#hotch is flustered

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Pierced [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Right (@shallyne) Center (@sillyhotchsgirl) Left (Google)

Prompt: The reader gets a new piercing and sends Aaron a picture of it while he’s on a case. To say he’s flustered is a bit of an understatement. 

Category: Fluff 

Word Count: 2.5K 

Content Warnings: Piercing (tongue), implied sex (at the end), minor language, canon typical unsub behavior (unsub is a  bomber)

A/N: This is for my love @sadgirlzluvdilfs. She had mentioned a new piercing and Aaron, and well, I had to oblige. Full transparency, I don’t have any piercings of my own (but I do have ten tattoos), so I would not recommend following any advice for aftercare mentioned in the story. I hope you like this darling. The reader is a non-BAU member and there is an established relationship. If you like this story, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! I hope you all have a good start to the weekend. Love Levi. 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

Aaron’s personal cell dinged in his back pocket, and he pulled it out. He turned on the home screen and saw that y/n had sent him a message and a photo. He looked over at the team who were scouring hundreds of files for a clue on the current unsub who was on a bombing spree in Michigan. Firmly Aaron said, “Excuse me for a moment,” to the team. Rossi looked over to Aaron as he walked away. Hotch found a quiet spot in the hallway of the bustling precinct. He swiped up on the message from y/n. The text read: “Good morning, Aaron. I’m missing you extra hard today. Please stay safe and let’s call tonight if you have time.” Hotch smiled and felt that familiar warmth spread through his body at hearing y/n’s desire for him. He then looked at the attached photo. It wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a photo of y/n’s face, but just the lower half. She was smiling and had her tongue out at him. Aaron wiped the tiredness from his eyes, as he looked at the picture again. Then with a snap, he noticed the obvious. There was a piercing on her tongue, and the area looked a bit red and swollen. Hotch had totally forgotten that y/n was having this done today, though she had let him know that it was happening. Due to the case and frenzy of the team, the thought had completely slipped his mind. Aaron took a moment to like the picture and replied, “That looks great sweetheart! Does it hurt?” As he waited for a response, his mind momentarily wandered lightyears away from the case and the unsub, as he imagined kissing y/n with this new addition to her mouth. For a second he imagined that it would be cool against his own tongue, but then he realized that the metal would be warmed to her internal temperature. Either way, it would be a new sensation for him. He’d never had a partner before that had a mouth piercing. He looked forward to seeing what that felt like. Then there was the thought of her mouth, her piercing on another erogenous zone of his body. The twitch in his pants told him that this was something he was certainly going to have to explore once he got home. 

Hotch moved to the men’s room and turned on the cold tap. He splashed some water on his face to metaphorically and literally cool down his mind and body. Aaron righted himself and pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, patting his face dry. The door opening caught his attention, and he saw Rossi enter. Dave leaned against the door and asked, “Is everything alright?” Hotch cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. I just needed a minute. Let’s get back to the team.” Rossi looked over at Aaron. The older man could see that something was up but didn’t ask further. Dave knew that Aaron, even as a close personal friend, was private about most things in his life. That in keeping certain parts of himself hidden, there was comfort and control. And with the job they had, having those two things could be a lifeline. Just as they got near the briefing room, Hotch’s phone dinged again. y/n’s reply was simple, saying, “My pain level is fine, but my tongue is a little tender, and my jaw is a bit stiff.” Aaron smiled. Knowing that _y/n_ wasn’t in much pain made him feel better. He quickly replied, “Good to hear. I’ll call tonight if there’s time - A.” With that, he recentered his attention on the case at hand. 

That evening in the hotel room, Aaron collapsed onto the mattress. His body was tired and aching from being on his feet all day. The bomber had led the team on a few wild goose chases around the city. The team and JJ in particular were good at not following false leads, but this unsub was smart with their disinformation. They knew how to make a false flag seem to need immediate attention. Hotch pulled out his legal pad and jotted down: Disinformation? Possible groups affiliated - China, Iran, Russia. Ask R. for patterns in text and call G. for more info tomorrow. When he had finished writing, he rested his upper body back down on the bed and pinched the skin between his eyebrows; worry and exhaustion tugging at his insides. Hotch decided he was going to take a nap for an hour. Yes, the case was pressing and needed his focus, but he knew that he wouldn’t be giving his best if he was this tired. So he would compromise by sleeping for a bit and then diving back in. Aaron found his phone at the bottom of his work bag and detailed y/n. After the first ring, y/n answered and he said, “Hey, y/n. I don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to hear your voice.” y/n replied, “Hey back at you. Are you doing okay? How’s the team?” Aaron let out a breath and then said, “I’m good. Tired though. And the team is well. They're in their usual form. They’re so sharp. Sometimes it amazes me.” There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, and y/n replied, “Well you are too, Aaron. Don’t forget to give yourself some credit.” 

Whenever y/n said things like this to him, he felt a warmth dissipate over his chest and radiate down his body. He knew y/n meant it when she said things like this. She wasn’t one to just give him an ego stroke for the sake of it. If she said something, she was being honest. That was one of the many reasons he found her so attractive. To find someone willing to be genuine was rare, and Aaron cherished that part of their relationship. Hotch thought for a second that he had heard the smallest lisp in y/n’s voice as she spoke and remembered again about the new piercing. He commented, “So, how’s your mouth. Are you taking care of your new jewelry?” y/n responded, “It’s fine. I’m on some Advil, but other than that I’m all good. And I’m following all of the aftercare steps the clinician told me to. It’s healing surprisingly fast.” Aaron gave a little hum of acknowledgment and said, “Well I look forward to seeing it in person. Listen, honey, I’m going to have to go now. But I love you and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?” There was a momentary pause and y/n replied, “Alright. Please be safe, Aaron.” To which he responded, “I will.” Before y/n hung up, she softly said, “I love you.” Hotch could hear the worry in her voice, even as she tried to hide it. Whenever he called her on cases she sounded this way. At least until he had let her know that he was heading home. He couldn’t blame her. Due to the nature of the BAU’s work, he couldn’t share details about the cases he worked on, and y/n was very aware of the dangers of the job. But she did her best to not put her concern on him too. She understood that his job was important to him, and she knew that being overly concerned, or heaven forbid, babying him would make that job any easier. Aaron thought of this as he set an alarm for an hour on his phone, started said alarm, and turned off the lamp by his bed. 

The case wrapped up in three days, and Aaron was headed home. He planned on meeting up with y/n the day after he got back. When he arrived at her apartment, he knocked on the door, and y/n happily let him inside her space. He moved inside and closed the door behind him. When this was done, he took her hands and said, “Hey beautiful,” before he leaned down and kissed her softly. When they separated, Aaron asked, “What would you like to do today? I’ve got some ideas, but I want to know if you had anything in mind?” y/n smiled up at him and said, “Maybe we could go for a walk along the river? And that record store you’ve been eyeing is finally open today, so we could go there too…” y/n hesitated for a moment and Hotch said, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.” y/n let out a laugh and replied, “But… I’ve missed you. Could we spend an hour or two hanging out here before we go out?” Aaron smiled and leaned down again to kiss her temple saying, “Of course, darling. I’ve missed you too.” _y/n_ moved to the side of the room and put on their favorite album on her record player while Aaron grabbed them a glass of sparkling water. They settled next to each other on the couch, and Hotch turned to face her asking, “Can I see your piercing? I’ve been thinking about it since you sent me that photo on Tuesday.” Hearing this, y/n reddened slightly, but stuck her tongue out at him like a teenager before quickly retracting it back into her mouth. It gave Aaron just a glimpse at the new addition to her body. Hotch looked at her unamused, and y/n laughed again before actually sticking her tongue out for him to see. Aaron looked at the gold bar in her mouth that matched the rest of the jewelry that adorned her figure. He took a moment and touched the warmed metal in her mouth. Her tongue looked more healed than the first photo she had sent him. Aaron removed his hand and asked, “What’s this type of piercing called, and how long is the standard healing time and aftercare routine?” She moved her hand to rest on his thigh. She loved it when he looked out for her. Even in the small things. She replied, “It’s called a midline piercing. My piercer and the aftercare instructions state that it can take four to six weeks to heal. But honestly, it feels pretty good. I read something online about saliva being a natural disinfectant, so maybe that has something to do with it? Aftercare is just simple stuff. Using a new toothbrush, keeping the area clean, all that jazz.” Hotch chuckled at her tone. 

Aaron had considered getting a tattoo once and voiced that thought to Hailey. He wanted something related to Jack, but she had shut down the idea, and so his body remained untouched by either tattoos or piercings. However, he loved that that y/n expressed herself with her jewelry and clothing. He remembered something that _y/n_ had said the first day she got the piercing; that her jaw had been stiff. Because of this, he moved both of his hands up to her jaw and started massaging the area with a firm, yet tender touch. y/n was taken aback and asked, “Aaron, what are you doing?” Hotch swatted her hands away as they moved to grab his hands. He continued to move over the area and replied, “Well you said your jaw was stiff the other day. I’m just making sure you get some relief.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s not really stiff anymore love.” Aaron hummed and said, “Well consider this me making up for lost time.” y/n settled and let him dote on her for a bit. The feel of his warm hands on her jaw made her relax into his touch. Really anytime he made close contact, her body reacted to him. After a few minutes, y/n more intentionally moved his hands up and away from her face. She didn’t give him a chance to protest this time, as she moved to kiss his lips. They were soft and warm under her touch. Hotch made a small sound at the contact and moved his hands to her hips. He pulled away for a second. He then kissed her a few more times. The kisses were chaste and quick. He was teasing her, and she knew it. When y/n had had enough of his tomfoolery, she moved her hand to his hair and took his short locks in her hands. She gave the strands a gentle tug, as she held his head in place for her to more passionately kiss him. Aaron gave a little groan at his hair being pulled. y/n knew that Aaron liked to make her work a little for his affection. Not all of the time, but when he was having fun he sort of made it a game for her. And she knew how to play. Aaron nipped lightly on her lower lip, and she opened for him. Hotch moved slowly over her tongue. He explored the the piercing in her mouth, first at the top of her tongue, and then below. The new sensation of the metal in her mouth excited him. Momentarily he remembered the feeling of getting flustered at the precinct in Michigan, and he felt a familiar tension growing in his pants. Aaron pulled away for breath. y/n looked him over and noticed the growing bulge in his pants, and she gave him a wicked smile. 

y/n got onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, saying, “Well someone’s excited.” Aaron let out a breath and said, “Are you surprised? You’re so hot and the new piercing just adds to the pleasure.” y/n hummed and felt her body warming and pooling with desire. y/n leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. Hotch closed his eyes and his hands moved up under the back of her shirt to her back. y/n lightly kissed both of his eyelids. The sensitive skin fluttered slightly under her mouth. Her lips and soft breath moved to his chin and slowly down his neck. She was taking her time. If Hotch had teased her, she would teased him right back. It was when she started undoing the button of his shirt and sucking and kissing his sensitive skin that he couldn't take it anymore. The new feeling of the piercing only heightened his senses. He made a noise of desire. It came from a place deep inside him. From a place of need and want. A little breathlessly he asked, “Bedroom?” y/n pulled away from his chest and nodded. They both got up and moved hurriedly toward the bedroom. y/n was still fiddling with the buttons of his shirt as they closed the door behind them. After a few moments, there were more distinct sounds of pleasure that settled in the air. As Aaron looked down at y/n’s form, he felt drunk on how good she made him feel. He moved down to kiss her again, his tongue hungry in her mouth. The feeling of the metal on his tongue ignited a new passion in him. Having a partner like y/n made him feel younger and he reveled in the feeling. 

[hotchfiles]

spencer flirting austin and dorian gets me soooooo giggly fr he is so cute

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[ddejavvu]

Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[gf2bellamy]

Hey, you know when spencer is doing his physics magic thing and it lands on emily head then she asks him how this works but he refuses to tell her claiming a true magician never reveals his secrets but when the reader asks him he agrees to show her immediately cuz he's so whipped and everyone's is like 🤨🤨🤨

Also happy birthday i hope you have a great year full of happiness 🫶🏻✨️❤️

magic — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: a/n: hiii !! spencer looked so cute in this scene i love early szns spence <3 also tysm that's so sweet !!! <333 also i couldnt find the a gif for this scene so this gif will have to do

You, JJ, and Garcia had gathered behind Spencer, who was seated in one of the rolling chairs, his frame hunched over a small film cannister on the desk.

