lol. a few curses. not proofread oopsie A/N: I'm still rusty, so sorry, my lovelies (; _ ;) but I tried my best I promiseeeee. I missed writing so much <3 let me know what you think!

Three years.

Three years of grueling hours. Three years of sweat and hidden tears. Three years of nonstop compensation for multiple skills you aren't born with.

You take pride in your work. You show up. You follow through.

It's no secret. No surprise. You're a beaut, and you don't feel shy. It's normal. So be damned if you curse the parents who gave you such wonderful genetics. 

But that does not make you just pretty.

If anything, it just makes your learned skills, strong will, and assertiveness much more credible. You're not just beauty, but also brains and brawn.

With that in mind, one shall have the mature intelligence to understand the itch on your palms to smack the shit out of the man right before your eyes.

"We told you that I'll be taking care of the media." You start as you follow behind the local precinct's detective. Might as well call it chasing. He's been walking around like you're a fly he's been trying to ward off.

"Like I said, Miss—" He says that to diminish you. To make you smaller. He ignores the fact. He can't grasp the idea. The truth. That you're not just a pretty face. "—The press was there. I didn't know they were going to ask questions that can make things worse." Oh, yes, he did. A liar. And a bad one, too.

That is exactly why the plan is solid. To have you right on the podium, fighting the urge to blink from the flashes. The plan is preventative. To keep the UnSub from thinking that they are winning. 

You manage to keep your eyes from rolling, subtly grinding your teeth. "And we made the plan for that certain reason. I'm used to questions that we have to avoid. I'm more skilled in—"

"Are you saying I'm incapable? That you're better than me?"

His voice rises. Loud enough to shut the entire precinct up. Loud enough to get your team's attention. To prompt judgment and, worse, to make you seem weak.

"You're twisting my words, Detective. I'm telling you what I'm trained for and why we're making use of that advantage." It's simple. It's clear. A grade school level of intelligence can understand just what you said.

But the issue remains the same.

You can't teach someone to fish if their goal is to hunt.

"Listen, doll face. I'm not going to let my city live in false hope by some chick."

If the silence isn't deafening enough, his words are. They exploded like a bomb made to leave you into fine dust.

Three years.

Three years of constant backlash to the idea that a communications liaison can do more than just pick up the phone and connect two vessels of justice into one.

That's why you chose to stay in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They give you the freedom to do your job. They aren't filled with cheap people who'll mansplain as simple as using a copier. 

Three years, and you learned a lot. You learned your role and their role. You learned how to read, observe, and listen.

So, you know just how much the team filters you from violence. You know how much the BAU team expects less from you when it comes to battling UnSubs. Or going against prideful local detectives, police officers, and more. 

You knew, but you didn't mind. Because despite that, you knew they cared for you dearly. Respected the hard work you put in. Wanted your job to be as easy as possible.

Today, however, is a different story. You're not about to let the team fight your battle. Not when it's with a guy like him. Not when you know damn well how crucial the case is. Not when you're more than some chick he tries to insist you as.

As usual, Hotch is about to step in when gasps echo throughout the room. He stopped in his tracks, bolting his feet on the tiled floor. Maybe even wide-eyed.

Swift.

One swift pull on the detective's tie and the height difference between the two of you shifts. You glower at him as if it’s a crime to be the type of person that he is. And in the back of your mind, you agree.

He's sitting on a chair now. Your left foot is between his thighs. The point of your heels sits three inches from his crotch like a gun to his sorry proof of manhood. 

And even with the stretch, you're nowhere looking lewd despite wearing a skirt. Emily thinks you look badass. Her wide grin can testify to that.

"It's Agent." You announce softly. So soft that the back of Derek's neck shivers in fear. "And if it weren't for this chick's team, another dead body would’ve made your city much, much worse."

Fire spreads inside your body. Rage seeps in. A strong rope that finally snaps. 

“Should we stop the kid?” Rossi asks lowly without batting an eye. He’s worried that if he blinks, you’ll turn into a criminal he can’t bear to catch. 

Hotch only shakes his head in response. Nonetheless, he moves one step every five seconds. Steadily approaching a lion to tame her. It’s not that he thinks you need taming. It’s the fact that he has no idea how to. You’ve never snapped before. The team is at a loss for words.

The grip you have on the detective’s tie can easily choke him then and there. But one thing you're great at is control.

Terrifying control, that is.

"So unless you cooperate, I'm not afraid to pack up and pull us off this messy case." You lightly tug him closer. You watch as a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "And if you think you can drag our hands into the mud. You'll have your hands dirty all by yourself, because I'm damn great at keeping ours clean. Do I make myself clear, Detective?"

No one’s ever thought it’s possible to mock a worthy title such as detective, but you’re as shocked as everybody else.

How far can your beauty get you? The answer is nowhere, but he doesn’t need to know that. He's already too busy blinding himself from the fact that you're not just that. What more is tricking him into thinking it can get you farther?

A light hand lands on your shoulder. You turn to find Rossi with an unreadable expression. It's his way to pull you back to reality, to calm you down.

Hotch reaches for your hand on the detective's tie. "I think he understands," He insists. Stern but not harsh. More of a plea if you had to say so yourself.

Then, again, he’s always been confident with his words that most of them turn into law, which the entire team abides by without question.

Your hand lets go of the tie, blinking as if you’d been possessed, overwhelmed with rage. Tension dissipates from your body. The furrowed brows on your forehead finally separate.

"JJ and Morgan are going back to the dump site. Go with them."

An order.

Cool off, then we’ll talk later. That’s what Hotch meant, and you know it by heart, considering the amount of times you heard him utter the same words to the team.

It’s first for you, though. So it stings. Embarrassing, for lack of a better word. Part of you knew it was coming. It’s not you to step over a line you know you’re not allowed to cross. Still, it doesn’t change the suffocating feeling in your chest. 

You nod and turn around. Your fists clench so tight crescent indentations sting your palms. Even Rossi's gentle tap on your back didn't make you feel better.

You'd done it.

You broke their trust.

Who are you to say those things anyway? You're just a communications liaison. You have no power.

You can’t even bear to look up ahead to where the others stood. You're afraid that the indifferent looks on their faces will be the final blow.

Despite that, another feeling brews. It creeps right from the marrow of your bones. 

Disappointment. 

A feeling so familiar you can’t bear to feel it at all. Not when it comes to the team. Not when it comes to the people you find comfort with.

The detective coughs loudly as if you really did choke him to death. "You better control your liaison, Agent Hotchner. It’s not a good look to have someone rogue in the FBI." He demands. A snide comment about the team’s power. He’s been intimidated from the start, and he chose you to relieve himself of any jealousy that runs in his blood.

What a wimp, you thought. And unbeknownst to you, your team did too.

"Sorry," Your ears perk as soon as it comes out of Hotch's mouth. "I don't control the person that keeps my hands clean. If anything, I give them soap."

You're out of the door before you can even hear more, getting into the driver's seat without realizing your tight grasps on the wheel.

"Remind me never to piss you off," Derek immediately implores as he sits on the passenger seat next to you. “I’m glad I don’t wear neckties that often.”

