𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, explicit sexual content — MDNI , graphic descriptions , excessive cum , kinda gentle to rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation , creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), porn with little plot, needy peter parker , love confessions , touch starvation , college au , post nwh , smut , fem!reader , pussy drunk peter , first time together , confessions , the L word !!
𝐰𝐜: 4.9k (i think. might be more, might be less. idk.)
𝐚/𝐧: i may have gone overboard with this but it’s my first smut fic. LOL! no spoilers for brand new day! this is semi proofread, so sorry in advance for mistakes. enjoy!!
the thing about Peter Parker is that he doesn't realize how tactile he is.
or maybe he does now, after four years of forcing himself not to be.
you’re sprawled across his dorm room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you like academic shrapnel. your Organic Chemistry problem set is due tomorrow, and Peter's trying to explain electron orbital hybridization for the third time while you're trying not to notice the way his hands move when he talks.
"okay, so—wait, are you even listening?" he glances up from the molecular model he's been gesturing at, catching you staring.
"yes," you lie. "orbitals. hybridization. very sexy stuff."
Peter's ears go pink. they always do. "it’s actually kind of cool if you think about it. like, the atoms are literally reshaping themselves to form stronger bonds—"
"Peter."
"—which is sort of romantic in a way? no? okay, yeah, I hear how that sounds."
you grin, nudging his knee with your foot. "you’re such a nerd."
the contact makes him freeze for just a second—so brief you almost miss it. but you've been Peter's best friend since freshman orientation, when you found him eating lunch alone in the dining hall, and you've gotten good at reading him. the way his breath catches. how his eyes track the movement of your leg as you pull it back.
"takes one to know one," he manages, but his voice is slightly rough.
you’ve been noticing things like this more lately. the way he leans into your touch when you grab his arm. how he finds excuses to be close—sitting next to you even when there's a whole empty couch, walking you home when your dorm is barely three buildings away. the looks that last a fraction too long.
at first, you thought you were imagining it. Peter Parker, who spent freshman year obviously pining after someone he wouldn't talk about, who kept a careful distance from everyone like he was afraid of breaking something. but somewhere between late-night study sessions and 2 AM bodega runs and him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, something shifted.
now he's watching you chew on your pen cap, and there's heat in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.
"we should take a break," you suggest. "my brain is melting."
"yeah, okay." Peter runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up adorably. "i’ve got—uh, i think there's some leftover pizza? and definitely Red Bull, which is probably not great to mix with the coffee we already had, but—"
"Peter."
"hmm?"
you’re not sure what you were going to say. something about how he's rambling, maybe, or how cute he looks when he's nervous. but you're sitting close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and the words dissolve on your tongue.
he swallows hard. "you’re looking at me weird."
"weird how?"
"i don't know! like..." he trails off, and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth before snapping back up. "never mind."
the air feels thick suddenly, charged with something that's been building for months. you think about all the almost-moments—hands brushing when passing coffee cups, the time he caught you when you slipped on ice and held on longer than necessary, the way he said your name last week, soft and wondering, like he was testing how it felt.
"Peter," you say again, and this time his name sounds different. heavier.
"yes?" it comes out barely above a whisper.
you lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he tilts forward like you're gravity and he's been in orbit too long, and when your lips finally meet, the small sound he makes goes straight through you.
the kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before Peter's hand comes up to cup your face and it turns desperate. he kisses like he's starving, like you're air and he's been underwater for years. his other hand finds your waist, gripping tight enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers.
"sorry," he gasps against your mouth. "sorry, i just—"
"don’t apologize." you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently. the noise he makes is almost pained.
"i’ve wanted—" he breaks off, kissing you again, harder. "god, i’ve wanted this for so long."
you end up in his lap somehow, textbooks scattering as he pulls you closer. Peter's hands are everywhere—your hips, your back, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. when you roll your hips experimentally, he actually whimpers.
"fuck," he breathes. "fuck, you can't—i’m trying to—"
"trying to what?" you do it again, feeling him harden beneath you.
his head falls back against the bed frame. "be good. go slow. not just—" his hips buck up involuntarily. "not just maul you like some kind of—oh fuck, are you taking off your shirt?"
you are, in fact, pulling your shirt over your head. "is that okay?"
Peter's eyes go wide and dark. "is that—are you seriously asking if—yeah. yeah, it’s okay. are you kidding?" he reaches for you with shaking hands, then stops himself. "i need you to tell me this is real."
"it’s real." you guide his hands to your waist. "i’m real. touch me, Peter."
he surges up to kiss you, lifting you and gently laying you back against the bed, he follows you down—his weight pressing you into the mattress. he’s kissing the spot behind your ear now, your neck, your jawline, your collarbone, working his way down with single-minded focus. all he can think about is you. you, you you you you.
"you’re so soft," he murmurs against your skin. "so fucking soft, i can't get enough. so soft, and smooth.”
his hands shake as he reaches for your bra clasp. it takes him two tries, and he laughs breathlessly against your shoulder. "sorry, i’m—it's been a while.”
your heart clenches. you know Peter has secrets—everyone does—but sometimes he lets things slip that make you wonder what he's been through. "we can slow down if you want."
"no." it comes out fierce. "no, i don't want slow. i want—" he drags his hands down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "i want to touch every part of you. want to taste you. want to—fuck, i want so many things."
he gets your bra off and just stares for a moment, reverent. when’s the last time he’s seen tits up close? then he's ducking his head to take your nipple in his mouth, and the feeling shoots straight between your legs. his tongue works in circles while his hand palms your other breast, and you arch into him with a gasp.
"Peter—"
he’s grinding against your thigh now, seemingly unconscious of it, completely focused on mapping your body with his mouth. when he kisses down your stomach, just above your navel, your muscles jump under his lips.
"can i?" his fingers are on the button of your shorts. "please. pleasepleaseplease."
"yes." you lift your hips to help him, and he drags your shorts and underwear down in one motion like he can't wait another second.
Peter sits back on his heels, just looking, and the expression on his face makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. "holy shit," he breathes. "you’re so—i can't believe you're letting me—fuck.”
"Peter." you reach for him. "come here."
but he shakes his head, lowering himself between your thighs instead. "i need to taste you first. i’ve been thinking about this for months—i felt like a pervert but.. i just couldn’t stop thinking about you. shit, baby.”
the first broad lick of his tongue through your folds makes you both moan. Peter grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open obscenely as he buries his face between your legs like a man starving. there’s no technique to it at first, just raw desperate hunger—he's licking and sucking messily, his tongue exploring every fold, every inch of you like he needs to memorize the taste.
"oh my god," you manage, watching him devour you. watching his messy curls between your legs. “Peter, that's—fuuuuck!”
he moans against your cunt, the vibration making your legs shake. his tongue finds your clit and circles it sloppily before dipping lower, the tip of his tongue pushing into your entrance. "fuck," he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin already shiny with your arousal. "jesus, you're so wet. you’re dripping—all for me?” he dives back in, licking into you deeper, his nose pressed against your clit as he tries to fuck you with his tongue.
you can feel how soaked you are, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he works you over. Peter's completely lost in it, grinding his hard cock against the mattress as he eats you out like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. because you are. if he knew, he would’ve confessed long ago.
"you taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled and desperate. "could do this forever. could just live between your legs—fuck, you're getting wetter. fuck, honey."
he slides two fingers into you without warning, and you cry out at the stretch. your walls clench around the intrusion, and Peter whimpers at the feeling. "oh god, you're so tight. so fucking tight and warm. holy fuck.” he curls his fingers, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you, your back arches off the bed.
“there!" you gasp. "right there, Peter, don't stop—"
"here?" he does it again, his fingers pumping in and out while his mouth seals around your clit. he sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. you can see him grinding desperately against the mattress, seeking friction, his hips rolling in time with his fingers fucking into you.
"Peter, i’m gonna—"
"please," he begs against your clit, the word vibrating through you. "please cum for me, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my fingers, wanna taste you cumming on my tongue. please? will you cum for me, baby? please, i need it. i need you.”
his encouragements and the fullness combined with his mouth on your clit sends you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you, and Peter moans like he's the one cumming as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. he works you through it, fingers still pumping, tongue still lapping at your clit until you're shaking and oversensitive and have to physically push his head away.
when he lifts his head, his face is a mess—lips swollen and shiny, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes absolutely blown black with lust. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever done," he says, voice completely wrecked. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "you’re the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i can’t—i need to be inside you right now or i’m gonna lose my mind."
you reach for his shirt with shaking hands. "off. please."
he strips so fast he nearly falls over, hopping on one foot as he shoves his jeans and boxers down. it’s almost comical, if you weren’t so desperate right now. when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate him—lean muscle, the cut of his hipbones, his cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. the head is already leaking precum, and as you watch, another bead forms at the tip.
"come here," you say, and he practically lunges back onto the bed.
the first touch of skin on skin makes him shudder violently. "oh shit," he breathes, his cock sliding against your wet pussy. "ah fuck, you feel so good. jesus. your skin. fuckfuckfuck.”
your wrap your hand around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, fucking into your fist. he’s hot and hard and silky in your palm, and when you stroke him once, experimentally, precum leaks over your fingers. the sound he makes is almost pained. he bites his lip so hard, you’re afraid he’ll break skin.
"i’m not gonna last," he warns, voice breaking. "i’m already so close, i’ve been so close just from tasting you, from feeling you cum on my face.”
"it’s okay." you guide him to your entrance, notching the head of his cock against your opening. you’re so wet that he slides through your folds easily. "i want you inside me. want to feel you cum inside me.”
Peter’s hand shakes as he reaches between you, gripping his cock to line himself up properly. "i don't—do you have a—"
"pill," you manage. "i’m on the pill. clean. are you—
"of course i am. i—i mean. yes.”
you’d normally never do this raw. but right now, all you care about is the way he's looking at you like you're everything, as he slowly pushes inside.
the stretch is intense—he's thick and the angle is deep and you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that every inch feels like too much and not enough all at once. you both groan as he sinks in, and you can feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion.
"oh my god," Peter gasps, his whole body trembling. "oh my god, you're so tight, i can feel—fuck, i can feel everything—" his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow, his face buried in your neck. "you’re squeezing me so tight, oh, fuuuuck.”
when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt inside you, he stops, breathing hard against your skin. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel how close he already is. "need a second," he pants. "just need a second or i’m gonna cum right now.”
you run your hands down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself perfectly still. "it’s okay. take your time."
"don’t want it to be over." he lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are almost desperate, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left. "feels too good. you feel too good. like—like you were made for me, like your pussy was made to take my cock.”
you rock your hips slightly, and his eyes nearly roll back. "Peter, you can move. please move. i need you to fuck me."
he does, pulling out slowly—agonizingly slowly—and you can feel everything. every ridge, every vein, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way you're stretched around him. the sensation is so intense it makes your toes curl, makes you whimper at the loss of fullness.
"oh, fuck," Peter breathes, watching where you're joined, watching himself slide out of you. "you look so good taking my cock. so fucking good.”
then he slides back in, just as slowly, and you both moan at the same time. the sound he makes is broken, almost pained, like it feels too good to bear. his whole body shudders as he bottoms out again, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he does it again, pulling out painfully slow—before sliding back in. the feeling is so perfect. yet, your body craves more. he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, but you can feel him holding back, trying to maintain control, his jaw clenched with the effort.
"can’t—" he gasps. "can’t believe how good you feel. so tight and wet and warm. how are you so tight, baby? god.”
he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, his cock plunging deep inside of your pussy, over and over. each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. but you can see the effort it's taking him—his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, his arms trembling where they're braced on either side of you, sweat already beading on his forehead.
"ah—yes!" you encourage, running your hands up his back. "you feel so good inside me."
his hips stutter slightly at your words, the rhythm faltering for just a second before he regains control. "yeah? you like feeling me fuck you?"
"yes, pete! love it! love feeling you stretch me open—!”
"fuck—" his next thrust is slightly harder, slightly faster, and he immediately tries to slow down again. "sorry, sorry, i’m trying to—trying to go slow but you feel so fucking good.”
"let go," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want to feel you lose control. want you to fuck me like you've been dreaming about."
he groans as he feels your walls clench around him. “i’m sorry, honey. m’sorry. i’m too rough, aren’t i? m’so sorry.”
"don’t apologize." you roll your hips to meet his next thrust, and the angle makes him hit deeper. "want to feel you."
the pleasure is building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your belly with each stroke. Peter's breathing is getting heavier, his control visibly slipping. his thrusts are getting incrementally faster, harder, like his body is moving on instinct despite his attempts to hold back.
"you’re so—ah!—perfect," he pants against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder. "so fucking perfect, taking my cock so well—" another thrust, faster this time. "been dreaming about this, about being inside you, about feeling you on my cock.”
his rhythm is getting less controlled now, more erratic. you can feel him starting to lose it, his careful restraint crumbling with each thrust. he’s sweating more, his skin slick against yours, his breathing ragged and desperate.
"Peter—" you dig your nails into his back. "more. need more."
he shakes his head. “can’t—if i go harder i won't be able to stop—" but even as he says it, his hips are moving faster, driving into you with more force. "what are you doing to me? fuuuck, i can't—i’m trying to be gentle but you feel too good.”
“then don't be gentle." you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "want you to fuck me harder."
he makes a sound that's almost a whimper, his hips stuttering before he slams into you harder than before. "like that? you want it like that?"
"yes!—fuck, yes—"
his control is slipping faster now. each thrust is harder, faster, more desperate. he tries to slow down, you can feel him trying, but his body won't listen. his hips keep moving, keep driving into you with increasing intensity.
"can’t stop," he gasps, his voice breaking. "can’t fucking stop, you feel too good, your pussy is so tight—" he’s babbling now, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. "want to fuck you so hard, want to make you feel so good, want to hear you scream my name.”
"m’trying to—trying to hold back—" but his hips are moving faster, pounding into you with a force that makes the bed shake. "don’t want to hurt you—"
"you won't. please, Peter, i need it.”
his next thrust makes you both cry out. he’s completely losing it now, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic, his body taking over despite his attempts at control. you can feel him shaking, trembling with the effort of holding himself back even as his hips betray him.
"i’ll hurt you—i’m stronger than i look—“
"shut up, Peter." you pull him deeper with your legs, and the angle makes you both gasp. "stop—fucking—ah!, stop apologizing. i want all of you. want you to use me, fuck me as hard as you need.”
his eyes roll back at the depth and his fragile restraint snaps. he eyes go dark and feral, and suddenly he's pounding into you, his hips snapping against yours with force that would probably hurt if you weren't so turned on. the bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, and Peter's completely gone, his filter destroyed.
"fuckfuck, shit, your pussy feels so good," he babbles against your neck, his voice broken and desperate. he reaches up, his hand palming your breast, squeezing the weight in his hand. his thumb circling over your nipple as he moans into your neck. "so tight and wet and perfect—can't believe i get to have this, have you. been wanting to fuck you for so long..” he changes the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "there? can you feel me there? can you feel how deep i am?"
"yes!" you’re clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Peter, oh my god!”
"shit—! wanted to bend you over the library table," he confesses, words tumbling out in a rush as he fucks into you relentlessly. "wanted to pull you into the bathroom at that party last month and fuck you against the sink. wanted to wake up with my face between your legs, wanted to fall asleep with my cock still inside you—" he’s rambling now, completely unfiltered, telling you every desperate fantasy as his hips piston. "used to jerk off thinking about this, about how you'd feel, how you'd sound, what your pussy would look like stretched around my cock.”
the world outside his dorm room falls away, all you can feel is his cock pumping in and out of you. you can barely think, he’s barely giving you time to think. all you can hear is his moans, your own desperate cries and the wet slap! of his skin against yours.
you can feel another orgasm building, the angle hitting perfectly with every brutal thrust. your walls are fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it because he moans and somehow speeds up even more. like he’s superhuman.
"Peter, i’m close—"
"i know, sweet girl. i can feel it." he reaches between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit. the touch is almost too much on your oversensitive flesh, but then he's rubbing tight circles and you're flying. "cum on my cock. please baby, need to feel it, need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock. just like you did on my fingers.”
tne combination of his thumb and the relentless thrust of his hips and his desperate words sends you over the edge. your second orgasm hits even harder than the first, your whole body seizing as pleasure whites out your vision. you clench around him rhythmically, and Peter makes a sound like he's been punched, his rhythm faltering.
“oh shit, shitshitshit, you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—i’m gonna cum—where? tell me where. please.”
"inside," you gasp, still riding the waves. "cum inside me, Peter, want to feel it.”
he buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a broken moan of your name.
you can feel it immediately—the first hot pulse of cum flooding into you, but it doesn't stop. it keeps coming, wave after wave, his cock jerking violently inside you as he empties himself. there’s so much—more than should be possible—each pulse filling you fuller, the warmth spreading deep inside as he shakes apart above you.
"oh god, oh god.” his voice is completely destroyed, words slurring together as another massive wave hits him. "i’m sorry, baby. i know it’s a lot—fuuuuck. imsorryimsorryimsorry.”
another pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily, grinding deeper like he's trying to fuck his cum even further inside you.
his arms are shaking so badly he can barely hold himself up. you can see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming intensity, his face twisted in almost painful pleasure.
when his orgasm finally, finally starts to subside, he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress because he literally cannot hold himself up anymore. he’s shaking like a leaf, gasping against your neck, and you can feel the obscene amount of cum leaking out of you.
"holy shit," he finally says, voice absolutely destroyed. "that was—i mean, i knew it would be good, but that was—i think i saw the heavens. god, i feel like i’m gonna pass out.”
"that was so hot," you manage, because words are hard right now and your limbs feel like jelly.
he lifts his head to look at you, and his expression is soft and wondering and a little hungry. "i love you," he says. "i know that's probably too soon to say, and we should probably talk about what this means, but i love you. i’ve been in love with you for months, maybe longer, and i thought i’d never get over—someone else—but then you smiled at me in the dining hall freshman year and i just.. i don’t know. you definitely don’t have to say it back, because i sound insane, but i just want you to know that—“
you kiss him, cutting off the ramble. "i know. i think i love you too.”
his answering smile is bright enough to power the sun. "yeah?"
"yeah.”
he kisses you again, soft and sweet this time, and you can feel him starting to harden inside you again, his cock thickening and lengthening where it's still buried in your pussy.
"Peter," you say, mock-stern even as your body responds.
he grins, sheepish and hungry all at once, and rolls his hips experimentally. the slide is easy, slick with cum and arousal. "i have months to make up for. hope you didn't have plans tomorrow."
you definitely don't have plans. and when he starts moving again—slow and deep and perfect, his cum making obscene wet sounds as he fucks it back into you—you can't think of anywhere else you'd rather be than here, in his messy dorm room, with the boy who's been touch-starved for too long finally letting himself feel everything.
the Organic Chemistry homework can wait.
authors note: whewww.. hi guys… yes.. yes.. i’ve been gone for a few weeks but IM HERE NOW! and here with a smut.. wooo!! baby’s first smutfic yum yum. i saw bnd on the 29th and holy fan service.. any who i have a love hate relationship with this. i’m SCARED to post this and i will delete if it doesn’t do well (kidding). i just get embarrassed writing smut so.. hope you love it.. and if you do, i might make more !! bye loves <3
SUMMARY - you're ovulating and get the bright idea to please yourself alone. Unfortunately for you, it doesn't escape peter's enhanced senses.
WARNINGS - nsfw, piv, creampie, breeding kink if u squint, scent, whiny peter, masturbating, not proofread (written on a phone in the back of a road trip omg)
You're ovulating, and peter’s been smelling you all day.
Ever since you woke up, your body’s musk has been clinging to the air in the flat, wrecking his heightened senses.
Every breath he took felt like a direct hit, his urges screaming at him while he forced himself to keep his distance, trying to focus on anything else so he wouldn't just drag you to the nearest flat surface.
Now it’s past midnight, and he’s sitting at his desk trying to stitch up a tear in his suit with e.d.i.t.h. guiding him. You figure he needs space to work, so you slip into the bedroom alone, sliding under the sheets.
Except you’re needy, too. The heat between your legs has been throbbing all night, and thinking about how close he is only makes it worse. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers sliding into your own slick heat. It starts slow with small circles, your hips tilting subtly into the touch.
Out in the main room, Peter stops dead.
With his enhanced hearing, it’s deafening. The friction of your skin, the soft hitches in your breathing, the slick sounds of you working yourself open, the helpless sigh that slips past your parted lips...
Just like that, the suit is tossed aside.
He stands up from the desk, his frame looming in the doorway. He doesn't make a sound as he walks over. He just stands there in the dim light, watching you. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look almost black.
When your eyes snap open and you gasp, trying to pull your hand back, he doesn't give you room to hide.
In one motion, he’s crawling over the mattress, his heavy weight settling over you, pinning your wrist above your head before you can even cover yourself.
"What're you doing?" his voice is a low rasp right against your ear.
"I—I thought you were busy," you stammer, squirming under the sheer pressure of his body. "Peter—"
"You're acting like I haven't seen you a million times," he murmurs, his dark gaze burning into yours. "And you're acting like I haven't been smelling you all day. You think I didn't notice?"
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking a desperate drag of your scent that sends a shiver straight through his frame. "It's been driving me insane since this morning. And then you come in here and start touching yourself? Right down the hall from me?"
"I was trying to give you space—"
"Don't," he growls softly, his lips dragging across your jaw. "Don't ever give me space when you look like this... smell like this."
His free hand grips your thighs, dragging your shorts and panties down in one impatient pull.
"Look at you," he cooes, his thumb grinding against your swollen clit until youre a gasping mess, arching up into his hand. "So, so wet. All for me, right? Tell me it's for me."
"It's yours—fuck, peter, yes," you gasp, your hips blindly chasing his fingers.
A satisfied look washes over his face, and he yanks his sweatpants out of the way, lining his thick, leaking tip right against your entrance.
He's rubbing himself through your slick until you're arching off the bed with a whimper. "So fucking whiny for me."
"Peter, yes—fuck, please—"
He hooks your legs up, bending your knees over his shoulders, and drives in with one ruthless thrust that folds you nearly in half.
His enhanced strength lets him handle you even more effortlessly, rolling his hips into brutal thrusts that make your eyes roll into the back of your head, your walls gripping tight around his thick cock.
He buries his face in your hair, letting out groans and needy whimpers while he uses your tight, wet cunt as he pleases.
"Fuck—yes, baby, right there—feels so good, fuck—!" His voice stutters over the wet slaps of his skin against yours.
When you feel your climax rushing up on you, your nails dig hard into his back, pleas tumbling out for him to go faster, deeper—anything to take you over. He doesn't hesitate. His hips roll into shorter, punishing hits that push you straight off the precipice, your walls clamping tight around his cock as your orgasm tears through you.
Peter lets out a gasp against your neck as your climax pulls him right with you. His rhythm turns frantic, driving himself into you with desperate thrusts that knock the remaining air from your lungs. He’s whining against your skin now—utterly unraveled by the feeling of you coming around him—begging through broken breaths to just let go.
"Baby—please. Can't— can't hold back anymore, gotta fill you up—"
The moment you sob out his name, he snaps. Peter buries himself as deep as he can go, locking his hands around your hips and holding you flush against himself. A shuddering groan vibrates through his entire frame as his release hits him, his hips twitching helplessly as he floods you with heat, staying buried inside your pulsing warmth until every last drop is spent.
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the desert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
Purgatory!Castiel x fem!reader 𓂃 Explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, dominance, rough sex, biting, blood mention, primal themes, 18+ only (IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!)
Purgatory has teeth.
You learned that the first day—the first hour—when something with too many limbs and not enough skin tried to make a meal of you. You learned it again when Castiel found you, dragged you behind a twisted tree, and told you in that gravelly voice that if you wanted to survive, you'd need to stop screaming.
You haven't screamed since.
But you've wanted to. For entirely different reasons.
Three months. Or maybe it's been three years. Time doesn't move right here, doesn't flow like water but stutters like a dying heartbeat. All you know is that Castiel hasn't left your side, and you've started to notice things about him that you shouldn't.
The way his jaw clenches when a Leviathan gets too close to you. The way his hand lingers at the small of your back when he's guiding you through the dark. The way he watches you when he thinks you're asleep, those blue eyes catching the strange half-light of this place, making them glow like a predator's.
Because that's what he is here. What he's become.
Purgatory has stripped away the uncertainty, the awkwardness, the careful distance he used to maintain. Here, Castiel is all sharp edges and raw instinct, a warrior angel who kills without hesitation and looks at you like you're the only real thing in this nightmare.
It's terrifying.
It's intoxicating.
"We need to keep moving," he says, wiping black blood from his blade onto his torn coat. Another monster dead at his feet. Another day survived.
You nod, pushing yourself up from where you'd been crouched behind a boulder. Your legs ache. Everything aches. But you don't complain because complaining wastes breath, and breath is for running.
His hand catches your wrist as you pass him.
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
You glance down at your arm where claws had caught you—not deep, but enough to leave angry red lines welling with blood. "It's nothing. I've had worse."
His eyes flash, something dangerous moving behind them. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Cas?"
He's closer now, though you didn't see him move. That's another thing about Purgatory—he's faster here, more fluid, like the laws of physics are suggestions he chooses to ignore. His hand is still around your wrist, thumb pressing against your pulse point.
"The point is that you're hurt because I wasn't fast enough."
"You can't protect me from everything—"
"Yes," he interrupts, voice dropping to something almost like a growl, "I can."
Your breath catches. There's something in his face, something raw and possessive that makes heat coil low in your belly despite the cold, despite the danger, despite everything.
"Cas..."
He releases you abruptly, stepping back. "We should find shelter. It'll be dark soon."
Dark. As if this place is ever anything else.
The cave he finds is small, defensible, tucked into a cliff face that makes it impossible to approach from more than one direction. He checks it twice, then wards the entrance with sigils drawn in monster blood.
You've stopped asking where he learned Purgatory magic. Some questions don't have answers you want to hear.
"Rest," he orders, and you're too tired to argue.
You sink down against the rough stone wall, wrapping your arms around yourself. It's not cold, exactly—Purgatory doesn't have temperature the way Earth does—but there's a chill that lives in your bones now, something that has nothing to do with weather.
Castiel sits across from you, back straight, eyes on the entrance. Always watching. Always ready.
"Do you ever sleep?" you ask.
"Angels don't need—"
"That's not what I asked."
A pause. Then: "No. Not here."
"Why not?"
His eyes slide to yours, and there's something haunted in them. "Because if I sleep, I might miss the moment when something tries to take you from me."
Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "Cas..."
"You don't understand what it's like." His voice is rough, strained. "Every moment, every second, I can feel them out there. Hunting. Hungry. And you—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
"And me what?"
"You're human. Fragile. Breakable." He says it like a confession, like an accusation. "You smell like Earth and grace and everything pure in a place that knows only violence. Every monster in a hundred-mile radius can sense you."
"Then why did you keep me with you?" The question comes out sharper than you intended. "You could have left me somewhere, warded me in, gone off on your own—"
"No." The word cracks through the air like a whip. He's on his feet now, crossing the small space between you in two strides. "No, I couldn't have."
He's looming over you, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because the thought of you out of my sight makes me—" His hands clench into fists. "I can't. Don't ask me to."
You should be afraid. Maybe you are, a little. But mostly you're something else entirely, something that makes you bold enough to reach up and touch his face.
His skin is warm under your palm, rough with stubble he never had before Purgatory. He goes very, very still.
"Cas," you whisper. "What are we doing?"
"Surviving."
"That's not what I mean."
His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it harder against his cheek. "I know what you mean."
"Then answer the question."
Instead, he drops to his knees in front of you, bringing you eye-level. This close, you can see the flecks of silver in his blue irises, can count the shades of darkness in his pupils.
"I've wanted you since the moment I found you," he says, voice low and rough. "I've wanted to touch you, taste you, mark you as mine so thoroughly that every creature in this godforsaken place knows to stay away." His thumb brushes over your lower lip. "But you're human, and I'm—I'm not what I was. Purgatory has changed me. Made me into something..."
"Primal?" you offer.
"Dangerous."
"Maybe I like dangerous."
His eyes darken. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Don't I?" You lean forward, closing the distance until your lips are almost touching his. "I've watched you fight, Cas. I've seen what you become when something threatens me. And I'm still here. I'm still choosing to be here."
"You're choosing survival—"
"I'm choosing you."
Something breaks in him. You can see it happen, can see the last thread of his control snap like a frayed rope.
Then his mouth is on yours, and it's nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or tentative or careful. It's consuming, possessive, a claiming more than a kiss. His hand tangles in your hair, angling your head exactly where he wants it, and his tongue sweeps into your mouth like he's trying to memorize the taste of you.
You make a sound—half gasp, half moan—and he swallows it, presses closer, until you're trapped between the stone wall and the solid weight of his body.
"Mine," he growls against your lips. "Say it."