He had promised to show you all a "physics magic trick," though so far, nothing magical—or even remotely interesting—had happened.

JJ glanced at you, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Nothing is happening," she whispered.

You shrugged, leaning slightly over Spencer's shoulder to get a better look at whatever he was tinkering with.

Spencer, however, seemed to be struggling. His hands fidgeted with the small plastic device on the desk, but his focus was clearly divided.

The warmth of you standing so close behind him was distracting, and he could feel the faint brush of your breath against his neck.

He cleared his throat. "Shhh, watch," he said, his voice cracking slightly and rising an octave higher than usual.

You raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick, amused glance with JJ.

Spencer’s enthusiasm was endearing, even if the trick itself seemed to be taking its sweet time.

You leaned in a little closer, your chin nearly resting on his shoulder, and you could’ve sworn you saw the tips of his ears turn pink.

And then it happened.

The small plastic device—a tiny black spring-loaded film cannister—suddenly sprang to life. With a sharp ping, it launched into the air, flying in a high arc across the bullpen. You watched, wide-eyed, as it sailed over the desks and directly toward the doorway.

Emily chose that exact moment to walk in.

The plastic projectile hit her squarely on the forehead with a soft thunk.

She froze mid-step, her hand instinctively flying to the spot where it had struck. "Ow! What—?" she exclaimed.

Spencer looked mortified. His hands flailing as he stammered out an apology. "I’m so sorry, Emily!

You couldn’t help it—a burst of laughter escaped you, quickly followed by JJ and Garcia joining in.

Emily rubbed her forehead, glaring at him. "What was that?" she asked.

Your laughter only grew louder at Spencer’s flustered expression, and the sound of it made his heart hammer in his chest. He couldn’t help but glance at you, his cheeks flushing even deeper.

"Don’t you recognize a rocket when you see one?" Garcia chimed in, her grin widening as she nudged Spencer playfully.

Spencer's voice rose slightly in defense. "I was merely demonstrating a fundamental physics law! I didn’t mean to—"

Emily waved him off, her curiosity now piqued. "Oh, show me," she said, walking over to the table where you were all gathered. She leaned in, her eyes scanning the small film cannister Spencer had been tinkering with. "How does it work?"

Spencer hesitated, then shook his head. "A magician never reveals his secrets," he said, his tone mock-serious as he gestured for her to turn around. Emily rolled her eyes but complied, stepping back as Spencer reset the device.

Spencer managed to show the trick again, but not without getting into trouble with Hotch. The girls immediately went back to their desks. Staying there even after Hotch went back to his office.

But you stayed at Spencer's desk.

You leaned against it, your arms casually crossed as you watched him fiddle with the small film cannister. “Spencer,” you said softly, causing him to tilt his head up to look at you.

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice low and slightly hesitant, the way it always was when he talked to you. It was endearing, the way he got so shy, as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“How did you do that trick?” you asked, giving him your sweetest smile. You knew he’d mentioned something about magicians never revealing their secrets, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before dropping back to the device in his hands.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, clearly torn between his love of sharing knowledge and his earlier declaration about magicians and their secrets.

But then he looked up at you again, and whatever resolve he had crumbled under the warmth of your smile.

“Well…” he began, his voice softening as he gave in. He gestured for you to lean in closer, and you did.

His words came quickly at first, a rapid-fire explanation of potential energy, kinetic energy, and the calculations needed to make the trick work. As he spoke, his tone grew more animated, his hands moving to illustrate his points.

You listened intently, nodding along, though half your attention was on the way his eyes sparkled with excitement.

When he finished explaining, he glanced at you, almost shyly. “Want to try it?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

Spencer handed you the small plastic device, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

The contact was brief, but it sent a little jolt through you, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks flush.

He guided you through the steps, his voice soft, his hands hovering near yours ready to help if needed.

Your fingers brushed against his again as you adjusted the device, and you could feel the faint tremor in his hand.

It was subtle, but it was there, and it made your heart skip a beat.

Just as you were about to launch the film cannister, Emily’s voice cut through the moment. “Hey, are you showing her how to do that physics trick?” she asked, her tone accusatory.

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Spencer. “You said no one was allowed to know.”

JJ, who had been quietly observing from her desk, looked up at Emily’s words, her own eyebrow quirking in curiosity.

You glanced at Spencer, who looked like a deer caught in headlights, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a response.

But before he could say anything, you grinned and leaned back against the desk, your tone teasing. “Guess I’m special.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he might combust on the spot.

Emily shook her head. “Special, huh? Reid, you’re full of surprises.”

JJ smirked, adding, “Looks like someone’s got a soft spot.”

Spencer stammered, his face turning a deep shade of red. “I—it’s not—I mean, she just—uh—”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Spencer’s flustered expression only made it harder to stop. “Relax, Spence,” you said, gently nudging his arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded away. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Emily and JJ exchanged a knowing look before returning to their work, leaving the two of you alone once more. You stayed there, leaning against his desk, as you asked him more questions about his magic tricks.

[infictionalwonderland]

The BAU team meeting Hotch’s younger gf who looks like she walked off the front cover of a magazine & she’s so bubbly and has a really comforting energy! How would they react????

The satisfying little clicks of heels against the marble floor wasn’t enough to gain any of their attention usually, but accompanied by the delicately enchanting chimes of true laughter and sweet smell of baked goods—eyes were immediately lifting to investigate to the scene.

“Thank you so much!” An incredibly sweet, honeyed voice gushed genuinely, “here, all of these are meant for my boyfriend but I’m sure he won’t even notice.”

The team traded immensely interested looks as they surveyed the scene, Anderson (who was uncharacteristically blushing a bright flustered cherry red) was being handed a chocolate chip muffin by—wow—a startlingly gorgeous young women who was dressed in inviting soft colours and had a large sweet smile on her face that served to emphasise her lovely appearance.

“My day just got a hundred times better.” Derek grinned, swivelling his chair sideways to speak to the rest of his team while barely taking his eyes off you.

“You’re telling me.” Emily’s mouth hung open a little as she leaned forwards on her elbows to look at you more closely.

“Behave.” JJ scolded before her brief look of reprimand melted under Emily’s pointed stare, “she’s looks so sweet I just wanna eat her.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Spencer reminded them.

“What—?”

“Pretty boy—you and—“

“Oh—oh, no!” Spencer flustered, sputtering out the gulp of his coffee he had in his mouth (JJ handed him a napkin with a mothers readiness). “Not—I would be absolutely honoured—and—and, for lack of a sensical phrase, over the moon, to have a romantic relationship with a woman such as her but—no, unfortunately. She—she said a few moments ago that has a boyfriend.”

“Ah.” Emily blinked, a slow almost sheepish smirk on his lips, “I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, just watching her lips move.”

“Preach sister.” Derek leaned forward for a fist-bump which Emily easily gave, both of them nodding in solidarity.

“Hello!” They all startled heavily as your gentle, happy voice chimed now much closer to them and mouths dropped subtly at just how beautiful you looked up close.

“Well hello sweetheart.”

“H-hi.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“Hello!”

You blinked at them, an adorable giggle leaving you at the onslaught of greetings that came all at once. “Hi! You wouldn’t happen to know where Aaron Hotchner’s office is would you?”

“Hotch?” Emily furrowed her brows at you curiously and then seemed to forgot about, well, any of anything she was thinking as your bubbly smile and sparkling eyes turned her way and you gave a cheerful ‘yep!’ “Um—just, up those stairs, the first door at the top.”

“Thank you very much.” You told her, voice as sweet as the packet of fizzy haribos hidden in her desk. “It was lovely meeting you all, we’ll probably be better acquainted later on.”

With a sparkly mischievous twinkle in your bright eyes and another adorable giggle, you took off in a small spin that sent the enchanting mix of your perfume and the baked goods wafting over to all of them and they all watched, entranced, as you climbed the steps to their boss’ office.

After several seconds of dazed silence, Spencer gasped.

“Boyfriend—“

“Yeah I wouldn’t mind being her boyfriend either.” Derek murmured. “At all—really, no sweat off my back.”

“Hotch.”

JJ’s mouth dropped open as she realised where Spencer was going with his train of thought, rolling back in her chair as they pointed at him in realisation.

“Oh my God!”

“Hotch—hotch, is her boyfriend..?” Spencer sounded extremely confused, mouth falling open and closing repeatedly.

“Huh?”

“Reid, you are having a giggle.”

“No, he’s right.” JJ confirmed, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “She said she was here to see her boyfriend and she’s gone to see Hotch. . 2 plus 2 equals. .”

“. . An incredibly brokenhearted Derek Morgan.” Derek’s own mouth dropped open, craning his neck to see what was going on in the office of his boss before realising that Hotch had shut the blinds. Derek gasped, that sneak.

“And a flummoxed Emily Prentiss.”

“But she’s so—“

“Yeah.”

“And he’s like—“

“Literally!”

“Well, the last few months Hotch has been incredibly more relaxed, in fact his percentage of smiles given has gone up from a measly 30% to almost 84%, his laugh quota has reached high yet levels than I’ve ever known it to be. I had also noted that every Thursday he never goes home as late as he usually retires for the day and with this new revelation of a relationship—I assume this correlates to their date nights.”

“It does.”

Everyone turned in their chairs quickly to face their boss who now stood outside his office a faintly amused smile curving up his lips, at his side was you and you were wearing an amused and loving smile, eyes practically sparkling after Spencer’s speech on your boyfriend’s behaviour as they flickered up to said boyfriend beside you who looked down at you with soft, fond eyes.

“So you figured out my secret.” You grinned at them all, taking in Spencer’s red cheeks and Emily’s flabbergasted, dazed stare. “I’m Y/N, Aaron’s girlfriend!”

“Doesn’t that just crush a man’s hopes and dreams.” Derek pouted quietly to himself, straightening up in alarm when his boss’ intense eyes zeroed in on him.

“Honey, this is JJ—“ The blonde gave a warm, welcoming smile and a wave, “Spencer,” said genius gave a tight lipped awkward smile, hands flailing awkwardly and cheeks a burning fiery red, feeling this pulse thump when they smiled back directly at him, “Emily and Derek.” Both of the aforementioned gave waves with half flirty-ish smirks and half genuine smiles.

The door to Rossi’s office opened and when he stepped out and saw you beside Aaron he smiled happily, walking towards you both.

“Ah, Y/N!” He took you into an embrace, kissing both of your cheeks. “You get more beautiful every time I see you, is this big brute treating you right?”

“Always, Dave.”

He patted you on the shoulders, smiling, before turning to Aaron who was rolling his eyes at him fondly.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Rossi!” Emily’s astounded voice exclaimed, “you—know Y/N—you knew about this—“

It was Dave’s turn to roll his eyes as he continued walking to descend down the stairs, tutting at her disappointedly.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He countered, “who do you think encouraged him to go for it?”

You laughed at that and your boyfriend smiled down at you fondly, looping an arm around your waist—seemingly forgetting he was in his place of work and needed to keep up the facade of stone cold, emotionless boss.

“What—Rossi—get back here—“ Derek leaped up from his seat and trailed after the older man.

“What, you gonna come watch me take a leak?”

“If it means we get some answers!”

“Shoo parassita.”

All you could do was laugh again, smiling up at your boyfriend as his arm tightened around your waist and he pulled you closer into his side. You were very happy with your decision to come and deliver baked goods to him.

[dearlenore]

BED CHEM • S.REID

SUMMARY: the team is watching a video detailing Penelope’s concert experience when they notice you talking and singing about a certain boy genius on stage

PAIRING: singer!fem!reader x spencer

tags: fluff, reader is hyper feminine, reader wears revealing clothing reader wears makeup, sabrina carpenter inspired, mentions of pregnancy (Juno) dirty jokes, flustered spence for you

a/n: editor is occupied for the foreseeable future</3

w/c: 1.3k

PT2

The BAU’s conference room buzzed with quiet conversation as Penelope practically skipped to the front, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Okay, you guys are NOT ready for this,” she squealed, dramatically spinning around to face the team. “So, picture this: I’m at the concert, having the time of my life, and then—oh, it gets better—SHE PULLS OUT MY FAVORITE OUTFIT! She hasn’t worn it in forever, but THEN—”

“Penelope,” Hotch interrupted, rubbing his temples. “A point would be helpful.”