Tears uncontrollably fill your eyes and soon enough trail down your cheeks. The adrenaline finally crashes down, and you're back to the realization of what just transpired.

You feel JJ's arms around you despite being in the backseat, "Thank you for being there for us. I know how hard it is to be in your position."

And the sobs come second. "Oh, my gosh! I almost choked a detective. What am I supposed to do? I’m just a liaison. I’m going to jail or something." You cry in almost inaudible tangents, earning a chuckle from the other two, to your dismay. “And did Hotch just make a joke about giving me soap? What does that even mean?” You think you’re going insane. Laughing and crying at the same time like a lunatic. 

“Yeah, I think he likes that one lemon scent you brought in the kitchenette,” JJ adds, rubbing your side to calm your senses down. There’s a motherly feeling in the way she tries to comfort you, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Derek grabs your hand and places a small tissue pouch. “Listen here, Agent.” He smirks proudly. “You’re not just a liaison. You’re our liaison. The behavioral analysis unit’s communications liaison. You’ve worked more than what your job description says. None of us would be here if you didn’t show up. Do you have any idea how many times the group almost fell apart when JJ left us? Left the role empty? This team needs you.” He ruffles your hair, to which you're quick to swat before grabbing a napkin.

Sobbing in front of the team is a first, too. Albeit just JJ and Derek with you, it feels like all the members somehow know you’re crying like a child, too. 

A phone ring momentarily distracts the three of you. Emily’s name flashes on JJ’s phone. She waves it with a knowing look before putting the call on speaker.

“Yes, Emily?” JJ answers as if to inform Emily that the three of you can hear her.

“[I’m gonna need pointers how to get a man in line.]” Emily starts, clearly talking to you. Though, you don't think she needs any pointers.

“Is that for self-defense or some freaky stuff?” Derek playfully interjects, grinning at the sight of the screen.

You can hear the way Emily rolls her eyes despite not seeing her at all, “[Wouldn’t you like to know, you dog.]” Laughter erupts inside the van. “[Also, I think Reid’s traumatized for life. He’s clearing out the table from all his folders, something about our liaison asking him to stop hogging the table.]” 

The tears stop, then. You shake your head while you wipe under your eyes. “I can’t believe I did something stupid. I’ll have to write a report about this.” You groan, leaning against the headrest.

"If you ask me, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Derek shrugs nonchalantly.  

JJ nods, “You're going to sound crazy if you add that to your report because none of us wants our hands dirty." She bites her lower lip to sound more serious, but it doesn’t help her at all.

“[Oh, guys, here’s Hotch.]” Emily interjects, prompting static from the other end of the line.

Hotch clears his throat, signaling everyone. “[Can you take me off speaker phone for a moment?]” He directs.

JJ passes you her phone, and you step out of the van.

You take a deep breath before attaching the device to your ear, “Hotch? I’m so so—”

“[I’m going to stop you right there, Agent.]” He cuts you off. “[Don’t ever think that defending yourself is a fault. That’s not how I run my—our team.]”

“I know, but I technically assaulted a cop. And technically threatened him.” There’s nothing technical with what happened. You did them exactly as is, and not to be braggy, but you did so with poise and assertiveness.

“[Well, that’s something we can talk about never. I just wanted to give you a formal apology for not stepping in before it even happened. You’re essential to this team. An insult to you is an insult to all of us.]”

It's as if a heavy weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You can breathe better. And the embarrassment completely melts off your skin. Better yet, the disappointment with your team downright disappeared. 

You shouldn’t have doubted them. 

You snap out of your trance when Hotch says your name, “Yeah?”

“[Where do you buy those scented soaps?]”

You bit your lower lip in hopes of keeping your tears from drowning your eyes. You really should’ve known better than to think the team would ever believe you are just a pretty face.

[ajtheidk]

2 Agents, 1 Name

Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

A/N: Hello, I know I have been absent, but here's a little Ficlet I wrote. I am very inconsistent. 

WC: 1,261 (according to Docs)

Tags: [Established relationship but not to the BAU] [Secretly married] [Domestic Bliss] [Coworkers AND Lovers] [Mixed up]

The day started off as they usually do. Normal to the fullest extent. Waking up next to your husband, Spencer, getting ready and commuting to work. 

Normalcy, pure normalcy and that made you happy. As you got to the FBI headquarters you went your separate ways. He had to go upstairs and your lab was stationed on the first floor. As you walked into the lab you were greeted by your usual coworkers and surprisingly,  the director. 

“(Y/N), how are you?” He asks me. You’re a little shell-shocked at his being here and especially surprised that he knows of you by name. Sure, your husband is very well-known in the BAU but that shouldn't have raised any flags on your behalf. 

“I’m good. What brings you to my lowly lab?” You state, letting out a giggle. 

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your nuptials. I figured sending a card would be really impersonal, Spencer is a smart man for finding an amazing woman. He’s lucky.” The director replies. “Well, I’ll let you get on with your day. Have a nice day Agent Reid or have you hyphenated?” 

“Thank you, sir. And it’s just whichever you prefer, but I do still answer to my maiden name. I just have two last names now.” You say as you bid him “adieu” and get to work on your daily logs. 

As the day continued nothing was very exciting about it, no new cases were assigned yet and you had yet to sneak up to visit Spencer but now you did as the opportunity had just presented itself. 

“Hey, I’ll be back,” you explain to your assistant, who is just typing up her final report before her break on her computer. “I have to bring these reports upstairs. My hubby needs them ASAP.” 

“Okay. Just be back in less than 15 so I can go eat.” She says as we both giggle as you walk out the door, signing off with a singsongy “No promises,” knowing you’d be back in less than 10. As the elevator doors open to the BAU bullpen you walk in. You look at each desk and put a report onto the one that has a framed picture of Spencer’s mother on it and as soon as you spin on your heels to leave, you are bombarded with a barrage of color in the form of one Penelope Garcia. 

“Hello. You’re the forensics director right? (Y/N) (L/N)?” she rambles the questions out, barely giving you time to answer or even say “Hi” back to her. 

“Y-yes. I am. What can I help you with?” you respond, not anticipating what could happen next. 

“The BAU has a case with the local authorities and we need a forensics team, are you busy?” She asks, she seems a little frantic at the thought of you saying no. 

“Well, no. I’m hand-delivering reports because we’re so bored at the moment. We could be there whenever you need,” you say, pulling out your phone to text your assistant to go on break now because you both had just picked up for a local case with the BAU and will be leaving as soon as she gets back. 

“Amazing! I will send you all the details and you can meet us at the local police station in about an hour. Everything will be set up and ready when you get there.” She says walking away very quickly and skillfully in her cute shoes. 

You walk back to the elevator to get to my lab to gather the supplies and grab your lunch. As soon as you place your bags of supplies in the car she returns from her break and we start towards the station, meeting the BAU there and getting set up in coroner’s office. You soon begin delving into the victims and examining their cadavers and noting down all the things that you see as important, unusual and particularly interesting. As you finish your report, a police officer walks in and approaches you. 

“Dr. Reid, I was told to bring this to you, " he says as he hands you a file. You look at it and see nothing that would have to do with your job or department and quickly realize his confusion. 