"Yours," you breathe, and his control shatters completely.
He's pulling at your clothes, and you're pulling at his, and nothing matters except getting closer, getting skin against skin. The coat goes first, then your shirt, his shirt, until his hands are on your bare waist and yours are exploring the planes of his chest.
He's all lean muscle and old scars, some from this place, some from battles you'll never know about. You trace one with your finger, and he shudders.
"I want to be gentle with you," he says, voice strained. "You deserve gentle."
"I don't want gentle." You bite his lower lip, hard enough to sting. "I want real. I want you."
He makes a sound that's almost a snarl, then his mouth is on your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point. Not quite biting, but close. A promise and a threat.
"Tell me to stop," he demands even as his hands work at the button of your jeans. "Tell me this is a mistake."
"No."
"You should—"
"Cas." You grab his face, force him to look at you. "I want this. I want you. Stop trying to protect me from yourself."
His eyes search yours for a long moment. Then: "If we do this, there's no going back. I won't be able to—" He swallows hard. "I won't be able to pretend I don't need you. That you're not everything."
"Good," you whisper. "Because I stopped pretending weeks ago."
That's all it takes.
He strips you efficiently, almost desperately, until you're bare before him. His eyes rake over you like he's trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every imperfection.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So fucking beautiful."
Then his mouth is on your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he bites down gently. You arch into him with a cry, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He works his way down your body with teeth and tongue and hands, mapping you, claiming you, until you're trembling and desperate and begging.
"Cas, please—"
"I know." His voice is pure gravel now, barely human. "I know what you need."
He settles between your thighs, and the first touch of his tongue makes you see stars. He's relentless, thorough, using everything he's learned about you over these endless months—every gasp, every shudder, every tell—to take you apart piece by piece.
When you come, it's with his name on your lips and his hands holding your hips down so you can't escape the overwhelming pleasure.
He doesn't give you time to recover. He's kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you can feel him hard and ready against your thigh.
"I need—" He breaks off with something close to a groan. "Tell me you want this."
"I want this. I want you. Please, Cas—"
He pushes into you in one smooth thrust, and you both freeze, overwhelmed by the sensation. He's big and you're tight and it's almost too much, but then he starts to move and it's perfect.
"Mine," he growls, setting a rhythm that's just this side of rough. "Say it again."
"Yours," you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Always yours."
He buries his face in your neck, and you feel his teeth on your skin again, harder this time. Marking you. The pain mixes with pleasure until you can't tell them apart, until everything is just sensation and heat and him.
"Not going to last," he warns, rhythm getting erratic. "You feel too good, too perfect—"
"Then don't." You bite his shoulder, taste copper and grace. "Come for me, Cas. I want to feel it."
He does, with a roar that echoes off the cave walls, and the feeling of him pulsing inside you triggers your own release. You cling to each other as you shatter, two broken things made whole in the worst place in existence.
After, he doesn't pull away. He stays inside you, over you, around you, like he can't bear to break the connection.
"I meant it," he says quietly. "You're mine now. I won't share you, not even with safety. Where I go, you go."
"I know."
"And when we get out of here—if we get out of here—"
"When," you correct, touching his face. "When we get out of here, we'll figure it out. Together."
He kisses you again, softer this time but no less possessive. "Together," he agrees.
Outside, something howls in the distance. A reminder that Purgatory is still waiting, still hungry.
But for now, in this moment, you're safe in the arms of an angel who's become something more, something darker, something entirely yours.
ok but can't we have Jason and Damian being siblings but like. less protective and father-son vibes of brotherhood and more 'yeah we're chill but like he does what he wants' kind of brotherhood? because honestly i want stray-cat Damian right now.
listen i would just very much like to see a Jason that trusts Damian to be independent enough that when he brings the kid to Gotham he goes 'ok so like, do you want me to break in and drop you in the cave, or introduce you to B on patrol, or just leave you on the doorstep..?' and Damian thinks for a second before being like '....i mean do i have to go to him straight away? you're the one that taught me to scope out new situations before i enter them.' and Jason trusts Damian enough that he just shrugs and says 'yeah i guess that's true. i have a spare bedroom in my new apartment, so i guess as long as you don't make too much of a mess you can just come and go as you please until you go to the manor'.
so essentially Damian is left to his own devices while he susses out Gotham and figures out his own plan for how he's going to handle being the public blood son of Bruce Wayne. him and Jason will pass each other on the rooftops sometimes, or nod to each other over breakfast, but Damian is pretty much just Jason's stray cat of a little brother doing whatever. Jason trusts the kid, and he's got a lot of his own shit to handle anyway, Crime Alley and Joker-wise.
to be honest what i really want is just Damian chilling in the background of Gotham's elite for like six months before Bruce, Tim, or Dick even know who this kid is. he's sneaking into events to gather information and pretending to be a staff member's child allowed to hang behind the bar, doing his own fucking side quests and honestly just entertaining himself by seeing how close he can get to the family before they clock that something's up with him.
look--the bats may be the greatest detectives in the world, but even they fall into the trap of not paying attention to the 'unimportant' people at high-end events. Damian has literally had 7+ conversations with Tim at different events about random shit and Tim has yet to remember him a single time. he's served his own father canapes at events in Wayne manor despite very much not having been hired as a waiter because he is very clearly underage. Bruce was so busy pretending to be drunk he didn't clock it. the hardest Jason has ever laughed in his life was when Damian came home one night holding a polaroid picture of Damian and Dick together, signed by Dick, because Damian thought it would be funny to rush up to the guy pretending to be a Wayne fanatic and asking for a selfie. it's on Jason's fridge.
there's probably a moment when Damian's pretending to be like. a really short valet at a gala and he comes across Alfred, and i like to think there's probably a moment where Alfred clocks the face of a boy who is very clearly related to Bruce, and the two just stare at each other silently for a while. Damian expected this, Jason told him Alfred was too used to Wayne shit not to catch on.
'may i inquire as to your name?'
'...Damian, sir.'
'and do you have a safe, warm place to go back to tonight?'
'yes, sir. i'm staying with one of my brothers. you'll like him, when i introduce you.'
'i see. your mother's name?'
'Talia Al Ghul.'
'ah, of course. well then, Master Damian. i do hope you know i'll have your bedroom prepared for whenever you're ready to come home. i believe your father will be impressed with your skills.'
'...thank you, Pennyworth.'
'anytime.'
and then they just part ways and Damian continues to do his side quest undercover bullshit for like, another three months. after a while he gets bored and just shows up on Bruce's doorstep and literally never mentions the fact that he's already been around for like. a year before he told Bruce he was his son. just pretends he arrived the day before and this is all new to him. they only realise what happened far in the future, when Jason is back in the family and Dick visits his apartment for the first time, and he clocks the fucking signed fan-selfie of what is now obviously him and Damian. he gets so confused about when the fuck it was taken because ??? Damian hates being on camera ??? and all Jason can do is start laughing so hard he cries.
they can be read as standalones and in any order, but this list is in chronological order
★ fluff | ♡ smut | 𐙚 angst
♡ bed chem : you just moved into a new city, finally getting a job promotion. when you visit the bar near your new place to celebrate, you didn’t expect to walk out with company.
★ work boundaries : after sleeping with a random man you met at a bar and later finding out he was your unit chief, you have a very awkward meeting.
★𐙚 luther : during a case you realize hotch knows you more than you imagined.
♡ lacy dreams : hotch had been managing to do just fine in suppressing his desire for you, until he caught a glimpse of your lacy underwear peeking over your jeans.
★ paperwork for two: you help a stubborn aaron with his paperwork.
𐙚 misconduct: after a case, hotch interrogates you about your misconduct.
★ older: the team uses their profile skills combined to figure out why you’re not interested in the cute agent just downstairs. you hate it. Hotch loves it.
♡ soaked: your window gets stuck and hotch decides to help you. but it’s too hot to wear proper clothes, and he nearly loses his mind.
★ 𐙚 intervention: you happen to be in the worst mood ever and the team stages an intervention (one-man intervention. the one man being hotch).
★ it’s your one year anniversary at the bau but somehow the second time you celebrate hotch’s birthday: drabble
★ guilty as charged: after over a year without any physical contact with you beyond professional, aaron finds out that, unlike him, you’re not yearning quietly in celibacy, and he’s not particularly happy about it.
★ haunted: after over a year of longing, you finally had a crazy stupid steamy hot freaky mind blowing sexual interaction with your boss (the two of you share a cigarette).
𐙚 ♡ ★ do i wanna know?: because of a storm, what was supposed to be a quick interview turned into a day on lockdown, which resulted in cancelled flights, an emergency hotel reservation and obviously, only one room to share.
♡ i'm her favorite beverage: hotch realizes he has much to gain from this new relationship with you. for example, a filthy sloppy head before the morning briefing.
summary: the team uses their profile skills combined to figure out why you’re not interested in the cute agent just downstairs. you hate it. Hotch loves it.
content/tw: a little swearing. reader is way too dramatic (she threatens to shoot morgan and then herself out of shame).
word count: 1.6k
a/n: I had so much fun writing this one. again, this idea came to me in a shower (my showers are not that long) (I just happen to shower a lot and i have my best ideas in it)
if you have any requests, suggestions or ideas (thought about in the shower or not), my requests are open <3
I’ll stop yapping (for now)
after hours masterlist
main masterlist
The bittersweet scent filled your nostrils before the sight of the steaming extra creamy cappuccino from your favorite coffee shop reached your eyes.
“What?” you squealed in surprise, stopping on your steps and spinning around to find Leo, one of the agents from the second floor “A cappuccino? My favorite! Leo, you didn’t have to.”
“It’s nothing, really.” he dismissed, but puffing his chest either way “I remember you said it’s your favourite. And it happens to be on my way here.” it wasn’t, and you knew it.
“You’re the best!” you complimented, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek “Thank you so much, honey! And it has a little heart in it.” you cooed, and smiled when he blushed “You spoil me way too much!”
“Anything for you.” he flirted “If you need me, I’ll be… Well, you know where to find me.” you chuckled.
“I do. Thank you again!” he smiled and winked, heading to the elevators.
After waiting for a second and tasting the drink to make sure it was as delicious as always (it was), you got back on your track to the break room, only two steps away. You bumped into Emily, who watched the whole interaction with a lopsided grin.
“What?”
“Nothing…” she sing-songed “I just think it’s cute.”
“What’s cute?” Morgan asked, getting in the room just behind the two of you.
Spencer, Hotch and JJ were already there discussing a consulting case the team had been working on. It started with Spencer and Hotch, and then JJ and soon after the break room became a makeshift conference room, like it always did, truly.
“Kelsen just bought her a cappuccino from her favorite coffee place.” Emily announced, getting the attention from the rest. Spencer and Hotch just went back to the files, but JJ standed up and stepped close to you to see it from her eyes.
“It’s not a big deal. I bring you guys sweet treats all the time. This is called being nice.” you pointed, seating on one of the tables and sipping from your beverage.
JJ and Emily just exchanged an amused look. Morgan took the seat to your right “So you don’t see it?”
You frowned “See what?”
“The heavy flirting. The lingering glances.” Emily started.
The completely unnecessary visits to our floor just to stop by at your desk. The excessive gifts.” JJ continued, looking pointedly at the cup you were currently sipping from.
“Oh. That.” you sighed.
“So you admit knowing he’s flirting with you?”
“Yes.” you stared blankly at Emily “So what?”
“So what? This ‘will they won’t they’ is dragging for too long.” JJ pointed.
“Wait, what? This isn’t… There isn’t… It's just harmless flirting.”
“Harmless flirting? Is this even a thing?” Morgan stared at you skeptically.
“Yes. You flirt with someone knowing it’s never going to happen between you. Ever. We do it to each other all the time…”
“Ouch?”
“Besides,” you kept going, not acknowledging his interruption “He’s just playing nice. There’s no actual interest involved.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Spencer muttered from his place at the couch, his eyes glued to the interrogation transcription. He felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on him, and stared back.
“Spill it out, kid.” Morgan begged, sounding way too amused with it.
“He stopped me in the parking lot a few weeks ago.” he started, fixing his glasses and shifting in his position, slightly overwhelmed with the attention. “He asked for advice on… Well, you.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” you whispered “And what did you tell him?”
Spencer shrugged “I didn’t know how to turn him down so I just started rambling facts and research regarding the scientific reasoning behind human relationship and the development of courtship. He eventually dropped it.” he gave everyone a closed-lips smile, seemingly proud of himself and amused.
“Wait, do you do this often? Ramble facts just so people leave you alone?” Hotch asked, glancing up from the tablet for the first time after you got in the break room. Spencer’s cheeks flushed in a deep red.
“Uh… No?”
Hotch surprisingly gave him a tight smile, but before anyone could get more into the revelation, JJ turned back to him, her eyebrows scrunched up together “Why didn’t you help him?”
Relief flooded through Spencer with the change of subject. He relaxed back into the couch, leaning back and crossing his fingers together like he always did when he was ready to discuss something he was certain about.
“I’ve seen her body language. She’s clearly not into him.”
“How so?” Morgan asked, doubfunded.
“Her eyes never linger on him, everytime he leaves the room it’s like he stops existing. Every time they talk she smiles and makes sure she listens, but her torso is almost every time leaning away from him, like she’s ready to go as soon as the conversation is over. It’s not like she’s uninterested, it’s like… she’s not even considering him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m positive she likes him and enjoys his company. And her smiles, her jokes and her laughs are real, just not romantically-interested ones.”
“When did you become an expert in relationships?” Derek squinted his eyes at him.
“This is basic body language knowledge. Knowing about all this says less about my expertise on the subject than not knowing says about your profiling skills…”
“Watch it, kid.”
“He’s getting way too good at these jokes” Emily muttered, nodding in disapproval but her eyes a glint of pride “But back to the real issue?”
“The four cases of first degree murder that happened in the last month in Las Vegas?” you asked, not-so-subtly trying to bring the attention back to the case.
You knew where this was going, and you didn’t like it one bit.
“Why aren’t you interested in him?” she asked, deciding not to acknowledge your observation.
“Hmm” you stuttered “Uh, I-I’m not going to get all personal with my boss in the room.” you declared, taking a long sip from your drink to keep from looking at Hotch. You had no idea why you said that, honestly. Obviously, you had no problem getting all personal in front of him. Or under him. Or on top of him. Or even splayed out at your dining table, face down as up getting eaten out by him.
And he was aware of it. So aware that he had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling and giving away your secret. It’s not like a single smile would be enough to give away everything that happened that night, but all it took was a little reaction for them to start picking up on you – they were profilers, after all. Hotch only decided he was safe enough from his own frivolity when he felt the taste of the blood from how hard he bit on.
“Oh, cut it. That’s hardly the reason.” JJ stated, crossing her arms.
“Wait, can we focus on the fact that there must be something incredibly wrong for her to be so uncharacteristically shy about this subject?” Emily pointed, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at you.
“I just… Don’t like being the centre of attention.” you tried, and it was probably the first time those words came out of your mouth.
“Ha! Busted!” Emily laughed, banging her palm against the table in excitement and pointed at you, accusingly “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told us.”
“Do you have any dirt on him? Like something so disgusting that you can’t even think about…” Derek tried, his smirk growing up at each word.
“No! Not at all!” you exclaimed, started to get pissed off.
“He’s hot, you can’t deny it.”
“He is.”
“He’s nice. Are you the kind of girl who always ends up running away from the guys who are ‘too nice’?” Emily groaned.
“No, I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“He’s hot, he’s nice…” JJ listed, once again ignoring your statements. You huffed in annoyment. “He’s tall, he’s responsible, he’s your age, he’s… Wait.” she stopped mid sentence, her face contorting in a smug smirk that almost made you hide under the desk.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your lungs started to burn along with your cheeks.
JJ had her gaze locked onto yours from across the room, and it’s like she was reading every thought you ever had “We listed many things, many reasons to why you might not be attracted to him. You didn’t bat an eye to any of them… Until I said he’s your age. That’s the problem, right? You don’t like guys your age.”
The thought of banging your head against the table repeatedly until it split open didn’t sound that bad.
There were a thousand ways this could get worse.
“And judging by the fact that she didn’t want this to be discussed in front of Hotch, I’m assuming she’s into older guys.” Emily stated, exchanging fist bumps with JJ and Morgan.
“Don’t tell me you have a little crush on bossman over there. Or is it Rossi? Just tell me this: is Strauss also your type, yes or no?”
Oh dear god.
You fucking knew it.
There were a thousand other ways this could've gotten worse. And that’s one of them.
“Morgan..” Hotch scolded, immediately interrupted by you.
“I have a gun, you motherfu…”
“Enough!” Hotch raised his voice, standing up. “Threatening to use your gun on a coworker could get your license removed.” he raised one eyebrow at you.
“Fine. I’ll kill myself then.” you dramatized, hiding your head under your folded arms over the table.
“This isn’t, in no way, shape or form, any better. Morgan, cut it out.” you heard him scold. “I have a meeting with the director now. Later I’ll meet you all, and the rest of the team, in the conference room. To discuss the case.” He added, eyeing everyone as if to dare them to go against his commands.
Said ‘all’ muttered some kind of agreement, to which you just groaned something unintelligible.
If you’d raised your head a few instant sooner, you would’ve caught the way Hotch’s lips turned into a discreet smirk just before he left the room. Way too pleased with himself. So damn pleased his mind had no space for worries and guilt.
After going full hermit mode during finals, you reach out to your relatively new boyfriend for a textbook he might be storing in his apartment. Or, Spencer putting you through his mattress for the first time as finals stress relief.
pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut! Fluff? (18+ pls pls) tags: Softdom!Spencer, sub reader (bet you thought you'd never see the day I did this), pet names in Russian, finger sucking, fingering (fem!receiving), established (new) relationship, your first time together, praise kink, pinv sex, creampie, teasing!!! overstimulation. wc: 6k a/n: I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY! Writing this during my finals felt like method acting. I imagine many of you are just now finishing or in the throes of finals- here's a treat!
Your head is hurting in places that you don’t even think have been identified in the anatomy of the brain while you continue to type away at your final essay.
You had thought you’d given yourself ample time to begin and finish the essay without any stress-induced cramming. Yet, here you are, halfway through with the deadline a couple days away.
Phone on do not disturb and your social life coming to a screeching halt– you have forced yourself to go awol in order to get everything you need done.
Which worked. For a bit.
Now, you’re panicking over a Russian literature textbook you didn’t even know was on the syllabus that you’re supposed to reference in your final.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit.
The first time you left your apartment in the last 48 hours was to check your university library for it– no dice. You drove to your local library after, out of luck there as well. Who on earth is using the 9th edition Russian and Comparative Literature text you need so horribly? They do not need it as much as you do.
Dejected and sighing from your pounding headache, you rest your forehead against your steering wheel, the sun is going down on another day without finishing your paper. Then it hits you. The biggest distraction in your life, is also the smartest person in your life. If the library doesn’t carry what you need, you might just have to put your pride aside and call Spencer.
You had promised yourself to use him as a form of reward once you completed everything, but you just have to ask him now. You can’t possibly get too distracted.
One of your rings sounds off in your car before he’s picking up.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. How’s the studying?”
Even through the tinny speaker of your phone his voice releases butterflies in your stomach.
“Spencer! Hey. Umm. It’s not going very well, actually...”
“Oh hon,” his voice drips with remorse from the other line, “I told you how breaks would make it all go more smoothly than whatever guerilla method you decided on.”
You smile to yourself briefly, before a surge of emotion comes over you. Of course, he was right. Your stomach is growling, head aching and going stir crazy in your apartment these last couple of days has not turned out to be the picture perfect portrayal of self-care.
In a small voice you reply, “I know. I’m sorry. I just- I was wondering if you had a textbook I need for my final. Russian and Comparative Lit? Or something adjacent?”
“Hm? Oh, please don’t say you’re sorry. I honestly might. Would you like to come over and look with me?”
Your fingers come up nervously to play with your bottom lip, “Yeah, please, if it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Zayka.”
Whatever it is, he says it smug enough that you roll your eyes, starting your car back up to finally get to the next step in finishing your paper.
Of sorts.
Like some heightened form of sensory deprivation, once you’re stepping up the staircase to get to Spencer’s unit, you can smell his scent from the bottom of the steps. The aged leather on his clothes and hand soap he uses that clings to him all day circling around your dizzy head as you give one, two knocks at his door.
His slight stubble and loosened tie catch your eye first. You want to run a hand where the sliver of his collar bone is revealed.
You give him a shy smile instead, Spencer pulling you into a hug in his doorway with a kiss on top of your head where he speaks against it, “I missed you. Come in, come in.”
Sighing as he pulls away you beeline towards his bookshelf. Seeing it’s a stack of differing Russian texts on the floor he must’ve pulled out on your drive over.
“Oh, Spencer, thank you. Even if it’s not here, I seriously owe you one.”
He gestures his hand in an oh stop motion and walks over to where you’re reading the spine of each ridiculously long book.
“You don’t owe me anything. Happy to help. You’ve been pretty stressed out, huh?”
This pauses your flicking through titles like a cue in your system to spill out every detail you haven’t shared in the last couple days.
A deep sigh, then, “Yeah. It’s been really tough. I thought I’d be able to crank everything out, but. I just feel so burnt out. And the library by me is always so busy that I have to study at home, and my room is a mess and I haven’t bought any groceries, I just. I feel horrible. I have this headache,” you rub your face with your hands, “I’ve been getting no sleep and my body does not know how to handle this anxiety, it’s… it like, physically hurts.”
You’re on your knees by his coffee table and before you’re finishing your onslaught of complaints Spencer is sinking to his knees beside you.
“Oh, honey. That sounds miserable. You’ve drained yourself.” His hand comes to your lower back to rub at soothingly. “You need to regulate your nervous system. Let me feed you or-”
“This is it!”
You cannot believe your eyes. A perfect condition of the exact textbook you need to finish your paper. You owe Spencer all the stars in the sky, that big beautiful brain of his. Leaning over, you peck his lips swiftly. Which was your first mistake. You always need another.
“Mm,” he hums, “I’m glad. However, I do think you should embark on whatever journey reading through this will take you tomorrow.”
“What? But I’m so close,” another kiss is being pressed to his soft lips, “I just. I just need to-”
The way he’s looking at you. The pressure of his kiss lingering on your overactive mouth. The warm light of the lamp coming from his bedroom. You know if you keep pressing, you actually are going to have to leave, Spencer not being the type to force you in any capacity.
You have to shut your mouth.
Spencer pulls your hand into his, lifts up to press a kiss to your knuckles, “Well. If you got everything you need…”
A panic-inducing sentence.
“I d-didn’t.”
“Oh? Is there something else-”
“I, um. What did you say earlier? On the phone, in Russian. I… was wondering, actually.”
His lips pull into a genuine smile, one that makes you ache. You missed it so much.
“Ever so curious. It just means bunny, it’s a common nickname. Could also translate to baby.”
Embarrassment heats up your neck.
“I’m not even! I’d argue I’m more of a cat than anything else.”
“Hm. Kotik. I’d disagree though. I could practically hear the scrunch in your nose when you called me.”
“Ugh! Whatever. What does that make you then?”
“Whatever you want.”
Is he doing this on purpose? Is he being extra impossibly irresistible because he’s trying to make you stay or because of your distance from him? Either way, you hold your breath.
“I-if I’m a bunny you have to be one too, that only makes sense.”
“Of course. Cross-species breeding can get weird.”
He has to be doing this on purpose. You haven’t done it yet. But Spencer is no stranger to working you up. The pet names, the fucking insinuations. Spencer is nothing but careful with his words around you. He’s being a tease out of his own volition.
Knees starting to get achy where they’re pressed into his hardwood, you shift a bit. Nothing more than a shift, but given the context, lets Spencer know exactly what’s keeping you chained to his apartment.
“Um. I think I’ll stay.” you blurt nearing a socially awkward delivery as you break his eye contact.
“Oh thank God,” he laughs out through a sigh of relief, “I don’t think I could’ve morally let you go home.”
“I just think I deserve a little break.”
“Mhmm,” Spencer rubs your jaw lightly with his thumb, “you’ve been working so hard, you deserve more than a little break.”
“Yeah? What should my big break be? Travel somewhere warm… should we go to Mexico?”
“I’ll take you to Mexico. You look so exhausted I’d just about take you anywhere.”
You giggle and nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “How about your bedroom?”
Not even having to look up to see it, you can feel the way his eyes widen. Having made out with Spencer a fair share on his couch, more than playful sleepovers at your apartment, and even an instance where Spencer had fingered you under your skirt in the parking lot of an AMC (before turning around to drive back home, skipping the movie) you’ve built up enough confidence to tell him you’re ready to feel him this way now.
“Wh- yeah. Yeah, course.”
With Spencer’s whole neuroses around germs and “outside clothes on the bed” you actually have not gotten the privilege of laying down in there. Sure, you’ve picked through his closet and rummaged through some bedside books, but nothing wrapped up in his silky white sheets.
Your knees feel wobbly as you stand up before Spencer, gazing softly down where he’s criss-cross on his floor. He smiles up at you softly, reaching his hand up to rub your hip with his thumb over your jeans.
“What should I do to help all that stress?” He trails off, if spoken by another person, this could seem like a bit of a sarcastic remark, but Spencer continues to live and breathe sincerity.
Laughing slightly you shrug, “Come up here first, please.”
Sluggishly, Spencer gets up on his feet, his hand remaining on your hip now that he’s face to face with you.
After kissing you gently he rubs his nose softly against yours, “I could give you a massage- you know stimulating the parasympathetic nervous system will help your cortisol levels a lot. You also just seem tense, sitting a lot in front of your laptop?”
“I mean,” you laugh and kiss him while pausing your sentence, “I’d like that. But. I want you in a different way. More than that... ahem, in your room.”
“I kind of just wanted to hear you say it.”
Once Spencer was able to pry his hands from your waist and lips from your mouth (with difficulty, he really missed you) he takes your hand into his to walk to his bedroom.
Of course you’ve been in here before, but right now every detail in his room; every book on a desk, every folded line in his bedding seem to have a shining glow around them. Through rose-tinted glasses Spencer's belongings cast an easy feeling over you.
Being led to the bed you’ve never been in doesn’t incite any fear because you’re so familiar with the surroundings. Already in-tune with him and how he’s so particular about the things he owns, proves just how encapsulated by all-things-Spencer you are right now, completely safe and in your element.
Warm hands bring your arms around his broad shoulders, kissing you against his bedframe. The cool carved wood pressing indents into the back of your thighs as you allow your full body weight against it.
In your school-induced mania, you’d nearly forgotten how obsessed you are with kissing Spencer. His pillowy lips against yours, tasting him. He’d nearly get irritated at you for kissing him too hard in public. Now, after locking yourself away you're savoring how his tongue skims your bottom lip as he’s asking for access into your mouth.
You whine and pinch your eyebrows together when he slightly pulls away to talk, “Darling, you’re so lovely, so beautiful,”
Pouting, you pull him back in by his collar. Before, you had been so adamant about focusing on your work and now you’re falling fast into the mess of hormones he typically makes of you. A total 180 in the past hour.
Allowing yourself to give into what has been simmering the last few days has you jittery and clumsy. Tightening and loosening your grip on Spencer’s shirt you’re tugging him closer and pushing him away when the whining from your throat becomes too embarrassing. Desperate and determined.
Your open-mouthed whining is coming from an understandable place though. Mouths melding together and a taught thigh wedged between your legs, you’re losing yourself in the way he tastes.
Spearmint toothpaste that you both use on his breath. The shared taste you two have after you bought Spencer’s (out of a moment of weakness) when you happened to run out of your own while he was away on a case. A girlish, silly pining that now has your eyes rolling back as you taste yourself on him and consequentially, Spencer on you as well.
Spencer curls your tongues together, grabs your hips flush against his and you whimper out a small final plea of a moan against his lips before he’s pulling away again.
“You’re being a little siren,” Spencer grins and places a kiss underneath your jaw where he knows you’re the most sensitive.
“Sorry- was I? I missed you so much,” you trail off and kiss the warm skin of Spencer’s neck before he pulls you off him slightly.
Unabashedly staring directly at your bitten lips while replying, Spencer falls into an easy grin, “Don’t say sorry. How many times have I said I love your sounds?”
Shame creeps up in a gentle heat across the back of your neck, “Um. Too many!”
You get a simple tsk from Spencer in return. Not having the energy to argue with you over the shyness around moaning, he settles on a simple noise of disapproval.
Gently taking both of your wrists, he pulls you up from where you were propped against his bed frame and maneuvers you till the back of your knees are being tickled by his lush bedding. Maybe it's a tickle or just your skin's hyper awareness of what's to come.
Having tasted him earlier, there has been a discovered pining demand for Spencer you cannot keep at bay anymore. His sweet lips, a sugary glaze to the sour week you’ve had. Like the time you licked a dribble of honey off his finger when he was making you a cup of tea and you had to perch yourself on his lap for an hour kissing him senseless. You have no control over that dam inside you once broken.