“I am getting to the point, oh fearless leader,” she huffed before connecting her laptop to the large screen at the front of the room.

The screen flickered to life just as Spencer walked in, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning routine, a mug of coffee in one hand and a case file in the other. He yawned, blinking sleepily.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, dropping into his chair.

“Oh, great, perfect timing, Doctor Reid, because you, my dear genius, are going to want to see this,” Penelope chirped, clicking a button.

The video loaded, showing a stage bathed in bright lights and a familiar figure at the center. The moment Spencer realized who he was looking at, his stomach tightened.

You.

The headline above the video made it even worse.

‘America’s Sweetheart Has a Boyfriend?!’

Spencer stiffened, shoulders squaring as he desperately tried to keep his expression neutral. It didn’t work.

“Ooooooh, this is gonna be good,” Emily murmured, leaning forward with a grin.

The video played. The intermission segment of your concert, where you spun a game wheel, laughing into the mic as you introduced the next topic. The wheel landed on Bed Chem. The audience erupted into cheers, but instead of launching into the song, you tilted your head, suppressing a mischievous smile.

“Okay, first of all, this is a really obscure one, hear me out,” you prefaced, placing a hand over your mouth as you laughed. The crowd quieted just enough to listen.

“You know that one FBI guy who was on the news this week? The tall one with the brown hair?”

The arena roared in agreement.

JJ turned to Spencer with wide eyes. “Oh my God.”

Spencer paled. “Oh my God.”

Morgan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Go on, Pretty Boy, let’s hear what she has to say about you.”

On screen, you ran a hand through your hair, adjusting your sparkly red lingerie costume, the curve off your hips and thighs on full display, looking half-amused and half-mortified. “Okay, I genuinely believe—God forgive me if he’s got a girlfriend—but I could take him… Not in a fight, though. He could make me Juno.”

The crowd lost their minds. You smiled, nodding as if you were confirming an inside joke. “I mean, look at him! He’s got that whole cute, unapproachable genius thing going on, but I bet you, under all that statistical analysis, he’s really good in bed. Guys we would have the cutest babies.” You shook your head dismissively and walked towards the back of the stage, your glittery eyeshadow and gloss shining in the spotlight.

The audience howled,

The room went silent.

Then, chaos.

“OH—OH MY GOD,” Emily shrieked, slapping the table. “Reid! You have the most famous singer right now after you”

JJ was laughing behind her hand. Even Rossi looked mildly entertained.

Meanwhile, Spencer stared at the screen in pure horror. “I—what—I don’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, completely at a loss.

Penelope clutched her chest dramatically. “Spencer, how DARE you not tell us you’re a muse for America’s sweetheart?”

“She’s not—I mean, we know each other, but—” Spencer was floundering, his ears turning pink.

Emily grinned wickedly. “YOU KNOW HER? And you never told us? After all the times I paid full price for concert tickets?!”

Spencer’s face was burning. ��I—”

“Hey, let’s not forget she did say she could take you,” Morgan teased, nudging his shoulder. “Not in a fight, though.”

The teasing continued, but Spencer had stopped listening. His gaze was still locked on the screen, on you—smiling, laughing, looking effortlessly radiant under the stage lights.

Hours later, the teasing hadn’t stopped.

If anything, it had only gotten worse.

Ever since Penelope’s infamous concert video, the team had been relentless. Any time Spencer so much as breathed, someone found a way to bring you up.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned as Spencer entered the bullpen, holding a coffee cup. “That statistical analysis and good in bed working out for you?”

Spencer groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Emily piped up, spinning her chair around. “I mean, America’s sweetheart just exposed her FBI crush to a stadium full of people—and we had to find out from a viral video?”

“I still don’t get why you’re all so invested,” Spencer muttered, sinking into his chair.

JJ smirked from her desk. “Oh, we’re not invested—”

“We’re just waiting for you to admit why she thinks you’re good in bed,” Emily finished, grinning.

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to argue, but a new voice interrupted.

“Guys,” Hotch sighed, stepping out of his office. “Leave Reid alone.”

Spencer exhaled, relieved—until Hotch added, “For now.”

He knew.

They all knew.

It was inevitable at this point. He couldn’t hide it anymore—not when Penelope had somehow dug up even more videos of you talking about him, not when Twitter was obsessed with connecting the dots between your song lyrics and a certain “mystery genius.”

Not when you’d literally texted him this morning:

Y/N: Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were recording the concert. I can take it back if u want😭

Spencer: That won’t be necessary.

Y/N: thank God, didnt wanna have to explain the whole “I could take him” line…

Spencer: …

Yeah. It was time.

—

Later that evening, the team sat around the round table in the conference room, finishing up paperwork from their last case.

“So, Reid,” Rossi began casually, flipping through a file. “Any fun weekend plans? Or will you be locked away with your books?”

Spencer sighed. “Actually…” He set his pen down, taking a deep breath. “I was planning to spend the weekend with my girlfriend...”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAT?”

Morgan nearly fell out of his chair. Emily’s jaw dropped. Penelope let out an actual squeal.

JJ gasped. “Wait, wait, you mean actually—”

“Yes.” Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

Rossi just chuckled, sipping his espresso. “Called it.”

Morgan gawked. “Hold on, hold on—you’re telling me you’ve been dating a literal pop star, and you just forgot to mention it?”

“To be fair,” Spencer muttered, “it was classified information until about a week ago when she publicly humiliated me on stage.”

Emily shook her head, still in shock. “Wait—how did this even happen?”

Spencer hesitated, then pulled out his phone, scrolling through his photos until he found one he’d taken months ago: a candid shot of you sitting on his couch, curled up in one of his sweaters, reading a book. You had a mug of tea in your hands, and the look on your face was one of pure, quiet contentment. Another displayed you at the park, feeding bunnies.

The team stared.

“She likes books,” Spencer explained simply. “I like books. It wasn’t that complicated.”

Morgan threw his hands up. “Not complicated? You’re dating America’s sweetheart—that is, by definition, complicated.”

Penelope was practically vibrating. “Oh my God, wait, is she coming here? Can she visit? Can she sign my vinyl?”

Spencer smirked slightly. “I don’t know… depends on how much more you all tease me.” He shoved his hands on his pockets.

The team erupted into protests.

“Come on, Pretty Boy, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and not deliver!”

JJ grinned. “Seriously, Spence. You have to bring her in at some point.”

Spencer shook his head, amused. “We’ll see.”

But as he looked down at his phone—where a new message from you popped up (Y/N: Tell them I say hi, genius)—he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before you made your grand entrance.

[aureatelys]

nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, kinda flirty/brat!reader, car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.  

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

-

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

-

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

 “Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.  

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

-

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.  

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Hits Different

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader gets jealous when some women start hitting on Aaron at the bar on their team night out

CW: drunk!Hotch, jealous!Reader, mentions of an unsub and murder, drinking, confessions, makeout, Hotch being handsy, kinda needy!Hotch?