“Oh, I apologize. You have the wrong agent. My husband is the Dr. Reid you’re looking for. He’s BAU, I’m Forensics. Our badges and titles both say ‘Doctor,’ but his badge will say ‘SSA,’ mine says ‘Forensics.’ He’ll be upstairs with the rest of the BAU agents, if he’s not just give it to one of them and they’ll hold it until he returns.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and my apologies,” he says walking out of the lab toward the other side of the station. 

As he walks over he passes another officer who is walking in the opposite direction as he had just made the same mistake by going to the husband instead of the wife creating an interaction that plays out similarly. Spencer was at the vending machine getting a snack when an officer came up to him and asked him about a forensics report that he should have received along with an accompanying file. Spencer realized very quickly that the man had the wrong spouse so he sent him your way. 

“Dr. Reid, this was for you right?” the officer asked handing Spencer the file that said Forensics. 

“No, that would be my wife across the way in the forensics lab. She’s the lead cryptanalyst, so all Forensics materials go through her first and then make their way to us,” Reid responds with a laugh and directs the man toward the lab. 

“Thank you,” the man says as he walks away.

Bringing us back to the current situation as Spencer and the rest of the BAU are now discussing the case as the officer coming from the Forensics lab reaches them. He calls to Spencer and then giggles which piques the BAU’s ears to their conversation. 

“Dr. Reid, I accidentally went to your wife in the lab, it turns out I had the wrong Dr. Here are those reports you ordered,” the officer says as he hands him the file of annotated notes from the coroner’s office and forensics site. 

“Thank you, I was waiting for these. The other officer brought me the wrong file looking for my wife. It gave both of us a laugh, we’ll probably be laughing about this later,” Reid says as the officer walks away laughing softly. As Spencer turns back to his colleagues, he sees the looks he is receiving and realizes the interaction he just had as Morgan begins to speak.

“Reid, you’re married?” Morgan asked, too shocked to ask calmly, not nothing that you had just walked up with the other report that you had just finished annotating.

“Did the matching outfits and rings not give it away?” You say across the room, having heard Derek's blatant scream at the revelation of his coworker's secret marriage. You walk toward them, greet your husband, and hand him the file. 

He thanks you and you walk away leaving him to deal with his close colleagues while you attend to my area of expertise. 

Laughing the whole way back to the lab you hear Spencer being questioned endlessly and as soon as you get back you see your assistant waiting with a smile. 

“You just love to cause chaos don’t you?” She says which sends you over the edge. 

You respond laughing hysterically. Almost doubling over before answering her, “Yes, yes, I do.” 

[marie-swriting]

Three Years - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : Three times Emily flirts with you but you don't notice and one time you do.

Warnings : alcohol consumption (please, be careful with your alcohol consumption), being embarrassed, fluff, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.6k

French version (will be published 29/06/2025 at 9pm)

Request : made by @mrsines here's the link to the request. Thank you for your request, I loved writing it and sorry for taking so long to write it. Promise, I will be writing your other requests very soon. In the meantime, I hope you'll like this one 🫶

Your arms are holding a box filled with your personal belongings while there is a bag on both of your shoulders; all of this weight is starting to be heavy, you don’t pay attention to it, though. You stare at your reflection in the mirror of the elevator very closely. Today is your first day at the BAU and you have to make a good impression.

You struggle to smooth your blouse and then, you check your make up. Your inspection stops when you hear a ding and the elevator doors opening. A woman with black hair and bangs comes in and stands next to you. You stay silent at first, quickly admiring her beauty while she greets you and presses the button of a floor, you don’t notice she is going to the same one as you. You stop staring at her, not wanting to embarrass her. Discreetly, you keep checking your reflection while the bag on your left shoulder slowly falls. You try to move as a way to keep it in place but it just quickens its fall and it finds its way on the crook on your arm. You sigh loudly, accepting your fate.

“I’ll help you,” the woman says with sympathy, putting your bag back on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you smile.

You look away, however the woman keeps her eyes on you. She admires every inch of your skin, on top of your beauty, she sees your nervousness. She also perceives your annoyance as soon as you realize your necklace is not sitting correctly on your neck, the clasp is in front of it, instead of behind your neck. Full of hope, you try to hold your box on one hand, yet the second you feel it titling, you quickly bring back your hand in its initial place to stabilize it. Noticing your distress, the woman catches your attention.

“May I?” she asks, pointing at your neck.

“Yes, please.”

You gaze at her fingers getting closer to you and delicately, she turns your chain. You hold back your breath until the clasp is in its rightful place. Gazing up, you notice how close her face is to yours, her eyes looking deeply in yours. You can make out her floral perfume, making her even prettier. You clear your throat, trying not to show the effect she has on you before talking.

“Thank you very much, you’re a lifesaver!”

“Don’t mention it. You seem stressed,” she remarks without a trace of judgment.

“It’s my first day and I want to make sure I’m perfect.”

“You are,” she genuinely affirms. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be alright.”

“We’ll see.”

The ding can be heard again, indicating you’ve reached the correct floor. You sigh in relief, happy to get rid of all of this weight from your body. The woman lets you walk out first and you thank her. You’re about to walk through the glass doors, but turn around to the woman to ask her a question.

“Could you show me where Agent Hotchner’s office is, please?”

“Sure. Wait,” she adds, understanding who you are, “you’re the new profiler?”

“That’s me, yeah,” you confirm with joy while your right shoulder is hurting you.

“I’m Emily Prentiss, nice to meet you. Come with me,” she tells you, taking the box from your hands which you’re grateful for. “You’ll see, the team is nice, there’s a good atmosphere. You’ll fit right in, I’m sure. You can put your stuff on my desk in the meantime, you’ll feel lighter.”

Once you’re rid of your bags and your box, you keep following Emily until you read on a door with a plaque with the inscription ‘A. Hotchner’ on it. Automatically, you smooth your blouse.

“Your outfit is perfect, don’t worry,” Emily repeats, hoping to ease your nerves.

“I hope, I spent a whole hour to find the right one,” you explain, laughing nervously. “I want to be taken seriously.”

“And you will. Hotch might look stern but he isn’t,” she informs you. “See you later, Y/N. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Emily gives a crooked smile and leaves you at the door. You knock and wait for Hotch to allow you in. From her desk, Emily gazes at you and she can’t help but be excited to work with you and discover who you truly are. She hopes that once you’re more at ease, you’ll pay more attention to her flirty looks.

Mics in hands, JJ and Penelope are singing … Baby One More Time by Britney Spears while the lyrics are rolling on the screen in front of them and also on the ones on both sides of the makeshift stage. You stare at them performing and chuckle, the alcohol they drank clearly influencing their singing skills. You shout encouragement and Penelope points at you with a big smile while she sings, or rather screams, “when I’m not with you, I lose you my mind.” A bartender comes to your table and sets a sex on the beach in front of you, interrupting your entertainment.

“I didn’t order anything,” you state, frowning. 

“Someone is offering you a drink.”

“Who?” you sigh, expecting he’ll be showing a random man who only wants to hit on you.