Cradling the back of your head while he guides you to his bed, you instinctively wrap your legs around his narrow hips, hoping to do anything in your power to keep his body weight on you for as long as humanly possible.
“Babe- baby,” Spencer whines out, having to wiggle away from your grasp if any clothes were to be shed tonight, “let me undress you, please.”
Fine, you think, separating for that, should be livable.
Teasingly, Spencer rubs his hands up and down your waist, pulling your shirt up slowly as he massages into your skin. A wiggle in your hips has him smiling in acknowledgment but continues to toy with your top.
“You’re giving me goosebumps,” you pout.
“Good goosebumps?”
“Mmf. Yeah.” You turn to hide your face defiantly into his bedding.
“Always good goosebumps with you.” He smiles and pulls your shirt off, wiggling and arching your back, you help him even through your faux sulking.
Spencer’s sheets meet your bare skin (no bra, you couldn’t manage something so menial during your studying) and glide over your torso like a flat pebble skipping over a lake.
The seam of your jeans between your legs are pushing into your center as Spencer’s thigh remains pushing in small intervals while kissing over your chest. Approaching an overwhelming stimulation, your hips writhe as you grab silently at Spencer's tie.
“T-take my pants off too, Spence, wanna feel you.”
“Aww,” he pulls up from your chest, “they look so good on you though.” He relents still, sitting on his knees as he fiddles with the band of your jeans.
A playful flicker in his eyes and he’s gently pulling up and down at it. You scrunch up your face, subconsciously aware of his bunny comment, and grab at his wrist. Only a small fuck falls from your lips.
“Mm, too much, huh? I’ll get them off of you, my love.”
Your hands reach up to tug off his barely knotted tie to fling it off while he slides the rough fabric down your legs, placing a kiss to a bruised knee on the way. Once your jeans are making a home on his floor he continues moving down further so he can take off your socks, kissing over the fabric of your panties.
You giggle a little, they’re not your sexiest, moreso cute; cotton with a little bow.
“These are my lucky panties.” You explain through your laugh.
“Yeah? Did you put them on in hopes they’d help you find your textbook?” His hands are holding the sides of your thighs now and he bends down to take the small bow between his teeth tugging up before letting it go in a snap against your belly.
“Mm-mm. I just decided that now.”
“From now on they’re your lucky underwear?” He looks up at you between your legs with a lopsided grin.
“Yup,” you pop out the “p” sound, “but you can still take them off even though they’re lucky.”
Spencer hums into a kiss against your inner thigh, “This is great news. May I?”
“Yes, you may.”
You can feel how wet you are by the slight resistance there is while peeling your panties off. Spencer hasn’t made you cum in quite some time, busy schedules and all. Now with finals, you can’t even remember the last time you got yourself off. The dripping into your panties reminding you of how long it must have been.
All that time not thinking about it is catching up to you as you feel more deprived than you have in your entire life.
“God- Spence. I want it… really bad.” These are the begging eyes you give him when you have to pull out your biggest trick in the books. When you’re making him drive you to the mall or begging to leave a hickey on his neck when he has to leave for work in thirty minutes.
Safe to say, they work pretty well.
“Baby, you can’t look at me like that,” he laughs, “I’m not in any mood to tease you.” His voice fills with a teasing tone anyway, the dirty liar. “You’ve been through enough already, huh?”
“Mhmm…” Your affirmation melts into a hum of pleasure as Spencer very gently runs his thumb over your entrance. With the coat of your slick on the pad of his thumb, Spencer brings it up to his mouth for a moment before sucking it off. You can’t help but shoot him a jealous look as your thighs close to rub together.
“Needy,” Spencer mumbles while pulling his thumb out, shifting up towards you so he can bring it to your lips. Sucking in happily, you bite down gently on his thumb, smiling around it as you hear a little groan coming his way.
Thumb now covered in both of your saliva, he uses it as extra lubricant to rub circles over your already wet clit. Another reminder of how long its been hits you with how you already feel close. With just a few circles on your clit, you’re already clenching around nothing, hoping to be filled.
A squeak topples from your throat as Spencer switches his thumb to two fingers against you.
“Y-yeah, like that-”
Spencer is your boyfriend- he’s sweet and attentive and genuine. But he is also evil and horrible. He takes his hand away.
Your shocked gasp makes him laugh and move to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.
“I’m mean. I’m sorry I’m sorry,” his laughter tickles your neck, “you’re so much fun to tease.”
You can barely hear him, not laughing along. Solely focused on wiggling under his weight, trying to gain any more friction on your clit.
No fight left in you, you want to politely take what Spencer gives you, but a slight panic fills your mind at the thought of having to wait much longer.
“Please- I’ll be good…”
“I know angel, you always are for me.”
Before the praise can affect you to its fullest potential, his fingers are returning against you. Three of his long perfect fingers dance across your clit as it thumps pathetically against them.
“Mmm! Shit, thank you, thank you-“ you babble softly.
“Want them inside?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Really?”
“Really!”
You’re not above this. Giving into every prompt easily as if you’re made for it. With all the planning and studying and working this week you have no issue with surrendering control over to someone else for a change.
Spencer flips his wrist so the inside is towards you and he’s positioning his ring and middle finger against you. You’ve never felt so spoiled, your clit is still throbbing painfully the second he removes his fingers to put them inside you, you never can get enough.
The stretch of two fingers has you preening, accommodating his digits in a way that makes you so excited for the stretch of his cock soon.
“God, I missed this,” Spencer pants, “you’re so stunning, so warm.”
You allow the new wave of wetness to pool around his fingers with little to no guilt. If he says he likes it so much, what’s a little more?
He curls his fingers up and your jaw drops. He can find your sweet spot faster than you or any toy you have can and it makes you hate him and love him more and more each time. Moving languidly, you perch yourself on your elbows, wanting to gaze down between your thighs.
Your eyes trail to the soft skin of his inner wrist, pretty blue veins, the network of his life, on display as they lead down to where you’re the most sensitive. The snap of his slender wrist as he speeds up, goes deeper and deeper until your hand instinctively comes down to pet your clit in tandem with his thrusts.
Pushing your hand away, Spencer replaces it with his hand that’s not working at your g-spot, silent with his full attention on making you cum. You appreciate this, but if he’s trying to tip you over, he’s going to have to keep talking to you in the dirty sweet way he’s mastered.
“B-baby,” your voice is shot, “talk to me, talk to me.”
“Mm. My pretty baby-”
“Can you call me that again… t-the Russian?”
Bending down and dragging his lips across your neck he hums out, “Moy Zayka,” coming up he traces his tongue against your bitten lips, “Say it…”
Two bats of your wet eyelashes and you’re muttering “Zayka,” in the softest voice you can muster, shyness drying your speech.
“Mhm. Good. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”
“God, don’t talk like that or I’ll cum right now, fuck.”
“You said-” he begins, but you cut him off with a moan. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right.”
Five more seconds of Spencer's warmth radiating off him along with the sensation of his taking you apart between your legs and you realize you have to warn him you’re about to cum. Like seriously, about to.
“Spence! Close!” You muster, legs shaking slightly as proof.
“Yeah? Good girl.” He continues his movements until black spots dance behind your eyelids and you’re coming hard against his fingers.
Working you through it until your chest is rising and falling, he takes his fingers out, but two fingers remain on your clit.
Shit. All that fucking begging got you here.
Moans increasing, your thighs clamp together around his wrist. Trying to stop him, but just making the sensation more intense. You gasp and try to open your legs back a bit. It’s torture, but it’s the least you’ve been able to think in the past week, which is exactly what you needed.
Sitting back on his knees, dick making a tent in his trousers, Spencer smiles at you squirming. “You okay?”
Are you? Yesyesyesyesnononono. You find yourself nodding anyway.
“M… ‘ore.”
“What’s that?”
Toes squeezing, your clit starts up that heartbeat again, reviving itself at his words. Ready to cum again.
“More!” You whisper, hoping he won’t ask again.
Spencer kisses your knee sweetly, rubs his cheek against it. “You’re doing so well. Really, making me so happy.”
Your entrance flutters at his words and the overstimulation has gotten to a point of just brain melting pleasure, and your legs fall open easily, allowing him more mobility once again.
The second time you orgasm on his fingers today you’re jolting upright. Hand pressed into the mattress while the other one clamps over your mouth as you tremble watching him rub your clit and pull away at the first whine he hears from you.
“Holy shit,” You sigh out, head falling down to his pillow.
Spencer’s face to face with you again, kissing your heated skin gently.
“How are you feeling? Can you give me another one? We can stop here, sweetie.”
“Noooo,” your lips spread into a grin at the thought of coming around his dick for the first time. How good he must feel, how it will literally melt your brain into a puddle. “I want you-”
He kisses your lips like he would when picking you up to take you to dinner. Sweet and innocent like you weren’t just painting his fingers with your release.
You trail a trembling hand up to begin undressing him. A shameful fumble with one button that takes two times as long to unbutton than it normally takes you. Spencer’s hands cup yours to steady them and finishes off the rest of his buttons with ease.
Maybe that’s another reason to call him Dr.- the steady hands he usually has. Unless you’re giving him head, but he definitely wouldn’t be experiencing that during a procedure. He’s also not even that kind of doctor. Maybe you’ll ask him to roleplay-
You look down and Spencer is in his underwear. You could thank God. His dick is the hardest you’ve ever seen it and it’s still under its confines. The tip has leaked enough to turn the fabric slightly see through and you can make out the details of him. Your mouth is watering.
Without a second thought you trail a nail over his bulge. As Spencer sucks in a breath you snap the band of his underwear against his lower stomach, causing him to suck in his lips and his dick to twitch.
Almost as affected as you are, Spencer breathes shallowly and looks at you expectantly till you’re lowering the band and revealing all of him. Thick and long and covered in his precum you immediately grow hazy, giving him a few pumps to gauge how he might feel inside you. He’s going to split you open.
Spitting in your hand (not that you even needed to, he's already wet with precum) you continue to jack him off, his stomach curling in when you shift into a reverse grip on him and stroke his head a few times. His hands finally grow shaky as they reach down to stop you from making him finish too fast.
Momentarily Spencer stands by the bed to remove his underwear fully, you watch his dick as it bobs in the air, wanting to give it a steady place to move into until it’s-
“Spence, please.”
“Yeah, pretty.” He nods in understanding, his tough resolve breaking down more now as he also realizes how you’re going to feel around him for the first time.
Laying down, he positions himself between your legs. He wraps his arms around your head pulling you into a kiss before moving them to cage you in while staring into your eyes. You’re trying to keep eye contact but you can feel his cock brush your stomach and you could die.
“You still want this? You’re not feeling dizzy or anything?”
“Y-yes. Not dizzy. I just really want you inside.”
He laughs and kisses your neck, “Yeah. I really do too.”
Warm palms are positioning your hips against his bed and move to break you apart. He swipes his dick, wetting it with you, before he makes any moves to penetrate you. It feels really good- you’ve heard your friends mention it, but this feels… super good.
Going down to collect more wetness, he draws his head back up to circle your clit again. It’s probably a form of torture for him- but with the way you’re nearly giggling with pleasure, he figures it won’t hurt to do it a few more times.
“Baby,” he shudders out a breath against your forehead, “This feels really good, but I’ll cum like this, and I’d rather it be inside you.”
You laugh and wrap your hands around his neck (Spencer is polite enough to ignore the way you squeeze it slightly), giddy with happiness.
“Kay. Can you fuck me like that until we both cum next time, though?”
The way you say it, so conversational and wholesome makes Spencer clear his throat. You’re going to be the death of him.
“Anything you want, angel.”
Then he’s moving his head against you with intent. Eyes flickering between where he’s entering you and to check your face for pain (which remains in a blissed out expression throughout the entire thing).
Pushing the tip fully in, both of you gasp with a newfound lucidity that hasn’t overcome you since you were in the living room. There could be a LED light sign on both of your foreheads that flashes oh fuck in pink shining blinks with hearts surrounding it.
“Oh baby-” He whispers over your repeated ah, ah, ah’s.
“F-feels so good,” You squeak out, knowing he’s gonna be a worried mess to make sure you’re not feeling any pain.
With that confirmation he allows himself to rest his head down, chin against your forehead as he moans into your hair while bottoming out. The stubble is sort of scratchy against you but in a way that’s beckoning your legs open wider.
Your legs automatically wrap around his hips to keep him at the deepest point, wanting to feel the way he’s first opening you up forever. Lips gasping and closing to place a kiss at your forehead he whimpers out, “Baby, gotta let me move.”
So you let him move. You would probably do anything he suggests right now. A comical dizzy swarm of birds circling your head with a dumb smile on your face. He wants to move, your legs spread open on the bed. He wants to cum inside you? You’re gonna let him.
His first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. You make a note to yourself never to spend longer than a day away from him again. Then, another note to do this every day with him the rest of your life.
Spencer repositions himself so that his arms are straightened, alleviating some of his weight off you (sigh), but allows him to move into you at a better angle.
Moaning, you turn your face to the side, looking at the inside of his wrist again. The intense thrusts combined with his delicate skin and fragile veins right there, you get dizzy. Shifting a little, you place a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then another, a wet mess of a kiss that delivers the message of complete infatuation.
Spencer groans and realizes how far away from your lips he is right now and moves to his forearms again. He pets the top of your head and whispers into the air, “You feel so perfect- just like I thought. You’re so perfect everywhere.”
In his vulnerable state, you’re right in front of his perfect, untainted neck, and you want to lick and suck at it to work through the mind numbing pleasure, like it would ground you to reality. Usually, he needs more coercing, with the team and all, it’s very hard to hide hickeys. Yet,
“Spence, baby,” you whine, putting that lilt in your voice that tears him apart, “can I kiss your neck, please?”
Immediately, “Yeah, honey, take what you need.”
And your tongue immediately licks a stripe up his skin, salty and sweet with sweat. Sucking the skin between your teeth you leave a fresh deep mark for him to parade around the next few days. You say sorry in your head looking at it, but it doesn’t make it to your lips.
He laughs and shakes his head, knowing exactly what his skin is going to look like tomorrow and in retaliation he moves your thighs overtop his shoulders, hitting a spot inside you that has your mind fuzzing.
Your hips thrash a bit, not used to being unable move and wiggle around the pleasure like you typically do. Especially with this new stretch inside you, you’re keening.
“That feel good, baby?”
Your eyes squeeze shut, “God. Yes.”
“Tell me I feel good.”
“Spencer,” you whine, dragging out the syllables, “you feel so good. Fucking me so good.”
He moans high, then, “Now, tell me you love me.”
With an even smaller pause than before, “Fuck, I love you.”
“Mhm. Again.”
“Baby- I love you-” You whimper out, realizing instantly he’s about to make you cum once more.
“I love you.” He replies gently, juxtaposing his thrusts again, which are now growing sloppy with his nearing orgasm.
Pulling him into a harsh kiss, you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, trembling with his skin between your jaws. Having the power to draw blood but keeping yourself at bay. Ever a good girl for him.
Without having to ask, he brings a hand to rub your clit again. You let go of his lip with a groan, head falling back against his pillow with your back arching into him.
“C-can I cum?”
“Of course you can. Baby, ‘need to feel you coming around me, I know you feel so good.”
Who are you to deny that? Biting the inside of your cheek, you're coming for him again. It’s better than you could’ve imagined, the unstoppable stretch inside you while your walls flutter for reprieve around him. Better yet, Spencer is spilling into you.
You whine high in your throat feeling him cum inside you, somehow making more room for this alongside his cock inside you. Overwhelmed, you grab for his hand, he interlocks his fingers with yours instantly, a whimpering mess alongside you.
When his hips are still against yours, you cannot think a single thing, you only feel. The slow slow slowness of him pulling out of you with a pop. The drip of his cum out of you like a sedative. The kisses against your face and lips.
Nails scratching lightly at the base of his neck convince him enough of your coherency, nothing to panic over. Spencer is giving you space to be fucked out of your mind.
“My sweet, pretty bunny, I wanna clean you up. Can I? I’ll be gone for just a moment.”
You groan, that does not sound like something that should happen.
“Coming with…” You mumble, barely legible.
Spencer laughs, “Yeah. Right. You’re not walking on those two legs again today. See? I’ll run.”
You smile back and close your eyes, shooing him away with a wave of your hand. He’s right too, you barely even notice the time pass before he’s back with a warm rag.
He’s cleaned you up, positioned you to lay on top of him and is pulling teasingly at your earlobe, muttering something about a takeout order he placed for you both.
You eat cuddled up on his sofa, watching some new space documentary perched on his lap. You’re sitting right by the textbook you pulled out earlier and you haven’t even noticed, your essay so far from your mind that the only thing you could possibly learn right now is the pattern of Spencer’s breath against the back of your neck.
Nobody knows about the contract you signed to be your boss’s sub until Spencer finds the document. Aaron proposes a deal in exchange for his silence.
Category: Smut (18+)
Word count: 4.8k
Content: threesome, sub/dom dynamic, female and male oral, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, creampie(s)
a/n: kinktober in may because it’s @lavenderspence birthday who helped me brainstorm this fic months ago but hey it’s never too late so here is the long awaited fic that i’m dedicating to the birthday girl. ily<333
The wordless creed of submission was a scripture you could never decipher.
That is, until you met Aaron Hotchner. Five years of sterile professionalism, save for one fateful night with too high adrenaline and a sex drive you hadn’t even known you possessed. He’s disturbingly good at coaxing it too (pinning you against his office door, bending you over his desk, binding your wrists to the headrest in the back of his car), and soon a new normal of three sexy times a week for two breathless months doesn’t seem quite enough.
Surprising, for someone too independent to ever trust a man so completely. But twenty-four-seven isn’t ideal, was what he’d pointed out with a wry little smile when he realized there was no sign of jest as you offered — no, begged — to be cinched to his hip every single day. Tempting, but some ground rules still had to be laid down.
That’s when the negotiation starts.
Night after night you find yourselves talking, and suddenly your vocabulary is filled with terms you’d never imagined discussing outside bureau protocol. Hard limits and soft boundaries. Carefully planned visits. He even tested a few daring suggestions you’d never imagined yourself fantasizing about, intriguing you as much as they embarrass you.
Although mortification isn’t the problem. You’re a born profiler with an inconvenient instinct to study every new stimulus; curiosity is your ruin, so to speak. If shame were meant to deter you, it should’ve chosen a less enticing disguise.
Granted, you’re not exactly surprised when you slip into Aaron’s motel room and spot another presence waiting. You find Spencer like that, standing warily at the foot of the bed, looking strangely out of place despite the fact your knees had brushed in the SUV only an hour ago.
But your heart does a little somersault. A silly patter that spreads through your chest with the dizzy certainty that an idea you’ve only read in ink is about to be written in flesh.
The clause was tucked near the end of the contract — “the introduction of a third participant at the discretion of the primary.” You’d half-skimmed those last few pages, disbelief blurring the words when you couldn’t quite fathom that your fantasies had been printed and bound like actual paperwork.
It’s one thing to discuss it verbally, another thing entirely to see it embodied in your hands like an actual scripture.
“I just want you to feel safe,” Aaron had said, which struck you as almost redundant. You already felt safe without having these stipulations spelled out in twelve-point font. Still, you picked up the pen, humored his need for formalities, and wrote your name in deliberate strokes.
And with Spencer hovering a few unsure steps from the bed tonight, that small flourish of ink seems to glow on the page in your memory.
“You’re late,” Aaron greets from the other side of the room, and closes the space between you in three easy strides.
“Emily cornered me in the hallway," you say, meeting him halfway for a kiss before nudging back, a wry smile on your lips. “So I’m guessing he knows about us?”
His gaze flicks to Spencer before settling back on you. “He found our contract.”
Your brows curve into a frown. “You mean… he found the thing just lying around?”
“Not exactly." He gives a curt shake of his head. "It was on my desk. Didn’t think he’d come in without knocking.”
"Aaron."
“It was an oversight," he tries to defend himself. He spares you the detail that Spencer apparently read enough to memorize every clause and condition. You’re already eyeing him dubiously.
“And why is he here now?”
The same logic that led Aaron to keeping him here.
“For his silence.”
"You’re blackmailing him?”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Of course not. I’d call it leveraging a situation for mutual understanding."
“That is the prettiest way I’ve ever heard someone describe blackmail.”
A soft shuffle of shoes answers you from behind.
“It isn’t blackmail,” Spencer interjects. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted to understand what was going on and—” He falters at the subtle, expectant tilt of Aaron’s head, then clears his throat and finishes, “—and now I do.”
Aaron’s hand finds its way to your waist. “Are you okay with this?”
Are you?
You don’t answer immediately. It isn’t indecision that holds your tongue to the roof of your mouth, rather the slow crawl of anticipation that coils low in your belly. Skittering around your hips.
Oddly enough, the prospect doesn’t rattle you the way it once did when you first traced those lines in the contract. You’d just never thought the day would actually arrive, and certainly not today, with Spencer, of all people.
You can almost hear the flutter of his pulse from here, see the quiet calculations ticking behind lowered lashes as he tries to stand perfectly still. He’s cinched into his cardigan that's smoothed flat over narrow shoulders, and you’d be lying if you claimed you’d never wondered what hid beneath all those layers of neatly pressed wool.
Pure curiosity, you reason. Curiosity fed by the sparks you’ve caught in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. A sweep of hazel that dips down your neckline, or by the restless twitch of his fingers whenever your perfume drifts too close. And you’ve idly speculated, maybe more than once, whether those fidgeting hands would feel rough on your skin or as soft as the flush rising in his cheeks.
You let the quiet stretch for one more heartbeat, watching his gaze snag on the top of your blouse before darting back up.
Heat coils languid and sweet inside you.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’m okay. I think.”
“Need you to be sure, sweetheart.”
“I’m okay,” you repeat, trying to smooth out your voice. Maybe saying it once more will solidify your confidence. “I’m really okay.”
Aaron’s palm tightens at your waist. “Color?”
It takes you a while to understand what he means, but when you do, you feel the answer rise with the next breath you take.
“Green.”
“Good, if at any point it changes, you tell me.”
You give him a slight dip of your head.
"Reid, come here."
Spencer obeys before he seems aware he’s moving. One cautious step, then another, until you can feel the anxious energy rippling off him. He’s close enough now that the crease of your knee nearly grazes the front of his slacks. Close enough you can catch the soft quiver in his limbs.
Your own chest tightens at the sheer proximity, but whatever butterflies flit through you aren’t half as fierce as the ones etched across his tense shoulders and downturned gaze.
“Spence, it’s okay, you can touch me," you offer.
He curls his fingers into fists, chords of tendon shifting under skin gone too pale.
He’s overthinking, of course. Mental gears grinding loud enough to drown out his own pulse. It’s his nature to second-guess and dissect unfamiliar situations from every angle. He did it when he first spotted the contract on Aaron’s desk, when Aaron quietly invited him here, even when he agreed to come of his own free will. But standing in front of you knots those gears tighter.
Enumerate risks, assign probability, choose the safest option.
The safest option, though, he realizes, is the most dangerous one.
But the real danger isn’t the touch itself. It’s how a single brush of fingertips will shatter his neatly ordered rules.
Consent redraws the margins while he continues to study. You give him an expectant look, Aaron seals it with a nod, and suddenly the universe has shrunk to three conspirators orbiting a single point of contact.
So he closes the last inch between you. Pulls in the same measured breath he’s perfected on the firing line. One, two, three — on four his fingertips drift forward, brushing the sleeve of your blouse. The cotton vibrates under his knuckles, yet even through the fabric he can feel the pliant warmth of your skin. He coaxes higher along your arm, sliding past the cuff and onto the bare flesh of your shoulder.
You’re warmer here, silken, and the softness doubles when his hand cups the delicate column of your neck, thumb resting in the hollow below your jaw. Softest of all, though, is the sight that meets him when he finally lifts his gaze. Plump, glossy petals of dewy lips.
Gone is every ounce of hesitation.
He steel himself for the question hanging on his lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
Useless, of course, when you’re already leaning in.
So he does, carrying the bite of burnt motel coffee and a trace of whatever dessert he demolished tonight. You also catch the tang of his nerves on your tongue. He’s a jumble of sensations — confused, curious, ravenous, and that ripple of hunger makes itself known as he nudges his cock against your hip. The pressure loosens your knees, and just as you begin to sync with the eager pull of his mouth, another hard pressure claims the space behind.
Aaron’s obvious bulge slots perfectly between your ass, as well as the way his mouth latches along the spot where your pulse flutters the most.
It’s nearly impossible to keep your heartbeat steady when attention comes in perfect pairs.
Two mouths tracing heat.
Two cocks hemming you in.
Two sets of hands shaping your body — a pair cupping your breasts firmly, another holding your hip while the last hand dips over the fabric covering your mound.
It takes a drowsy, blinking inhale before you realize it’s Spencer coaxing pleasure through the damp cloth. A new type of pleasure that comes with new territory as his fingers slide in patient circles, translating curiosity into confidence with every slow stroke. It’s a novel kind of surrender that eclipses the rules you thought you understood with Aaron alone.
This is a submission refracted through two different types of needs. Circumstances might look like you’re completely helpless with two men manhandling you, but somehow you've never felt more powerful.
And that power consumes you, bleeding warmth into your skin until it feels like you’re burning from the inside out. Flooding every nerve, soaking through your pores until even the hum of the air conditioner feels weak against the sweat beading at the small of your back.
Aaron feels the tremor beneath his palm.
“Too hot?”
You manage a weak nod. “Mhm.”
He quickly moves to remedy it. He won’t have his sweet girl suffering for even a second longer than necessary. His fingers skim down your blouse, carefully slipping buttons through holes before Spencer’s eager hands join him — unhooking, unbuttoning, and sliding the rest of your clothes off until there’s nothing left between you and the open air.
Your lungs finally fill without the last scrap of fabric, though each inhale stays shallow. The stark contrast between your bare skin and the layers of their tailored shirts and pressed slacks only sharpens the ache gathering low in your belly. You’re so wound up that a slow, insistent throb of liquid seeps between the snug folds of your cunt.
Aaron is quick to notice, too. He’s already attuned to your body by now, the way gooseflesh ripples up your thighs the moment you try to squeeze them together for relief. Before you’ve even fully registered it, his arm loops around your waist, guiding you a step back toward the bed.
In one smooth pull you’re lifted, settled astride his lap. “I think we should show him how wet you are.”
You lean back, heart hammering in your chest.
In another life, shame would color your cheeks, but in this one, you’re too keenly aware of your own arousal as his hands hook under your thighs, spreading your legs apart.
Spencer falls to his knees. And wets his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the sheen glistening between your legs — pretty and glossy without a single touch from either of them, and he wonders how much more of a mess he can make of you. That thought sends two fingers pressing against the swollen outer lips, gently stretching them for a better view of your anatomy as he breathes in your musky scent.
God, you smell delicious.
He bets you taste just as good too.
As if drown to a magnetic pull, he leans in and lets the tip of his tongue flick against the tender spot of your clit.
You’re not sure if the gasp that escapes your lips is louder than the rush of blood pounding in your ears. Spencer hears it, feels it, and takes it as permission. He lingers, gently at first, tracing delicate circles that coax your clit into a throbbing fullness until the once shy nub swells under the next pass of his tongue.
The hammering behind your eyes barrels down your veins, skimming collarbones and ribcage, rushing through your gut before pooling right where his mouth is working. Broad laps that drag from your slick entrance to the tip. Sucks a plush fold of your labia into his mouth, testing delicate skin with gentle tugs.
Your next exhale comes out as a moan, and Aaron marvels at the sound. “Feels good?”
Good is an anemic word — barely a quarter of what’s sluicing through you when Spencer curls his tongue inside your tight walls. Pleasure radiates in hot pulses, and language dissolves on your tongue as your head lolls helplessly against Aaron’s shoulder.
He tries to press you again. Hooks a finger beneath your jaw to tilt your chin up, leaving a ghost of space that tempts you to close your mouth around him. He pulls away when you lean in.
“Good, sweetheart?”
He clearly wants an answer. So you give him one — stretch your voice into the space he’s carved for you.
“S’good.”
“Yeah?”
Your hips stutter into Spencer’s mouth. “Yes—yes. Good.”
You're finally rewarded with a kiss and a groan between your legs.
Shame really has nothing on you. Your body is on fire, and the only thing that matters is the taste of his lips plastered against yours while Spencer’s mouth devours you in greedy lungfuls. Drags his tongue slow and heavy across the entire span of your cunt as the faint rasp of his jaw scrapes against your inner thighs.
You’re hardly surprised by how your orgasm coils fast. Starts as a scatter of static in your toes, slithers up your calves and welds the muscles of your thighs as Spencer’s mouth seals around you, lips locking, tongue pressing. Instinct has your legs snapping shut around his head, but a low disapproving sound from Aaron vibrates on your mouth, cuts through your blinding haze.