a/n: I’m literally obsessed with Aaron Hotchner rn

title track 🎶🥂

~~~

“No— I can’t,” you opposed as your coworkers decided to order another round of shots. Cheeks glowing as the alcohol seeped into you. Smiling as Derek put his arm around you and J.J. reached across the table to encourage you.

It was a Thursday night. You all had just gotten back from a week long endeavor in Utah. Local killer had his sight on some local young women. Killing them in some ritual style way that the drinks helped you fuzz the memory of. Luckily after you had addressed the public, he grew sloppy and was easily caught.

And now, back in your home state, you all crowded into a local bar to relax. And when the BAU “relaxed” it usually involved some heavy drinking.

“Shots! Shots! Sh-Shots!” Penelope and Emily chanted to the tune of the Lil Jon song. You laughed, a subtle snort escaping you. Rossi came back with the tray, beginning to pass them out to everyone.

Aaron Hotchner hovered behind him. Already having downed three glasses of scotch and beaming with alcohol on his face. It was a rare occasion that Hotch got drunk. Usually he just sipped at one drink while everyone else got themselves into trouble. But tonight he decided to let loose. Taking two glasses off the tray and squeezing in next to you in the already tight booth. Sitting them down in front of the two of you. Hooded eyes squinted upward in a closed-mouth smile as his eyebrows raised at you.

And you felt your face completely flush. Since your time at the BAU, you had developed a crush on your superior. Even if it was inappropriate and the age gap was a bit large, you still harbored feelings for him. And moments like this did not help.

Completely engulfed by the aroma of his cologne. Trying not to make it obvious you were smelling him. Hotch wrapped his arm around you absentmindedly. Leaning in and holding one of the glasses up to you. “Are you gonna do a shot with me?” His slightly slurred words melted against your skin. His voice somehow deeper and sultrier than ever. Everyone else was too distracted by the giggling of drunken excitement for more drinks to notice what was happening. It was like you two were alone for a moment.

You smiled, nodding slowly as he passed you the shot in his hand. Picking up the other and wrapping his arm around yours. Intertwined so that your hands were back against your own mouths. You were beyond flustered with the contact he was making with you. Hotch began counting down, both of you throwing the alcohol back on three.

Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Hotch blew his breath out. You watched as his nose scrunched up at the taste. Shaking off the strong taste as Hotch leaned in against you. His head bumping against yours for a moment. Lips pressing against your ear in his drunk state.

“Want me to go get us som’more drinks? You like something more fruity, right?” Hotch suggested, deep voice ringing in your ear. The feeling of his lips grazing your skin had you sweating.

“Only if you’re buying,” you pulled at his tie softly. Causing his eyes to lock into yours, corner of his mouth curving up. His eyes scanned your figure momentarily before getting up and strutting over to the bar.

“Oh. My. God.” J.J.’s voice pulled you back from your staring problem you had with Hotch. You whipped your neck to face her, adjusting your posture in the seat. Shaking your head slightly, “What?”

“What was that about?” J.J. grinned brightly, eyes bouncing from Hotch to you.

“We were just doing some shots together,” you felt your face heating up again. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as your mouth ran dry.

“The only other instances of Hotch getting that close to any of us was when we were hurt,” Spencer chimed in with his analytical sounding tone. Still as smart as ever even while drunk.

“Oh God, you guys,” you shook your head and scooted out of the booth. Stretching your legs for the first time tonight. Hands resting on the table as you got closer to the opposing side. Being eye-to-eye with J.J. and Spencer, “You guys know he acts different when he’s relaxed. It’s nothing.”

Spencer and J.J. exchanged a look of uncertainty. Neither of them believing what you had just said. Rolling your eyes at their smirking expressions. Catching on easily to the feelings you had for your boss.

Downside of having friends who are profilers.

“Drop it,” you pointed at them with two fingers. Your friends began snickering and laughing. You could not help but smile back at them. Laughter was contagious when you were intoxicated. You turned to meet your crush at the bar.

You froze.

Some woman was cuddled up with Hotch at the bar. Breasts peaking out of the top of her thin shirt, curled hair falling below her shoulders, and a beautiful face of makeup. Your heart sank down to your ankles. Watching as her hand trailed his chest. Watching how her perfectly glossed lips popped as she spoke to him inaudibly.

Worst of all: his smile.

SSA Hotchner tended to be gruff and stern. Brooding and unreadable. Purely business around you and the other members of the BAU. Stoic and distant. Something you all agreed was so he did not get overly attached, just in case something happened to one of you. Rarely smiling other than seeing his sweet son, Jack.

Guess tonight was different.

Rosey cheeks and perfect teeth painted his expression. Eyes locked in on the woman before him. Your hands began shaking at your sides. If it was not a cartoon cliche, you would have had smoke coming out of your ears. Teeth grinding together behind tightly pierced lips.

Rethinking any hints he may have given you. Feeling like you had fooled yourself into a crush. Angry that some random bitch woman was getting too friendly with Hotch.

Unable to take it anymore. Jealousy brewing inside you, ready to overflow. You marched up to the bar, immediately pulling Hotch’s attention from the woman.

“Sorry to interrupt—“

“Hi, Y/N,” Hotch smiled at you. Causing butterflies to flutter in your intestines. Especially with the casualty of your first name.

God, he was drunk.

“SSA Y/L/N,” you extended your hand out to the woman, lip twitching when she shined her perfect smile. Flaring your nostrils and locking your jaw when your hand met hers.

“Hi! I’m Hope,” her peppy attitude made you sick to your stomach. Trying your best to fake your expression. Anger causing a slight shake to your demeanor.

“Right…” you trailed off, looking at Hotch whose eyes had not left you yet, “Hotch—“

“C’mon, Y/N. You can call me Aaron here,” he leaned in and whispered to you. Chills ran down your entire body when the heat from his lips radiated against your skin. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

Oh, he was REALLY drunk.

“Aaron,” you started, watching him smile at you saying his first name, “Did you get my drink?”

Hotch’s hand came up cupping his cheek as his eyes squinted, “Oh my God. That’s why I came up here. I totally forgot—“

“Don’t worry about it, Hotch,” your frustration took over your attitude. Fists clinching at your sides. Feeling tears beginning to burn behind your eyes. Deciding to storm off without the drink. Heading towards the long corridor to the bathrooms.

“Y/N—“ Hotch reached out to you with a confusion behind his tone. Not caring enough to listen to whatever excuse his drunken self was gonna give you. Trying your best not to make a scene so none of your coworkers would notice and come after you. Really just needing to be alone.

You leaned against the cold wall, hands holding onto each of your arms. Head resting against the brick of the dimly lit hallway. Fighting your eyes that begged to leak with your feelings. And you felt stupid. Did you really think your own boss would be interested in you? Enough to not get distracted by the beautiful woman at the bar? Please.

Feeling suddenly sober at the heartbreak in your chest. Hands coming up to cover your redening face. Embarrassed that you had even toyed with the notion. Knowing it was completely against protocol to fraternize with coworkers. Let alone with your superior—

“Y/N?” Hotch’s somber voice broke you away from the thoughts filling your mind.

You blinked your eyes open. Manually breathing as your shoulders rose and fell. Controlling the water that begged to pour from your eyes. Clicking your tongue as you spoke, “Hotch.”

“I told you, you could call me Aaron here,” he leaned against the wall beside you. Arms folded over his broad chest. Pondering the informality before looking back to him.

“I thought you saved that for pretty girls at the bar,” you half-heartedly smiled. Flaring your nostrils as you contorted your face to hide your frown.

Hotch laughed, bearing that smile that had you seeing stars. Eyes closing for a moment, giving you the opportunity to linger in it. Enjoying him being this casual with you.

“Is that not what you are?” Hotch asked.

You whipped your head to look at him again. Brows furrowed tightly together as your mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

Hotch rose a brow, “Are you not a pretty girl? At the bar with me right now?”

You blinked as you stammered, “I— Not like… I mean— not like that girl at the bar…” You trailed off completely dumbfounded by his statement. Hotch watched you with a smile. His own cheeks still red.

“You think I’m pretty?” You finally formed a cohesive sentence unable to stop your mouth from curving into a smile.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Hotch’s hooded eyes stared into yours. Taken aback by that. Questioning for a moment if he was mocking you. Realizing by his expression he was not.

“You’re drunk, Hotch—“

“Aaron,” he corrected, “And, yeah I am drunk. But just drunk enough to finally be honest with you about that.” Hotch’s tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lip. Hand coming up and rubbing his neck at his confession.

“You didn’t have to come back here just to try and make me feel better. You were having a good chat with that woman at the bar. She was so beautiful, and made you smile, and not a part of the BAU, and—“ you covered your mouth getting embarrassed and shameful.

Hotch’s hand caressed your cheek. Pulling you back to him. His brows laid flat against his eyes. Lips pressed firmly together, watching his throat bob with the swallow he took. Thumb rubbing circles into your warm cheek, swiping away the singular line of tears that streamed down.

“I’m sorry— it’s the alcohol, that’s why I’m crying—“

Hotch cut you off by pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. Your eyes flew open. Hand gently resting against his chest as you savored the feeling of his lips on yours. Feeling your breath hitch in your throat and heart swell.

“You taste so sweet,” Hotch groaned, both hands gripping your face now. The primal noises he made causing arousal to swirl around your belly. Feeling its residue stick to your panties. His lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. Nipping against your soft skin as his hands roamed down the backside of your body. Gasping when his large hands groped your ass.

“I get chit-chatty when I’m drunk. That girl at the bar didn’t matter at all,” Hotch promised against your skin with kisses breaking up his sentences.

“You won’t even remember this in the morning,” you giggled when he took your earlobe between his teeth. Feeling a somberness sinking into your gut.

“How could I forgot this?” Hotch breathed into your ear. Sounding like he was desperate and almost completely out of breath, “Forget about you?”

Hotch pulled back to look into your eyes. Really taking in your face before him. Your eyes kept darting between his and his lips. Smiling when you could still taste him on your lips.

You pressed up on your toes, lips meeting his again. Tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Sloppily intertwining together. Huffs and grunts coming from Hotch as he pulled your front flush against his. You blushed at the feeling of his bulge.

“What about the team?” You questioned as the weight of the situation became suddenly apparent.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Hotch pressed his lips back to yours. Kissing away any fear or dread that was in your mind. Completely consuming you. Smiling as you both allowed hands to roam the other’s body.

You broke the kiss momentarily, “So— wait— you mean Rossi thinks I’m pretty too?” You teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Watch it,” Hotch smiled with a playful aggression on his tone, capturing you back in a kiss. Laughing together as you pressed lips together.

~~~

[END//?]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m having such a blast writing for Hotch right now. Honestly, I’m think about making a smutty part 2 to this fic if anyone was interested. If you have requests or want to be tagged in any future Fics, let me know! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @boybandbaby ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @justyourusualash ~ @mrs-ssa-hotch ~

[mariasont]

can you do a story where hotch accidentally calls Y/N by her middle name and the rest of the bau are like "👁️👄👁️ who's (insert name)?" and then a cute or fluffy moment happens where Y/N's like "oh yeah only hotch calls me that" PLS PLS PLSSSS

SECRET NICKNAMES - A.H

a/n: the emojis are so accurate im crying you know that’s exactly how they reacted 😭 but loved loved loved writing this one. slightly self indulgent because my middle name is grace <3

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: just sticky sweet fluff & morgan being an instigator but what’s new!!

wc: 0.9k

It had been a long day. The conference room was a mess. It kind of resembled a battlefield of ideas and failed theories. Evidence photos lay in uneven stacks, some forgotten at the edges of the table while others remained underlined with question marks and red ink. It was late, and exhaustion was beginning to creep in. Eyes drooped, postures sagged, but no one had yet dared to suggest calling it a night yet. 

You leaned back slowly, your chair tilting just enough to let you stretch your arms above your head. The weariness in your muscles felt almost tangible, meshing into every joint. Across from you, Hotch stood still as a statue, his arms crossed and gaze cutting through the evidence board.

"Alright, enough for tonight," he finally said firmly. "We'll reconvene tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. sharp."

The team didn't need to be told twice, practically jumping to their feet. Papers were scooped up, pens clicked shut, and chairs scraped back as everyone made their way out. But before you could slip away, Hotch's voice rang out, cutting cleanly through the room.

"Grace, can I see you for a moment?"

The team froze mid-movement. Morgan glanced over one shoulder, one brow raised, while Garcia’s head popped up from where she was stacking papers, lips parting in confusion. Reid, already halfway to the door, paused and turned, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces to.

JJ blinked, mouth “Grace?” to herself, clearly trying to place the name.

Emily squinted slightly before giving voice to what everyone was thinking. “Who’s Grace?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for an explanation as your eyes darted to Hotch, who seemed oblivious what he had just caused. Typical man.

Clearing your throat, you forced a sheepish smile.

“That would be me,” you admitted, lifting a hand awkwardly. “Grace is my middle name. Surprise!”

The room remained suspiciously quiet, and you could practically feel the questions they all were about to voice.

“Hotch calls me that sometimes,” you added quickly, somehow able to keep your voice semi-light despite the burn in your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, this is interesting,” Morgan said, leisurely sinking back into his chair with folded arms.

JJ squinted. “Is this some sort of secret nickname situation?”

Emily raised a brow. “Does this happen often? Hotch calling you Grace?”

“So, Grace,” Morgan drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Care to explain why Hotch gets to call you that? Special privileges or —,”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you cut in, your voice cracked and it was unfortunately too loud to come off as anything but defensive. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal. He just — he just does sometimes, okay?”

“Oh it’s a big deal,” Garcia cut in dramatically. “What else don’t we know about you two?”

“Alright, enough.” Hotch cut in finally, shaking his head. “I told you all to go home. So go.”

Morgan made it halfway to the door before turning back.

“Y’know Hotch, if you wanted us out so bad, you could’ve just said it earlier. No need for the theatrics. We get it — ‘Grace’ needs your undivided attention.”

Garcia gasped. “Morgan, you can’t just say that!”

But the damage was done, and the team left in a flurry of giggles and teasing comments, leaving you standing there, flustered and glaring at Hotch.

The second the door closed, you whirled around and smacked his shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“You know what that was for,” you said, crossing your arms. “Calling me Grace in front of them? Do you want me to be interrogated?”

His faint smile broke through. “It wasn’t intentional.

You shot him another glare which only served to turn that smile of his into a full blown laugh.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said, corners of his eyes crinkling. “I wasn’t thinking, it’s the sleep deprevation.”

Before you could respond, he reached out, gently grabbing your face and smooshing your cheeks together. You were sure you resembled a fish, brows drawn, trying to remain scowling at him, but the position made it hard.

“Truce?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you.

Your resolve crumbled the second his lips touched yours (It always did). The warmth of his touch practically seemed into your skin, and your muscles melted against him like butter in the sun. When he pulled back you stared up at him, dazed and breathless, trying to remember why you were mad.

“That was —,” You cleared your throat, fighting to ridiculous smile threatening to appear. “You can’t just do that to avoid getting in trouble.”

“Did it work?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I’ll think about it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to weigh your options with the seriousness of someone deciding on a life-or-death matter.

“Alright,” you said slowly, drawing out each word. “I’ve thought about it.”

Grasping the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that left no room for argument. When you pulled back, his smirk was still in place but his eyes were softer now and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“But don’t think this gets you off the hook next time.”

He chuckled. “Noted.”

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @sabmichell @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @mxriesss @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash

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[emilys-bangs]

take a seat | e.p

Tags: lap sitting (sometimes in inconvenient places), bau!reader, emily’s man-spreading, reader is insecure about their weight, multiple concerns about being too heavy, too many mentions of emily’s thighs, brief mention of nail picking, there’s a bar scene but it’s not mentioned whether or not reader drinks, a gross man as a plot device, getting together, personal space does not exist in this fic, the last part skips to uc emily (rated t? it’s a bit spicy idk), the usual use of petnames

Summary: Circumstances happen. Sometimes, the solution is to make yourself comfortable on your dizzyingly attractive coworker’s lap. She holds your hips, you hold your breath. Or, 5 times Emily’s lap makes for a good seat. Requested here.

Word count: 6.5k (woah!!) (this says nothing about me)

A/N: it’s not mentioned which seasons this takes place in but I imagined season six emily because…yeah…..yall already know. However the last part does skip to uc emily (and married reader and emily yey :3). Clearly I went wild with this fic lol. I hope you like it <3

1.

You’re the last of your teammates out the door of the precinct. 

Just as you were following Morgan to the car, you realized you’d forgotten your phone—which was lying on the bathroom counter, forgotten in your haste to finish up before everyone left—and circled back in for it. It took a bit to find, your head cloudy with exhaustion after four consecutive days of working on the case. You slide it into your pocket now and briskly cross the parking lot to the open door of the SUV, starting when you find Emily already seated at the edge. Reid sits beside her, trapped by Morgan on his other side.

You blink at the three agents already stuffed in the backseat. JJ took the other SUV to drive a shaken victim home, and most of the precinct’s officers have already retired for the night. Only a few other cars loiter in the lot, the lights in the building dimming fast, throwing the night in more shadows. You quickly do the math and cringe at the solution.