“Her,” he replies, pointing at Emily who is sitting in one of the barstools. 

“Oh,” you say, surprised yet reassured, “very well, thank you.”

You jokingly roll your eyes while Emily gets closer to you, a cocky expression on her face. She sits next to you and leans at the same time, you're mixing your drink with your straw.

“For a second, I thought it was one of those lame guys who wanted to flirt with me,” you laugh.

“It’s only me,” she affirms with eyes full of innuendos which go over your head.

“You know you don’t have to offer me a drink, right? I can pay for a round.”

“I just wanted to do it,” Emily admits, hoping you’ll understand her flirty attitude.

“Anyway, you didn’t have to do it like that,” you insist, taking a sip of your drink.

“It was worth it, the smile that was on your face when you understood it was from me was pretty.”

“You know,” you start, not paying attention to her compliment, “I’m glad I agreed on coming tonight when you asked me.”

“I’m glad you agreed, too, after all these months of asking,” she says before adding with a tone that’s supposed to be light, “and also that you told JJ and Penelope about it, clearly they need to relax as well.”

In truth, Emily thought this night out would be a one-on-one moment, nevertheless she wasn’t explicit enough apparently when she asked you out for a drink. As soon as you accepted, you turned to your two colleagues and asked them if they were also coming to which they said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat. Penelope is always willing to hang after work and JJ needs a break from cases and her personal life.

“Actually, you might need it more than the rest of us,” Emily adds, “You work too much and coming from me, it says a lot! You’re a real workaholic.”

“I know, I’m working on it, ironically,” you joke, realizing your improvised pun. “Anyway, you’ve all helped me to let go more often. I’m so happy I got into this team, particularly with you,” you specify, making Emily’s heart miss a beat, “you’re a really good friend.”

Upon hearing those words leaving your mouth, Emily feels her soul leaving her body. She had hoped the drink and the way she’s leaning toward you would make you understand she is flirting with you, but it seems like you still haven’t figured it out.

At first, she thought you weren’t being reactive to her flirty comments because you were in a professional context, that’s why she bet everything on tonight the minute you finally said yes to her, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

“That, I am!” she states, hiding her pain with a pinched smile. “You like what I ordered you?” Emily asks as she sees you drinking again.

“I love it, you made the right choice.”

Emily is about to add something when Penelope interrupts your moment by joining you.

“Stop looking at each other with puppy-dog eyes and come with us!”

Without giving you the time to protest, Penelope takes your hands and forces you to leave your chairs. She drags you both to the stage where JJ has already found the song you’re about to sing. The bar employee gives you the last mic, you have to share it with Emily, while the first note of Dancing Queen by Abba begins.

You need some time before humming the lyrics, as for JJ and Penelope they are focusing on every single word. Emily takes your hand and forces you to look at her while singing, the mic between your faces. Your eyes gazing deeply in hers, you find the courage to sing more loudly, Emily encouraging you by making you dance.

Emily makes the most of this improvised karaoke to get closer to you, however as every time she makes advances, it goes over your head. Regardless, Emily won’t give up yet, she needs to be more direct, that’s all. One day, you’ll finally notice she wants to be more than just a ‘really good friend.’

You violently drop your pen on your desk and shake your hand as a way to ease the pain. You sigh and throw your head back. You wish you could rub your eyes who are stinging but your make up stops you from doing it so you just massage your temples. You can’t see the end of this paperwork. It really is the part of the job you hate the most! You’ve been focused on this file for so long you can’t even read yourself anymore. You have to correct several mistakes and you struggle to find the right way to form your sentences. You need at least ten seconds to figure out how to write it. 

Bringing your head back again, you see Emily at her desk, yawning, instinctively you do the same.

“It’s almost been three years since I've been here and I’ll never get used to it. This paperwork will kill me,” you complain.

“Tell me about it! I only want to jump in my bed and snuggle with Sergio.”

“Same.”

“We should stop for tonight, it’s getting late,” Emily states, glancing at her watch.

“If I don’t finish it now, I won’t be able to do it later,” you reply as she begins to put her stuff away.

“If you want to give a file full of mistakes, be my guest, but I’m telling you, we should stop.”

You mentally weigh the pros and the cons while Emily stands up from her chair, you glance one last time at the sheet in front of you then close the file.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right. This is what we’ll do,” Emily continues walking to your desk. “We go home and we rest like we deserve and tomorrow night, you come to my place to eat. Promise, I’ll order food.”

“Yes, that’s better, I wouldn’t want to die,” you joke, putting your belongings in your bag. “Although,” you resume after thinking, “that’d prevent me from finishing this file and you’ll be charged with murder and so you wouldn’t have to do paperwork anymore. On second thought, you should cook, it’d solve all of our problems.”

“I’d like it if I could avoid your death, especially if I’m the cause of it,” Emily retorts, laughing. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you,” she adds, looking deeply in your eyes.

“You managed just fine before me,” you say, avoiding her eyes, overwhelmed by your proximity.

“Yeah, but it’s different now. Anyway, you come to my place tomorrow night and like this, our brains will be rested and we will be able to work on the file correctly.”

“Works for me,” you smile.

The following day, you go to Emily’s apartment, a bottle of red wine in hand. As soon as she opens the door, you find her beautifully dressed. She is wearing a black loose-fitting shirt and pants, her hair is curled — though you like all of her hairstyles, this one is your favorite — and her make up is natural nevertheless it still makes her face even more breathtaking. You forget how to respire for a second, not expecting to find an Emily this stunning. 

“You…” you start, clearing your throat, “you’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“You’re kidding, right? I put on the first pieces of clothing I found.”

“I still stand by what I said,” she insists before stepping aside. “Come in. I ordered Chinese food, it should be here anytime now.”

“Perfect. I've brought this,” you say, giving her the bottle.

“You didn’t have to! I’m gonna open it. Go sit on the couch.”

Emily walks in her kitchen to grab a corkscrew. She opens the bottle and pours two glasses before going to find you in the living-room, a big smile on her face, thinking about the night you’re about to spend together. Though, her smile vanishes the second she sees the file from yesterday on the coffee table.

“Do you want to work before or after eating ? I only have a few things left to write,” you inform her.

“Oh, huh… I’m almost done, too.”

“We’ll do that after eating, then.”

“Works for me,” Emily states, pretending to not be disappointed. 

You thank Emily when she hands you the glass of wine. You take a sip and so does she. Emily is disconcerted. She thought you understood she simply wanted to eat with you, one-on-one. She hadn’t planned to work while you were there. Clearly, she should have been more direct.

Fortunately, during the meal, you don’t talk about work, though the file watches you eat from the coffee table. Emily enjoys learning a bit more about you and the few times you return the questions, she avoids the subject. You quickly understand she does not like to talk about her life before the BAU so you don’t insist.

While you’re eating noodles, you struggle to bring a portion to your mouth, lightly staining your face. Emily chuckles as she watches you moving your head to swallow the rebellious noodles.

“I have it all over my face, don’t I?”

“A bit,” she replies, mocking you nicely. “Wait,” Emily adds before taking a napkin.