“No, no—spread them open,” he tuts, prying your legs wider. “Let him take care of you.”
You can only whine in response.
Your thoughts knot and unravel in the same breath, slipping through your grasp the moment they begin to form. Words dissolve. Time warps. You're reduced to pure reaction — tiny, involuntary gasps that stutter out between parted lips. You can't keep still. Can't breathe deep. Every inhale shudders. Heat blooms at the base of your skull, racing along nerve paths until your toes curl in suspended air.
Then it hits again. But his mouth doesn’t stop the mess he's made of you. Slick glistens down his chin, streaking into the shallow hollows of his cheeks, pooling in the groove where his jaw meets his neck. He tilts his head, adjusting just enough to keep you pinned with legs spread wide and twitching as he slurps you up with intense hunger.
A keening cry rips free before you can swallow it.
Aaron notices it. Sees the way you nearly go cross-eyed towards the ceiling, jaw unhinged and mouth dangling loose.
“Reid,” he warns.
Spencer barely blinks.
“Reid.”
His voice continues to fall on deaf ears.
“Reid.”
It isn’t until Aaron firmly pushes his head away that Spencer finally snaps out of it. His eyes dart up to meet Aaron’s, then to you, chest rising and falling as though suddenly realizing the state he’s left you in.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” there’s an edge of guilt in his voice. His gaze drops back to your swollen clit, overly sensitive from his relentless attention, and moves in to press a soft, almost apologetic kiss to it. “I’m sorry.”
Your hips jerk at the contact.
Aaron rests a hand over your thigh, “Let’s give her a minute.”
You finally manage to clamp your mouth shut.
It does seem wise to wait until your heartbeat evens out, let your pulse crawl back down from its wild pitch. Yet the space they leave empty aches just as sharply. All you can feel is emptiness and the gnawing urge to be filled, so you shift in Aaron’s lap, sliding forward until your hips brush the sharply pressed crease of his slacks.
“I’m fine,” you blurt out. “I can keep going.”
Aaron’s palm spans your stomach. “I don’t want to push you too far.”
“You're not,” you insist, and with desperation digging its claws way too deep in your chest, you add, “Please?"
His lips curl into a knowing smile. You're practically bleating, and he’s absolutely smitten. "You're begging already."
You are, and you'd gladly do it again. Say it sweeter, say it filthier. You’ve learned to like begging, learned how easy it sits on your tongue when it earns you that look.
"Need you, Aaron."
He looks absolutely pleased.
“You need me?" His gaze slips towards Spencer, still crouched between your thighs, wetting his lips. "Or do you need him?”
Your mouth opens before you can think—
“Need you both.”
Which, after years spent of working alongside them, is something you never expected to admit.
But the honesty on your tongue tastes absolutely sweet.
Everything then unravels in a blur of impatient hands. Buttons pop, zippers slip, fabric rustles to the floor in a blur of motion you’ll replay later but can’t quite track now. Your own senses tunnel to the snap of Spencer’s belt, the soft thud of Aaron’s shoes hitting carpet, the sigh of crisp cotton sliding from skin.
By the time the last scrap of fabric has hit the floor, you’re stretched on your side atop the cool sheets with Aaron’s solid heat pressed along your back. He braces your leg up, while the blunt crown of his cock teases the slick seam of your cunt. You’re already dripping, so incredibly wet that one firm push has the soft flesh of your hole bulging around his girth when he sinks all the way.
It doesn’t dull the shock of intrusion, though. Aaron is all all weight and pulsing veins, and no matter how many times he’s fucked you senseless, you never quite get used to how he stretches you open. The burn hits sharp, then dissolves into a syrupy ache you drink down willingly.
You also swallow around the thick head of Spencer’s cock pressing to your mouth, feeling the bitter tang dissolve on your tongue as he pauses to gauge your reaction. Your first instinct is disbelief. It boggles your mind how someone built so lanky and lithe can carry such surprising weight, but instead you let a tiny, encouraging nod.
It's all it takes for him to nudge forward.
He lets out a tiny gasp, hips stuttering as your warmth envelopes the only part your mouth can comfortably take. A shiver races through his frame, and before he can stop himself, one hand threads into your hair with a desperate grip. He’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his pelvis gives a needy push.
You choke around the force punching your throat.
Aaron immediately slows his own rhythm behind you. “Reid, control yourself,” he warns. “Won’t have you hurting her.”
You pull back just enough to steal a breath.
“No—” You swallow, eyes darting up to meet Spencer’s wide, worried gaze. “It’s okay. Do it again.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I like it,” you manage, and Aaron’s brows lift slightly. He’s never taken you too roughly. Binding you with his tie is an exercise in restraint, a blindfold a test of trust, and when it comes to edging, his patience is almost cruel in its tenderness. He likes to think his dominance is a careful thing.
But clearly he underestimated you. Especially when you lift your gaze to Spencer with glassy, luminous eyes.
“You can use my mouth,” you say softly, a little bashfully. “I want you to.”
The confession snaps something loose in Aaron. He grunts, hikes your leg higher and plunges into you with reckless speed. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he grits out. “Didn’t know you liked it so rough.”
Your clammy back slides against his chest every time he drives into you. “I-I did, you’re just a big softie.”
He gives you another grunt against your bare shoulder while Spencer tries to catch your attention again, brushing a damp strand of hair clinging to your cheek.
“Are you sure?”
You don’t think you’ve ever been this certain.
Confidence has never felt so visceral when you know what you want, and the idea someone as awkward as Spencer surrendering to hunger enough to use your mouth only slicks you further around Aaron’s cock.
So you tilt your head back shamelessly, tongue slipping out in a languid sweep over your lower lip.
And how can he possibly resist?
He wraps his hand around the back of your skull, palm splayed wide and fingers tangling in your hair as he thrusts forward. Sets a smooth languid pace, slow enough you can feel every rigid vein drag across your tongue. Most times he glides in with practiced care, more often than not, the bulbous tip of his cock bumps up against discomfort that lingers just the shy of pain.
Tears prick your lashes, a throbbing ache begins to set in your jaw, but you force your muscles to relax. Concentrate on the rush of air through your nose.
Inhale, exhale.
Gag.
Swallow.
Soft wiry curls brush the sensitive curve of your nose with each thrust as you continue to let him mold your throat into his own perfect fit. He fills your mouth with the same certainty Aaron fills your cunt, so that no inch of you remains untouched.
You’re a mess of body fluids. Spit runs from the corners of your mouth, sweat paints your bruising skin. But it’s your pussy that bears the most, swollen and slick beyond reason, you’re so thoroughly fucked that every plunge punches a shameless squelch into the air. Bounces off the faded wallpaper and the brittle plaster of an old building that has seen better days. Decades, even.
This place couldn’t be further from luxury. It’s a simple nondescript motel on the edge of this town that’s only available where the stench of cheap detergent and stale air barely masks the lingering scent of old cigarettes. Though the sagging mattress is more than enough to cradle you between two bodies in a sweaty, desperate mess.
And desperation thickens the air, thick as summer humidity. Aaron’s thrusts grow sloppy, grip bruising your skin as he pants against your ear, “Not gonna last long, sweetheart.”
You don’t think you’re going to last any longer either. Not when the sheer force of his pace makes it impossible to focus on anything else. It’s becoming too much, and Spencer seems to notice your fractured gasps muffled around his shaft. He looks at you through heavy lids and takes pity on your predicament, pulls himself out of your mouth and sits back on his heels.
You still catch the sight of him fisting his cock through the mist clouding your eyes, but even that melts away when Aaron’s lips find the shell of your ear, whispering all the filthy things that ruins what’s left of your fragile composure.
Always so good to me.
That’s it, taking me so well.
—my sweet, sweet girl.
But it isn’t until his voice drops lower that your body responds without permission.
“Gonna fill you up, yeah?” His teeth graze your earlobe. “You'll let me do that?”
Your cunt squeezes him so fiercely that he chokes on a grunt. Slides a heavy palm right at the supple flesh of your belly.
“Or you gonna let both of us fill you up?”
You feel your muscles tensing—
“Let him fuck my cum back into you?"
And moan unabashedly.
The sounds spilling from your throat hardly seem like your own. You try to marshal a proper syllable, but it simply melts on your tongue before it can crawl past your lips. What comes instead is an automatic stutter of nods, frantic little jerks of your head because he’s your boss, isn’t he? And good subordinates follow orders dutifully.
“That’s right,” Aaron croons. “Knew you’d take it. Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"
You nod even harder, grinding back against his ruthless thrusts while he keeps spinning those filthy words.
“Gonna be so full, sweetheart. Mess dripping out this pretty pussy."
The picture he paints is enough to tip you over the edge.
Pleasure snaps bright and violent. Your vision splinters into shards of glittering light as your cunt clamps down around him, walls fluttering in rapid spasms that slowly jerk his own release.
Aaron groans, fingers biting into the soft give of your skin while he keeps you chained. Holds you still as he floods your insides, heavy spurts that seem to pool deep in your belly before trickling down every fold of your flesh. Trickles weave along your swollen lips, mars the plush curve of your ass — stains your already wet thighs as he gently slips free.
You’re in no state to protest when he drags your limp body across tangled sheets. You don’t even have the strength to lift your head as he tucks you effortlessly under his chin, back to his chest, letting yourself dissolve between thick thighs. Your skin is burning fresh from the tremor clinging in your core.
Your lungs still stutter, but your pulse is clamoring for more.
Seldom have you seen Spencer move with such quiet certainty. He sinks to his knees between your quivering thighs, and the dim lamplight silvers the slick shine on his cock as he guides it through the creamy mess clinging to your folds. Quite repulsive, but nothing less than a wicked kind of fascination.
Clearly he sees the appeal — why else would he press the rounded crown against your hole, only to have you seize around him even after being stretched so thoroughly? Mesmerized is a better way to put it as he tries to rut deeper, and with every inch your pretty cunt swallows, he wonders why he’s wasted years fussing over germs when raw pleasure like this exists.
When you simply exist.
He lets out a pleased sigh when you finally stretch around him (takes a moment of more slow rocking and a hissed curse you’ve never heard from his lips) as your eyes hone in on the spot where your bodies merge. Hips flushed, pelvis snug, coarse hair pressed against your puffy clit, and you feel a stab of fullness that spirals straight into your spine.
It doesn’t take long for him to fuck you then.
Like a man possessed, too.
Your nails bite into Aaron’s thighs. Claws sinking into warm flesh as you brace yourself for every brutal thrust Spencer rams into you. The force sends your tits bouncing with each snap of his hips, and Aaron’s hands are there in an instant — rough palms claiming the soft weight, wicked thumbs skating over taut peaks. Rolls them between calloused fingers with just enough pressure to sting your eyes.
The rapture on your face is barely recognizable anymore. Pinched and overwhelmed, you don’t notice him abandoning your perky nipples to skim down your torso until the pruny pads of his fingertips find your soaking clit.
Your back arches off his chest.
“Fuuuck—” you wail, “gonna c-come.”
He can see that. It’s painfully, beautifully obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re right on the edge again for what must be the hundredth time tonight. And Aaron doesn’t think of himself as cruel. Far from it, really. But watching your body almost folded in half has him feeling absolutely wicked.
His voice is toothy sweet as he rubs firm circles against your poor, overstimulated clit. “I know, sweetheart. Gonna come again from being used?”
“Ah, ah—baby—p-please—”
“Gonna soak his cock for me? Show him how good my girl is?”
“Aaron—!”
“Mmm? What’s that?” He hums lazily. “You want me to stop?”
A desperate whine tears from your throat, and your shaking fingers clutch at the coarse hair on his forearm. His muscles flex beneath your grip, then loosen, then tighten. All it earns you is an amused laugh and an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek.
“Oh, my pretty girl. Greedy little thing can’t even decide, can you?”
“I— I can— I want—”
“Shh,” he soothes, though his touch only grows faster. Rubs your tight little bud as your hips buck shamelessly into the twofold stimulation. “No need to think, sweetheart, that’s my job. Yours is to take it, isn’t it?”
Your words slur into a quiet sob—
“You can take it, I know you can—yes—yes, that’s it, sweetie, give it to us. Come on, just like that—”
—before it blares into the stale air.
The back of your heels kick the mattress the moment you come around his word.
Spencer does too, lungs pummeled when your cunt squeeze around his length, gripping him like a steel vise.
He feels it all the way down to his bones, feels the ache radiating from his groin to his thighs and into the small of his back with every pulse of cum that hammers into you. His hips jerk in a frantic rhythm that no amount of bliss can slow, even when the swollen head of his cock nudges the soft resistance of your cervical lip, seeking a depth that simply doesn’t exist.
Still, he grinds deeper, crushing the distance until you’re stuffed full with an ironclad grip on your thighs.
“S-Spence…”
“A bit more,” he rasps. “Promise. Just a little more.”
That little fills you to the absolute brim.
It feels like his own pulse is tangled in the tight press of your walls.
And you’ve never known the smell of sex this strong. The air all but congeals when he finally pulls out, a slow, sticky slide that draws silken filaments of white from your used, swollen hole as three pairs of eyes lock onto the streak.
Yours is a little bleary. You can’t tell which milky ribbon belongs to whom, whose thick release is swirling with the gloss of your own slick, or which heartbeat drums the loudest in the tight space between your bodies. Breath, heat, and sweat fold together until the three of you feel like a single organism with too many limbs and just one shared lung.
Not that it matters. None of you seem particularly bothered by the lack of space. Aaron reclines against the creaky headboard, cradling most of your weight across his chest while Spencer draws lazy patterns over your sated thighs.
You don’t mind in the least. In fact, you bask in them both, drifting in the strange yet comforting irony that it took a misplaced contract for you to realize intimacy could be plural. You never expected it to multiply so neatly.
Some connections, it seems, don’t fit into singular terms at all.
Later that night, when the two men almost twice your size crowd you in the cramped bathroom, you realize your thoughts are already rewriting the contract. You wonder if Aaron would let you make a slight revision, scribble the third-participant clause into something more permanent.
Mal’s Notes: This… Is… Porn. That’s all… Nearly 60 pages of pure filth, and very little plot… In fact, what plot? I regret nothing.
Love,
Mal🩶
Acknowledgments: @cringeiknow and @theghostofcosmichorrorpast I could not have done this without either of you! I love you both to pieces! You're the best friends and Beta readers a girl could ask for!
Pairings: Hotch x reader, Emily x reader, Spencer x reader
Warnings and tags: DDDNE, 18+ MDNI, you’re responsible for your own media consumption but for the love of god MDNI, Buckle up Folks this list is a doozy, Explicit Sexual Content Past This Point, Discussions Pertaining to reader’s sexuality while reader is not present, reader is female, reader is bisexual, reader has sex with both men and a woman in this fic, if that’s not your thing you should probably move along, mentions of wet dreams, praise kink, implied female masturbation, massage that leads to sex, bisexual Emily Prentiss, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Canon Characters Do Not Engage In Sexual Activity With Each Other, They Do All Engage In Sexual Activities With Reader (at the same time (no d/p I wasn’t feeling that brave)), voyeurism, exhibitionism, Dom/sub and Switch Dynamics, dirty everything, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, EVERYBODY GETS SOME HEAD, Almost everybody gives some head, bodily fluids, ingesting bodily fluids (just cum, male and female, nobody panic), PinV sex, sex on a plane, rough sex, rough oral, biting, bite marks, bruises, post sex bruises, hair pulling, hickies, nipple play, pet names, finger sucking, very slight (microscopic) breath play, begging, reader begging, hand job, Hotch spanks reader twice but it’s minor, unprotected sex WRAP IT UP PEOPLE, deep throating, Aftercare, teasing, subspace, plot what plot, reader tells Hotch to Fuck her like he owns her.
Word Count: 17.8k
Back to Mal’s Masterlist
AO3
The case had been a rough one; with JJ stuck back at home having had her new baby, Rossi away on a book tour, and Derek out on an injured knee from a renovation incident. JJ’s liaison duties had fallen to you, to your silent horror.
It wasn’t that you were bad at public speaking or presenting. It’s just, your palms got all sticky with sweat, your legs shook, and there was a tightness in your chest that you knew was going to stick around for hours.
Which was not exactly ideal when trying to impress your hot boss.
So you stuffed your anxiety down and did what needed to be done. Because even false confidence had to become actual confidence at some point, right?
As of that moment though, you wouldn’t dare let Hotch know you felt out of your depth. Not while you had something to prove, and especially not when any amount of his attention gave you butterflies in your stomach.
With you on PR duty, the stress that Emily and Spencer were under had doubled.
And with Rossi gone, Hotch had no one to split the administrative duties with.
Which left you all so busy that you had barely seen much of Spencer and Emily. While you and Hotch had been alone together at the station the entire time, with little more than orders and questions conveyed back and forth between the two of you.
Until Hotch had gathered you all into a conference room together to go over the evidence and write up the profile—press releases and administrative bullshit be damned.
Which left you reeling, because the three of them were just as stressed as—if not more so than—you, and when they got stressed...
They tended to get undressed.
Not completely—obviously—just a suit jacket here, a few popped buttons there, maybe some rolled up sleeves and messy hair.
But a girl could dream.
And God, did you dream vividly.
Nothing about Hotch escaped your notice. The width of his shoulders and chest made you itch to splay your hands over them. His thick hair would look so tempting between your thighs. You wondered if he would like the way you’d tug on it as he devoured you. Even the way the man dressed drove you crazy. His suits must have been tailored, because they fit far too well for your sanity. His silk ties looked soft and pullable. Your fingers itched to give them a good tug, preferably while guiding him to your lips.
Your attraction to Spencer was different from how you lusted after Hotch.
Spencer had an innocence and pureness about him that was impossible not to adore… An innocence you fantasized about corrupting. You often watched Spencer read, a habit you couldn’t break. It was so hard to look away, however, when he drug his fingers down the page, gentle and reverent. You wondered how that would feel against your ribs. Or lower. His sweet smiles often tempted you to tease him mercilessly. The way his amber eyes lit up when he rambled on made your stomach fill with butterflies. His soft voice always left your heart pounding and your pussy throbbing. Not that he knew that—thank God—though even if he did, it would just embarrass him.
Emily was, well… Emily.
Confident, strong, sassy and could break you in half, something you definitely wished she would do. Her dark hair and porcelain skin were a thing of beauty. The way she held herself with such surety was enthralling. Her clever and bold personality was absolutely deadly, both to unsubs and your libido. You often wondered how it would feel to earn her attention. She had a ‘take charge’ attitude in the field that you were almost sure would extend to the bedroom as well. You found yourself daydreaming about her scarlet lips giving commands of the erotic variety, smiling, and calling you a good girl… Among other things you imagined they would be very good at.
In layman's terms you were metaphorically fucked.
If only you could get physically fucked… specifically, by one of them.
Alas, it’s against regulations to fuck your co-workers. So your imagination, that new vibrator, and—if you were lucky—a wet dream or two would just have to do.
Being alone with one of them was truly a battle between your common sense and your carnal imagination.
However, being in a room with all of them… that was enough to put you in a mental crisis of truly epic proportions.
Just to make everything astronomically worse, you were pretty sure they had started to notice.
They had all started to notice.
You had been so relieved to wrap up the case and finally head home. Until you realized that heading home meant being on that cramped jet for several hours with just the three of them.
Hotch, who was sitting across from you, had immediately noticed that something was off with your demeanor. You were usually so exuberant, talkative and flirtatious in a way that rivaled even Penelope.
Now your eyes darted around the cabin, never lingering longer than a second on anything—especially a person. Your cheeks were flushed, like you were a little overheated or had spent just a little too long in the sun.
His biggest clue, however, was the way your chest expanded in small rapid breaths. He was growing concerned and was about to ask if you were alright.
Before he could, you offered a quick excuse to Emily—who had been chatting animatedly to you—and headed toward the restroom.
“Okay, has anyone else noticed that she’s been acting strangely all day?” Spencer asked the other two, once the bathroom door latched behind you.
Hotch nodded his head, agreeing with Spencer’s assessment of your odd behavior.
“I agree, she’s not been quite herself this week.” Hotch murmured, raising his brows and shaking his head. “She definitely hasn’t been nearly as flirtatious as she normally is.” The usual crease in his brow returned to its proper place. “She didn’t say anything remotely off-color in front of me at all this week, now that I think about it.”
Your quiet, nervous state was so unlike you—not that he had watched you enough to know.
Usually, you would crack a poorly timed joke or two, earning a disciplinary glare, and he would have to bite back a grin all the way through it.
There were no jokes today, no flirting, just intense focus. Your eyes locked on the evidence board. Never straying for a second, not even when he made an attempt to draw your attention. You only responded when asked a direct question and only made eye contact when absolutely necessary.
He had easily noticed your skittish state. How you seemed to duck out of a room as soon as he entered, or disappear for a while and come back laser focused on anything that wasn’t him.
You were usually quite confident. Or at least did a very effective job at hiding it when you weren’t.
“No kidding.” Emily snorted in halfhearted amusement. “I’ve been trying to snap her out of it the entire flight, and apparently, my flirting only made it worse.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t like girls, Em.” Spencer joked with a smug grin.
“She definitely does…” Emily countered, giving Spencer a healthy dose of side-eye and a knowing smirk. “She flirts with me all the time, and Penelope told me that she has an ex-girlfriend. If anything she doesn’t swing your way.”
In Emily’s humble—expert—opinion, you practically had a flashing neon sign above your head that said: GAY!
Hotch chuckled and shook his head, smiling faintly, “I think you’re both wrong.” He refereed. “She’s bisexual, at the least.”
He glanced up from his case file, his brows raised and a smug smirk on his face.
“She very well could be.” Spencer admitted, his face stuck in that expression that said he was overanalyzing every detail about you that could ever apply to this situation. “We could test that hypothesis…”
His eyes were sparkling with a curiosity that was definitely scientific.
“It’s not a bad idea…” Emily mused. “It could be fun… and we do have five uninterrupted hours of airtime left…”
“Ground rules would be necessary,” Hotch added, murmuring almost as if to himself. Pretending to be lost in the case file again. His eyes traced boredly over the lines of text on the page, “and clear consent, from everyone.”
“Now we’re talking.” Emily smirked, sitting up a little straighter. She had been waiting for a chance to take her harmless flirting into a more serious pursuit. “I'm surprised though, you’re seriously gonna let us do this Hotch?”
“I can’t say I’m not curious to see where it goes…” He admitted, smirking a bit. However, his eyes barely lifted from the page, seemingly disinterested.
He was, in fact, very interested.
He saw the way you looked at him—and the other two—on a regular basis. He knew you were attracted to them.
What he didn’t know—with certainty anyway—was how you would react to an advance by all three of them at once. He was certain, however, that you were in for the surprise of your life—and a very good time—if you let it get that far.
“It’s settled then.” Reid smiled in self satisfaction. “When she comes back out we’ll conduct a little… experiment.”
Then the three of them produced a hurried plan.
When you exited the restroom a few minutes later you were no better—if not worse—off than you had been before. Trying to get yourself off had not only failed, it had also made the problem almost painful. However, staying in the restroom any longer would not only be embarrassing, but suspicious as well.
You tried not to look at Emily when you sat back down, looking anywhere else would be safer. So you shifted, only to catch Spencer’s eye, who was studying you with a strange expression.
The last time you felt so scrutinized, you had been defending your thesis to earn your Master’s.
You decided it was probably safest to stare at your lap instead, fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. Anxiously rubbing circles in the cotton fabric between your fingers in an effort to soothe… something. Hoping, praying, that none of them knew it had been hiked around your waist only moments before… with your hand tucked between your thighs.
“Hey, are you alright?” Emily asked softly.
You could feel all three sets of eyes burning into you, you didn’t dare look up. The racing of your pulse was only getting faster.
“Mm hmm.” You nodded, continuing to play with the seam of your skirt and then trying to smooth a run in the delicate black nylon of your stocking. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Your voice was a little higher than normal, and you knew they hadn’t missed it.
“Hmm, I don’t know…” Emily responded, you could hear slight teasing in her voice. “You haven’t been acting fine. In fact, you seem a little stressed,” You could practically feel the grin on her face as she turned, “Hotch, doesn’t she seem stressed?”
“Incredibly stressed.” He agreed, and if you’re not mistaken, that was amusement in his tone.
You flush even brighter.
“You should relax a little.” He suggested in that stupidly hot low timbre of his. He didn’t even have the decency to toss you a glance. You often wondered if anything could tear the man away from his file. God, maybe one of these days you’d strip down and stand in front of him butt-ass naked, just to see if that would do it.
You couldn’t help the little snort of indignant laughter that escaped you, because Hotch’s tone was practically sinful—proving that, yeah, you could get wetter than you already were—and the fact that Hotch, of all people, told you to relax.
“You’re one to talk.” You retorted before you could think better of it. A slight feeling of panic washed over you at your brashness and you risked a glance up at him, his expression was frustratingly neutral.
His eyes, however, held a peculiar spark. A spark that still somehow gave you nothing.
Emily scooted a tad closer to you, turning her body to face yours and pulling her knees up under her on the bench seat.
“Turn around.” She commanded, twirling her finger around in a circle. You raised a brow at her questioningly, unsure of what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes. “Just trust me.”
You sighed—long sufferingly—and did as she asked, turning to face the other end of the jet. Your back now facing the others. You had little indication of what Emily intended to do with your back facing her, but you didn’t have the energy, or the nerve, to argue with her. The only hope in your mind was that she didn’t touch you and send you spiraling down another unfortunate slip-n-slide of arousal.
Then you felt the french pin slide out of your hair, which promptly unfurled and cascaded down your back. The pressure lifted off your scalp, leaving behind a dull ache.
Why had you twisted it so tight that morning?
Oh, that's right.
So you could at least appear put together when you’d realized that it would only be the four of you on the jet home, with no case briefings to distract you.
You could only dream of where you wanted this to go.
Hot mouths, desperate grabs, pleasured moans… snap out of it before you let one slip, holy shit.
You stiffened, very aware that this was a bad idea and tried to pull away.
“Relax…” She cooed, alarmingly close to your ear. You bristled a little further. “I only want to help…”
Her hands slid into your hair then, nails raking over your scalp gently before her fingertips began firmly massaging your temples. Your eyes closed involuntarily and most of the tension fled your body without warning. A little sigh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn as you sunk into her hands.
“There, isn’t that better?” She murmured softly, a lilt to her voice you couldn’t quite place yet.
“It does feel nice…” You admitted nervously.
Her fingers trailed down from your temples to the back of your neck. Working into the muscles, tight with the start of a tension headache.
“I bet it does, your knots have knots.” She hummed sympathetically, if not a little disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad. It’s not healthy and it feels painful.”
“It’s been a long week…” You responded a little defensively. “I don’t think I can handle many more cases without JJ and Rossi around.”
The words are almost strangled, her hands on your neck both a blessing and a curse. Then they slide down to your shoulders. Kneading and digging into your traps in an earnest attempt to banish the tension there.
“Why is that?” She asked curiously, but there was something more… sensuous, about the way she said it. It sent a small shiver down your spine that, luckily, was easy enough to conceal. But you still wondered if she felt it.
You tensed up slightly again.
“Because, I am not a trained press liaison. JJ does a much better job, and we’re all better off with more of us in the field. You guys almost ran yourselves ragged trying to get everything done, and Hotch didn’t have Rossi to delegate administrative tasks to. Not to mention the locals were being a pain in the ass the whole time. It honestly felt like a bit of a clusterfuck.” You confessed, though that was only half the truth.
“You did a wonderful job with the press, JJ even texted me to tell me she was proud of you.” Hotch murmured from across the aisle, giving you a rare compliment. You glanced over at him in surprise, you hadn’t known JJ had sung your praises to Hotch as well. “But she told you that herself earlier. So why are you really so anxious?”
“It was just a lot for the four of us to take on, that’s all.” You insisted, but Emily’s hands started to work their way down your spine. She found a particularly sore spot and dug her thumb into it mercilessly, forcing a moan to escape your lips without permission.
“Sorry.” You murmured in absolute mortification.
“Don’t apologize.” Emily hushes you, a sly knowing smile on her face. “I like it when you're vocal.”
That startled you so thoroughly that you actually jumped a little. Any other day and it wouldn’t have phased you at all. That type of flirting was normal from Emily, she liked to make you blush. Tonight, however, you were woefully underprepared for her raunchiness. You laughed nervously, knowing that she would expect you to laugh on a normal day.
“Mmmm, I’m with Hotch.” Spencer hummed, finally entering the conversation. “I think something else has you all worked up. You’re missing Morgan, JJ, and Rossi because they’re a good buffer.”
You almost choked on air, he couldn’t possibly have worked that out so easily.
“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.