You’re a grown adult. You hardly weigh a feather. Reid would probably snap under your weight, Morgan’s slight smirk already hints at the teasing you’re in for if you sat on his lap, and Emily…

Sitting on Emily’s lap is the last thing you should be doing right now. Just the flick of your eyes towards her spread thighs makes you fluster, swallowing hard at the way her left knee encroaches onto Reid’s space and forces both of his neatly together in front of the center console. Heat gathers on your neck, intensifying with the force of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Reid should get up.” You blurt before anyone says anything.

“What? No—I’m already seated, why should I get up?” His voice goes high pitched, his bottom lip jutting out in a sulk.

“Because.” You press your lips together, waiting for someone to back you up. They don’t. Traitors. “You’re a stick figure, honey. I’m—”

“You can sit on my lap,” Emily offers.

Oh, hell no.

“What?”

“She won’t bite, cupcake.” Morgan drawls, grinning when Emily shoots him a glare. “But you’re plenty welcome to sit on my lap, if you’d prefer. I know Prentiss here can get a little intense.”

Her jaw ticks.

“Come on, Y/N.” Emily isn’t harsh, but she’s not exactly patient, either. “It’s just for a few minutes.” Her eyes flick up to Hotch in the driver’s seat. Yours do, too, but your boss says nothing about the probable—no, definite—laws you’ll be breaking by finding yourself a seat atop one of your coworker’s thighs. So you do it.

“Is nobody concerned about breaking the law here?” You ask, but the attempt is half hearted. Everyone’s exhausted, and the outside chill is starting to creep in through your thin shirt.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Rossi says easily. “And we just placed a serial murderer in custody. I think the sheriff will let us off the hook for an unlawful ride back to our motel—for some much needed rest, might I add.”

Hotch turns to look at you. “I could drop them off and come back for you.” He offers.

“What? No, that’s—it’s fine. Fine. Whatever,” you mutter, shaking your head. It’s fine. The motel is hardly 15 minutes away. You can survive that long, surely you can. Looking at Emily, you try not to let it show how nervous you are—if you do, she’d back off, steadfastly refuse to sit you on top of her, and probably get out herself and demand from Hotch that he come back for her later. Which is really more trouble than all this deserves.

Fine. You’ll sit on her stupid lap.

“Don’t blame me if your legs go numb.” You mumble as you climb into the car, feeling your voice tremble in the back of your throat.

“Give me a little credit,” Emily says dryly. Her hands settle on your waist, lightly steadying you as you close the door. It shuts with a loud thud, and you gingerly settle yourself on her thighs. Her knees, really. She’s closed them to give you more space—space you don’t use as you lean forward and hold on to the back of Rossi’s headrest. You all but hover above her lap, holding most of your weight up and leaning into the seat ahead of you. 

It hardly takes a minute before your thighs start to tremble with the exertion. Emily’s hands leave your waist; they leave behind a strange mix of hot and cold under your clothes. The absence of their weight is infuriatingly disappointing. 

Hotch glances at you in the rear view mirror. “All good back there?”

“All good, boss,” Emily replies.

He drives off. You grip the headrest tighter as the car lurches onto the road, the low speed knocking you off balance.

Shit.

Emily’s hands return to your waist. Her fingers dig into your sides, gripping firmly through your clothes. You swallow, hands going clammy even before she leans in, her chest just brushing your back.

“You can sit.” She says into your ear, the whisper of her voice so low it’s almost elusive. “I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.”

Something tickles your neck. You think it could be her hair. “I’m not exactly light as a feather.” You mumble haltingly, the particles of her fading perfume swimming in your lungs.

“And I’m not Reid,” Emily shoots back a little too loud.

“What?” Reid asks meekly.

You both ignore him. When the car drives over a bump in the road, you teeter. 

Emily’s hands grip you tighter. She exhales a low, frustrated breath; it skims the skin of your neck, teasing the fine hairs at your nape to stand on edge. 

“Careful, Hotch,” she mutters, fingers flexing on your hips.

The car slows. Everything is starting to cramp—your fingers around the headrest, your thighs trembling with your own weight, the heels of your feet digging into the floor between Emily’s. Outside the window, the precinct is still in view.

This is ridiculous.

You inhale a quiet breath. You’ll move back when you let it go, you decide. Holding it for a beat—two, three—you let it inflate your chest before exhaling and slowly easing yourself back onto Emily’s thighs. Inching back as if she won’t notice, gingerly letting your weight drop on her lap the more you scoot further into her. Your back finds the rounded softness of her chest. The curve of her knees nestle under yours. 

You bite your lip, bracing yourself for her to push you back up to her knees—or hell, even throw you at Reid—but all she does is tug you up further into her. She squeezes once, lightly, clearly satisfied. You relax a fraction as her hands leave your waist and loop around your hips instead, a makeshift seat belt to keep you against her chest.

“This okay?” She whispers, a hand pressing against your ribs. You’re not sure if you imagined the shake of her voice or not.

You nod silently.

Muscles tense, back ramrod straight, you try to breathe in slowly and hope that Emily’s fingertips don’t catch the edge of your racing heart. They dig in lightly, much looser than the firm arm anchoring your hips to hers. You can feel the heat pooling between your bodies—doubling, spreading, scorching. 

You’re used to Emily touching you. But not like this. She squeezes your elbows, shoulders, gently nudges the small of your back and lets her fingers linger when she adjusts something for you—your vest, hair, swiping invisible lint off of your clothes. You like those touches, you seek after them and glow warmly from the inside when you earn them oh so easily. But this? Oh, this could just kill you.

“Relax.” She says quietly. You fight hard against the urge to squirm at the warm fog of her breath on your neck, a small squeeze to your waist going unnoticed. “We’re almost there.” The rumble of her voice vibrates through her chest and into yours. 

The car tilts. Or maybe it drives over a pothole.

Either way, you’re dizzy.

Blood rushes hot under your skin. You bite your tongue, refraining from snapping at Hotch to hurry the fuck up when a deep inhale from Emily jostles your chest as well. 

It’s a small miracle that you get out of the car without stumbling, knees weak and legs boneless. The cold air slaps your cheeks and gives you reprieve from the heat burning them. You don’t get a good look at Emily until you’re in the elevator, trapped between her and the wall; the moment your eyes fall on her, her gaze snaps up. 

The corner of her mouth curls imperceptibly. She wets her bottom lip, dragging it into her mouth with a shine of teeth, the shadow of a dimple flashing, there and gone in an instant. 

Her cheeks are pink.

Oh, heaven help you.

2.

Your whole body feels like it’s been rammed by a truck. Your feet throb in your shoes, your shoulders ache, and your lower back is finally getting back at you for the way you’d outrageously slouched for the large majority of the three hour car ride. Two agents, a few hundred miles—hardly worth a whole jet for their comfort, right? Sometimes you think the BAU has you spoiled.

But then again, here you are, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, leaning against the front desk of a dilapidated motel lobby because for some reason—in spite of the laughably low demand—yours and Emily’s rooms still aren’t ready yet. The scrawny guy at the front desk had looked at you confusedly, scratching his chin and mumbling, that’s tonight? much to your dismay. You hadn’t been hoping for a five star service, but the least you can ask for is a ready room by the end of the night.

He’d scampered off—presumably to get the rooms ready, but it’s been ten minutes and he’s not back yet which leads you to think he’s maybe avoiding the disgruntled glare you’re throwing at the wall. It’s not like you can help it at this point. Your hip aches where you lean it against the vacant desk, and every so often you enviously eye the lone chair that Emily occupies in the narrow stretch of space so generously called a lobby.

And that’s a whole other thing, because you’re trying hard not to stare. 

Emily’s bag rests in the wide open space between her spread legs. Her hands are on her thighs, fiddling with the creases in her slacks like she always does, idle, her head lazily tipped back against the wall but her eyes still razor sharp. 

You wish she would just close her damn legs. Every time your eyes fall on them, unabashedly staring at the flex of her thighs when she restlessly shakes them out, you’re reminded again of the car. The overwhelming heat of her body, the strength of her hands on your hips—protective.

It does nothing to help your massive, debilitating crush on her. Not when you now fluster every time you see her sit on a damn chair, gaze wandering to her thighs and the way they held you up, the smooth scent of her perfume settling down in your gut with each inhale. Talking to her is even worse. Somehow, the line has blurred more. You have no idea where you stand, what you are, or how you’re expected to behave. You’ve always been an overthinker, but this is bursting your head.

Safe to say, work has been hard lately. Especially with Emily’s amplified flirting. At least, that’s what you think it is. You can’t figure her out sometimes (most of the time) when her lips stretch into a smooth curve, eyes going sparkly with playfulness and words dripping charm you can’t tell is manufactured just for you or is mass distributed to everyone in bulk.

You snap out of your head when Emily lifts her head, arms crossing over her chest. Drawn to the movement, your eyes meet hers.

“You’re sulking.” She notices.

Her calm tone grates on you. “I’m tired.” You snap. “I’ve been on my feet for half the day.” And you’re hogging the only seat. But you’re mindful enough to hold your tongue on that one. She’s hardly the reason you’re in this mess.

But she is making it harder to deal with—in several aspects.

“I’m pretty comfortable if you want to sit on me.”

You blink at her, irritation wavering.

Her eyes go the slightest bit wide. Lashes blending into bangs, a deer in headlights look there and gone in a flash. The inside of her cheek moves with what you think could be a bite as her mouth opens, brows delicately drawing together. “I mean…” She begins then trails off, her usual silver tongue failing her.

You feel your mood lighten. Emily’s cheeks tint a faint red and you press your lips against a smile, trying to ignore your body’s reaction to her words. Because you know damn well how comfortable she is.

“How forward of you. Or you could get up,” you suggest, halfway torn between laughing and bursting into a ball of flame.

Where’s the stupid reception guy?

Emily’s chivalry fails her. “I’m not getting up, I’m tired, too.” She protests, bringing her knees together. Your eyes drop to them. “I’ve been in heels all day.”

Your lips purse in displeasure.

It only takes a few quiet beats before Emily sighs, bending down to reach for her bag. “Okay, fine.”

Your eyes widen when you see what she’s doing. Immediately, you back down. 

“Hey, no, don’t. It’s okay, I was just complaining—”

She gives you a docile smile. “I don’t mind, babe. I’ve been sitting for a while—”

“Emily, don’t you dare get up—”

She ignores you. Before she fully stands, you walk over to the chair and sit down, forcing her thighs back on the seat. 

Emily lets out a quiet huff; the flimsy chair almost knocks backward from your sudden assault, teetering on its back legs. She steadies it and grips your hip, long lashes fluttering up at you as her thumb digs in under the hem of your blazer.

Oh, god, what have you done?

The corners of her lips twitch, messing with the pattern of your already unsteady pulse. “See?” She says, her voice strangely high pitched, “Now we’re both sitting.”

Your arm is just shy of her chest. When Emily inhales a little too deep, the buttons of her shirt press against your bicep—a short kiss, then gone. 

You’re still numb with your own stupidity. Only your eyes do any good, scanning her face and watching as the blush deepens on her cheeks, fair skin blooming red in real time with the fast pace of your heart.

You move to slide off her lap. Emily holds you in place. “What, am I that bad of a seat?” She murmurs, her arm lightly circling both your thighs. If you weren’t so focused on trying to control the heat in your face, you would have lingered on the strange tremble of her voice.

You ignore how heavenly it feels to sit down. You also ignore the way the tips of her fingers rest on the crest of your ass.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.” You say, horrified and unsurprised to find your voice choked.

Emily shakes her head, mussed bangs slipping from their place. “You’re not, promise. Besides, it’s—uh, it’s not our first rodeo.” Her brows raise, a small arch. 

You flick your eyes away, overwhelmed by the small distance between your faces.

Her hands loosen their grip. “But if it’s—if you’re uncomfortable, I mean—”

“I’m not.” You say quickly.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Her hands disappear from your body. You try not to make it obvious you’re staring—or disappointed—as she hooks one arm over the back of the chair, her nail notching on the tattered skin of her thumb. She peels away at her cuticle, repetitively picking at the skin as she watches the open doorway of the lobby. Her nail digs in, twists, and draws blood.

“Stop.” You take her hand unthinkingly, wincing at the sight of her nails. Emily’s eyes are hot on your face. “Doesn’t that hurt?” You ask, your thumbs gently holding either side of her wrist.

“It’s an easy pain.” Her voice is breathless. “Manageable, I guess,” she shrugs, her eyes darting away.