She gets closer to you, her knee touching yours. Her left hand delicately grabs your chin to make sure you don’t move while her right hand approaches the corner of your mouth. After Emily wiped everything, she does not back off. You gaze at each other, time standing still, and slowly, your faces get closer. Her lips are only a few inches away from yours when your phone rings, indicating a new text. Instinctively, you back off and grab your phone on the coffee table. Emily, as for her, is cursing whoever dared to interrupt your moment. Sure, you didn’t understand this was more than a random dinner between two colleagues, but she managed to sort it out; until a few seconds ago. 

Upon opening your texts, you discover it’s from Penelope. She sent you a picture of a saucer she crocheted with a message.

Message from Penelope to you, 9:50 P.M.:

[1 picture]

Look at this beauty I just finished! I’m gonna crochet one for you, too!! Xx ❤️

“Look at what Penelope made,” you tell her, showing her the picture.

“Very cute. It’s going to go perfectly with her cups,” Emily exclaims, trying to seem interested.

“It will!” you reply, writing back to Penelope. “Anyway, we should work now,” you resume, grabbing the file, “it’s almost ten.”

“You’re right, I’m gonna go grab mine.”

With an awkward expression on her face, Emily stands up from the couch and goes to search for her work which is on the kitchen table. This moment definitely did not go as planned. Emily is getting desperate. She doesn't know how to flirt with you. Either, you don’t see her making moves or you’re too polite to turn her down. Yet, she’s sure you have a special bond, however maybe it’s only from her side…

The following months, Emily preferred to flirt less with you, undoubtedly, it’s not working so she has to understand what it means. Therefore, she keeps talking to you, but she stops implying things you’ll never catch.

During one of the rare aftertoons you have free, you ask Emily to go drink a coffee and go to a park which she accepted with joy. For once, you’re the one who is making plans! That is how you find yourselves sitting on a bench under a tree with a take-away cup in your hands. As usual, Emily hangs on your every word, half of her body turned toward you. Without realizing, you both started talking about your past relationships.

“My ex didn’t understand why I was working so hard,” you explain to her. “It was one of the main reasons why we used to argue. I mean, I’m not going to pretend I’m all innocent. I know I should have done better and found the right balance between my work life and my personal one, but she didn’t even try to understand me.”

“Now, it’s easier to find this balance, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, mostly thanks to you!”

“Which is ironic considering I’m like you,” Emily giggles.

“Seems like we needed to meet so we could understand how to do it. Anyway, it wasn’t the only thing,” you resume, sighing. “We broke up because we were together out of habit, not out of love. We stopped going on dates, gifting each other random things. There wasn’t only one problem.”

“You deserve better, someone who will give you the attention you need, who understands you,” Emily affirms with a determined expression on her face. “You know, I would never do what she did. If I was lucky enough to be your girlfriend, I wouldn’t let you slip through my fingers, especially that way.”

Following her sentence,  you stay silent, your brain going a thousand miles an hour. The way Emily is turned toward you, what she just said… ‘Is she flirting with me?’ you wonder. You open and close your mouth several times, not knowing what to say. You feel like you’re reading too much between the lines. Emily cannot be flirting with you. It’s impossible. Surely you misunderstood the situation.

“This sounds like you’re flirting with me.”

“I have been trying to do that for three years now.” she replies with a mocking smile.

“What do you mean three years?” you ask, frowning.

“From the moment I met you in the elevator, I tried flirting with you, you were too nervous to notice, though.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Nope!” Emily confirms, emphasizing the last syllable. “But I’m glad you finally noticed.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see anything until today!” you complain, putting your head in your hands. “How many times did I miss it?”

“Oh, I stopped counting!” she laughs while you sink in the bench. “I even thought you were being oblivious on purpose, however considering your current reaction, you really are just oblivious. The most recent moment was four months ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I invited you over so we could see each other outside of work and get closer and not to work,” Emily informs and your eyes are wide open.

“And I brought the file! I want to slap myself! Why didn’t you say anything? I’m so embarrassed, you have no idea! At least, I understand better why you were all dressed up that night,” you specify after having an epiphany. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always beautiful but that night! God, I was struggling to act normally, in particular when we were close before Pen texted me. I wanted to kiss you so much at that moment.”

“Me too,” Emily announces, tenderly gazing at you.

“And I ruined everything…”

“Don’t feel bad, I could have been more direct,” she reassures you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, no, all of this is my fault! I’m supposed to be a profiler and I didn’t notice you were hitting on me for three years… Fortunately, I’m better with UnSubs. For my defense, I’m not used to people flirting with me,” you inform, avoiding her eyes.

“I got that. You’re embarrassed, it’s cute,” Emily states with a smile you find adorable.

“It’s not cute, I’m stupid!” you correct, rolling your eyes. “Especially because I’ve been attracted to you since we first met, too,” you add, looking deeply in her eyes.

“I’m happy to know it wasn’t only me. Does that mean you want to go eat together sometime?” Emily asks before adding with a humorous tone, “it’s a date, by the way, in case you hadn’t understood.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” you retort, deadpan.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” she laughs. “So what do you say?”

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” you say, taking her hand in yours. “Promise, this time I won’t bring work.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Emily squeezes your hand and brings you closer to her. She wants to kiss you so bad, more than usual, except she doesn’t move. You probably want to wait until your first date. Besides, you finally noticed she was flirting with you, she can’t push her luck and ask to get even closer. Though, for the first time, you perfectly guess what she thinks and decide to lean toward her and finally press your lips on hers, breaking three years of romantic tension.

Masterlist

[goorgeousz]

tattoo your name across my heart (so it will remain) | aaron hotchner

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: you surprise your husband by having his signature tattooed.  content/tw: SMUT (mdni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum play, incorrect use of a tattoo (well…), fem reader, reader has a tattoo, brief mentions of masturbation, lmk if i missed something! word count: 3.8k a/n: based on this request ! i got carried away with this smut ngl… anyway hope you enjoy it 💗🪽 dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist

It has been about three weeks since Aaron had any alone time with his wife. And it’s safe to say – he came to terms with that – it was going to kill him.

In the jet, on the plane ride home, he watched the hours on his phone turn into midnight, adding another day to his already too long count. Between cases, consults and politics that unfortunately came with the job, Hotch found himself spending more and more time away from home. He hated every second of it.

It wasn’t just that he was tired – which he was, so damn exhausted–, on top of it all, he just missed you. After all those years, all of the horror he faced, he found you. To say you were his confort was an understatement. You were his solace. And he was fine working late hours, double shifts, sleepless nights, cases after cases. He could handle it like a pro. As long as you were by his side.

Because of this, a few hours later, as soon as he opened his front door to face your sleeping form – in a position that if he tried, he would pull probably all the muscles on his back – on the sofa, with the tv playing your favorite movie, he finally felt like he could breathe.

Even though he tried his hardest to walk in without waking you up, as soon as he set his keys on the table you snapped your eyes open, your sleepy face morphing into a smile instantly as your eyes landed on him. He chuckled as you stood up quickly and awkwardly, stumbling on your way to meet him. In a second he picked you up in a tight hug, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you back to the couch, settling down with you straddling him.