He didn’t respond, and instead shared a glance with the others behind your back. Hotch gave a subtle nod to Emily, and she smiled in pure glee, before pulling your hair to one side and tracing her nose down the side of your neck. Her breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.
“You don’t? Are you sure?” She murmured, voice taking on a blatantly seductive tone.
You shot a worried glance in Hotch’s direction, only to find his eyes glazed over. Something heated hiding just beneath the surface.
“I- I’m sure.” You stuttered, every bit of that false confidence you’d been building ripped away in an instant. Leaving you a mess, you squeezed your thighs together once more trying to silence the throbbing ache between them, and his eyes flicked down to track the movement.
“You can’t lie to us. We’ve all been paying attention, sweetheart, and we see everything.” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and husky. “You know better.”
Sweetheart? Oh god. What on earth was happening?
You looked away from him quickly, hoping the truth wasn’t on blatant display in your eyes.
He chuckled softly.
Emily’s hand cupped your chin gently as she turned your head to face her, to face all of them.
“Emily?” You murmured in apprehension. She started to lean in closer to you, much closer. Too close for you to keep your wits about you. “What are you doing?”
She was searching your eyes intently for any hint of discomfort or fear.
She found none.
“This.” She whispered and then her lips met yours.
It was a gentle, seeking kiss. Her lips sure and firm against your own. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in it for a moment. The world narrowed down to her.
Her soft lips against yours. The way her mouth moved, seeking more from you. Her hand skimmed up your jaw from your chin and tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling a soft whimper from your throat.
A whimper that was echoed by Spencer, just a few feet away.
His soft needy whine pulled you back down to earth, or rather, inside the jet. Where it suddenly dawned on you that Emily was shoving her tongue down your throat, in front of the team. In front of the team and your boss, who was-unfortunately–a stickler for rules.
Jerking away from Emily, you looked over at Hotch.
“Emily!” You gasped quietly, scrambling backward away from her on the seat. Despite your very, very willing participation. She followed you slowly. “What has gotten into you!?”
You were panting, your breaths shaky, your hands even shakier.
She smiled at you softly and threw a glance back over her shoulder at the others. Her gaze seemed to project, I told you so, as she crawled a little closer to you. You looked around at them then—panicked and breathless—the throbbing between your legs not at all helping you to make sense of the situation.
You focused on Hotch. Your eyes searched his frantically, knowing a reprimand would be swiftly coming your way. Or the inevitable glare of disappointment. Or worse, suspension.
Your jaw nearly hit the floor when he smirked at you instead.
“Don’t stop on my account.” He murmured, his voice thick and low, a slight rasp starting to come through. “It was just starting to get interesting.”
What. The. Fuck.
“W-w-what?” You stuttered, unsure if you had maybe misheard him, or imagined the whole fucking thing.
“You heard what I said.” He shrugged at you. “Don’t stop.”
Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words when you were pretty sure your brain was on a hiatus.
“But-” You started to argue and he furrowed his brows at you.
This absolutely could not be happening. It was impossible. Any second now you were going to wake up and employ that new toy you had ordered specifically to deal with this issue.
“Are you saying you don’t like it when Prentiss kisses you?” He asked, his expression making it clear that he already knew the answer was no. You searched his eyes intently, looking for any sign that this would end poorly for you. What you saw instead was pure, unadulterated lust. The deep hazel of his eyes was almost consumed by his pupils and dark with hunger. He wanted you, he wanted to watch you make out with Emily, wanted to hear your moans and it was driving him crazy. So you shook your head no. Because you definitely did like the way Emily had kissed you and you wanted more. “Then close your mouth before I use it, and let Emily make you feel better.”
“Okay.” You murmured, barely louder than a whisper.
That was all Emily needed to hear.
Her mouth crashed into yours again and she pressed you back against the seat, slowly laying you down. Her body hovered over yours, the sweet scent of her perfume curling around you and numbing your senses. A moan ripped its way out of your mouth and she devoured it whole as her hand rested softly on your leg, just below the knee length hem of your skirt, and began to push it slowly up your thigh. The coolness of the air on your newly exposed skin made you shiver, a small shuddery breath accompanying it.
Emily grinned against your lips.
“Garters, huh? Can’t wait to see if they match your panties.” She murmured, Hotch and Spencer both groaned.
The idea of the two of them watching the two of you and enjoying it… was enough to make you squirm, the throbbing between your legs became agonizing again. Your thighs were rubbing together seeking any amount of friction…
Until Emily forced her knee between your legs, forcing them apart and not allowing the friction you so desperately needed. Her fingers still slowly dragged your skirt up the expanse of your thigh until she had it hiked up around your waist again.
“So pretty…” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and rough.
You turned your head to look at him, not at all phasing Emily who began kissing your neck instead, and found him sitting with his legs spread. His pants were undone and his long thick member was firmly gripped in his palm. If you weren’t so occupied with the fact Emily had found a spot on your neck that made your entire body tingle, your eyes might’ve bugged out of your head.
Emily’s lips managed to coax another soft moan from you and your attention was temporarily diverted. Your head rolled back a little to give her space to work, which made her chuckle. A sound that you were sure was pure sin.
You heard another sound, a soft moan from across the aisle, and you realized that Hotch…
Wasn’t the only one.
Spencer had taken his out as well, watching you intently while stroking himself slowly. A loud and surprising moan erupted from your lips, pulling soft groans from the three of them in response.
You didn’t know what you wanted more.
Emily’s mouth… or either of the cocks now standing at attention in front of you.
However, the decision would not be left up to you.
Emily’s hand was now popping open the buttons of your blouse one by one. Working her way down your stomach, her mouth following her hands slowly. She was taking her sweet time, kissing, sucking and biting gently. Sucking your skin into her mouth and rolling it softly between her teeth, probably leaving some little red marks. Her head dipping lower and lower toward the apex of your thighs.
More little moans escaped through your heavy, panting breaths.
Her mouth finally hovered over the place you wanted it most. Emily’s breath was hot as she slowly closed her lips around your clit over your black lacy panties. A strangled cry breaking free as you threw your head back, your mouth wide and your eyes closing tightly.
Hotch knelt down behind you, pushing his shoulder under your head, forcing you to look down at Emily between your legs. His hand brushed your hair out of your face gently.
“Do you like having Emily’s mouth between your legs, sweetheart?” He hummed against your temple, placing a tender kiss there.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Emily had other plans, sucking harder on your clit that she had been previously, while flicking at it with her tongue. Your panties weren’t even off yet and she had you nearly in tears from the pleasure.
A strangled, half moan, half gasp left your mouth in the place of words.
Hotch chuckled softly and his breath moved your hair, tickling your forehead.
“Where did that clever mouth go? It was working so well earlier.” His fingers curled around your open blouse, and he gently pulled it off your shoulders. He guided you back onto his shoulder again as he placed kisses to the side of your neck, and then tossed the shirt to Spencer, who brought it to his nose and took a deep breath of your perfume.
“She smells so good…” Spencer mumbled softly, still palming his own erection and watching Emily's head move between your legs.
“You have no idea how good she smells.” Emily groaned, biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting and then started to suck a hickey over the indentations her teeth had made.
“Why don’t you take her panties off and tell us how she tastes.” Hotch suggested with a smirk, you groaned softly in agreement. Your hips bucked slightly and that knot in your core squeezed tight.
“You like that idea, huh?” He teased gently, you could feel his grin against your temple. Then he threaded his hand through your hair and pulled your head back to mouth hot kisses down the line of your throat.
“I definitely do.” Emily smirked, then hooked her thumbs into the waist of your panties and slowly began to drag them down your hips. Her fingers deftly unclipping your garters from your stockings, then continuing to drag your panties down your legs until she had freed them completely and tossed them to the floor. Her warm breath fanned out across your skin and yours hitched at the sensation. Much to Emily’s delight, goosebumps pebbled your thighs and she ran her fingertips over them slowly. Which only made them worse.
“It’s not braille.” You hissed at her impatiently. “It’s not going to magically spell anything out.”
“That fucking mouth…” She mumbled as she finally closed the distance between her mouth and your pussy. Your hips bucked at the heat of her tongue as she licked a path from your entrance to your clit.
A strangled cry flew from your lips. Emily’s laugh puffed against you, and the only thing keeping you aware of anything at all was the combination of Spencer and Hotch’s laughs filling the space as well.
“Not such a smartass with a tongue on your pussy are you?” Hotch’s gravelly voice reverberated in your ear before he took your ear lobe in his mouth and bit it gently. “Be good for us and we’ll see just how many times we can make you come.”
You only had the mental capacity to nod… because Emily had just sucked your clit into her mouth and was rolling her tongue over it. That—combined with the gentle suction she so mindfully applied—meant whimpering, nodding, and squirming was all you could manage to do.
The warmth of her mouth was obscene, the slick firmness of her tongue enough to make you see stars. She gave a particularly rough pull of suction against your clit and you couldn’t contain yourself.
“Fuck!” You gasped, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.
Hotch wasn’t having that though.
Especially since Spencer was barely containing his own whimpers and moans from the chair across the aisle, where he was watching the entire scene with rapt attention, soaking in every detail. Hotch took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at Spencer.
“Look at him.” He commanded, growling in your ear. “Look at what you’re doing to him, Sweetheart, and you haven’t even touched him.”
You made eye contact with Spencer then, his eyes full of longing, sweat glistening on his brow and his hand struggling to maintain a steady rhythm on his cock. His chest was heaving from the effort it was taking him to remain in control, you could clearly hear his ragged breaths from your place across the cabin. His cheeks were flushed–a ruddy pink–and his hair was disheveled from his fingers, which he kept dragging through it.
“Spence…” You murmured softly, for no other reason than you felt the need to say his name. To acknowledge him and make sure he knew you saw him. To be certain he knew that you appreciated what you saw.
His cock was so hard it was closer to pink than his natural skin tone and you were anxious to do something about it. It looked almost painful.
You felt like you could hear everything he was thinking as he broke eye contact to study the length of your body, then brought his gorgeous amber doe eyes back yours.
“Tell her how beautiful she looks Reid, talk to her, she loves it when you ramble.” Hotch urged him gently. “Don’t you, pretty girl?”
You really did and the pleading look in your eyes was all he needed to see to know that was true.
“You should see yourself right now, Angel…” Spencer murmured softly, hesitantly at first but the heat in your eyes as you gazed back at him was undeniable, and the boost in confidence he needed. “You’re stunning, absolutely ethereal, bewitching even. From the luster of your hair to the delicate curves of your legs, you look like a dream. Your perfect breasts look so firm and smooth, I want to cup my hands around them just to see how it would feel.”
You moaned softly at that and Hotch hummed his agreement and approval of Spencer’s pretty words. He had to admit he was impressed, Reid seemed to have a way of waxing poetic. He watched with glee as your body reacted, both to Emily’s ministrations and Spencer’s words as he continued to speak. “Darling you are divine, the very smell of your perfume is intoxicating. Your lips are tantalizing and I can only imagine the feel of them on mine would be soft as silk.”
You hung on every word, his voice mesmerizing you as he spoke. You had no idea that Spencer had such a way with words. His poetic phrasing had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering.
Emily’s warm tongue slowly drifted away from your clit, trailing down your pussy to the wetness of your entrance… and she began to leisurely fuck you with it. You moaned so loudly it startled you and bit your bottom lip to stifle the noise.
“They can’t hear you in the cockpit, Angel. The door is too thick and the engines are too loud. Not to mention, they’re wearing headsets to communicate with air traffic control.” Spencer explained quietly.
Hotch’s hands started to travel down your body. One slipping into the black see-through mesh and lace of your bra, the other sliding slowly down your stomach and finding your—recently abandoned—clit. He circled it with his fingertips gently. His other hand firmly massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard him, Sweetheart. No one can hear you but the three of us, and like Emily said: we like it when you’re vocal.”
You let out a soft whimper and he hummed in approval.
Emily drew most of your attention back to herself as she replaced her tongue with two fingers, stretching you wider and filling you more satisfyingly than before. She stayed between your legs though, sucking and biting at your thighs as she made her fingers match the pace of Spencer’s hand.
You knew that’s what she was doing because you were still watching him from the corner of your eye, and for every downward stroke of his hand, she thrust her fingers inside you at the same moment. Hotch caught on to what she was doing, and he also began to match that rhythm and pace, kissing and nipping at the column of your throat as he played with your clit and nipples.
“Let go babe, we’ve got you. I can feel how close you are, you’ve got my fingers in a vise.” Emily murmured against the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the place she had just bitten. Hotch hummed against your neck.
“Are you gonna come on Emily’s fingers, Sweetheart?” He murmured, before biting your exposed throat gently and laving at it with his tongue.
All you could do was moan in response.
Emily’s mouth found its way back to your clit, nipping Hotch’s finger playfully to make him move it. He looked down at her with a smirk and flicked her forehead teasingly before bringing his hand up to your other breast.
She rolled her eyes at him and flattened her tongue against your clit, then circled it and finally began sucking on it again as she continued to fuck you with her fingers. Hotch was rolling both your nipples between his fingers and returned his mouth to your throat, you were almost certain he was leaving marks there.
He was and it was completely intentional, it was the weekend, and he intended to give you all two extra days off at the start of next week. They would fade.
Emily was getting worked up herself and the sound of your little pants and moans were driving her to distraction. When you let out a particularly loud whimper, she hummed in satisfaction and the vibration made you throw your head back farther and moan so lewdly that Hotch picked his head up to look at your face.
Your eyes were squeezed shut, your supple lips were shaped in a wide ‘O’ and he couldn’t help himself anymore, your mouth was just begging to be filled.
You were vaguely aware that he had lifted your head off his shoulder and moved to stand, but you were too focused on Emily—and her mouth— to wonder why.
Then something warm bumped your chin.
You opened your eyes and found Hotch standing in front of you, his cock bouncing just out of reach of your mouth. You looked up and met his eyes, questioningly.
He smirked down at you, reaching out and cupping your jaw in his hand. His calloused thumb rubbed a small circle on the smooth skin of your cheek.
“I told you to close your mouth or I’d use it.” He murmured, voice low and rough. His thumb stretched to pull your lip down just a little and let it snap back into place, then brushed the corner of your mouth softly.
You didn’t respond, you just opened your mouth a little wider and offered it to him.
“Fuck.” He murmured, barely louder than a whisper.
Em chuckled quietly and the vibrations ran straight up your spine then down your legs, making your toes curl. You threaded your hands through Emily’s hair, needing something, anything, to hold on to.
“A little wider sweetheart.” Hotch prompted you.
You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as wide as you could and maintaining eye contact with him. You knew he would like the attention and he did, rewarding you with his thick cock as he slid it slowly into the warmth of your mouth.
He tasted clean, but salty, and the precum that was already leaking from him was sweet as well with a slightly bitter—but delicious—aftertaste. You groaned as you closed your lips around him.
“How does her mouth feel?” Spencer’s voice was strained, he still hadn’t moved to touch you, content to observe.
To learn.
“She’s perfect.” Hotch groaned, his hand buried in your hair fisting it firmly but not roughly. He began to use it to pull you slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Fuck sweetheart, you feel amazing.” He murmured looking down at you affectionately, “You’re so warm, and you’re being so pliant for me.”
You kept eye contact with him, trying to focus on him… While also being on the verge of coming from Emily’s tongue on your clit, her finger pumping in and out of your pussy. All three of them were still matching pace with each other, and it was intoxicating. In and out and in and out, all at the same time.
Realizing how close you were, just needing a little push to fall over the edge, Emily reached up and started rolling your nipple beneath the lace of your bra. Then she slightly changed the angle of her fingers, curling them slightly to brush against your g-spot with every thrust.
You uttered a very strangled cry, the sound muffled around Hotch’s thickness. “Whatever you just did, she liked it. Didn’t you, pretty girl?”
You moaned in response and his hand tightened in your hair, a low hiss sliding through his clenched teeth.
Emily chuckled and kept her pace steady, but the vibration of her laughter around your clit as she sucked on it was all it took to send you spiraling into blissful oblivion.
Your body felt fuzzy and warm and your pussy was pulsing uncontrollably around Emily’s fingers. Your legs were shaking and you finally broke eye contact with Hotch as you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Eyes closed tightly as she fucked you through it, then licked your pussy from bottom to top as though savoring the taste of your orgasm.
Your body slowly relaxed again and when Emily pressed one more kiss to your clit then stood from the couch, you opened your eyes again to look up at her. Panting heavily as you realized now, that Hotch had pulled out of your mouth so that you could breathe through your orgasm.
Emily smirked down at you and then held her two glistening fingers up to the light for Hotch to inspect. He looked at them with a feral sort of hunger in his eyes.
“Do you want to taste her?” Emily asked him, a sly grin on her face as she offered her middle finger up to him. “She’s delicious…” She purred, and Hotch glanced down at you, recovering from your orgasm with a look of pure adoration for Emily in your eyes.
Then he turned his head toward her and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, before drawing her finger into his mouth… and sucking it clean.
You groaned and let your head rest against his hand that was still tangled in your hair.
“Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Reid, you wanna taste?” Hotch asked the younger man, then turned his attention back to you, tugging lightly on your hair. “Get down on your knees for me, Sweetheart.” He coaxed gently.
You obeyed him, getting down on your knees in front of him, but watched Reid and Prentiss as you did it. She was offering her ring finger to him and he was licking it clean and groaning, as he stroked himself a little harder.
Spencer… Spencer who didn’t shake hands because of germs… was licking Emily’s finger, just so he could taste you.
Fuck…
You whimpered softly and Hotch chuckled quietly, using your hair to tilt your face up to look at him .
“You can have him as soon as I’m done with your pretty little mouth.” He murmured teasingly. “Open up sweetheart.” You let your mouth fall open in what you hoped was a sexy expression. “So pretty…” He whispered for the second time that night as he slid his cock back into your mouth.
He used your hair—again, to your delight—to guide your mouth up and down his considerable length. He was taking it slow, going easy on you… you didn’t like that, not one bit. So you surged forward on his cock, taking as much of him as you could without gagging and he let out a sharp, gasping, string of barely intelligible obscenities.
You tried to pull back a bit to do it again… but he held you firmly in place.
“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl? Blink once for no, twice for yes.” You moaned, looking up at him from under your lashes and pleading with your eyes, you blinked twice.
That is exactly what you wanted.
He chuckled quietly and then gave you a soft look.
“Have you ever had your mouth fucked before? Once for no, twice for yes.” You blinked once—you hadn’t and you were nervous because with his cock so deep in your throat you couldn’t breathe, you were also struggling not to gag—but you wanted him to do it so badly in that moment.
“Then listen closely, so I don’t hurt you.” He warned you, then caressed your neck tenderly. “Relax your throat, soften the back of your mouth.” He instructed gently. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when you’ve done it right.” You tried to do as he asked, relaxing all the muscles in your throat and opening the back of your mouth. “Good girl, that’s perfect.”
Your head was starting to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t panic.
“Keep your jaw loose and let me move you, don’t fight against me or try to help. It’ll make you sore if you do. You can’t breathe right now can you?” He asked, seemingly knowing the answer was no, but you blinked once anyway. “You are going to have to focus on your breathing. Time it so that you take a full inhale through your nose as I’m pulling out.”
He pulled you back off his cock just enough so that your airway was clear, you immediately sucked in a full breath and your head cleared.
“Good girl…” He soothed, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “When you take a breath, hold it. Then release it when I pull out the next time. Do you understand?”
You blinked twice.
“Perfect.”
He started so slowly—barely moving at all—letting you get the hang of how to breathe and how to keep everything loose and relaxed.
“That’s perfect, sweetheart, just like that.” He praised you after a minute, and then he slowly increased his pace, going a little deeper as well.
“Look how well she takes it…” Emily purred, kneeling down next to you and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Such a good girl…” She cooed, running her hand down your bare back.
Her words only served to fuel your ego and you preened under her praise.
“She’s a natural…” Hotch agreed and brought his free hand up to your cheek. “Think you can take it a little faster, pretty girl?” He asked, stroking your skin with his thumb.
You blinked twice.
“Good girl, remember to breathe in on every other one.” He both praised and reminded you softly as he picked up the pace. His cock was touching the back of your throat now with every inward thrust. His hand in your hair supported your head and held you completely still. You were like putty in his hands, and Hotch was reveling in it. He loved the way you completely surrendered and trusted him with something you’d never experienced before. “Fuck, Sweetheart… you’re taking me so well. I’m so proud of you.”
The tone of voice he was using—low and rough—was making your pussy throb all over again.
You moaned and he lost a little bit of his restraint, fucking into your mouth a little harder than he had been before, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was making your eyes water, however, and you had tears running down your cheeks. Hotch was enthralled by them, by the mascara tracks they were leaving and the way they changed the shade of your eyes slightly. “Such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… you’re perfection, sweetheart.”
“Look at what you’re doing to him…” Emily whispered softly in your ear. “He’s barely holding on, you’re driving him crazy with those pouty, fuckable lips and pleading puppy dog eyes… you should see yourself the way he’s seeing you right now… you’re fucking beautiful baby.”
You moaned and it would’ve been loud and obscene if not for the cock in your mouth.
Hotch’s hips stuttered and he cursed, you knew that meant he was close.
“I’m about to come, pretty girl…” He gritted out, his hand in your hair tightening. “Can you take it?”
You moaned and blinked twice at him, then held eye contact. You didn’t know how you knew that would send him over the edge, you just did.
Then he was spilling himself down your throat, and you swallowed every fucking drop, then sucked him clean. He pulled his cock from your mouth and tucked it back into his briefs, then squatted down in front of you. The thumb of his free hand wiped a drop of liquid off your chin and he brought it to your lips, the look in his eyes almost challenging.
You licked his thumb from base to tip, then closed your lips around it and lightly sucked on it. He smiled at you then, pulling his thumb from your mouth and sliding that hand back to join his other in your hair. Hotch pulled you toward him gently as he started to lean in and murmured, “Such a good girl…”
The kiss he gave you was hot, sloppy and branding. He could taste himself in your mouth as his tongue invaded it and he was obsessed with the mingling of his flavor and yours. You moaned into his mouth and tried to deepen the kiss again, but he heard Spencer’s ragged breathing behind him and pulled back.
“You wanna ride Reid’s cock, Sweetheart?” He murmured loudly enough that Spencer also heard him and you both whimpered pathetically at the suggestion.
Hotch and Emily both chuckled, and then Hotch put his hands on your waist to help you stand and guided you over to the chair Spencer was in. Your legs were shaking and you were as clumsy as a baby giraffe stumbling over to him.
Spencer was looking up at you with those big amber puppy dog eyes and you felt even weaker in the knees, luckily you didn’t have to stand for much longer. Hotch steadied you on your wobbly legs until you climbed up onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.
He was hesitant to touch you, his observation had started this whole thing and when he had suggested an experiment… he hadn’t expected it to end in sex…especially not group sex. When Hotch and Emily had started talking about consent and ground rules—lines that couldn’t be crossed— he had been sent reeling.
When he had asked if they’d noticed you acting strangely it had been out of concern for your wellbeing. When he had suggested they test the hypothesis he had merely meant to prove whether you were into men, women, or both.
He had wanted a scientific experiment, not sexual experimentation.
Not that he was complaining…
He, Emily, and Hotch were all three bisexual. Hotch didn’t really broadcast that fact, especially not in front of the others. Even though Spencer was pretty sure the only two on the team who weren’t queer were Rossi and Derek, and he wasn’t even sure about Rossi sometimes. So it wasn’t a big deal if you were or were not bisexual. He had only been curious.
Curiosity killed the cat or something like that… yet this time he had ended up with your bare pussy hovering over his cock, and he was not at all upset with this outcome. Just incredibly shocked. You were so beautiful, looking down at him with your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. He still hesitated, however, because he wasn’t sure whether or not you really wanted him, or if he was being included simply because he was here.
You could see that hesitation, that self doubt in his eyes… you hated it.
So you leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first… reassuring and gentle. You were giving him plenty of time to work his nerve up. When he didn’t pull away—and even started to reciprocate—you deepened the kiss and teased at his lips with your tongue.
Requesting entry.
He parted his lips for you immediately, you smiled against him before you let your tongue caress his sinfully. His body was no longer rigid, but he was still tense. You moved to kissing his neck and nipping at his skin.
“Relax Spence…” You murmured sensually, running your hands through his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Let me lead, I’ll take care of you.” Pulling back and checking in to make sure, before you went too far, you looked him in the eyes, searching them intently. “Is this okay with you, Handsome?”
He nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that made you want to bite it too.
“Yes.” He murmured, still hesitating… then whispered, “I just– I’ve only done this twice… I don’t know what to do in this position…”
Oh…
“That’s okay, I didn’t know what to do a minute ago and Hotch talked me right through it… We can do that for you, if you want?” You offered him gently. Your eyes were soft and kind, but let him see just how badly you wanted him. “Besides… I’ll enjoy being able to teach you something for once.”
He laughed softly, and some of the tension melted away from him.
“Okay.” He agreed. “Tell me what to do.”
Then in a burst of confidence, he reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear.
You hummed in approval.
“Touching me would be a great start.” You teased gently, not at all trying to bruise his ego.
“That’s true…” He joked quietly and his hands settled on your waist, then started to slowly trail up your sides. Lightly dancing over your ribs. “What if… I did this as well?”
And then his hands were reaching around to the clasp of your bra and deftly unhooking it. Which shocked you given his inexperience… you’d bet anything that he’d practiced somehow so he wouldn’t fumble when it mattered.
You reached down between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him. He sucked in a sharp gasp, jumping at the contact and your soft chuckle was echoed by two more behind you.
“Then I would do this and tell you that you have great instincts if you’ll just listen to them.” You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his length and he groaned. It was an almost tortured sound, as though you were both killing him and pleasuring him at the same time.
He slid the straps of your bra down your arms and you briefly let go of him to toss it to the floor. You sat up a little straighter as he took in the sight of you, sitting astride him in nothing but a garter belt and thigh-high stockings.
“You’re so beautiful, Angel…” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to your breasts.
You lost patience then.
“Are you ready?” You asked him as you lined him up with your entrance, barely putting the tip in.
Your hands were trembling and your breathing was rapid and shaky.
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who asks you that?” He responded, but his voice cracked and you knew he was putting on bravado. He was every bit as desperate as you, his breaths ragged and harsh.
“Spence…” You whimpered, needing his permission to sink down on it. “Please.”
He didn’t respond, instead he gripped your hips firmly and tugged you down onto his cock until you were fully seated on it. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, and every little twitch it made.
“Fuck!” You moaned, loudly, earning snickers and snorts from the two voyeurs sitting on the couch behind you.
“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” He panicked.
“That was definitely not a sound of pain, Reid.” Hotch murmured.
Spencer looked at you closely anyway, unsure if you were alright.
“You told me to follow my instincts so I–”
You kissed him, to shut him up and stop his doubts from running away with his head. Then you started to ride him slowly. He groaned against your lips and you smiled. The feel of him—filling you up—was exquisite.
“Your instincts are perfect Spencer…” You praised him, letting your hands drift back into his hair. “That was hot.”
His beautiful eyes gazing up at you as you rode him made you feel a little dizzy, he was so fucking pretty. He was gripping your hips tightly and every time you brought them back down he whimpered. The sounds he was making were driving you insane.
“Tilt your hips forward a bit more, sweetheart.” Hotch instructed you, his voice low and raspy. “It’ll help you take him deeper, and feel twice as good for him.”
He was right, and you did know that already, but it was so fucking sexy when he started giving orders.
“And for her.” Prentiss added, you could hear the salacious smile in her tone.
“Like this?” You asked in a faux bashful tone, as if you didn’t know how to do it. Then you did it perfectly, so that you and Reid both groaned, and your ass popped back enticingly for Hotch and Emily.
They both groaned softly and you smiled, winking at Spencer. Letting him in on your antics. He smiled back at you, as amused as he could be—given the circumstances.
“What about this? Do you think this would make him feel good?” You asked, rolling and circling your hips seductively as you rode him.
Spencer hissed out a breath, his eyes rolling back briefly.
“I can confirm that it does in fact feel amazing.” He groaned, you giggled and threw a flirty glance back over your shoulder at the others. Then leaned forward and sucked Spencer’s bottom lip into your mouth, biting it. He slid his hands down to your thighs squeezing tightly, then over your thighs where he looped his fingers into your stockings and peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Then traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, back to your hips and you noticed he was avoiding your ass… So did Prentiss.
You felt the heat of her body behind you before you heard her voice, and pulled back to look up at her.
“Don’t be shy Reid…” She purred, her hands landing on his, dragging them back till they rested fully on your ass. “Get a good handful… or two.” She made him squeeze you firmly. You moaned and Emily chuckled. “See… She loves that, don’t you babe?”
“Yes!” You moaned wantonly, and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hotch had moved closer and was perched on the edge of the table next to the seat you and Spencer were in. He was watching with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.