You frown. Her cuticles really are a gnarly sight—uneven skin and jagged nails and blood on her thumb. 

Emily’s hand twitches in your loose grip. You look up, she looks away again, swallowing as her eyes return to the door. A visible pulse beats in her throat; the line of her jaw is sharp. 

Her leg starts jolting. You jolt with it.

“Emily—”

“Uhh, your guys’ room is ready.” The receptionist says as he walks into the lobby. He briefly stares at the largely inappropriate sight in front of him. You stand quickly, fixing your clothes.

“Room?” You echo.

“We only have one available.” He says bluntly.

Your eyes meet Emily’s. Any retort you expect from her dissolves into silence, the both of you staring at each other with similarly wide eyes, hot cheeks.

Well, shit.

3.

When you see the guy from the corner of your eye, you tense. He’s almost concealed in the shadows frothing at the corner of the bar’s walls, waiting just beyond the bathroom you came out of. You quietly curse and dodge through a group of giggly women in hopes of losing him. 

He’d been practically glued to you at the bar, sidling up to your side with lecherous eyes and overwhelming cologne, both of which left a sour taste on your tongue as you ignored him from behind your shoulder and placed the team’s orders. When JJ came over to help you with the drinks, he stayed behind, but the heat of his eyes followed you all the way back to the table, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. You saw him while dancing—lurking at the edge of the floor, inching closer until you hid behind the broad line of Morgan’s shoulder. Now he’s materialized on your way to the bathroom, and still he’s on your tail. You could deal with him, you know that—and your friends would be more than happy to—but it’s not worth causing a scene over.

At the table it’s just Reid and Emily. Hotch and Rossi are both long gone, and everyone else is busy dancing as Reid rambles over a bowl of forgotten chips, mouth moving rapidly, hands gesturing wildly in excitement. Emily nods along and pops nuts in her mouth with smooth flicks of her wrist. Her hair is fluffed from her earlier dancing, skin gleaming under the lights. You see her, knees spread, arm hooked over the back of the booth, and it sparks your brain.

“Emily!” You gush, slipping into the area between the table and her body and promptly dropping into her lap, both your legs slotting in the ample space between hers. 

She stiffens, her body going tense when your ass perches on her thigh. You briefly hate yourself as you press yourself into her chest, draping an arm around her shoulder and pressing the flat of your wrist to the warm, smooth curve of the nape of her neck. “Behind me,” you breathe into her ear, the dark strands of her hair rustling to skim along her exposed collarbone.

Emily instantly relaxes. Her arm slides around your waist, heavy and strong, fingertips idly skimming along your side as if she’s been doing it for years. 

“Sweetheart, what took so long?” She murmurs sweetly, the warm drawl of her voice turning your knees to mush. Her eyes meet yours and you go almost nauseous with want, dizzy at the way the bar lights outline her irises and make them gleam, dizzy at the honey-thick pet name that burns in your blood. You draw a sharp breath, stomach clenching; it trips in your lungs when her slender fingers graze your jaw, teasingly getting a feel for the hard bone nestled under your skin. “You had me worried, I was about to come looking for you.”

You can barely think. You know you’re too heavy, all your weight on one of her thighs, probably numbing it beyond belief, but you’re fixated on the way she touches you still. The searing heat of her gaze is enough of a touch all on its own. Having her look up at you, lashes so glossy they look wet, is a strange high you can’t get over.

“B-Bathrooms were full.” You stammer. You’re sure your pulse beats through your wrist and right into the back of her neck. It’s too much, all of it—her warm hands, the solid muscle of her thigh flexing as she brings it, you, in closer. Turning your head, you accidentally meet the guy’s gaze, his looming form jolting you back into reality. 

You tense on Emily’s lap. 

She feels it. Her hand leaves your jaw to grab your thigh, securing you further into her chest. The inherent protectiveness of it makes you flutter. 

“Can we help you?” Her voice sharpens as she turns too, her eyes narrowing. It’s a tone you recognize—the unforgiving edge she serves to unsubs in interrogation rooms, cold and stripped of mercy.

You almost shiver. The guy certainly does, though he tries to hide it with a stony glare.

“I’m alright,” he snipes, dragging his now disgusted gaze up and down your body. Emily’s hands tense, flexing on your hip and thigh until he finally turns with a shake of his head, sulking away to the bar.

You straighten the moment he does, inching away from Emily’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” you say breathlessly, clambering to get off of her lap. “God, Emily, I don’t know what came over me—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice tender but her lips pressing together into a thin line. The edge of her jaw hardens. “How long has he been bothering you for?”

You grimace as you settle on the booth next to her, eyes flicking up to Reid. You’d forgotten he was there, honestly—he’d been observing in silence, and other than his concerned look he doesn’t give any other reaction.

“A bit,” you say, not really wanting to elaborate. Emily’s eyes look far too murderous right now, and, really, this was supposed to be a fun night out. The enjoyment has fizzled out like flat soda, and though you throw Emily a smile, your heart’s not in it anymore. Your head is too cloudy, stomach tangled and twisted in knots—half nervous, half lovesick. A small tremor rocks your hands. “He was just being bothersome. Really, it’s okay, Em.” Before you can think you’re leaning over, your lips finding her cheek in a quick kiss. 

You’re close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath.

When you lean back you find that her pupils are blown, her lips slightly parted. A fleeting rush of confidence brightens your smile. “Thanks for saving me.” You murmur.

Her tongue darts across her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is gritty, the smoky remnants of a bonfire. Emily clears her throat, “Yeah, anytime.”

You seem to have shocked her out of any reprimand. But you haven’t distracted her enough to stop her from splitting a cab with you and dropping you off, though your apartments are on opposite ends of the city. 

Fully composed, she drops a similar kiss on your cheek. Your keys almost tumble to the floor.

4.

It’s a strange sort of exhilarating to be allowed to brush your lips over the raven strands at Emily’s hairline. Her skin is warm, and after months of teasing, months of relentless tension, stolen glances and sly touches, here you are, red string finally pooled loose on the floor between you.

It’s a rare weeknight. Takeout has been ordered, movie switched on, and you get to experiment with things like these. Finally.

Her hair smells like coconut. You sift your fingers through it when you straighten, smiling as Emily’s arms gently hug your waist, her forehead rubbing against your torso.

“What was that for?” She asks as she tilts her chin up, the lilt of her voice curving to match her smile.

You really have no clue.

“Just because I can.” You shrug one shoulder. “I can, can’t I?”

Her eyes trap you from beneath coal-dark lashes. “Honey, you can try to set me on fire and I’ll let you.” She drawls, warm and flirty. You’re briefly caught off guard, too distracted by the velvet-smooth cadence of her voice to notice her hands skimming until they find your hips. Fingers curling down around the backs of your thighs, she tugs gently, forcing you in until your legs hit the couch.

“That seems irresponsible.” You stammer a little, flustering under her stare. She does it so openly, eyes unabashedly burning holes into your skin and flaying you open. 

You somewhat thought that confessing to her would make it easier on your heart. You now know you were dead wrong.

Emily tugs more. You all but stumble into her, bracing a hand on her shoulder to keep yourself steady. It’s not hard to know what she wants, but you play dumb anyway, a roiling pit settling in your gut.

“Emily,” you say nervously, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She indulgently squeezes the soft of your thighs. “Sit.”

“I’m good,” you blurt, tensing against her hands. “I don’t wanna bother you, plus there’s plenty of room over here”—you gesture to the couch—“your couch’s awfully comfy, I don’t know if you know—”

“You wouldn’t be bothering me,” Emily interrupts softly. “Not at all. Is something wrong?” She asks after a beat, when you’ve let the silence stretch. You chew on the inside of your cheek and shake your head, trying not to squirm away from the intensity of her gaze.

Her hands loosen on your thighs. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.” She says seriously, all previous mirth gone. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I expect stuff like that from you.”

“I know,” you say, your skin itching. You fiddle with the hair that cascades down her shoulder, for some reason stuck here in front of her though she’s not holding you still. The truth is, you know how good it feels to be that close to her. To feel the strength of her beneath you, the warmth that glows in the gaps between your body and hers. There’s a certain…safety in the space between her arms. You can only imagine how it would feel when you’re both openly allowed to be affectionate with each other, all previous barriers crumbled and broken down at your feet.

Emily takes your hand and brings it to her lips. Her kiss is just a gentle press, the slightest pressure on your knuckles. “Okay,” she says softly, smiling as she pats a spot on the couch next to her. “C’mon, I want to start the movie.”

You love her for letting it go. It’s a comforting warmth under your skin, and it’s just enough for you to ignore the anxious churning in your stomach.

“I want to.” You say, voice hushed as you place the backs of your fingers along her jaw, dispelling nervous energy. “I want to be close with you like that, and it’s not…it’s not that it makes me uncomfortable—I mean, we’ve tried it before.” Your lips twist into an ironic smile.

“Then?” Emily nudges, her hands gently roving over the sides of your legs. The whisper of her too-soft tone is almost too much.

You puff out a small laugh, chest aching. “Come on, Em. I’m not exactly the lightest person in the world.”

Her expression doesn’t shift. “So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

“So, what does that have to do with anything? I’m not the lightest person in the world, either.” Her shoulders raise in a shrug, brows furrowed like you’re not making sense.

You can’t believe she’s making you spell it out. It certainly wasn’t something your previous partners were ever hesitant about, never mind the teasing tones they used in a futile attempt to soften the blow. Baby, my leg’s gone numb—with a squeeze of your waist, a condescending had any dessert today? masked by a smile, the way it pulls enough of a reason for you to clamber off with a bad taste in your mouth.

But stupid, kind Emily.

“I’m too heavy.” You say flatly.

“Not to me.” She shoots back, her palms hot on your thighs. “I can take it.”

Heat flares at her words. You gape, mouth dry, “Jesus—”

“I can.” Her voice drags into a half whine. Emily’s eyes flash, her nails digging into the fabric of your jeans. “Come on, give me a little credit here. You’ve sat on my lap before—”

“Because I had to.”

“And did I drop you? Did I complain? Honey—” She shakes her head, the drag of her tongue across her lip briefly distracting you. “Let’s get one thing clear here. You want to and I want to, right?”

You nod.

“Then all you have to do is worry about being comfortable. That’s it. I want you here.” She says clearly, enunciating every word. “You’re not too heavy, and you definitely won’t be bothering me.” Her eyes go soft, her fingers rubbing over your pulse where she’s still got your wrist clutched in her grip. “I got you. I promise.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You really don’t mind?”

“Please.” She breathes, as if she might die if you don’t. 

Your face must give, because her hands are gently nudging again. This time you don’t fight the pull, letting her help guide your knee up to the edge of the couch, then further. Emily’s other arm circles your waist and tugs down to get your hips to meet hers. You hesitate, hovering above her.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. Her smile is gentle, reassuring. You return it nervously as you settle in the rest of the way, her hands never leaving your body even after you sit with a quiet breath. It’s awkward at first; you shift to get comfortable, moving your limbs this way and that, but Emily waits patiently until you do. You finally find the right spot, your knees settling on the sides of her hips, snugly hugging her narrow waist. Your heart pounds in your ears, just about drowning out the sound of her low, almost inaudible sigh.

“Hi, gorgeous.” She beams, all but throwing the light of the sun in your eyes.

“Hi.” You lean into her hand when she cups your cheek. Her other draws patterns on your hip. “I didn’t know you wanted me to sit on your lap that badly.”

“Are you kidding?” Emily places a small, singular kiss on your closed mouth. “The thought hasn’t left my mind since you first sat on me in the car. It was so hard to keep my hands to myself.” Her voice has gone smoky, low and rumbling through your chest.

She didn’t, really. You would’ve said just that, but you don’t think you can say anything. She’s overwhelming you—totally, completely. The hand on your hip moves gently, traveling and squeezing; her fingers trace up from your jaw to your cheekbone, sometimes reaching the corner of your eye before returning to carve the same path. And just—her. The scent of her perfume and the curves of her dimples and the exposed triangle of her throat all thanks to her form-fitting shirt. Her touch, the relaxed slopes of her posture. The way she smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose into yours.

It’s not possible for her eyes to soften further, you think, but you’re proven wrong. “You’re thinking too much,” she whispers. “Don’t think.”