“Hey, honey” he whispered, and you tilted your head back from his neck to take a better look at him.

“You seem tired.” you whispered, tracing the dark circled on his eyes. He nodded in agreement, a smile still playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You don’t look too sorry.” you tease, playing with the flesh of his bottom lip, referring to the blinding smile he still failed to stifle.

“I just miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby.” you say, leaning in to finally kiss him. You almost how it felt, to have his tongue exploring your mouth, his big calloused hands roaming everywhere, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

Almost.

But not really.

Even if you tried, you could never forget it. Actually, the real struggle was to stop thinking about it. You spent three weeks apart, and you thought about this, about him, every single night. And days too. You waited anxiously but patiently – barely – for this moment.

Now that was finally here, you wouldn’t postpone it anymore.

So, as much as it hurt to pull back from the kiss – that was already too heated for you to think properly –, you gathered all your strength and did it, holding him by the shoulders to keep his mouth away from you. The sight of his red and swollen lips, contrasting with the small stubble he managed to grow because of the lack of time to shave, was distracting enough, and if you weren’t so excited to surprise him you would’ve just pulled his pants down and showed how much you missed him.

“Are you free?”

“What?” his voice was hoarse, and his eyes were a mix of pure lust and confusion, and you almost laughed.

“Like, right now. Are you free? Do you have time?”

“Is this a trick?”

You giggled, kissing the tip of his nose, trying not to swoon too much on the fact that he tilted his head to try and steal a kiss from you as you did it.

“No, baby. I’m just asking.” your tone made him stop for a second, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Why?” you rolled your eyes.

“Just answer.” “Yes, I’m all yours. Now, tell me what you’re up to?” you laughed, enjoying teasing him a little too much.

“Nothing!” and you purposefully high pitched your voice, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

You laughed loudly when he said your name like a warning tone “Tell me.”

“I have nothing to tell you” you started in a fakely-innocent tone “But I’ll show you…” he sat up straight, fixing you on your lap, curious and impatient to find out what you were talking about. Having too much fun torturing him, you bit your lower lip to stiff a laugh and settled a little further away on his legs for him to face your torso properly. He raised his eyebrows, not having any idea about what you were going with but not taking his eyes off you.

“Are you ready?” you asked, teasingly.

“Honey.” he whined, squeezing your hips. Laughing a little more, you slowly reached for the hem of your sweater, and in a pace that could qualify as torturous you lifted it slowly. Hotch’s lips curled into a smirk, and you almost laughed in anticipation.

You stopped right when your shirt reached the base of your breasts, not fully putting them on display but enough for part of your nipple to be seen. Aaron’s face went from sly to shocked to fully in awe in a matter of five seconds.

Between your left rib and your chest, on the exact part where the flesh becomes softer and fuller, you had his name tattooed in black ink and in his hand write, from his signature on a letter he wrote you out of nowhere.

“Holy shit.” he muttered as his eyes roamed between the little spot under your tits and your face, like he was unsure if you were pranking him “Is this… real?”

“Yeah, it is.” you laughed, trying not to make too much fun of him. He was in shock, after all.

Still watching it closely he asked, his tone soft and low “When?”

“Almost three weeks ago. I was supposed to surprise you when I got it done, but we never had the time.” you explained. He watched you with that apologetic expression, which fortunately didn’t last, since he immediately dived back into his study. “Do you like it?” you asked, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice. It seemed like it didn’t work, the way he looked at you like you were crazy for asking, and immediately pulled you into a kiss full of passion.

As much as he wanted to kiss you, and he truly did, he pulled away with a mumbled “Sorry” and went back to staring at your new accessory. “Did it hurt?”

“Yeah, like crazy . It’s a very bone-y part.” you explained, repeating the words your tattoo artist told you “I’m lucky you have a short name.” you joked, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I’m the lucky one.” he answered, not taking his eyes from the ink, completely hypnotized by the look. “Thank you, honey. I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too.” you whispered, blushing.

His fingertips grazed the ink, feeling its subtle hump against your soft flesh. It only lasted a second, though. He immediately pulled his hands back, looking at your face with worry “It’s healed?”

“Oh, yes. Fully healed.” you guaranteed, touching it to prove your words. He nodded, immediately going back to his caresses.

“I can’t believe it. This is… Wait…” he stopped, reaching for his phone on the armrest of the couch “can I?” you giggled.

“Of course.” you posed as he took about a dozen of pictures: with and without your face, holding your waist and your hip, pushing your sweater higher and in a more family-friendly — as much as it could possibly be with the placement of the tattoo — height. 

“Are you making fun of me?” he asked boredly at you about your laughing fit. You swore to god you didn’t make fun of him, but it was really hard to remain serious when he held out his phone and took pictures of you like an old man — which he was.

“No!” you answered, not sounding even remotely real.

To your surprise, in a matter of a second or less, Aaron threw his phone back on the couch and placed you on your back on the couch, hovering above you.

“Oh, hi.” you whispered weakly. He smirked down at your figure, pushing your sweater off of you, leaving you with nothing but your pajama shorts.

“Still can’t believe you did this.” Aaron distributed kisses all along your face and neck “Do you have any idea how much this means to me?”

“I think I can see that you liked it.” you giggled, feeling your voice trembling as he reached your pulse point.

“Then I’ll make you be sure.”

And just like that, you felt the temperature of the room rising from the heat between the two of you. After all that time apart, without having time even for conversation, there was no single cell in your body that didn’t want to be completely surrendered by him. It’s not just physical anymore: your body, mind and soul craved Aaron Hotchner.

He wasn’t any different, you could see by the urge on his touch, the neediness on his kisses and the way that every time he moved away from you, even for a second, even if just to take the remaining clothes off, his eyes glistened in panic a little, like not feeling your skin on his caused him literal pain.

When his fingers dipped down your folds, hungrily chasing that sweet spot that made your toes curl, you saw stars. Usually he would tease, play, test your patience and his strength, but not tonight. Not after all that time. Not when he just found out you had his name tattooed on your skin.

“I need you so much, sweetheart.” he mumbled, desperately, his rock hard cock weighing down against your upper thighs. Just as he was about to apologize for not taking things slower, you hooked your legs around his waist, pressing your calves against his lower back and guiding him into your entrance.

“Aaron, I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now…” you hissed, pulling the short strands of his hair, in a light hearted threat. He chuckled darkly, not daring to go against your commands, and thrusting his cock inside of you.

The first stretch, even if it was just his tip, always felt something out of this world. The feeling of having him inside of you, invading your space, was so delicious it quite literally took your breath away. It was the only moment you could afford to take it slow, to savour it. Staring deep into each other’s eye to take in that contact, both your breaths already wrecked, chests heavily moving with each exhale, trying to collect as much oxygen as possible.

Aaron spent almost a minute like that, just enjoying the feeling of your spongy walls evolving him, completely hooked on your wet eyes, already watering up at the unbearable pleasure of having him inside of you again. A slow smirk made its way on his face, and you involuntarily clenched in anticipation.

“How healed is this?” his tone was husky as he graced the pad of his calloused thumb on your tattoo.