“Put her nipple in your mouth, Reid.” He said after a moment. “Suck on it while circling your tongue around it.”
Emily hummed her approval, they were giving Spencer a veritable textbook for How To Make You Come 101. Spencer listened, of course. He’d just watched Hotch and Emily tag team you into an orgasm, their words were as good as gold.
When his lips closed around your nipple you hissed and whimpered a little, picking up your pace as you bounced up and down on his cock. Hotch chuckled in lust filled amusement, reaching over and stroking your ribs with the back of his hand.
“She makes such beautiful little sounds.” He mused to Emily, who nodded and then grabbed a handful of your hair.
She used it to tip your head back then kissed you thoroughly, her tongue caressing yours and you could still taste your pussy on her lips. You moaned and ground yourself down against Spencer, his cock reaching all the way to your cervix, you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach.
Hotch’s fingers were tracing your ribs, or maybe that was Spencer? No, his hands were still on your ass so it had to be Hotch or Emily. Someone was trailing a hand down your stomach to where your body joined with Spencer’s, this hand was larger and callused while the other was soft and smaller. So Emily was tracing your ribs, while Hotch…
Hotch was on a collision course with your clit. You knew when he made impact, you’d see stars.
Spencer switched nipples, still kneading your ass with firmness and your muscles were starting to ache from pulling yourself up and down his cock at this pace. Emily was still lighting you up with her kiss, her fingers traveling down the line of your rib to the breast that Reid had started with. Hotch’s fingers were getting closer and closer, but they were moving so slowly you knew he was trying to drive you wild with anticipation.
It was working.
Your chest was heaving, you were trembling and your legs were aching deliciously from exertion. Spencer’s cock was hitting you perfectly every time you sank down on it. All the sensations combined were almost too much for your sanity. You were so close, again.
“Look at you, falling apart at the seams… you’re so close aren’t you sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, his voice a lot closer than it had last been. What was he, a mind reader? His nose skimmed your neck up to your ear, which he then bit gently. You moaned into Emily’s mouth, a pitiful little whimper, and you felt her smile softly against your lips. “Does Reid’s cock feel so good? Filling you up like that. Stretching you out. I wonder, can you still taste yourself on Emily’s lips? Do you know how good you taste, pretty girl?”
Fuck, was he trying to kill you?
It was like his voice had gained a solid form and had wrapped itself around your throat, cutting off your oxygen and leaving you completely breathless. Your senses were overwhelmed, in a state of near euphoria, and you knew that once Hotch’s fingers reached their destination—and they would in the next three seconds—that the barest graze of them was going to make you explode.
He stopped just short of his target. You whined against Emily’s lips and he laughed at you softly.
“I think she ought to earn this one… What do you think, Prentiss? Should we make her beg?” Hotch asked the other woman, he didn’t ask Reid because the poor man was barely holding it together and all of his focus was split between the nipple he was currently stimulating and not coming inside you without consent.
Emily—reluctantly—pulled her tongue out of your mouth and smirked down at you.
“Hmm, she was being a little bit of a tease a minute ago wasn’t she?” She made a show of looking very contemplative, all the while she continued toying with your other nipple. “Reid?”
She brought Spencer into the conversation—or she tried to.
“Busy.” He murmured against the skin of your breast as he continued his work there, he would not be distracted. You glanced down and saw that he had started marking your skin with hickeys.
You moaned at the sight and let your head fall back.
“You want me to beg, and I’ll beg. Just please don’t make him stop.” Your voice was heavy, rough and breathless. You were so incredibly close, your body was starting to shake, and you knew you’d come, whether they kept touching you or not.
They knew it too, but they also knew they could make it so much stronger… if you were good for them.
“It feels so good, huh, sweetheart?” Hotch asked, his tone slightly condescending. “If you ask nicely, we’ll give you what you need…”
His hand was still stalled on your lower abdomen less than an inch away from your clit. Emily was just barely teasing your nipple and while it seemed like Spencer was ignoring them, you knew he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge. Sneaky.
However, you expected no less from him. He was a fast and visual learner, he had been watching closely when Hotch and Emily had been playing you like a fiddle. He could have had you screaming all on his own if he’d wanted to—you had no doubt about that— he’d just needed the confidence to get started.
Hotch and Emily had helped with that.
“I’ll be such a good girl if you let me come, Hotch, please…” You gave him the sexiest pout you could muster. His eyes seemed to darken—his hazel irises almost completely drowned out by his pupils—as they zoned in on your lips. “I’ll mind my manners and be so polite, I promise. Pretty please, make me come.”
Hotch was listening, and he had intended to make you beg more than this, but your lipstick smudged lips were just so alluring that he couldn’t focus on anything else at that moment. Remembering what they’d looked like wrapped around his cock several minutes earlier, he found his will rapidly dissolving, and all he really wanted was to watch the way those lips formed a perfect O when you came.
“I knew you’d sound so sweet begging…” He murmured, and his hand started to move again “Let us hear you, pretty girl. Loud and clear.”
“Yes sir.” You murmured confidently.
Emily chuckled and started sucking on your neck, you moaned… Then Hotch’s fingers—finally—found your clit.
You screamed.
Your vision went fuzzy and then white. Your head was buzzing and your body was nearly numb. You went limp and Spencer took over, fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it. Emily’s hand had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back.
“Good girl…” She cooed. “You look so pretty when you come.”
“Yes she does.” Hotch murmured, reaching over to where your head was resting on Spencer’s shoulder and brushing your hair away from your face. “So fucking pretty.”
You whimpered softly at the touch and he smiled tenderly at you. Your chest was heaving with hard-fought, ragged breaths. You were shaking, but your vision was slowly returning to normal.
“Are you alright?” Spencer whispered gently in your ear. His hands on your waist now, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fucking fantastic, Spence…” You murmured in return, shifting your weight slightly to sit up and kiss him. He squeezed your hips tightly.
“Please don’t move.” He hissed, pleadingly. “I can’t… I’m gonna… If you don’t get off it, I’m going to come inside you. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
You froze, your lips just a centimeter from his.
“It’s okay… Don’t panic… They make pills for that, and I intend to take one anyway… I’m a little stuck at the moment though, my knees are too weak to get up.” You met his eyes, the panic in them was astounding. “Hotch, could you–”
The man's arms were already coming around your waist and he lifted you off of Spencer effortlessly, as the younger man bit his lip and hissed as if pained. Setting you on your feet softly, Hotch held you to his chest to keep you from falling to the floor.
“Didn’t you say you’d mind your manners and be polite if we let you come?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.
You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a hint, a clue, anything to tell you what he was up to.
“Mm hmm…” You hummed in response, nodding at him.
“You made a mess Sweetheart…” He told you quietly, then took your chin in his hand and turned your face down to look at Spencer… Who was, in fact, a whimpering mess. “Clean it up.”
You licked your lips and smiled salaciously.
“Yes sir.” You murmured softly and got down on your knees at Spencer’s feet.
Reaching out and taking Spencer’s cock in your hand, you gave him a firm stroke. He moaned and his head fell back against the seat. So he didn’t see you coming when you lowered your head and took him in your mouth, all the way to the base.
“Oh fuck!” He yelped, you hummed in approval at his reaction, then you pulled back so that a manageable length was in your mouth. You put one hand on his thigh to brace yourself and create a little leverage, the other you wrapped around the rest of him. Slowly, you started to bob up and down, moving your hand in time with your head. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Spencer’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white. That only spurred you on.
The taste of yourself on his cock was tantalizing, the tang of you mingling with the musk of him was something you never thought you would experience. This whole situation was something you never thought you’d experience. You’d considered it of course—more times than you could count— but it was only a fantasy, a daydream. Never had you once thought it might actually happen.
“She’s doing so well… don’t you think Hotch?” Emily’s voice purred on your right.
“Hmmm, I don’t know… she’s capable of more…” He hummed in response from the left, and a hand—that based on the size could only be his—palmed the curve of your ass. He gave it a squeeze and a playful smack and you moaned around Spence's cock. Spencer twitched in response.
“You think she can take more?” Emily asked him, her tone was nothing short of sinful and it made you shiver. Hotch’s following chuckle, however, went straight to your pussy, making you squeeze your thighs together. Suddenly, you were completely desperate again..
“I know she can.” He answered, with a confidence that made your toes curl. His voice tended to do that to you, but when he put that cocky, self assured, arrogant rasp behind it… Goddamn. It was the voice he used when he knew he had the upper hand, when he had an unsub completely caught up in a lie, a trap of their own making. The voice that made your knees weak and your thighs tighten. It went straight to your pussy every time, making it clench around nothing. “Why don’t you help her along?”
“I’d love to.” She purred.
Then Emily’s hand was in your hair, resting firmly on the back of your head.
“You heard him, Gorgeous…” she lilted provocatively as her hand grew heavier on your head, slowly pushing you down the lengthy expanse of Spencer’s cock, until your nose was touching the neat patch of hair at his base.
“Fuck, Angel…” Spencer groaned, his voice husky and strained. “I’m so close…”
You gave him a muffled little hum of approval and that was all he needed to fall over the edge. Spilling down your throat as he moaned loudly, his hands joined Emily’s in your hair and he held you there firmly until he was finished.
You swallowed as much as you could and then—when they released your head—you sucked and licked him clean.
“Thank you, Angel. That was… incredible.” Spencer murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheek tenderly with the back of his forefinger. You leaned into the touch and then gave him a sensuous smile as you climbed back up into his lap. You brought your lips to his before he could say another word and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the mixture of all the flavors that had accumulated on your tongue. It was by far the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back to smile at him.
“You are very. Very. Welcome.” You purred, punctuating each very with a gentle kiss and biting his bottom lip after welcome. “It was my pleasure…”
Hotch and Emily chuckled softly at your antics and you noticed that Em sounded a bit shaky. Then you realized she was the only one who hadn’t come at least once… you’d have to remedy that.
Hotch—astute as ever—immediately noticed when your eyes locked onto Emily’s form. He chuckled again, looking between you and her, then stood and helped her to her feet as well, guiding her to the space between you and the couch you both had started this whole thing on.
“You want Prentiss again, sweetheart?” He asked, his smirk letting you know he knew exactly what was on your mind. You simply nodded your head, never taking your eyes off her. “Hmm… What do you think, Emily? Has she earned the right to touch you yet?”
She smirked down at you, trying to maintain her slightly condescending attitude… but you could read her like a book, and she was so turned on she was struggling to breathe regularly. You smirked back at her and she raised a brow at you.
“I don’t know, she seems a little too cocky about it to me.” She answered him, only prolonging her own discomfort.
“Am I?” You murmured, giving her a teasing smile. “Take it from the boys, Em. I could rock your world…”
She laughed softly.
“I bet you could, but I wanna hear you beg for it…” She purred, grinning at you. “Tell me how much you want it.”
You started to get up and reach for her, to show her how much you wanted her… but she stepped back, bumping into Hotch’s chest. He steadied her without hesitation, his hands stayed planted firmly on her hips and to your surprise, Spencer gripped your own hips. Tugging you back down into his lap so that you now faced the others, he held you in place.
“She said tell her, Angel…” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your ear. You were shocked at his sudden burst of dominance. Your eyes widened slightly and your lips parted in surprise.
Hotch chuckled and you studied the three of them carefully… they were all smiling at you, their eyes holding the same teasing light. It was as though they were waiting for you to notice something. You just didn’t know what.
“You don’t get to touch her yet, sweetheart… not until she gives you permission.” Hotch murmured teasingly. “You can look though…”
Then his hands slid around her waist to the front of her pants, and he began to unbuckle her belt.
“Oh fuck…” you whispered on a breathy sigh. This would be the death of you, you were sure. Your head tipped back as you looked to the ceiling, as though praying for patience or guidance—or perhaps salvation because you felt certifiably damned—but Spencer had other ideas.
“Don’t look away.” He instructed you, his voice low and commanding as he gripped your chin and made you look back at them. You’d never heard him speak with so much authority, and yet somehow it was still so soft that it was barely audible. “They’re doing this for you…”
Hotch continued his mission to rid Emily of her slacks by unbuttoning and then unzipping them. Then he slipped them down her legs and held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of them. She kept her heels on, now standing before you in just her button down blouse and undershirt.
Your brain was short circuiting.
“Please, Em… I need to touch you.” You murmured softly and she smirked at you, scarlet lips tipping up to one side.
“Not yet…” She taunted.
Hotch reached around her again and started to unbutton her blouse, his pace was agonizing. You noticed that he was careful not to touch her body at all, now that she was only half clothed, and his eyes were locked on you… not her.
They really were doing this just for you.
How they knew you’d find it hot to watch him undress her, you didn’t know, but it was working. They didn’t seem uncomfortable, no… they were enjoying themselves as they teased you mercilessly.
When he slid the blouse down her shoulders and it fell to the floor, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. She was wearing that one red tank top that always made you drool.
“Emily…” you nearly whimpered. “Please…”
She looked smug as she shook her head, reveling in the shakiness of your voice. She knew what that tank top did to you…
“Do you want to see him take it off me?” She asked, sweet as sugar… in a saccharine kind of way.
“I’d rather do it myself…” you implored, giving her a pouty look.
Her breath hitched and you knew… you were going to win this one.
“But if I’m being totally honest… I have this… fantasy… of you, in this exact outfit. I want you just like this, you’ve always looked so sexy in red, Em.” You purred, and you can tell you’ve surprised her for once. She was speechless for a moment and Hotch smirked at you, his eyes showing his amusement at this little standoff between you and Emily. “You know you want me Emily… just give in.”
You licked your bottom lip subtly, then bit it, trying to tempt her by looking up at her as innocent as a lamb. She had spotted your ploy a mile away, seen it coming from the moment you said she looked sexy in red.
It still worked.
“I will.” She drawled sensually, her eyes tracing your body. “If you get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”
She stepped away from Hotch and sat on the couch with her legs spread wide, revealing red lace panties that matched her red tank top.
“Fuck…” you breathed. “You win… you win Em… just… God, let me touch you… please.” You pleaded. “I fucking need you.”
“Crawl to me, Gorgeous.” She finally conceded, smiling at you triumphantly.
And you let her think she had the upper hand, as you slipped out of Spencer’s lap and to the floor, but you knew once you got your hands on her—your mouth on her—she’d be putty in them.
Hotch moved to Spencer’s side and leaned against the wall—to watch the show of course—and nodded at you encouragingly.
You took your time, crawling seductively across the cabin to her, using every inch of the space to taunt her. She devoured you with her eyes and when you got to her feet, picked her right one up and propped it on your shoulder. You planted soft kisses on the inside of her ankle, never breaking eye contact.
“I have dreams that start out just like this…” you murmured to her.
“So do I.” She admitted, her voice breathless and shaky.
“Mmm…” you hummed softly, then purred, “Then what happens?”
She laughed softly, trying to seem unaffected again, but it was much too late for that. You knew exactly what you were doing to her.
“What’s the matter, Em?” You teased, beginning to kiss your way up the inside of her leg. “Cat got your tongue?” She seemed to lose all semblance of composure and you giggled softly against her soft skin. “Don’t worry… I can figure it out. I’m very creative.”
The roles had been reversed, and you’d never felt more in control than in that moment, kneeling between her legs. You slid your hands up her thighs and around her hips, gripping her ass firmly and then pulled her to the edge of the couch in one smooth motion.
For better access of course.
She yelped in surprise and you chuckled against her skin, never checking up as you continued kissing your way up her leg. You’d made it to her inner thigh and she was trembling. You looked up at her from under your lashes and smirked.
“I like it when you’re vocal.” You teased her, repeating her words back to her and earning a soft laugh from Hotch in return.
Emily started to say something but you flatten your tongue against her pussy—through her panties—and she moaned instead.
You hummed at the sound, reveling in it and lapped at her clit enthusiastically. Not bothering to tease her at all, just diving right in—to shut her up and wipe the smug smile off her gorgeous lips—and showing her exactly how creative you could be with your tongue.
But that didn’t satisfy your hunger for her at all, no… you needed to taste her, without the lace that was currently barring you from doing it.
You gently moved her panties to the side and took in the sight of her, bare and wet—absolutely soaked—all for you.
“Oh Emily…” You purred. “You’re dripping for me… and such a pretty pussy too. I wonder if it tastes as delicious as it looks?”
You were dying for her to regain a little sentience.
Docile, desperately horny Em was cute… but you wanted her sassy, confident self to come back out to play. You puffed a hot, teasing breath over the supple skin of her pussy and slowly, so slowly, licked her from her slit all the way to her clit. You stopped just short of it though, teasing her entrance with your tongue instead.
“Stop teasing me before I change my mind.” She growled impatiently, her hand tangling in your hair and tipping your head back to make eye contact.
You smirked up at her, a bit defiantly, and said softly, “Ask me nicely…”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the side just a fraction as she stared you down, she seemed to be contemplating her options here. She could either let you get away with that and actually say please, or she could do whatever just crossed her mind and made those beautiful onyx eyes flicker with heat.
“Please, stop teasing me.” She murmured softly, leaning down so that her lips brushed your cheek as she moved to whisper in your ear. “Or I will take care of this pretty pussy all by myself, and make you watch from Spencer’s lap.”
You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you turned your head to look at her.
“Mmm, I love it when you’re bossy.” You murmured, your nose less than an inch from hers now.
“Do you?” She purred, leaning closer so her lips are hovering just over yours, sharing your every breath. You nodded, yes, and she grinned salaciously at you, moving closer so she could bite your bottom lip herself. “Then stop talking, and do something useful with that silver tongue instead.”
You felt your cheeks heat, whether it was embarrassment or arousal—or a mix of both—you weren’t certain. But you loved the way it felt.
“Yes ma’am.” You purred, your voice dripping with pure seduction.
You felt her hand vacate your hair and didn’t waste time. Leaning forward, you licked her cunt from bottom to top in one smooth motion. Your tongue—finally—delving in to taste her, before you buried yourself between her thighs and ate her pussy like you were starving. She was delectable. Her arousal like honey on your tongue, and she just kept getting wetter.
The more you explored and experimented with her, the more you learned.
For instance, if you suctioned your lips tightly around her clit and rolled your tongue in circles around it, she couldn’t help but squirm as she let out soft little moans. If you added two fingers, curling just slightly upwards, and used them to massage that spot—just past the ridge of her pubic bone—she bucked against you wildly. So you gripped her by her thighs and hoisted them up onto your shoulders, forcing her to lean back on the couch and spread herself wider for you. The new angle gave you more leverage with your fingers and allowed you to apply firmer pressure with your tongue.
She was putty in your hands, just as you knew she would be. Her ragged breaths and quiet whimpers were growing more and more desperate, her hands grappling for purchase on any part of you she could reach. You were unsurprised when they found your hair, threading into it and taking two fistfuls that had your scalp stinging delightfully. You moaned against her and then felt her walls start to flutter around your fingers.
“Don’t stop, don’t change anything, I’m so close!” She panted, her voice raw with desire.
You suppressed the urge to grin, needing to maintain the seal of your lips around her clit, the pressure of your tongue… but you couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Especially as she clamped down hard on your fingers, her thighs quivering and trying to close around your head. Her entire body went taunt, her back arching and her head falling back against the couch as she cried out, “Oh God!”
Only when her body fully relaxed and her grip loosened in your hair, did you allow yourself to smirk against her pussy and look up at her from under your lashes. She didn’t notice—too busy recovering from the mind blowing head you’d just given her—Hotch, however, did.
“Look at you, being all smug.” His voice ran up your spine like molten lava. You didn’t dare peek over at him, choosing instead to pepper Emily’s fevered skin with soft, barely there kisses. First over her inner thighs, then her lower stomach where her tank had ridden up nearly to her breasts. “Are you proud of yourself, Pretty Girl?”
Hotch’s hand perched softly at the nape of your neck, he squeezed gently but firmly. His hand slid down your back slowly, his finger slipping into your garter belt—the only item of clothing left on you—and snapping the elastic against your spine. You moaned softly at the sting and he chuckled softly. He began to guide the belt down your hips, over your ass and thighs, to your knees. Tapping each in silent command. You complied, lifting them one at a time so he could—finally—strip you completely bare. “Such a good girl…”
His murmured praise had you aching again as you continued your worshipful path of kisses up the plain of Emily’s belly. Not stopping when you reached her tank, instead starting to lift it over her head with her willing assistance. You tossed it to the floor and pushed her gently to her back, so that she was lying along the length of the couch. Climbing to settle between her legs again, you began to kiss her chest. Propping yourself up with one hand, you used the other to free her breasts from the cups of her bra, which—conveniently— clipped in the front. She moaned softly as your lips closed around one nipple and your free hand toyed with the other.
Warm breath on your pussy made it clench around nothing. Which made you keenly aware of the fact that you’d left your ass high in the air—and completely exposed. Strong hands gripped it firmly and tilted it up even further, positioning you exactly how their owner desired. “Stay just like this Sweetheart. I want to taste you while you take care of Emily.”
You moaned wantonly at Hotch’s order, spreading your legs a bit more for him. He smacked your ass, just hard enough to make a point. “I said stay still.”
“Yes sir.” You murmured seductively around Emily’s breast and he soothed the sting with a gentle kiss to the spot, just before he buried his face in your pussy. Groaning as he tasted you first hand, he gripped your ass with bruising strength and made you whine. “Fuck…”
He chuckled quietly to himself, his hand traveling down your ass and in between your legs. It wasted no time in finding its target. Your clit. He circled it so lightly, as though he thought it was delicate enough that any firmer touch would damage it.
The effect was maddening.
Emily’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples and bringing your attention partially back to her. You trailed your free hand down her stomach, finding her clit again with ease and began to move your finger over it ever so lightly. She whined quietly, and pressed up into your hand with her hips in a wordless request for more pressure.
“You need more, Em?” You asked softly, teasingly, as you kissed your way across her chest, up her neck, nipping her ear and finally hovered over her lips. “Hmm? Do you wanna taste yourself on my lips?”
“Shut up and kiss me.” She demanded, her hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tangling into your hair as she tugged you down to her lips.
The kiss was rough, frantic and heated. Emily was still grinding up into your hand—desperate for friction—so you had mercy and increased the pressure and speed of your hand.
Hotch’s tongue was still leisurely fucking into your pussy as his finger work your clit with precision. He kept making these self satisfied little groans in the back of his throat that were driving you crazy.
And then two more hands were touching you… Hotch’s hands were still on your ass and clit, Emily’s in your hair and toying with your breast…
But Spencer…
He’d been content to watch for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to touch you.
He was tracing the lines of your ribs with one hand and your spine with the other, his touch light and inquisitive. You’d fantasized about him doing exactly this and you’d been right, it felt amazing. His hands on your skin anywhere would have been heavenly, but the way he was following each rib intentionally—reverently—reminded you of the way he traced each line when he was reading a book, the way his fingers skimmed over each vertebrae was making your back arch.
You pulled away from Emily to look up at him.
There was such adoration in his eyes as he studied the expanse of your skin. The hand at your ribs, going up to your shoulder blades and your collar bones. The one at your spine trailing down to the curve of your hip, over the rise of your ass and down the back of your thigh.
“Focus on Emily, Angel…” He murmured softly. “I just wanna touch you.”
You would do anything to have him keep touching you like that, so you redoubled your efforts on Emily. Sliding your fingers down from her clit to her cunt and slipping the middle two inside of her.
She moaned and you silenced it with a kiss, parting her lips with your tongue.
You rubbed her clit with your thumb while you worked her g-spot with the pads of your fingers and she started to squirm. She tried to close her legs but your knees were in the way and her thighs started to tremble.
“Give it to me, Emily…” You coaxed into her mouth, then bit her lip gently. “Let me have it, you can do it… come for me one more time…”
Her head fell back against the couch, so you dipped yours down and drew her nipple into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue. It was just enough to send her spiraling for the second time. A breathy cry falling from her lips as her pussy spasmed around your fingers.
All the stimulation—Hotch’s tongue and fingers, Emily’s cunt clenching around your fingers and her hands pulling your hair and squeezing your breast, and Spencer’s exploration of everywhere else—was nearly too much.
And then Hotch slipped two fingers inside of you… much thicker than Emily’s slender ones, and when he added a third… It was thicker that Spencer’s cock had been. Not as long, but with what he was doing… length didn’t matter.
You came hard. Your pussy clamping down on Hotch’s fingers so tightly you thought you could feel each knuckle and every callus. Your brain went completely offline and your thighs shook violently as your release ran down them.
Your knees gave out, and you collapsed against Emily with a moan. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. You laid there unable to move for several moments. Emily wasn’t moving either–except for her chest, which was heaving as she panted for air—so you were in no hurry to go anywhere. You gently slipped your fingers out of her and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
“Holy–” She gasped.
“--fuck!” You finished for her on a hard fought breath.
Spencer snickered softly as he stepped back to observe the mess of limbs the two of you were tangled up in.
Hotch chose that moment to pull his fingers out of you—making you flinch and whine—and then he moved to lean against the table adjacent to the couch to watch you and Emily untangle yourselves.
“You good, gorgeous?” Emily murmured after a moment, her hand running through your hair affectionately.
You nuzzled into her neck, nipping at her throat playfully.
“I’m great, Em.” You purred, twirling her hair around your finger and then giggled, “Why? You wanna go again?”
“Do you?” Hotch’s voice pulled your attention from the way the overhead light caught in Emily’s hair.
You looked up at him, and found him staring down at you with heated eyes…
And a bulge in his pants.
You swallowed thickly, the amount of times you’d thought about fucking Aaron Hotchner…
Your mouth was suddenly dry and your tongue felt heavy and you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything if you tried.
So you nodded your head, yes.
“Come here.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.
You gently untangled yourself from Emily—dropping one more kiss to her lips as you went—and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch you go.
The three steps it took for you to reach him were the longest three steps of your life. When you came to stop in front of him he wasted no time.
He held the back of your neck and drew you in, gently but firmly, then kissed you.
You could feel the tension in the plain of his chest, the barely restrained strength of his grip, and the quiet urgency with which he kissed your lips.
He was desperate… but he didn’t want to be rough with you…
Which would have been sweet…
If that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.
You bit his lip, tugging it between your teeth and then licking into his mouth like you needed to taste him as much as you needed oxygen. Then you slipped your hand down and gave his cock a firm squeeze through his slacks.
He groaned and pulled you back to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
“Fuck me, like you own me.” You murmured, with much more confidence than you felt.
You saw in his eyes the exact moment his restraint snapped. It was like his whole demeanor did an about face.
The soft spoken, gentle—though slightly condescending and bossy—man that had been treating you with such tenderness and care…
He was gone.
You barely registered the movement, one moment you were standing up, asking him to fuck you…
And the next…
You were bent over the table he’d just been leaning on.
The sound of his zipper coming down made you clench around emptiness and then his hand was firmly planted in the center of your back. Holding you down on the table with an easy strength.
You felt the hard warmth of his cock at your entrance as he lined himself up, but he paused.
“You asked me to fuck you like I own you… are you sure you want that?” He asked again for consent. “I won’t be gentle.”
“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You said clearly, with a surety in your tone that he could not mistake for anything but affirmation. “I just want you to fuck me.”
He didn’t answer you verbally.
Just slid his cock inside you, all the way to the base.
You cried out—hands clutching the edges of the table—-at the shock of it. You’d thought—surely—after coming three times, that you would be good and ready for him.
But he was… thick.
You couldn’t breathe, your lungs had ceased to function the moment he slid home.
Thicker than Spencer had been by a bit—though not as long—and you’d known that since you’d had both of them in your mouth. The way he was stretching you out though, it burned, it was a good burn… but you needed a moment to adjust.
He seemed to know that instinctually, and while he said he wouldn’t be gentle, he wasn’t going to hurt you purposefully either.
So as he bottomed out inside you he gave you a moment to sit with it.
“Breathe.” His voice was commanding, but strained.
You took a deep breath and he felt his hand on your back rise as your chest filled with air.
The burning eased, and you relaxed against the table.
“Good girl…” He murmured and then he started to move.
The stretch was amazing, the way he filled you up had your back arching and your hands white knuckling the table. Then he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts long and deep. Pulling almost completely out of you and then going so deep you saw spots.
You pushed back into him, trying to take him deeper—if that was even possible—urging him to go faster, harder. You wanted to feel him in your diaphragm—you knew that wasn’t possible, but you didn’t particularly care—wanted him slamming into you. Over and over and over…
He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them in one hand while the other went back to your waist, with a bruising grip. Taking away every bit of leverage you had and giving himself total control of your body.
Then he pounded into you, hard and fast until your hips were bashing up against the table.
You didn’t even notice, because his cock was hitting you so perfectly with every sharp thrust.
“Hotch!” You keened his name, the loudest sound you’d made all night.
“Mmm keep talking to me, pretty girl, I love the way your voice sounds screaming my name.” His own voice sounded different from anything you’d ever heard from him. It was carnal and lust filled, and it had you clenching around him. “Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that this isn’t gonna last very long, sweetheart.”