Her lips seal over yours, warm and sweetened with her saccharine words. She traces the seam of your mouth with her tongue, slips her hand under your shirt and palms the warm skin of your waist, aiming to distract. You hardly last before melting into her, muscles gone liquid. When she kisses you like that, you couldn’t form a thought if you tried.

5.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Emily only looks slightly guilty. She’s warm with the glow of the desk lamp washing over her, pen held between long fingers, hand stilling over yet another report. You blow out a huff as you cross the floor of her home office, trying to hold on to it and not let your lips twitch into a smile when she rolls her chair back automatically, leaving ample room for you to slot in between the desk and make yourself comfortable on her lap. Because really, there’s nothing funny about this. It’s nearing midnight. You’re sure she hasn’t left that chair in more than a few hours.

“You should be in bed.” Emily murmurs. Her hand settles warmly on your waist, her thumb tracing the slopes under your pajama shirt.

“You should be in bed.” You return none too gently.

“I will be,” she promises, dropping a kiss on your mouth, “in a minute.” 

You level her a look, knowing full well she’s lying. She’s trying to soften you up with kisses and touches, but this has happened enough times that you’re (mostly) unaffected. Emily sees the unyielding line of your lips, and she places another kiss there.

“I just want to finish this last one. It won’t take long.”

“It won’t,” you agree. “But then there’ll be the next one, and the one after that, and the one after that”—you ignore her sigh—“and that will sure as fuck take long.”

You hate how work-oriented she’s been. Emily loves her job—and you do, too, you get it—but this is more than loving. It’s obsession, perfectionism, working herself to the bone. She used to be the first one out of the office. Now she’s the one declining team drinks because she’s busy with her paperwork, the high pedestal of her looming office distancing her from everyone.

From you.

You miss your wife. You’re with her almost every day, your steps in time with hers, but it hasn’t been the same lately. The skin under her eyes is constantly dark with exhaustion, calluses hardening on the sides of her fingers from hours of continuously holding her pen, and she’s been trying to hide the strain in her neck but you feel the knots every time you cup the back of it, trying to coax her away from uncomfortable chairs and bloody files.

You shift on her lap, knees spreading to slot her waist between them. It’s become a natural move, smoothened with time. Now you bring your chest almost flush with hers, your pelvis to her hips, hands spread over her ribs—just to feel her here with you.

“You’ve been neglecting me.”

It seems a petty, selfish thing to say, but it hits home. The fight immediately leaks out of her, the skin between her brows creasing, her eyes going soft with regret.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I know I have, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

She fidgets with the pen in her right hand. Hasn’t even dropped it, you notice, relying on her left and shifts of her hips to bring you in close. You fight the urge to pull it from between her fingers and instead rub wide arcs over her torso, thumb skimming over the softly fluctuating movement of her chest. The buttons running down the center of her shirt are cool under your skin. You toy with them. 

“You don’t know when to stop.”

Nimbly, you flick open the buttons of her Henley, starting from the bottom. One after the other, as Emily’s breathing quickens and fills the silence her words had failed to. The sides of the shirt wilt open; her skin shines gold under the lampshade. You dip your head to kiss it, honey-colored and just as sweet.

“When was the last time you went to bed with me, hm?” You murmur, involuntarily smiling when her thighs flex under yours. “Just went to bed with me, and we fell asleep together. Can you remember?” Your hand roams, finding the hem of her sweatpants and slipping past. Emily’s chest rises sharply under your lips. 

“Honey.” She grips your waist—her right hand still notably absent. “I really need to—”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Your teeth dig into her flesh. Emily hisses lowly, muttering a curse as you soothe the sting with your tongue. “’M’sorry,” she says breathlessly; you look up to find her pupils blown, bottom lip blooming a fresh red like she’d bitten on it. “I know I’ve been caught up with work, I’ll do better, promise.” 

You skim your fingers over her hip bone. Emily jolts beneath you, her thighs tensing again. Her hand is hot on your cheek as she brings you in, kisses you with more attention than you remember getting from her in weeks. You can feel the desperation behind it—an apology—as your hand wanders deeper between her thighs. 

“I’ll do better, amor,” she mumbles against your mouth, frayed and trembling. 

It never gets old how she reacts to your touch. Nothing gets to her like the feeling of skin on skin—kisses, squeezes, tight hugs and idle fingers everywhere. It’s how she communicates, how she wants to be communicated with, craving the weight of your touch and the whisper of your skin. There’s solace in the scarce bit of space between your bodies. 

You hum against her mouth, fingers nudging past damp fabric. They wade through searing, wet heat, and immediately get soaked to the knuckle. Emily’s hips buck into your hand, a choked gasp on her lips. 

“You don’t know when to stop,” you murmur, wrist already cramping at the angle. With your free hand, you skim idly over her jaw, feeling her stuttering pulse under your finger. “I can do that for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I know, so let me help, hm? Even Unit Chiefs need a little support.” Your fingers sink home, and Emily’s lashes flutter. “Yeah?” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah,” Emily gasps. The skin at the base of her throat gleams. You curl your fingers and she breathes your name; you tilt on her lap, rising with the rock of her hips, but her grip on you is bone-crushingly tight.

“Been so long, hasn’t it, Em?” You’re thrumming now, blood hot under your skin, your pajama pants sticking to your thighs from her overwhelming body heat. A tilt of your wrist, a slow circle with your thumb, and her jaw clenches. 

The sight of it sends sparks crackling down your spine. It’s like you’re drunk on her. 

“It’s okay.” You kiss her chin, catching the edge of her lips. “I won’t let it happen again. And neither will you, right?”

Emily whines quietly, both her hands digging sharply into your hips. You smile, the gesture gone unnoticed beneath her closed eyes.

Paperwork is the last thing on her mind.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights@professorsapphic

[luveline]

angsty request coming!!! hotch taking care of an overworked reader who hasn’t been sleeping!! maybe the team notices r has been a bit scattered or feverish and hotch steps in!!!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k Hotch knows, technically, that what he’s doing tonight is out of bounds. He just doesn’t care —can’t find it in himself to regret his actions as he shepherds you from the office and into his car. Doesn’t give your wide-eyed surprise any notice, doesn’t offer explanation as he takes you into the department store between the office and his apartment and tells you to choose. 

“I don’t understand.” 

He nods toward the lines of pointelle camisoles and shorts, gestures to the longer silken trousers, “Choose something to wear.” 

You blink hotly. He’s flustered you, but that’s easy lately. “Do they have anything warmer?” you ask. 

He takes your arm gently into his hand and turns you an inch, where the jersey material pajamas hang from the wall. There’s a nice brown coordinating set right in front of you. He guesses your size (he knows it from practice), pulling a hanger from up high to offer you. “Yes?” he asks. 

“Why?” 

“You’ll need them.” 

You rub your face. “Okay, yeah. I like those ones.” 

He folds them over his arm. He can feel you gaze on the side of his face as he takes you to the register and pays without giving the total any mind. Hotch doesn’t care how much anything costs, he only wants it to be soft. If it weren’t crossing a line, he would’ve found you new underwear, too. 

He accepts the bag from the cashier and guides you out again. “Is there anything else you need?” he asks you. 

“For what?” 

“You aren’t going home.” 

“I’m not?” 

He shakes his head gently. He isn’t being intimidating, only straight forward. Hotch obviously isn’t in the business of kidnapping women, especially coworkers, friends, he just knows now that this won’t be solved without some tough love. “You’re staying with me, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why would I mind?” 

Lethargic, you follow him to the car and get back in the front seat. He turns the heated seats on and watches you sink into the leather, clearly pleased, tired eyes slipping closed every now and then in the ensuing silence. 

Regretfully, you startle as he parks, roused from whatever hooks that had finally managed to hold you. Heat, he thinks, is key here. 

“I’m making oatmeal and cocoa,” he says as he opens the door, waiting for you to follow suit before he continues, “and you can go and get changed. You know where my room is?”

“Sure.” 

“Alright, good. You can make yourself comfortable there.” 

“In your room?” 

He sends you a loving and agitated look over the door. Really? it says. You and Hotch have been trapped in an excitable will-they won’t-they situation for months, and he’d think by now the obvious answer to it all is we most certainly will. “Honey, yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable in Jack’s?” 

“Does he still have the race car bed?” 

“Afraid so.” 

You hum, and lead the way to the house. Hotch hands you his keys, something in his chest tightly squeezed to see you turn the house key in the lock, to let yourself in, and to hold out your hand expectantly for the department bag. You head to his room like you do it everyday. Hotch resists the urge to call you back and kiss you with your jaw held in his hand —it’s not the point. 

He gets a strange pang a few minutes later, stirring the pot of easy-sachet oatmeal, a rare pang of regret. Perhaps he’s being too headstrong, letting his worry guide him like this, pushing you to come home with him and to sleep in his bed. You might be at the same level as he is, but it still feels a little like pulling Spencer home with him and demanding he dress and eat as Hotch likes. 

I’ll apologise, he thinks, setting your oatmeal and cocoa on a tray, conscious of the sun setting outside, night swiftly falling. If he really is going to say sorry and have you go home, you’ll be disrupted again. There’s a possibility Hotch has made this ten times worse. 

He climbs the stairs and finds you laying on his side of the bed with your nose turned into his pillow, a damp sheen to your skin. You’ve washed your face, and changed into the new pajamas, just a little too big for you where you’ve curled around your hands. 

“Honey?” he asks softly. 

“Sorry,” you say, twice as quietly as he had, “just, it smells so nice in here.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“I’ll move.”

“Just sit up,” he says, thinking of you in the office with your jittering and your glass-eyed stare. “I’ve brought you something.” 

You nod heavily and do as he’s asked, again. He sets the tray on your lap and you look up at him. It’s the look that does it, really. The half circles under your eyes are nothing to him beyond proof that you aren’t sleeping, the bloodshot in your sclera, it’s all inconsequential. What floors him is the unquestioning trust to be found when you look at him. He doesn't kid himself when he thinks that this could lend itself to love. 

“You know why I’ve asked you to come home with me?” he asks carefully. 

“I worried you.”

He puts the tray in your waiting lap, gracing your chin with a quick stroke underneath, feather-light. “I haven’t abused my power?” 

“Buying me new clothes and making me dinner?” you ask softly, evident delight on your face as you notice the squares of chocolate that have begun to melt into your oatmeal. 

“Forcing you home with me and sequestering you in my bedroom.” 

“It’s not how I thought it would happen,” you confess, gathering a heaping mountain of oatmeal onto your spoon, “not the first time, at least. I guess I should worry you more often.” 

“No,” he says, holding your chin between his fingers until you meet his serious gaze. “You shouldn’t.” 

Your eyebrows do something he can’t name, but there’s a word for what it inspires in his chest. “I won’t,” you promise. 

[applereid]

— THE FIRST KISS, SPENCER REID.

It had always been more than clear— Spencer harbored feelings for you. From the moment you joined the BAU, his attention often drifted your way. You were close to him in age— perhaps a year or two younger— but enough to remind him that he wasn’t the youngest on the team anymore.

You arrived like a breath of fresh air— wide-eyed, curious, and eager to prove yourself. Even in the face of the team’s often grisly work, you brought light with you. No matter how dark the case, you wore a smile and tackled every task with unwavering dedication. Spencer noticed. More than that— he admired you. Maybe more than anyone else on the team.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that you were beautiful. Radiant, even. Your warmth and optimism were exactly what Spencer hadn’t realized he needed after years of emotional strain and trauma. One glance in your direction, and his famously sharp mind felt like it dropped a hundred IQ points. His thoughts scrambled, palms sweating, heart racing.

But what truly captivated him was the way you listened. You didn’t dismiss his endless streams of data or theoretical tangents. You didn’t roll your eyes like Morgan often did, or cut him off like Hotch. You waited. You listened. You smiled.

You weren’t annoyed by his quirks—you were intrigued. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer found himself genuinely curious, not about facts or statistics, but about you. What made you laugh? What did you love? What did you see in him?

It gave him just enough courage to act.

The jet was quiet as it cut through the night sky on its return to Quantico. After a grueling case, most of the team had dozed off or buried themselves in reports. You were bent over the small pull-out table, scribbling something in a worn leather journal. Spencer approached silently and slid into the seat beside you, gently tugging the pen from your fingers.