You gulped, arching your back in his direction “Completely.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” you agreed anxiously, trying not so subtly to urge him to just get on with it. He chuckled, amused by your desperation – as if he wasn’t just as needy, if not more.

“Enough for me to… play with it?” that made you stop for a second. You were yet to find a thing that Aaron did in bed that you didn’t like, but you couldn’t even come up with a way for him to play with your tattoo. Either way, your body reacts before you, shuddering in excitement at whatever he wanted to do to you.

“What do you…” you tried, curiosity overcoming the pleasure and neediness you felt. As in defy, he thrust himself deeper into you, and you immediately forgot any questions you could possibly have formed “Yes!” you yelped “Do anything. Everything. Please.”

He chuckled again, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his smugness “As you wish.” he murmured, kissing you languidly.

His hands were everywhere, pinching, squeezing and massaging every possible surface of your body he could reach – which, to sum up, was all of it – and his touches, his kisses combined with his cock now completely bottomed out on you was pushing you dangerously close to the edge already. If the way you were moving slowly under him wasn’t enough of a tell, your needy moans definitely did the job.

In a movement that made you yelp in surprise, Aaron sneaked his arms under you and picked you up, pulling you back to the previous position – you straddling him – without even pulling out. Instead of properly sitting, now he leaned back against the back of the couch, his legs spreaded in that way that screamed dominance, with his hands propped firmly on your hips while he watched you with half lidded eyes.

The new angle made him reach even deeper, bumping that sweet spot with each thrust that made your toes curl. Pressing your knees on the fluffy couch, you planted your palms on his chest for leverage and started bouncing up and down on his shaft, your eyes rolling back with pleasure.

“My pretty, pretty wife. So devoted to me.” he whispered, caressing your tattoo once again. The touch made your back arch, angling your chest closer to his face like a magnet “So fucking beautiful.”

“A-Aaron, I don’t think I’ll last…” you whined, stopping moving up and down and rolling your hips, pressing yourself further into him and getting off on the feeling of his tip against your cervix.

“Don’t hold back now, honey.” he smirked, tightening his grip on your hip and grinding your core against him, his dick still buried deep inside of you. With his permission and the overwhelming stimulation, it didn’t take long until you came, your whole body shaking with the strength of it “Thaaat’s it, baby. So good.” he coached, still rolling your hips until a tear streamed down your face in overwhelm.

Your head was heavy, leaned against his shoulder as you felt your whole body limp. He was still inside of you, not pulling out but not moving either. He kept still, whispering sweet nothings to your ear, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your waist. As soon as you came down from your high, you laughed weakly.

“That was embarrassing quick.” you muttered, feeling yourself blush.

“You can never last when I fuck you after days with just your fingers.” he stated, matter-of-factly. You yelped in surprise, burying your face on his chest, giving a light smack on his arm.

“Aaron!” you whined, embarrassed. He chuckled.

“It’s true.” you groaned in protest, and he pulled you back up “Don’t you dare hide from me.” he warned, pulling you back into a sitting position. You moaned at the shift, still too sensitive. “I’m not done yet.” he stated, and you involuntarily clenched at the promise, making him smirk under a moan at the feeling “And neither are you, I see.”

Before you could scold him again, he pulled your torso into his direction, softly touching your tattoo with his mouth, with a light kiss that was barely there. “Oh” you whispered, surprised at how soft it was, and how much it turned you on. He smiled against your skin, his teeth grazing on your flesh right before he deepened the kiss, licking and sucking the sensitive spot and fully making out with the base of your tit.

He was the only one to blame as you tilted your head back, moaning and pushing your chest fully into his face, rolling your hips again. Aaron wasn’t far behind, placing one hand on your back to pull you even closer – as if it was possible –, while the other massaged your other tit with intent.

“So fucking pretty.” he chantet, looking up at you like you were a statue belonging to a museum “My beautiful baby, with my name signed on her tits.” he dived back to your tattoo, and you hummed in agreement, thrusting yourself up and down on his shaft in shallow movements, not wanting to compromise his passioned kisses on your skin. “You’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, Aaron.” you moaned the agreement, fastening your pace.

“Can you give me one more?” he asked, and somehow it sounded like a command. You nodded, biting your lower lip, already feeling the second orgasm close. He smirked, not even needing your confirmation to know it was “Good girl.” and he chuckled as you moaned at the praise, already too gone to even care.

He kept kissing, licking and sucking the ink on your flesh, but when his hand dived into the point where your bodies intertwined and pressed his thumb against your clit in fast circular motions, you lost it. Grasping on his hair for dear life, pulling it and pressing him deeper into your chest like you wanted him to melt into you, you moaned as you felt your body losing its composure. 

“You’re coming for me… Hmm? Come all over my dick again.” he coached, and you had nothing to do but moan his name. “I’m not fucking asking.” he snaped, shutting his teeth in your tattoo. The sharp sting made its way directly into your clit, and you came immediately after, with nothing but whines and moans.

“Aaron, fuck.” and when your second orgasm crashed into you, your vision blurred, tears streamed down your face and your ear rang.

This time. He wasn’t being tender with it. With his lips still latched under your tits, he placed both his hands firmly on your ass cheeks, pressing you so hard against him that you could feel his cock twitching on your cervix. He snapped his hips on yours, thrusting himself up to you in quick and desperate motions, moaning and groaning on your flesh.

Feeling your orgasm dragging more than what you thought it was possible, you were a dizzy mess, absolutely loved being used by him. If you weren’t so spent, you’d probably come again just because of this. Just as you felt your pussy clenching like a claw around him, he pushed your torso away from him, making you sit straight.

“Get off.” he commanded, tapping your hip urgently. You were dizzy, your brain watching everything in slow motion.

“What?” you asked, confused. He groaned, losing his patience and picking you up by the back of your thighs, pulling yourself against him. Your brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding why he wanted it to stop before he could come inside you – his favorite way of coming, mind you.

With a sly grin, he pumped himself a few times under your attentive eye, your mouth agape open in realisation. He bit his lip to stifle a groan, aiming his cock to your tits and making himself come on them. You didn’t realize you were moaning until the sound reached your ears, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You watched in awe as he painted your tits and rib white, his cum covering the dark ink of your tattoo like an art of his own. You waited until the ropes of his seed stopped pumping out of him, wiping his tip with your thumb and earning a hiss from him. You giggled as you pressed your thumb on your thumb, humming at its salty taste. Aaron’s half lidded eyes didn’t miss a single movement of yours, watching like his own personal porn as you spreaded his cum all over your tits like a lotion, bringing your sticky fingers to your mouth from time to time.

He laughed, rubbins his hand on his temple like he had no idea what he did to deserve that.

“I missed you.” you pouted. He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I missed you. I don’t deserve you. I love you so much.” he said between kisses, wanting nothing more than to never be apart from you again. You felt yourself melting with his words and his tenderness.

As he carried your limp body upstairs to the shower, both of you giggling and kissing like teenagers, you sighed satisfied.

“You good?” he asked, already out of breath.

“Much better, thanks.” you answered, shifting your hand tighter on his arms. He chuckled. “Don’t ever do that again?”