You could only moan in response.
There were hands in your hair, gathering it out of your face.
You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, but when you opened them, Emily and Spencer were sitting side by side at the table you were bent over.
“She’s too quiet…” Emily purred, a truly wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fucking her hard enough.”
Hotch chuckled, the sound ran up your spine and down your limbs until your whole body tingled.
“You think she can take it?” He asked her in return.
But it was Spencer who leaned down, his lips skimming your cheek as he murmured, “You can take it, can’t you Angel?”
“God yes!” You panted, trying to look back at Hotch, though it was nearly impossible to move at all with the way he was pinning you to the table. “I can take it!”
He pushed you back down flat on the table.
“You want it harder, Pretty Girl?” He asked and there was something in his tone… something lethal.
“Yes! Please!” You sobbed.
“Tell me how bad you want it, make it pretty for me sweetheart… I wanna hear you beg.” His grip on your waist got impossibly tighter.
“I don’t want it, I need it! It feels so good, Hotch, please! I’ll be so good! I’ll lie here and take it like a good girl! Just fuck me harder, please!” You pleaded, your voice cracking as he continued to fuck into you. “I need to feel you deeper!”
He groaned, letting go of your arms and taking ahold of your hair instead.
“God, I love to hear you beg…” He growled, pulling your head back so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear. “Hold on to the table, pretty girl. You’re gonna need it.”
You gripped the sides of the table as hard as you could, bracing yourself against it.
He railed into you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name, your hips slamming into the table. His balls were slapping your clit loud enough to be heard over the sound of your cries, which were spilling from your lips with every thrust.
They were unintelligible.
Not even you knew what you were saying, but it was clear what you meant.
Don’t. Fucking. Stop.
“Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this…” Emily groaned to Spencer. “Look at her.”
“I see her… she’s fucking perfect.” Spencer replied. “Watch, she’s getting close… she makes that face every time, right before she comes.”
You were, you were so wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t even felt it creeping up on you until he brought it to your attention.
“I can feel her pussy fluttering… fuck, she’s getting tighter.” Hotch sounded nearly pained. “Come on, sweetheart, let me have it. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”
Emily reached under the table and pressed on your clit.
Your vision went white, a dull roar—like the ocean—filled your ears, your knees buckled and only the table and Hotch’s grip kept you from hitting the floor.
Your throat burned, and you knew you must’ve screamed, but you couldn’t hear a thing.
Both his hands were on your hips now, squeezing like his life depended on, anchoring you firmly to himself.
And it was a good thing too, because you thought that otherwise you might’ve floated away.
Your body was numb, gravity meant nothing to you, neither did time, or space.
Just his hands on your hips and his cock still slamming into your pussy as he fucked you through it.
Your hearing was the first sense to return to you, and you thanked the universe and every deity you knew of—just to cover all your bases—that it did.
Because the sound of Aaron Hotchner coming was something you wanted branded into your memory.
“Fuck! Such a good girl, just like that baby!” He moaned, “You feel like heaven pretty girl! I’m- God- I’m about to come—“
He pulled out of you so abruptly that you whined at the loss.
But then there were warm, wet ropes landing on your back.
You moaned, you wished you could see it, though feeling it was something you’d never forget.
“Fuck.” Hotch panted, then patted your ass gently. “You did so good for me sweetheart. That was…”
You couldn’t seem to speak yet, and your vision was still fuzzy. Your limbs weren’t yet back under your control either. So you just laid there, panting.
“Angel, are you okay?” You heard Spencer’s sweet voice murmur, you could feel his lips near your ear.
And Emily’s hand in your hair, nails brushing against your scalp soothingly.
Hotch was stroking your thigh tenderly.
Then the strangest thing happened… you started to giggle… you couldn’t help it… nothing was funny.
You were just… happy?
Overwhelmed?
Incandescent?
“Is she laughing?” Hotch asked, confusion evident in his tone.
“It would seem so…” Spencer murmured. “I think—you might have broken her.”
“No…” Emily murmured, stroking your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “She just needs a minute, she’s euphoric.”
There! That was the word you’d been looking for! Thank you Emily, you beautiful, sexy, sapphic goddess!
“I’m gonna get something to clean her up,” you heard Hotch murmur, “I’ll be right back.”
His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.
You felt so heavy…
You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.
A warm cloth touched your back, stroking up and down, cleaning up after Hotch’s release.
Voices were murmuring quietly around you, and then you felt someone—probably Hotch—lift you from the table.
You barely got your eyes open, just enough to look around.
Spencer was gathering all your clothes, you were resting on Hotch’s lap, Emily was digging in your go-bag—she pulled from it a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—then she brought them over and started dressing you.
You didn’t know at what point she had put her clothes back on… just that she was dressed.
Spencer put your discarded clothes into your go-bag and then he came back over to sit next to Hotch on the couch. He helped Emily get your arms—which were too heavy to move still—into the sleeves of your shirt.
When they had finished dressing you, Emily sat on Hotch’s other side. He gently lowered your head to her lap, and Spencer pulled your legs up into his.
“Are you sure she’s alright?” Spencer asked quietly.
“Mm hmm…” Emily hummed, stroking your hair tenderly. “She’s just exhausted… four times… is a lot.”
Hotch took your hand in his and kissed the back of it.
That was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep.
*Four Days Later*
You’d thought that it would be awkward…
Coming back to work after fucking three of your coworkers—one of whom is your boss—at the same time.
But it wasn’t.
It was exciting.
The four of you were all smiles when you looked at each other, secret smiles that no one else was aware of, and knowing glances had been passed back and forth all morning.
Hotch had accidentally brushed across your hips with the back of his hand when he’d passed you in the bullpen.
There was a bruise there from the table where he’d fucked you, and he knew it. He was reminding you on purpose.
Spencer had been glancing at your lips all morning, a soft pink flush coloring his cheeks each time. Likely remember how he’d come down your throat.
Now, at the round table, Emily squeezed your thigh once under the table. There was a bite mark there that hadn’t yet faded. One that she’d given you.
All their attention was making you feel a bit overheated, so you pulled your French pin from the pocket of your slacks and pinned your hair into a twist.
You noticed, after you’d done so, that Hotch was giving you a very smug look. You felt like there was something else behind it, other than the obvious, but you couldn’t figure out what.
Everyone was distracted, just waiting on the last of the team—Derek and Garcia—to straggle into the room. They’d made it to the door, but Derek was on crutches so they were taking their time and everyone was fine with that.
But then Derek stopped—right behind you—and laughed.
“You uh— you got a little somethin’ somethin’ on the back of your neck, there Lil’ Mama…” He teased.
You reached up to touch your neck, confused, you looked up at him.
“What?” You asked.
“Looks like somebody had a little fun this weekend.” He joked. “That’s a pretty interesting place for a hickey…”
You paled, then blushed, immediately pulling the pin out of your hair and letting it fall down your back to cover the mark.
“Morgan.” Hotch said quietly—to hide the amusement in his tone—his eyes flicking to you briefly over the top of the file he’d been pretending to read. “Leave her alone.”
Derek threw his hands up in surrender and kept making his way to his seat.
One half of the room moved on, assuming that Hotch had just scolded Morgan out of a need for professionalism, and was choosing to cut you some slack over a mark you clearly hadn’t known existed.
But the other half knew better.
Rossi—who had returned from his book tour just the night before—stood to pull out Derek’s chair for him and took one elbow, while Penelope took the other.
While they helped him get settled, you threw Hotch a scathing look.
Because the only one who had left marks on your neck, had been him.
He was already smirking back at you, smug as shit.
Emily and Spencer were biting their lips to keep from laughing and they didn’t dare make eye contact with each other, or they were going to lose it.
You just stared a hole through the smirking Unit Chief, silently berating him for leaving a mark where you couldn’t see it.
And the bastard winked at you.
Then he cleared his throat and you let your expression go blank as the others all came to attention.
summary: finally on the jet ride back home, aaron watches the little nighttime vlog you and jack have filmed for him, allowing him to witness a special moment between the two of you despite being thousands of miles away
wc: 1.6k+
cw: reader and jack being adorbs, aaron gets baby fever
The phone falls face down on the covers the second the video begins, darkness engulfing the screen of his phone, and Aaron’s ears are instantly filled with the beautiful sound of Jack’s loud giggles. Through the screen, he hears you mumble something under your breath, and Jack replies with “You made it fall”, as though you hadn’t realised the obvious.
You lift the phone up, steadying it back on some pillows, and even through the dim lighting of your bedroom, Aaron can clearly see that you and Jack are laying stomach down on a very unmade bed. He grins widely, pressing on his phone screen to pause the video you had sent him — hours ago now — to plug in his earphones. He doesn’t want to disturb any of his sleepy teammates on the jet ride home.
“Okay,” You begin with a smile, glancing over to Jack, who’s staring at you through the front camera on your phone. “Hi Aaron-”
“Hi daddy!”
Aaron feels his heart swell as you and Jack giggle between you. “We know it’s a little past Jack’s bedtime. But we just remembered that we promised you a little video message every night that you’re away. And tonight can’t be the night that promise is broken after we’ve done so well.”
It’s true. Ever since you were introduced into Aaron’s life, as his girlfriend, fiancée, one of Jack’s legal guardians, you had changed what it meant fore Aaron to be away on cases. No longer did Aaron have to try and catch you every second of the day for you to know he cares — a mutual understanding that schedules might crash, and that’s okay. But for the past year, every night he’s been away on a case, he has received a nighttime vlog from you and Jack, telling him about your day, about your feelings.
Aaron always watched these videos in the lonely bed of his motel room, a smile on his face. Sometimes these videos were a minute long, quick goodbyes from a tired child and his best friend, and sometimes — like tonight — they lasted closer to twenty minutes.
“Daddy, today me and y/n went to the park and we played football! And I won!”
“He scored so many goals against me.” You add, a hand reaching up to brush through Jack’s blond hair as he thinks of what to tell his dad next. “And then we sat on the grass for a little bit,” Jack is interrupted by his own elated giggles.
“And we saw a cloud that looked like a tyrannosaurus rex!”
“We did, yeah. And one that looked like a bunny too, right?”
“Yeah. All of the other ones were just blobs.”
Aaron can’t help but laugh quietly as Jack gestures widely with his hands. From the seat across him, Dave glances up from his book, eyebrows raised in amusement.
Jack suddenly sits up on the bed, and you shift to lay down on your side to watch as Jack points to the new set of pyjamas he’s wearing, talking animatedly about them. “But I only wore them after dinner.” He tells his dad through your phone.
“Tell him what you did today. In the kitchen.” You encourage, and Jack immediately grins wider, as though just remembering the events that occurred a couple of hours ago. “I helped y/n make dinner! Come, let’s show him, y/n!” Jack tells you, leaning over to grab your hand, and tugging you with him.
You bring the phone with you as Jack slides off the bed, leading you to the kitchen. You take the time to glance down at the phone, imagining Aaron looking back at you, and say “He chopped some coriander all by himself — with a plastic, kid-friendly knife, obviously. And he also squeezed a lemon.” Aaron didn’t know you owned plastic, kid-friendly knives.
Once in the kitchen, you place the phone on the counter, and Jack carries the bowl of salsa you had prepared together. He huffs when he can’t see the phone atop the counter, and places the bowl down, making grabby hands up at you. He ignores the stool he had previously used to help reach better, instead calling “Up please, Mom.”
Aaron’s eyes instantly go wide at Jack’s words, fingers stiffening around his phone, but it seems as though past you still hasn’t processed what Jack called you, picking him up and resting him on your hip. Only then, once Jack’s fully in the camera frame, does Aaron see your eyes go slightly wide as you hand Jack the bowl of salsa so he can display it proudly for his dad.
“Daddy, this is called pico de gallo, and it’s so yummy.” You instantly snap back into your role, nodding along to Jack’s words and he puts the bowl on the counter again. “And I wanted chicken nuggets all day, and mommy said she could make me some for dinner. And she made them from-she made them from the beginning of them.” Jack swings his legs happily, reaching over to the folded up bag of chips to open the bag and steal a chip.
Jack offers you one, and you take it. Aaron smiles fondly as you both go silent for a few seconds, munching on tortilla chips.
You glance down at Jack, asking “Anything else, buddy?” Jack goes silent, resting his head on your shoulder. He watches you fold up the bag again, blinking slowly. Grabbing the phone, you mumble to Aaron “If you come home tonight, there’s leftover salsa and chicken nuggets for you in the fridge.”
Aaron sighs as you place the phone down again, carrying the bowl of pico de gallo into the fridge. It shuts softly behind you, and you move your eyes down to Jack, who’s nearly asleep. “Bedtime, Jack?”
Jack nods sleepily, and you turn your focus to the phone again, saying “Goodnight, Aaron. I love you.” Jack turns his head to face the phone, cheek smushed against your shoulder as he repeats the words, encouraged by you. “’Night daddy. I love you.”
You snatch the phone from the counter, turning the light off in the kitchen as you make your way to Jack’s bedroom. Aaron doesn’t think you’re aware the camera is still recording as you press a kiss to Jack’s forehead, adding quietly “And I love you, Jack. I needed a strong, handsome man to help squeeze those lemons, and who better to help me than you?”
Jack giggles tiredly at your words. You toss your phone onto his bedsheets so you can use both hands to gently place him in his bed. You crouch beside him, fingers brushing his cheeks. “I’m so grateful for your help today, Jack. And for your help every day.”
“I like to help you.” He admits, cozying up underneath his blanket. “Kiss, mommy.” You lean down, pressing your lips to Jack’s forehead. He smiles, reaching up to press a kiss to your cheek. You bring your hands down to tuck him in properly, and tears are almost brought to your eyes when Jack speaks again, asking “Who’s gonna kiss daddy goodnight?”
Aaron swallows thickly through the screen, staring at the ceiling of his own home from the way the phone is facing upwards, only catching a bit of colourful bedsheets from the corner of the screen, but he listens to every word you and Jack are saying to each other. He only hears himself breathing now, and the scuffle of sheets moving around, awaiting your response. “When daddy comes home, we’ll give him all the kisses to make up for the ones he missed, okay?”
“Okay. I love you mommy.”
“I love you too, Jack.”
You stay there for a moment longer before picking up your phone and leaving the room. You leave Jack’s bedroom door wide open — yours too. You lift the phone up to your face, and Aaron sees you have tears gathered along your waterline. “Oh. I didn’t realise this was still on.” Aaron hears you laugh quietly, and you bring your voice down to a whisper, bringing your face closer to the phone screen as you say, “Aaron, he called me mom! Oh my god, I’m feeling so many things right now. Okay, wait, let me send-”
The video cuts off just then, and Aaron instantly drags his finger across the screen, setting the video back to the very beginning. He notices the time of the video sent on the screen that says '8:03 pm.' It it now 2:54am. He’s just about to press play again when he hears Derek’s teasing voice call out in the quiet jet. “Hey, what’s got you crying over there, boss man?”
Aaron takes out his earphones, shaking his head silently. Derek had passed behind Aaron just a few minutes ago to go to the bathroom, and the nosy man had taken a peek over Aaron’s shoulder to see what he was watching. Derek has good intentions, but of course, he’ll never pass the opportunity to tease. So he’s more surprised that anything when Aaron, unknowingly teary eyed, replies with “Jack called y/n ‘mom’.” Then, under his breath “God, I love my family.”
Aaron skips out on the pico de gallo and chicken nuggets when he gets home, beelining to Jack’s bedroom to press a kiss to his son’s forehead before finding you in his bed. He makes sure to be quiet when he strips out of his work clothes. Aaron doesn’t bother to throw on any pyjamas, sliding in next to you wearing only his boxers. He wraps his arms around you and tugs you close to his chest.
He decides just then that one day, Jack won’t be the only one calling you mom.
I feel like Hotch would put everyone into his phone with full government names and notes on who they are/how he met them and is super organized and doesn’t have any emojis EXCEPT for his girl. She’d get a nickname or emoji and deff gets a photo
You’re peering over Aaron’s shoulder for no reason other than pure nosiness when a text from Jess comes through. He has her saved as ‘Jessica Brooks (Haley)’.
“Is that really her contact?” you ask quietly. You’re not trying to embarrass him, and the jet is full to bursting with your team and coworkers.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You’ve known her for twenty years.”
“It’s efficient,” he says, side-eyeing you with an admittedly fond smile. “If anyone needs to contact her for me, I just have to say it’s Jessica Brooks. There’s no confusion.”
“Do you have many Jessica’s on there?”
He moves away from you to give you a judgemental look. “Are you being hurtful?”
“Who else do you have on there? When Jack gets a phone, what will you save him as? Jack Hotchner, bracket, son?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Your face fills with heat, and curiosity. “Wait, wait. What am I saved as? Don’t tell me it’s my full name, oh, please, Aaron,” you tease. “No, it’s Special Supervisory L/N, isn’t it?”
He’s saved in your phone as an indulgent, perhaps embarrassing Sweetheart Aaron, though you change it when the mood suits you. It’s funny. Baby, sweetheart, angel, it all felt saccharine before you fell in love. You still remember the night after your first kiss when you’d changed his contact name to Aaron with three hearts.
“It’s not,” he promises. “Have a look, if you like.”
You take his phone and click into his contacts. You scroll for your initial and frown when you miss it. There’s a John Edgar (Plumber) and a Kacey (Gardening assistant). He has four separate school teachers and three different Mia’s, one of which is marked without a profession. You’ll circle back to her later. But you can’t find your own face.
“No way you don’t have my number saved,” you say.
His laugh is boyish by your ear. “Back up.”
You scroll all the way to the top.
Your contact name is bracketed in hearts at the very top. It’s pinned. ♥️My sweet girl ♥️. The contact photo is one of you sleeping all smushed into his shoulder, not unlike the way you’d been sitting with him a few moments ago.
The shock of it has you biting down on your bottom lip. Aaron winces as you let the skin pull between your teeth, murmuring, “Honey,” apprehensively.
“Sweet girl?” you murmur back.
“You are, aren’t you?”
You cover your face with your hands, pleased beyond words, and fiercely shocked. “Aaron.”
“Would you prefer something else?”
“I like mine as it is, if that’s agreeable, sir.”
He slips his phone from your hand with another laugh. “Let’s see what Jessica Brooks has to say about my boy.”
“Jack Hotchner, son, you mean?”
He grumbles something under his breath about being ridiculed, while you open your phone up to change his contact to include a few more hearts, in way of apology.
pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader
summary: aaron swears he's not the clingy type...until you show up, and suddenly it's a full blown PDA parade in the bullpen, based on this request.
warnings | an: fluff, they're so in love it makes me sick, lots of touching, hotch soothing r's stress with his credit card, i am once again spreading the suggar!daddy!hotch agenda, the team being annoying, hotch enabling r's spending habits.
word count: 2.1k
✧ masterlist
Walking through the doors of the FBI never quite feels normal. You’d think being married to the man who runs one of its top units would earn you a little immunity from the nerves, but nope. There are still plenty of tight-lipped smiles from men who clearly think you don’t belong (to be fair, you technically don’t), and those awkward elevator rides where you end up clarifying, again, that you’re just here to drop off lunch for the most handsome agent in the building. Not that you say that part out loud.
It doesn’t happen often, hardly ever, really. Aaron’s not the kind of man who forgets things, especially not lunch. Maybe twice every four months, if that. And even then, he never asks for you to bring it. He usually brushes off your offers with a quick ‘I’ll grab something from the cafeteria’ which, of course, actually means ‘I won’t eat until dinner.’
And that just won’t suffice. Especially not when he’s been filling out his shirt so nicely, lately.
So there you were, pretty shoes dragging against the dull bureau floor, lunch in one hand, cookies and your purse dangling from the other, wrist definitely starting to ache. You weren’t exactly sneaking into the bullpen, but you weren’t strutting either. Just stuck in that awkward middle space reserved for people who technically shouldn’t be there, but have the authority to show up anyway, because boss man said so.
“There she is! Hotchner’s better half,” Emily called out, spinning her chair around with a grin.
You offered a sheepish wave, trying not to drop anything. “I come bearing gifts…and mild wrist pain.”
“Oh! Are those the butterscotch ones?” Penelope squealed, jumping up from where she’d been perched on Spencer’s desk.
“Yes, new recipe,” you said, carefully setting your things down on JJ’s desk as she kindly unhooked your overloaded purse. “I swapped out the dark brown sugar for light, added a little sea salt on top, and I may have used browned butter this time. I was feeling ambitious.”
“You browned the butter?” Penelope gasped. “You absolute kitchen goddess!”
Spencer leaned in for a closer look as you popped the lid off the container. “That actually changes the flavor quite a bit. The Maillard reaction from browning—”
“Yes, yes, science, great,” Emily cut in. “Can we eat them now, or is there a presentation we have to sit through first?”
You laughed, nudging the tin closer to everyone. “No presentations. Just cookies. Though if anyone gives them a rating out of ten that’s higher than a nine, I won’t complain.”
Morgan was the first to grab one, swiftly using it as a pointer to gesture towards Aaron, who was pushing back his chair. “Oh look, here he comes.”
You glanced up just in time to catch it—that little motion he always did, fingers brushing his tie flat against his chest as he stood. A completely innocent gesture. Totally routine. And somehow still enough to make your mouth water.
“You know,” Morgan added, mid-chew, “that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave his office. Last time he moved like that, we had an active shooter in the building.”
“Alright, don’t scare her,” Rossi scolded, swatting Morgan’s bicep with a file. “She already doesn't like coming here as it is.”
“Now, that’s not true, Dave,” you corrected, grabbing Aaron’s lunch. “I love seeing you all. I just prefer doing it without all the security nuisance, badges, metal detectors and guns.”
Morgan nudged your elbow, eyes still on Aaron as he made his way over. “For a guy who claims he’s not clingy, he’s practically tripping over himself right now.”
“Oh, he’s definitely clingy,” you grinned, just as Aaron reached you, wasting zero time before leaning in and placing a swift kiss to your lips, murmuring a dreamy ‘Hi you’ before pulling away.
“Come on.” Morgan shook his head, reaching for his second cookie. “This is the same guy who made us sit through a mandatory refresher on workplace boundaries, and now look at him, breaking every single one.”
“Let them be in love,” JJ said sweetly, sipping her coffee like this was all perfectly normal.
You looked up at Aaron, eyebrows raised, trying to coax some kind of reaction to all the teasing. But he didn’t even glance at the others, just kept his eyes on you as he took the lunch bag from your hands, his fingers brushing along your wrist with just enough pressure to say thank you, I missed you, without saying anything at all.
“You didn’t have to come all this way, honey.”
“I know, but I overbaked and figured I was due for my monthly dose of shocking the system.” You glanced around the bullpen, cringing a little at the endless clacking of keyboards and constant ringing of phones. It was all starting to give you at least four different headaches. “Feels like there’s less oxygen in here somehow.”
“That’s because no one is allowed to breathe until all the paperwork is done,” Emily interjected dryly.
“Is that true, Aaron?” you asked, reaching up to fuss with his tie. “Are you working your team too hard?”
“They live to complain.”
A chorus of groans and mock-offended noises rose up around you, just as Aaron’s hand slipped to the small of your back, steering you gently towards his office.
“Blinds stay open, you two,” Morgan called after you, pointing two fingers from his eyes to yours. “We’re watching!”
“Just keep walking,” Aaron murmured into your hair, voice quiet and beguiled, giving your hip a subtle squeeze as he guided you up the stairs.
You bit back a grin, feeling far too smug—and frankly, far too giddy—for someone standing in a federal building. Inside his office, he quietly closed the door behind you and you made yourself at home by sliding into one of the chairs across from his desk.
“Think Morgan might have a point, you are getting a little reckless with the PDA. You’re going soft.”
He moved to his chair, smoothing his tie against his chest as he sat. “I’ve always been soft with you.”
That answer knocked the wind out of you in the quietest way. You blinked once, then shook your head. “Wow. Okay. That’s not even fair.”
He just looked amused, unpacking the lunch bag while sneaking glances at you like he couldn’t help himself. “You know they’ll be talking about this all afternoon.”
You waved him off and kicked his foot gently under the desk, because footsies, like true love, didn’t have an expiration date. “Let them. Let them talk about how you have a gorgeous, brilliant, amazing wife who is kind enough to hand-deliver your lunch.”
“They already know.”
“Good answer.” You nodded, satisfied, and handed him a few tissues just as he took the first bite of his sandwich. “Now, how's your day been? And don’t say ‘fine’, or I’ll start pulling out my therapist's voice and asking about your coping mechanisms.”
He chewed, giving you a dour look over the top of the sandwich like he was already reconsidering speaking at all.
“Busy. Two consults, one profile draft, and I’ve had to remind Morgan three times to finish his report.”
“So… business as usual.”
“Basically.”
He took another bite, and you used the pause to admire him. How pretty he looked. He was getting subtly more rugged with time, never quite managing the clean-shaven look, not for lack of trying, but that had always been fine by you. You loved him exactly as he was.
Your eyes wandered over his desk, taking in the meticulously organised scene in front of you. Everything was in its place, except for a single pen and one loose file slightly out of line, a tiny disruption in an otherwise perfect system. It made you smile.
He wiped his mouth, and in that moment, his wedding band caught the thin stream of light this moody building begrudgingly allowed in. As if the universe was saying, yes, look—he’s yours.
And you thanked her silently for it. Because he was.
“Want to ditch the rest of the day, fake a headache, and run away with me to somewhere that doesn’t require badge access?” you proposed, straightening the photo of you on his desk.
He tilted his head. “Tempting.”
“You’d never actually do it, though.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’ll think about it the whole time I’m here.”
Your smile pulled a little wider. “That’s enough for me. That—and as long as I’ll have you home in time for dinner,” you said, though it came out as more of a question. Maybe even a tiny, minuscule threat.
“Don’t worry, I will,” he assured you kindly. “I know your parents are coming over tonight. I wouldn’t dream of making you face that alone. I’m guessing that’s what’s been bothering you, hence the industrial-sized cookie batch?”
You sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
“You know they’re hard work. And I can only fake-smile and nod my way through so many stories about people I don’t remember and opinions I didn’t ask for.”
Aaron set his sandwich aside, abandoning it on the tissue you had passed him earlier. He used another to wipe his hands, then stood, taking two steps to get to you.
Before you could say anything, his hands were on either side of your chair, gently turning it to face him. He crouched down, and you instinctively parted your legs so he could slot in between them.
“Hey,” he urged softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it together, and if it gets to be too much, I’m excellent at coming up with polite excuses to get them out of the house.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, sweetheart.”
And just in case his words were not confirmation enough, his hands came to cradle your face, thumbs circling your skin before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Go to that bookstore you like,” he said next, already reaching into his pocket. “Grab your favorite coffee, roam around for a while, and try not to stress until they text you that they’re on their way, okay?”
He pulled out his wallet and fished out his card. “You’re too pretty to be stressing in this skirt.”
You raised a brow, lifting one leg and watching the flowy fabric settle back down over your knee. “It’s cute right?”
“Very.” He nodded, dead serious. “Go buy yourself another one.” He extended the card towards you like it was non-negotiable.
You laughed, giving his hand a light swat. “I’m not taking your card like some 1950s housewife.”
“You’re not. You’re my very independent, endlessly capable wife who I happen to love spoiling any chance I get. Now, please, take it. Call it payment for lunch…and for making you come all the way here, knowing full well how much you’d rather avoid this place.”
You pouted, eyes dancing between the card and his face. “Fine,” you relented, plucking the card from his hand. “But I’m only getting one book. Two max. The bookshelf is about to collapse.”
“Buy as many as you want.” He reached down, helping you to your feet with a gentle tug. “I’ll build you a new bookshelf.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“You’ll build me a new bookshelf?”
He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “With actual tools.”
“Okay, now I have to see that.”
He pulled back, straightening your cardigan, fussing without ever making it feel like fussing. “Then you better pick up a lot of books.”
You rolled your eyes, tucking the card away into your pocket. “This is enabling.”
“This is love,” he corrected, stealing a quick kiss before walking you to the door. “Text me when you get there. And if you see a ridiculous romance novel with a cheesy title, get it. I want to hear the plot.”
You grinned, poking his chest. “You just want to make fun of me.”
“No, I just like knowing what’s taking up space in that beautiful head of yours.”
“It’s mostly just you.”
He looked like he was trying not to smile too hard at that, so you saved him the trouble by leaning up and giving him one last kiss, ignoring all the hollering behind you from Morgan.
“I love you,” he promised, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Now, go before I change my mind and fake a headache just to come with you.”
summary: your boss keeps calling at the most inconvenient time, right when you’re on the edge of the highest pleasure. finally, you get your retribution.