Startled at first, your expression quickly softened. “Can I have that back?” you whispered, amused.

Spencer hesitated before handing it back, offering a nervous smile. “I just… wanted to check in. Are you okay?”

You tilted toward him, placing the pen aside. “I’m okay,” you replied gently. “Are you?”

He nodded slowly, eyes on you but unsure what to say next.

“You sure?” you asked again, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

“I’m fine,” he said, exhaling with a slight laugh. “I’ve been doing this a long time. It’s… second nature now. But I know this was one of your first field cases. I didn’t want to leave you alone with everything we just saw.”

Your giggle was soft, but it lit him up. “I’m alright, Spence. Really.”

He looked down, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. You leaned closer, your hand resting lightly on his thigh for balance as you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for checking in,” you whispered near his ear.

Spencer remained still, his face burning red, too flustered to speak. You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Spencer?” you said softly, prompting him to look up. He did so with hesitation, face flushed, lips parted in nervous anticipation.

Without another word, you kissed him— briefly, softly— watching him carefully as you pulled away.

But before you could retreat fully, he leaned forward again, capturing your lips once more, this time with quiet confidence. His hand came up to cradle the side of your neck as he deepened the kiss, tender and sincere.

Across the aisle, Morgan, who hadn’t missed a beat, glanced down at his lap and smiled to himself. “Atta boy,” he muttered under his breath.

[benevolentbones]

beach day | spencer reid x fem!reader

part 2

warnings: swearing, massage? flustered spencer

word count: 1.2k

summary: you and penelope decide to take the team to the beach :)

a/n: thank you sm to everyone who follows me and supports my silly little fanfics!! getting to everyone’s requests soon!! comment if you’d like to be added to my taglist <3

“you want to what?” hotch asked, his dark brows furrowing.

“we should have a beach day! it would be so much fun- you can bring jack.” penelope mused excitedly, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both tried to get more people on board.

it was initially your idea, to invite a few members of the team to go to the beach as the summer heat was eating you alive, it was penelope’s idea to invite everyone. and y’know the more the merrier.

“so will you come?” you asked, a sparkle glinting in your eyes.

“i don’t swim, so i wouldn’t be able to mind jack in the water.” he mumbled, reshuffling the case files on his desk, thinking of his five year old son.

“that’s okay- y/n is a trained life guard, she can look after him in the water.” penelope seemed to have an answer for every one of hotch’s excuses.

he then realised that the two of you weren’t taking no for an answer. he let out a small sigh before meeting your eyes.

“you promise you’ll watch him?” he asked, like you haven’t been babysitting jack for two years at this stage.

“pinky.” you smiled, extending your pinky finger for hotch, who reluctantly locked his finger with yours. he knew how serious you took pinky promises.

“alright then.”

garcia let out an excited yelp, dragging you out of hotch’s office and on to convince the last few members of the team.

so far you had got jj, emily and hotch.

“three down two to go.” you grinned at penelope, her blonde hair bouncing as she dragged you towards spencer’s desk.

derek was standing against reid’s desk, his hands gripping the edge of the table as they were both deep in conversation.

you had thought to wait until they were finished talking before you interrupted them, but penelope had other ideas. she came to a halt, her arm locked with yours.

“how do you fellas say about a beach day this weekend?” she asked, a cheshire like grin on her maroon stained lips.

derek’s attention shifted from the younger male to the two women who stood before them.

“a beach day? a chance to see you ladies splashing about? count me in.” morgan grinned, before turning his attention back to spencer.

“what do you say, pretty boy?”

spencer’s face turned sour, it was needless to say he didn’t really enjoy the beach. he hated hot weather, the texture of suncream and then the dreaded sand.

“um…” he began “i think i’m okay, thank you for the invite though.”

“oh c’mon reid, everyone else is going!” penelope beamed, determined to have everyone go.

“i don’t know- i don’t really like the beach guys…” he trailed off.

“you get to see y/n in a swimsuit.” derek added.

you furrowed your brows slapping morgan’s arm in a playful manner.

“i mean you will!” he laughed, shielding himself from your attack with a case file.

“fine, i’ll go- but not for that reason.” a blush exploded onto spencer’s pale features.

“yes! i’m going to start planning!” penelope couldn’t contain her excitement as she whisked your flustered self away.

“oh it’s totally for that reason.” derek bumped his elbow into spencer’s ribs lightly.

“s-shut up man.”

~

saturday rolled around and the team were on their way to the beach, it was a bit of a road trip to the nearest beach but you weren’t complaining. the sun was out, the heat causing wisps of your hair to stick to your neck. you couldn’t wait to get into the water.

once everyone arrived, penelope scanned the beach for the perfect spot and then began ushering everyone over, making morgan and hotch carry the umbrellas and coolers from the van you took.

you followed in suit, holding onto jack’s small hand to guide him over while his dad did all the heavy lifting. once you had reached the perfect spot you began to lay your towel down as derek positioned the beach umbrella.

everyone began laying out their respective towels and beach chairs, spencer plopping his chair under the umbrella beside you. you gave him a sweet smile before you dug through your bag for the suncream.

“alright mister, suncream time and then uncle derek will make sandcastles with you okay?” you announced, getting jack to sit in front of you.

“hey i didn’t sign up for that-“ morgan began earning a glare from both you and hotch who was mounting a wind barrier to his left.

“-yeah i mean, yay sandcastles!”

once you applied the suncream to jack, he ran off to derek, dragging the man down the beach, bucket and shovel in his tiny grasp. you turned to spencer who was already halfway through a book he had brought for some ‘light reading.’

he was wearing a pair of dark purple board shorts, paired with a white short sleeve shirt that was loosely buttoned up, and damn did he look good.

“your turn spence.” you smiled, taking the book from his grasp.

“i- yeah i already put some on before hand.” he muttered, attempting to take the book back from you.

you rolled your eyes playfully. “well i’ll top you up later- would you do me?”

“do you?” spencer’s voice cracked slightly, a small blush beginning to spread to his cheeks. his mind threatening to wander.

“mhm would you put suncream on my back, i can’t reach.”

“oh right- yeah come here.” he adjusted his seated position.

you stood up, dusting any sand that clung to your skin. you quickly slipped off your white sundress that you used as your beach coverup, revealing a black two piece.

spencer gulped nervously, as you passed him the bottle of suncream. his eyes traced your form, the two piece accentuating your already, in his opinion, attractive figure.

he didn’t really comprehend why he was so nervous, he had seen peoples bodies before, other women at the beach and such. but he had never seen this much of you.

he began applying the lotion, ignoring the heat rising through his body. this felt like a fever dream to him.

honestly you could’ve asked one of the girls to help apply the suncream, as they were already helping out each other, but truthfully you craved spencer’s touch.

his lightly calloused hands massaged your form, trembling down to the small of your back which made your face heat up.

spencer’s hands brushed up your waist, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, his touch soft as he worked in the suncream.

you never wanted this to end, his hands moving up to your shoulders nearing the nape of your neck, and then..

“a- all done.” he stuttered out, handing you back the bottle. you took it back, your fingers brushing against his as you passed his book back to him.

“thanks spence.” you flushed, quickly putting it back in the beach bag to avoid his intense gaze.

“up for a swim garcia?” you turned to the woman to your left, her blonde hair in two braids and her body adorned with the cutest pink frilly two piece.

she shot you a grin before grabbing onto your arm and dragging you off to the water.

“yeah i bet you needed to cool off after all of that, damn girl.” she whispered causing you to become even more flustered.

“oh you’re down bad.” emily laughed at spencer as soon as you were out of earshot.

“as if i didn’t already know that.” spencer sighed, slumping back into his chair.

he was in for a long day…

taglist: @0108s22m

[little-jana]

"The Weight of His Words"

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Genre: steamy, fluff, 18+

Warnings: kissing, steamy kissing, hotch calling reader a good girl

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Hotch giving reader some compliments and one gets her all flustered...

Being in the BAU taught you to thrive under pressure, but nothing compared to the pressure of working under Aaron Hotchner. His commanding presence, razor-sharp focus, and quiet authority were enough to make anyone falter—especially you. He wasn’t intimidating in the typical way, but in how effortlessly he commanded respect and attention. Every time his dark eyes locked on you, steady and unyielding, it felt like your entire body was under his scrutiny.

And maybe that was the problem. You’d spent too much time noticing the man behind the badge: the soft-spoken leader who was fiercely protective of his team, the rare smiles that lit up his face when he thought no one was watching, the low, rumbling voice that made your stomach twist whenever he said your name.

Unfortunately, your growing attraction to your boss wasn’t something you could afford to entertain. So, you buried it—deep enough to function professionally, but never quite deep enough to forget.

But today was testing every ounce of self-control you had.

---

The team had just wrapped up a grueling case involving an elusive kidnapper. Everyone was running on fumes, but you’d been the one to track down the critical lead that led to the unsub’s capture. As the team regrouped at the precinct to finalize reports, you could feel Hotch’s gaze on you.

“Good work today,” he’d said earlier, his voice low but warm. That alone had been enough to make your cheeks flush.

Now, as you typed up the last details of your report, you caught him watching you again. His expression was unreadable, as always, but there was something in his eyes—something that made your stomach flip.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice cutting through the din of the precinct.

You looked up, heart skipping a beat. “Yes, sir?”

“Can I see you for a moment?”

Your pulse quickened, but you nodded, standing and following him into one of the side offices. He closed the door behind you, the quiet click of the lock making the small room feel suddenly smaller.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to sound calm.

“Yes,” he said, his tone reassuring. “I just wanted to talk to you about your work today.”

Your heart sank. “Did I miss something?”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Not at all. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly replaced by confusion.

“You were exceptional today,” he said, stepping closer. “That lead you followed—it was exactly what we needed. I wanted to make sure you knew how much it contributed to the case.”

His praise hit you like a tidal wave, and you tried to school your expression, but it was no use. You felt your cheeks warm, your breath hitching as he took another step closer.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice softer than you intended.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The words sent a jolt through you, and your entire body went still.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

“N-no,” you stammered, though your cheeks were burning.

“You’re blushing,” he observed, tilting his head.

“I’m not,” you lied, even though the heat in your face betrayed you.

“You are,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

The sight of him almost smiling—especially at your expense—made your heart race. You looked away, desperate to escape his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice softer now.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out, though it came out more like a squeak.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No?”

“No,” you said quickly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“Good,” he said simply, and that damn phrase sent another wave of heat rushing through you.

You tried to focus, tried to keep your breathing steady, but the intensity in his gaze was unraveling you.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said, taking another step closer. “The way you think, the way you work—you’re one of the best. And I’m not just saying that.”

“Hotch, I—”

“You’re remarkable,” he interrupted, his voice firm but warm. “I hope you know that.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the walls around you closing in—not from fear, but from the sheer force of his presence.

“I—thank you,” you managed, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, and you could feel your resolve crumbling under the weight of his gaze.

“You’re doubting yourself again,” he said, his voice dropping lower.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he said gently. “But you don’t need to. You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt your knees go weak. You gripped the edge of the desk behind you, trying to steady yourself as your mind raced.

“I—” You couldn’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a denial.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Did I catch you off guard?”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You just—” You shook your head, your cheeks still burning.

“Just what?” he asked, his tone teasing now.

“You can’t say things like that,” you blurted out.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice calm but curious.

“Because—” You bit your lip, struggling to find the right words. “Because it’s… distracting.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made your pulse quicken even more.

“Distracting?” he repeated, his voice laced with amusement.

“Yes,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Hmm,” he hummed, stepping even closer.

You sucked in a breath, your heart pounding as he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re remarkable,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I mean that.”

You felt your resolve snap. “Hotch, I—”

“Call me Aaron,” he interrupted, his voice low and commanding.

The sound of his name on his lips sent a thrill through you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you surged forward, closing the distance between you.

The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and the floodgates opened.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your head spin, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped you. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the front of his suit jacket as the world around you faded away.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard, and his forehead rested against yours.

“That was…” You trailed off, your mind still reeling.

“Amazing,” he finished, his voice rough but steady.

You smiled, your cheeks still flushed. “Yeah. Amazing.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You groaned, burying your face in his chest as he laughed quietly. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.