“No?” he arched his eyebrows, his gaze falling to your sticky chest. You rolled your eyes, blushing.

“Not that. That you can do any time. I meant, don’t stay away from me for that long.”

“Oh, sure. I promise.” he dipped his head quickly to give you a kiss as he placed you on the bathroom counter. “For starters, I’ll work from home for the rest of the week.”

You laughed loudly “That’s all it took? A tattoo and now I have my husband home for a week?”

He rolled his eyes, waiting for the water to warm up. “Stop it.” “If I’d known,” you started teasingly, hopping off the counter and stepping up beside him into the shower “I would’ve done it sooner. Maybe I’ll pop off a few more when you start to act out again.”

That made him stop, glancing back to face you with puppy eyes.

“Really?”

You laughed again, smacking his arm “Don’t be greedy, Aaron.”

Aaron pouted, hugging you and pressing his head on the crock of your neck as he dived with you under the warm shower “For you? Never.”

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me..

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[etclouie]

post jail !spencer with the lovely prompt kiss me a while. from the reunited lovers list

title; long time no kiss (Spencer Reid x fem!reader)

prompts; “kiss me a while” — from reuniting lovers prompts

warnings; established relationship, they kiss, spencer struggling to believe he deserves love still, i haven’t seen the episode spencer gets out of jail in ages so may be horrifically ooc/non canonic, but that’s it (508 words)

a/n; to say, i fucked this up the first time i posted it (ty to the anon that pointed it out), i'm currently on meds cause i fucked up my ankle, so my bad on that!!

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— come celebrate my one year!!

after the latest case, the team had decided on going out for drinks as the flight home wasn’t until tomorrow morning.

Emily had brought you to the Bureau, sat you down in her office to wait for Spencer’s release, even though you had practically begged her to go with the team.

as she put it, it would be better to see him here and not when he was fresh out of jail.

and who were you to argue with that logic? even if you were desperate to see him again.

so you waited and waited, until the glass doors to the bullpen were pushed open and you seen him again.

with a desperate need, you left Emily’s office and moved towards Spencer, cradling his face in both of your hands and pulling him down into a kiss.

you could feel the tension leave him, even at the all too public for his liking kiss. 

Spencer was just happy to be back with you, to have your soft hands on him again.

the rest of the team gave you a minute, Spencer’s forehead pressing to yours as he sighed, simply admiring you.

“i missed you”

you whispered, brushing a hand carefully through his hair before he took your hand into his, lacing your fingers together.

“i’m sorry”

he started to apologise, his eyes flicking away while you shook your head. your free hand lifted to tilt his gaze back to you, stroking your thumb across his cheek with a softness he knew all too well.

Spencer knew he had nothing to apologise for, not with you, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but feel bad for leaving you for as long as he did.

“you have nothing to be sorry for, okay?”

his eyes searched yours, the love and certainty Spencer had been looking for staring back at him like a breath of fresh air.

“i know, but..”

you cut him off with another kiss, softer this time, pouring all of your love into the embrace.

after a minute Spencer broke the kiss, his thumbs stroking back and forth across your hips as he glanced back to Emily, who nodded towards her office.

with a softness Spencer kept for you, he took your hand and led you up towards Emily’s office, sealing the two of you away from everyone else.

“i love you”

he whispered, even as it was only you two in the room.

“i love you too Spencer”

you offered him a smile, soft and sweet, and full of all the love you could ever have for someone.

yet, it made Spencer sigh.

he didn’t believe he still deserved your love, but with you here and in his arms, doting him with the same love you always had, how could he believe anything other than the truth?

that he deserved your love, even if for the time being he believed the complete opposite.

“kiss me a while”

he whispered, and you knew you couldn’t say no, would never say no to him.

“whatever you need, i’m here, always”

with that, you leaned in, kissing him just like he asked, pouring all of your love into the kiss.

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[matt-murdockk]

Statistically Speaking

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

words: 600 words

summary: Spencer thought he was in a long-term relationship— turns out, he forgot to tell her.

warnings: none, babe. this is pure fluff <3

“Come on, man,” Derek said, arms folded as he stared Spencer down across the break room table. “You can’t just read a thousand relationship books and think that’s the same as the real thing.”

Spencer looked up from the folder in his lap, utterly unbothered. “Thirty-nine books. And they’re peer-reviewed studies. It’s not about anecdotes, it’s about data.”

Penelope leaned over her coffee, eyes sparkling. “Oh boy. He’s going full empirical. This should be good.”

“It’s not that I think I understand relationships,” Spencer continued, adjusting his glasses. “It’s just that I recognize functional dynamics when I see them. And I happen to know what one looks like.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah? Like what, The Notebook?”

“No,” Spencer said. “Like me and Y/N.”

There was a beat of silence.

Y/N, seated two chairs down with a half-drunk coffee in her hand, turned very slowly. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Spencer blinked at her like she’d asked if water was wet. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘you and me’?”

He frowned, confused. “I mean us. Our dynamic. It’s a prime example of a healthy relationship.”

Garcia dropped her muffin.

Derek leaned in like he was about to watch a car crash in slow motion. “Go on.”

Spencer tilted his head at Y/N. “You seriously didn’t know?”

She blinked. “Know what exactly?”

“That we’re in a relationship. Or— at least something adjacent to one. I assumed we were both aware of that.”

Y/N stared at him.

Spencer, sensing the disbelief, leaned back in his chair and began to list things off like he was briefing a case. “We text every night before bed. You bring me coffee the way I like it— three sugars, not stirred— almost every day, without asking. I’ve picked you up from the airport twice. You’ve stayed over at my apartment more than once, and you steal my hoodies.”

“That’s just…” She trailed off, looking helplessly at Garcia, who was frozen mid-bite.

Spencer wasn’t done.

“We hold hands when we walk across busy streets. You braid my hair when I’m stressed. I read you poetry once and you cried, which I took as a positive emotional response and not distress.”

Y/N slowly set her coffee down. “Okay.”

“I’ve memorized your Chipotle order,” Spencer added, like that sealed it.

“Okay.”

Spencer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “We literally hold hands all the time.”

“…Okay, yeah, I see where I went wrong.”

Derek lost it.

Garcia was fanning herself with a napkin, whispering “my stars” under her breath.

Y/N looked like she was debating the moral and logistical weight of throwing herself into the nearest garbage can.

Spencer, meanwhile, just looked vaguely betrayed. “How did you not know?”

She gave him a look. “Because you never said it out loud?”

“I thought it was implied!”

Derek clapped once, loud. “Oh, I live for this.”

Garcia blinked. “Cool, so I’ve been third-wheeling a relationship that wasn’t even technically happening. Love that for me.”

Y/N turned back to Spencer, who was still trying to solve the mystery of how she missed this.

“Are you mad?” she asked.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “Just… surprised. I really thought we were on the same page.”

“Well.” She exhaled, slow and a little amused. “We are now.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Does this mean we’re officially dating?”

Y/N shrugged. “Statistically speaking?”

That got the smallest smile out of him.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

a/n: first spencer fic can i get a whoop whoop (i hope this is good, oh god)