Delicate fingers trail up from your ankle, dragging from calf to knee. Leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. Your hips jump forward and a light sigh crawls from your lips. Impatiently, you pull his hand up and rip down your own underwear, and finally, fingers push into you.
Your eyes squeeze close and you’re not quiet this time, a loud squeak comes from the back of your throat. A desperate hand grabs onto his forearm, gripping hard as your back arches off the mattress, the cool air rushing in and sticking to the warmth on your skin.
“Oh my god!” You sigh.
His thumb jumps up, rubbing deep, round circles around your clit, just skirting the edge, enough to make your eyes roll back. Your abs jerk you forward as you creep closer to the edge, pulling his torso down to meet yours, teeth sinking into his shoulder, leaving a line of red indents. This muffles the loud cry that leaves you. It was like you were running towards the edge of a cliff, ready to jump off and dive into a sea of endless pleasure.
Suddenly, the enjoyable fantasy you were bathing in was cut short. The loud blaring ringtone seemed to bounce off the walls of your dates bedroom, and you woke up from your dream. It was an awful sound, pulling you into harsh reality, like being doused with ice cold water and you jolt up, pushing the poor guy down.
His fingers slide out of you as you scramble down to the floor, where your phone was still screaming at you from your jean pocket. Pulling it out, you look at the screen in grave displeasure. The one name you didn’t want to read at two am on a Friday night, after a successful date.
“Hotch.” Your eyes shut as you wait for the dreaded words to come through the phone.
“We have a case, be here asap.” His gravely voice scratches down your back like nails on a chalkboard.
Throwing your head back, you groan silently. “Alright, I’m on my way.” You take a deep breath in and pull yourself off the floor like you weighed a ton. “I’m sorry, I’ve been called into work, gotta go.” You say, giving the poor guy a sad smile while pulling up your jeans and your very not work appropriate top. It was a dark red, covered in rhinestones, a deep v neck that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A pathetic wave comes from your wrist, and the cold air hits you quicker than expected, climbing into your car.
The elevator ride up to the BAU floor took an eternity, each floor button lighting up as you pass it. It slows on floor four, and you shuffle over as the doors slide open. Your eyes don’t leave your shoes as one of the guys from cyber crimes steps into the space. Finally, getting to floor seven, you give him a tight lipped smile before stalking into the bullpen.
You hear him before you see him, Derek laughing at something dorky Spencer had said. Then, a loud whistle comes from him as you walk into view. “Wow, I guess someone had a good night.”
“Not even close.” You laugh, rummaging through your desk and yanking out the go bag, throwing it over your shoulder.
“Bad date?” He pipes, his eyebrows pulling together, concerned.
“Great date.” You sigh, giving a pointed look to Emily, Pen and JJ. All of them leant on Emily’s desk and she shakes her head.
“Again?” She asks, a disbelief in her tone.
“Again!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up before walking to the bathroom to get changed into your work clothes.
“Is this one of those girl’s night things I don’t understand?” Derek asks, a sassy hand on his hip.
“You don’t even know the half of it sugar.” Penelope shakes her head, the feathers she had stuck in her buns swaying back and forth.
“Round table!” Hotch barks to the group from the catwalk, his head nodding towards the conference room.
Everyone filters into the room, all taking their usual seats around the table. The projector screen pulls down slowly, and Penelope stood awaiting her go.
“Where’s-.” Hotch started, but was quickly silenced by your light jogging into the room, pretty much throwing yourself down in the chair.
“Good night?” Dave asks with a smirk. You glare at him darkly, like ice shooting from your eyes, a scowl forming on your face. “Ok!” He turns away from you to the screen.
Penelope clicks on the remote, and the projector whirs. Three photos of brunette woman pop up on the screen, and then gruesome ones follow up. “Here’s our victims, Lila Grey, Jess Jones and Kira Walker. All found slaughtered in alleyways, necks cut.” Pen squeaked, looking away from the screen.
“The Glendale police department want our help in locating the killer, they can’t figure out where in the city he is or who he is.” Hotch says, “Wheels up in 20, debrief on the jet, he’s escalating.”
-
The jet was warm, a stark comparison from the runway, that was biting cold and climbed through the fabric of your shirt. It was still a marvel to you that you had a private jet, it was smoother than an economy plane.
Magnolia files were plopped down in front of you, the back of Hotch’s suit comes into vision and he sits down in his regular seat, back to the small kitchenette. His eyes didn’t even cast you glance but that gets pushed to the back of your mind when your eyes are filled with puddles of blood.
“Seems pretty cut and dry right?” JJ calls, “Middle-aged, probably single, woman hating.”
You were all in agreement, “What did the women do for work?” You ask, staring at their photos.
“They all worked in finance, behind the scenes.” Derek says, “So maybe financial incentives?”
“They have a list of suspects for us to look at once we get there, two of them can’t be located so that’s our priority.” Hotch commands, “But rest till we get there, I know I interrupted your sleep.”
“Well most of us.” Emily jokes, nudging you with her shoulder and a catty smile spreads across her lips.
“Shut up.” You say with gritted teeth, and a light slap to her shoulder and you couldn’t help the bright red heat that spread across your face. Catching dark eyes across the jet, you somehow think you turn more red and focus on the file in front of you.
It’s early when you land, the sunrise just peeking through the clouds and shrouds everything in a bright orange hue. You stare out of the window of the police precinct, a cup of strong black coffee. Spencer was drawing on the whiteboard figuring out a geographical profile for the two missing suspects while the rest of the team checked on the others already interviewed, just to double check.
You stare at the map, the huge circles not making any sense. “What have you marked?”
“Where they were killed and their addresses.” He stated, stroking his straight tie.
“Add in their workplaces.” You say, Spencer adds the dots to the whiteboard. Connecting each women’s three points into a triangle and he circles it in a bright red. “Call Pen!” You instruct Spencer and he pulls his flip phone out, refusing to succumb to modern technology.
“You’re on speaker.” He tells her as soon as she picks up.
“Pen! Look for previous offenders in a three mile radius of Davis street.” A stressed hand pulls through your hair. “Look for previous assault offenders, battery, bar fights, domestic.” You list off, a nod from approval from Spencer.
“Sorry pumpkin! But there’s no one with a previous history in this area.” She says, deflated, before apologising and leaving the call.
“Stupid geographical profile.” You scoff, shoving yourself into the chair.
“Maybe we could add.” Spencer starts but you cut him off, tone harsh and sharp.
“We’re not gunna find him!” As it came out you felt the unneeded venom. “Sorry. Just frustrated.” You give him a weak smile and the rest of the team appear in that moment.
“Everything ok?” JJ asks, looking between you and Spencer.
“No result from the geographical.” You shrug with a sigh. “I’ve also looked over lots of people work priors. They either don’t normally branch to women or are back in prison.”
Morning turned to evening and you hadn’t left the same position from earlier, the whole team looking over files upon files. Hope was slowly dwindling as a large pile of takeaway coffee cups piled into a mountain.
“Alright, let’s call it a night.” Hotch says, leaning back and standing up. “Unfortunately for the hotel two people have to share. They were fully booked for the night, no cancellations.”
A collective groan comes from the team, that’s the last thing you all wanted to hear after a long day. The short ride to the hotel was a quiet one, silent prayers hoping, wishing to have a room to yourself.
-
“Ok, let’s draw draws.” Derek says, pulling out the straws he kept in his go bag. You all had decided when Strauss wanted to stiff you with sharing rooms, you’d draw straws, keep it fair and by chance. This led to Spencer rambling on about probability and how it wasn’t really fair due to preconceived notions on picking. “It’s bossmans turn to share so whoever draws the short straw, get cozy!”
Derek pulls his first, long. He sighs and holds them to Dave, long. His smile was brass and unwavering and he heads off to bed before anyone else had pulled theirs. Spencer pulls his, long. Derek finally gets to you, putting them in front of you.
You cast your mind back to Spencer’s rant about preconceived notions. You knew you were privy to picking straws on the right, due to being right handed. A leap of faith, you pull one on the left. It stops a second after you grab it and you shut your eyes in disappointment.
Everyone else releases the deep breaths they were holding. You tried to not show Hotch your face, trying to not deeply offend him.
Begrudgingly, you drag your feet behind Hotch, not missing the sympathetic looks from the rest of the team, waving them off weakly.
“Well there goes her nightly plans.” Emily snorts to JJ, tapping shoulders as they walk away with a snicker.
Hotch’s ears prick up at that, her hushed tone knowing that whatever that was wasn’t meant for his ears, especially because you shoved an aggressive middle finger in their direction. That only made Emily and JJ laugh more.
He leads the way to the room, carefully checking behind to make sure you’re still trailing behind him. You were, you looked exhausted. Feet dragging, bag dragging and rubbing your eyes. Holding the key card up to the censor, it beeps loudly and he pushes open the door.
One bed, he strode in the hotel room, putting his go bag on the small couch. “Sorry you have to share with me. I’ll take the couch.”
You rolled your eyes, you knew he was trying to be chivalrous. “It’s fine, and no. You won’t fit on that couch.” You shake your head. “You’re not the first man I’ve shared a bed with.” You joke, he doesn’t find it funny.
“I’ll take the side near the door.” He states seriously. You nod.
“Fine, you can have the first shower, I prefer to shower in the morning.” Your tone is harsh. He nods and you stare at his back, glaring daggers into his back hoping he’d bleed out and die so he couldn’t interrupt another one of your orgasms.
The shower turns on and rushes loudly. You pull on your pyjamas and slip into the sheets, staring longingly at your go bag, desperate for the release that was hidden away in a deep pocket.
He came out of the shower in just a towel. He was sparkling in the shitty LED light of the hotel room, he doesn’t look at you as he quickly rummages through his go bag, pulling out his pyjamas and muttering a “Sorry” then disappearing back into the bathroom.
Then he climbed into bed next to you, it was awkward and the two of you were ridged. Him because of the unwavering professionalism that suffocated his every move, and you still ever so frustrated of your lack of getting off. Realising the two of you had never shared a room before, you wondered what kind of sleeper he was. Emily was a wriggler, JJ a kicker, Spencer a mumbler and Derek a snorer. Rossi somehow had never shared a room with anyone on the team, you were convinced he rigged it.
He sat with a case file open and you sighed. “It’s getting late, can I turn the light off?” You ask, frustrated after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, the white bright hotel light hindering you.
“Yep.” His brows scrunch at your harsh tone. You look into his eyes, he’s profiling you, a deep breath sucked in and you flipped over.
“Night.” Your tone is clipped as the room is covered in a thick layer of darkness, you fall asleep quickly and set a quiet alarm for far to early in the morning.
You awoke to the first shrill ring of your alarm. Eyes pulling open into pure blackness. Sitting up, you take a couple moments to breathe, staring at your phone and reading a text from Pen.
‘How’s the boss?’
‘Ridged like a corpse.’
Your eyes gloss over him even though you couldn’t see him, you hadn’t woke once in the night to any movement or snoring, it was so… Hotch.
Wandering to the shower with your go bag, it spurts on, sputtering until it comes to a steady stream. You step in and the shower, it’s warmer than the hotel showers you were used to. An involuntary sigh pulls from you, hands running through your hair, washing out the shampoo. Your cheap body wash also being ran down the drain.
Before you knew it, your hands and slipped down south. Lightly touching, ghosting over yourself and you bite your lip. One of your fingers grazes your clit and a louder sigh crawls from you, you bring a hand to your mouth as you start moving in frantic circles.
Images of Hotch from the night before cloud your mind, his back muscles glistening in the hotel light and the faint glimpse of chest hair you’d seen when he hid away back in this very room. Before you could debate the morality of wanking to your boss who was one thin hotel wall over, two of your fingers slip inside of yourself and you bite a lip so hard you draw blood.
Your chest heaves and you lean against the shower wall. The white tiles were cold against the heat radiating from you, the contrast making everything more intense. Your mind filled with Hotch, arms, back, chest. That ten second glimpse was enough to send you spiralling. The warmth of him next to you in the bed had your legs trembling. Wandering, your mind jumped to what he would be like as a lover, would the strokes be deep or rough, you hoped rough. Teetering, closer and closer to the edge you were panting, deep in your fantasy you could almost hear his voice.
Except you could hear his voice, and he was pounding on the door.
“Hey! We need to get going and I need to brush my teeth.”
The shower turned cold, and you gasped loudly, jumping out.
A film reel plays in your head, there’s no way this is happening again. Every date, you finally get to the edge, the phone rings. No matter what time, nine am, two am, his voice always pulled you out of the deepest pleasure.
“Are you ok?” He shouted through the door, wrapping a towel around yourself you open the door to him standing right there.
“Yeah, there’s no more hot water.” You pull your lips together into a line, pushing past him so he can’t profile your flushed face. The bathroom door locks behind him.
You imagined taking an axe to the door psycho style, but then came to your senses, scrambling into your work clothes and running out of the room before he could finish up in the bathroom.
-
When you get to the precinct, Emily is already there. She’s pouring over case files and you sit down next to her, coffee already in hand.
“What have you got?” You ask.
“There’s this guy, lives just outside the geo profile and has a prior of car damage. Before you say unrelated, it was his ex’s car and she was in it.” You nod along and point to the very small yes pile.
“Somebody didn’t get a good night sleep.” She laughs looking at the tiredness on your face.
“He has a sixth sense.” You hiss quietly, looking around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I was mid shower.”
“Yikes.” She grits her teeth and looks at you sympathetically. Then her sympathy turns to that sly grin she would get, when she was about to suggest something incredibly stupid. “You know.” Her voice is low, “There is one way to fix his sixth sense..”
“You’re crazy.”
“We all know you have a thing for him.” She tilts her head knowingly, you shake your head and look to the door.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Swallowing thickly, you refuse to meet her eyes.
“The rest of the team might not be able to profile you well, but I can.” She teases and nudges your shoulder.
You roll your eyes and scoff. Eyes staring at the file in front of you, swiftly moving on from Emily’s brash accusation. Fingers tapping on the wooden table, a smooth rhythm.
The rest of the day goes slow, dragging by, each second like pulling teeth. Spent pulling files and cross checking.
You hum and grunt all day, dozens of trips to the coffee machine, gulping them down. Derek catches Emily’s eye across the table, he nods towards you with a raised eyebrow. She waves a hand dismissively as you come back in, mug full to the brim. It’s five when you finally get a hit.
“Don Forbes.” Penelope states. “Has a matching record with Emily’s car guy, and his face suspiciously matches the one from the mugshot. He changed his name, that’s why we couldn’t find him.”
Hotch stands straight at that, pulling on his blazer he’d haphazardly shoved off during the day. You all follow suit, pulling on your vests and triple checking the gun was settled in your holster.
“Prentiss.” He states as she appears next to him, pulling her to a small corridor away from the team. “Is she ok to be in the field?” He nods towards you.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She nods, “She’s just..” She takes a pregnant pause. “Frustrated.”
Hotch furrows his eyebrows, “At the case?”
“She’s going to kill me.” Emily mutters and checks over her shoulder, seeing you strap Spencer into his vest. “You keep interrupting her, private moments.” She widens her eyes intentionally.
“Ah.” He responds flatly. Nodding that stiff nod he always did. “Let’s go then.”
-
“Don Forbes, FBI!” Derek calls through the door, banging on it loudly.
No answer, JJ peers through the window. “He’s running!” She shouts, and you and Hotch immediately run to the back of the house, Derek kicks down the door and the rest of the team file in.
As you round the corner, he barrels through his own back door and tries to barge through the back gate and into the woods that lined his home. But, Hotch grabs the back of his collar, yanking him back and throwing him down into his shed wall. Pulling his arms behind him and clinking the cuffs on.
Everything turns into a blur, the heat crawls up from your legs, up your torso and to your neck. It’s like the world goes silent, only focused on Hotch and how his biceps made the fabric on his shirt pull tight.
-
Finally, Don had been questioned, confessed and checked, to be kept in holding to his trial. Breathing a breath of fresh air, the team stands outside of the precinct.
“Let’s stay the night, It’s too cloudy for the jet now.” Hotch nods, glancing up to the sky.
“Alright! Who wants to hit a bar?” Rossi rocks back on his heels, throwing his blazer over his shoulder. An echoing chorus of yes’s and please’s come from everyone.
“I think I’ll give this one a miss, I’m exhausted.” You smile and wave, quickly walking over to the car, ready to drive off.
A knock comes on the window just as you put the key in the ignition. Hotch is stood there, and you nod. He pulls open the door and climbs in.
“Not feeling it?” You ask and drive out.
“No. I’m also feeling tired.”
You glance out the corner of your eye, “I must be great in bed huh?” You joke and your eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant.” Bright red flush covers your face and you are thankful to be pulling into the hotel car park.
“I don’t doubt it.” He says smirking, climbing out of the car.
Following him to the room, he clicks open the door and you flop down on you flop down on the bed face first, you sigh, the cheap hotel mattress feeling like a cloud after a whole day of ridged plastic chairs. “Could you grab my pyjamas?” You mutter to Hotch.
“Sure.” He laughs and shakes his head at you, your head pressed into the pillow.
Pulling through your bag, he grabs your pyjamas, they were long sleeved and had a pattern of small forest animals dotted all over. Underneath, there was a pink vibrator, staring at it.
“You always bring this with you?” You hear Hotch ask and you lazily turn your head.
He’s stood there, holding your vibrator in his hand taking steps towards you. You scurry up, and sit on the edge of the bed. And he was walking towards you slowly, clicking it on. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you up. The embarrassment consumes you, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
“I know about your little predicament.” He smiles, it’s teasing and tantalising. He’s now towering in front of you, taking your jaw in his hand and’s forcing you to look up at him.
“Oh god.” You didn’t think you could get redder, but the heat on your cheeks becomes burning.
He clicks off the vibe and throws it to the side. Pulling you up, and putting a stabilising hand around your back. “This ok?” He checks in, you nod furiously.
Then, he kisses you. His lips are warm, and you already squeak, his arms hold you close, his chest was hard, solid, his muscles flexing as one of his hand snakes to the back of your head. You grab his bicep, fingers digging in. He groans into the kiss now, catching your bottom lip with his teeth.
Your hands wander, the cotton shirt smooth under your fingers. The top button pops open easily, the next one too. You hadn’t stopped kissing, his tongue dips into your mouth and your fingers fumble with the buttons. He was warm, everywhere.
Finally, the bottom button pops open, the shirt flows open. Pulling away from Aaron’s kiss, your eyes drag down his naked chest. Unable to control yourself, your lips attach to the base of Aaron’s jaw, and your hands feel him up. He’s breathy, you suck on his neck, not caring about the consequences tomorrow.
Pulling you off, he looks down at you, those pools of dark brown hypnotising you. He bends down, now focusing on your neck, in between teasing kisses he whispers, “I’m sorry for interrupting your fun.” His nose drags up the side of your neck.
“How about I make it up to you?”
You’re sure you melt at that, your legs turning to jelly. His strong, sturdy arms hold you up, sweeping your legs up, he throws you down onto the bed. The old springs of the hotel bed creak as you bounce. Sliding up to the pillows, he moves.
It’s predatory, the way he crawled up to you. Him the lion, you the helpless deer. His fingers popped open your slacks, yanking down your legs, coming face to face with your red underwear.
“For me?” He smirks, pinging the elastic back into your hip, it makes you jolt. It’s a light stinging pain, you don’t mind.
“You wish.” You cut back, a flashy smile on your face. He doesn’t like that, the deep, serious unit chief spreads across his face.
“You’re going regret that.” He growls, pulling the panties down your legs, leaving you bare to him. Before you even suck in a breath, his mouth is on you.
Licking a deep stripe up you, entrance to clit, a deep shudder pulls from your body. Landing on your clit, his tongue flicks softly. Sparks of pleasure shoot through your pelvis, and your hands grip onto the pillow surrounding your head.
“Oh fuck!” You cry out, your head shoving back.
He smirks against you, big, thick hands pulling your thighs apart, leaving you wide open, to his mercy. His licks turn into sucking, taking your clit into your mouth and your thigh muscle tenses. His teeth graze it, and you’re sure you saw stars.
Legs trembling through his tight grip, your eyes squeeze shut as you cum. He’s relentless, licking you through your orgasm, making your hips jump.
He looks up at you, his eyebrows peaked, chin shiny with your juices. “God.” You sigh at the sight.
“Not God baby, just me.” He smirks and dives back in. Going back to the rough licks and pokes he was using before. He licks another full stripe up you, pulling back and blowing cool air over your clit.
Your hands jump into his hair, it’s softer than you thought it would be. You claw at his scalp and you feel your abs tense. One of his hands snakes down, sliding up from the bottom, catching your wetness as he goes. His finger slips inside of you and you moan out. “Sir!”
You don’t even think about the title, but you feel him groan against you, the vibrations travel up you.
“You can give me another?” He asks, and another finger pushes in. He pushes up and brushes your g spot. You swear you feel your brain turn to mush, the constant stimulation, his tongue flicking your clit and fingers pumping in and out you. The tension builds in your abdomen and you nod furiously, the front bits of your hair fall in front of your face.
Through your hair you meet his eyes, “Use your words.” He instructs, non relenting.
“Yes, Yes! Yes!” You scream out, sure the dirty looks you were going to get from the receptionist tomorrow morning would be scorning. You cum on his face again, your body going limp and you spread out, chest heaving up and down, sweat clung to the shirt you hadn’t removed yet.
That came off in quick succession, Aaron crawling up your body, hands grabbing one side each, he yanks. The buttons fly everywhere and he pulls it off you, snaking his hands around your back and unhooked your bra, also pulling that from your body.
“My shirt!” You whine, “That’s my favourite one.”
He kisses you softly this time, a look of fake sympathy in his eyes. “Aww, I’ll buy you three more, in different colours.”
He’s back on your neck, sucking the skin in, giving you a deeper hickey next to the lighter one he’d left earlier. Your hips jump up and brush against his cock, and you gasp. His teeth scrape along your neck as you push up against him.
He undoes his slacks, pulling them down and his boxers with them and your eyes wander down.
“Woah.” You say before you can think about it, your eyes become as wide as saucers.
He drags his cock up and down you, covering the tip of his cock in your wetness. Your teeth clamp down on your lip, as it catches on your entrance and he pushes in ever so slightly.
“I’m gunna rip you open.” He says breathlessly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it.
Before you can even formulate a quip, he pushes into you, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together and a begging look in your eyes.
“Oh!” You moan, and he pulls out and slams back in, the sudden fullness sending you into a deep pleasure spiral.
He lowers himself down to his forearms, his head right next to yours, his thick forearms flexed and the veins popping out. His thrusts are uniform and rough.
“You going to cum again for me?” He asks, knowing he won’t last long in tight warmth you had surrounded him in. It felt like every time he pulled out, you sucked him back in.
“Yea.” You whisper breathlessly, and you sink your teeth into the flesh on his forearms. Mumbling the constant string of moans pulling from your throat.
Feeling like you’re floating, you’d never felt this amount of pleasure as his cock dragged deliciously against your g spot. “So-so full.” You squeak out, eyes rolling back.
“Where’s all that annoyance now huh?” You could hear the smirk and his thrusts get faster, transporting you into another world.
“Ah- ah! Aaron!” You suck in a deep breath. You’re sure your brain goes black, not capable of a competent thought. Your whole body trembles this time, the coil in your pelvis just begging to snap.
“Cum for me baby.”
That’s all it takes, you tighten around him, nails digging into his back and a silent cry comes from your throat. He slows slightly, however, still thrusting and bringing himself over the edge.
Pushing to the hilt, he releases inside of you. He places his forehead against yours and he slips out of you.
“You ok?” He checks in, stroking your hair.
“Yeah.” There’s a satisfied smile on your face as he quickly darts off to the bathroom, coming back with a wet rag and cleaning his cum off of your pussy and inner thighs, you shiver, still sensitive.
Once you’re clean, he clambers into bed next to you, pulling the covers over you, neither rod you bothering to get dressed.
“You know, I might have to make a complaint to HR,” You joke. “I’m sure that my boss cumming in me might come under sexual harassment.”
“Hmm.” He hums. “Well I think my subordinate rubbing herself in the shower while imagining me naked also comes under sexual harassment.” He jokes back.
Horror pulls over your face. “I’m gunna kill Em-”
He cuts you off, “Emily didn’t tell me about the shower, but she did tell me about you not coming for a while, well she implied it.”
“Then how?” Your jaw is slack and that familiar redness lights you up like a christmas string.
“I am a profiler.” He smiles. “Your face was very, very red.”
“Oh shut up. You’re the one who came out here in a towel and decided to just show me those back muscles.” You roll your eyes.
“My back muscles?” He smirks, smugness all over his face.
“Fuck off.” You huff, “Sir.” You add slyly.
It’s now his turn to turn bright red.
-
“Is anyone going to address the elephant in the room?” Derek asks after everyone is a couple drinks in, looser from the alcohol.
“Or do you mean the elephants that aren’t in the room?” JJ snorts, taking another sip out of her drink. Her and Emily make eyecontact across the circular table and start giggling manically.
“What? What did I miss?” Spencer tilts his head in confusion. “There’s no elephants in the room.”
“Hotch and y/n sitting in a tree.” JJ starts.
“What you think they’re kissing?” Spencer exclaims, pushing up his glasses in shock.
“Oh they’re doing a lot more than kissing. I can’t wait to tell Penelope.” She finishes, typing furiously on her phone.
-
an: heyy party people, thanks for reading this!! this idea was a long time coming so please please like and reblog it! i need that fbi agent so baddddd. comment if you want to be added to a tag list!!
warnings: probably ooc hotch, reader is unashamedly and unabashedly down bad for hotch and she shows and owns it, seriously, if this real life, she'd get written up or possibly fired lmao. age-gap relationship (duh). some cameos - you get a cookie if you know who they are. mostly fluff and crack, but there plans for angst. divorced!hotch. jack does not exist in the universe.
notes: forewarning i'm rusty as hell, regarding writing, so forgive me. this idea was conceived almost this time last year. most parts have been finished. as always, please let me know what you think! pics are owned by their respective owners.
iked by a.hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, s_riley and 247 others
lilprivyn it's my birthday, i can cry if i want to (there was no crying involved)
tagged haley_lane, prentiss.here, yourgirlgarcia, jj.jareau, and 9 others
derek_morgan happy birthday
lilprivyn y so dry, derek? :(
derek_morgan Well it might be because SOMEBODY kept asking for me to do shots with her
lilprivyn as someone who has never consumed an alcoholic beverage in their life, i assume that this is not about me
prentiss.here major hottie alert!
lilprivyn no u
a.hotchner Happy Birthday. I hope you had a fun night!
lilprivyn thanks boss! wish u were there tho!
prentiss.here get a room
comment liked by derek_morgan and david_s_rossi
lilprivyn rossi was there but he did not want to take any photos :( even tho it was my bday (so there was a little bit of crying involved)
david_s_rossi I was not. You cannot prove that I was there, in that room, with all that neon and glitter.
lilprivyn and the boas and the cowboy hats! do not forget about the cowboy hats
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iked by a_hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, prentiss.here and 127 others
lilprivyn birthday pt 2 photo dump
song we fell in love in october - girl in red
yourgirlgarcia you're glowing star girl!
lilprivyn it's because i have you in my life pen <3
derek_morgan Hold up there, cowgirl. Who's the man?
lilprivyn wouldn't u like to know
jj.jareau I think we would all like to know.
prentiss.here ^^
lilprivyn it was actually a random man
david_s_rossi I thought we taught you better than that.
jj.jareau @/spence.reid, we need you here. Can you guess who that man is?
lilprivyn i'm going to block all of u and report ur accounts
jj.jareau We'll just get Penelope to reinstate them.
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liked by lilprivyn, dave_s_rossi, yourgirlgarcia and 6 others
lilprivyn HOTCH ur first selfie ♥‿♥
derek_morgan Damn, baby girl has it bad
lilprivyn yeah, pen got it real bad for her chocolate thunder
comment liked by a.hotchner
lilprivyn anyways, as i was saying, ur first selfie and it's truly a masterpiece
yourgirlgarcia Don't think I've ever seen you in other than a suit, boss.
prentiss.here Didn't think I'd ever see him in any other place than the office.
comment liked by jj.jareau
dave_s_rossi Are you joining in with the kids with all of their selfie nonsense?
lilprivyn rossi, as if ur feed is not just your face, your book, your face and italian food
lilprivyn can i join u next time
comment liked by a.hotchner
a.hotchner Yes. I would like that.
comment liked by lilprivyn
lilprivyn (⑉• ﻌ •⑉)
prentiss.here GET A ROOM
comment liked by derek_morgan, david_s_rossi and jj.jareau
lilprivyn em, don't be jelly, i have some lovin' for u too <3
lilprivyn i thank god everyday that i have eyes that work
comment liked by a.hotchner
derek_morgan Notice how there's only one person that's constantly commenting?
lilprivyn yeah, derek, why don't you like get a life and stop commenting on hotch's photo?
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