Alice 29, she/her, bisexual Writer, 18+!! I do take requests :) Defender of Bucky and Steve Don't come around being a jerk you will be blocked! Icon credit to owner
plot: you accidentally send Peter a pic and he sends one back
pairing: peter parker x reader
tags: cheating, smut, i havenât written in a minute so this probably suckkksssss
inspired by @llalaundercover on tiktok
Organic Chemistry 101 was difficult. And that was saying something considering you were an A* student in high school. College was hard. It was filled with a bunch of pretentious know-it-alls, all insufferable and snotty with the exception of Peter Parker.
He was quiet, stuck to himself, and also crazy smart. He'd been part of the Robotics club in high school, and you remember admiring him work, always in a world of his own. It felt like that was eons ago.
You had become more familiar with each other in college, considering you were both taking the same major. Youâd help each other out with notes and answers here and there, even studying together during peak exam season.
Now here you were, trying not to let all the electives and classes and events drown you, but finding it difficult to find a balance. From an outsider's perspective, it looked like you had everything; the grades, the looks, the guy.
Brad. Your boyfriend from high school who had followed you to college. Classic high school sweethearts. You'd won prom king and queen, applied to colleges together, planned all your senior pranks together.
But truthfully, it was an empty relationship. Brad was here on a sports scholarship, and the two of you couldn't be more distant. Sure he brought you flowers and chocolates on Valentine's day and kissed you when you met him on the field, but he didn't know much about you.
Or about how much you'd changed. And you never felt comfortable enough to tell him. Truth was, it was boring. He was boring.
Sex with him was even more boring. The same position, the same words, the same time, every time. It had become a boring mundane routine, like another chore to check off your list.
So when he texts you, asking you to 'send something?' Your eyes light up. Finally some excitement. You strip your top off, turn on your lamp, and snap a few pics at different angles, scrolling between them until you land on the perfect one.
Getting another notification, you click to open it, assuming it was Brad again. You attach the photo of you holding your boobs, with your necklace resting in your cleavage and your hair framing the sides.
Resting your phone down, you wait for his response. When a few minutes pass without him responding, you decide to send a sly message asking what he was doing with the photo, only to see that his message had remained unopened.
Confused, you open your chat, then swipe back out to see that Peter Parker was at the top of your message list.
You were going to die. Of mortification. Brad was going to break up with you, and Peter freaking Parker would know how your tits looked.
Youâre close to a full blown panic attack when you hear a ding! from your phone.
This was it. The consequences of your actions. A lengthy disgusted message from Peter about sending unsolicited nudes and the end of any future distinguished careers.
Squealing, you contort in your bed like a madman before huffing and opening your phone.
[picture attached]
Oh.
Pausing, you wonder what he could have sent you. It couldn't be...
Adjusting yourself in the bed, you lie on your stomach and click on the photo.
Peter Parker knew how your tits looked, and you knew how his dick looked now too.
Nice isn't the first word you'd think of to describe a penis, but his was... pretty? It was blushing at the tip, and even in the low lighting you could see the pre glistening.
You think you're about to combust when he sends something else.
A video.
You open it without hesitation.
He's holding his base, whining aâ
"Fuckkkkkk. Wanted this so long."
He tugs upwards once, hissing at the sensation. "Please, please, let me come over. Fuck please, I'll make you feel so good..."
And just like that the screen goes blank. Itâs embarrassing how quick you become wet.
You don't even blink before texting him your dorm room number.
10 long minutes later, there's a knock. By then, you'd watched the video over and over, and if you closed your eyes you could see it playing behind your eyelids.
You open on the first knock, smiling at the sheepish look on his face with his fist raised to knock again.
There's a thud behind you and you feel your spine tingle when you realise he's dropped to his knees before you.
You think for a second that you should reject his advances. That you should feel some type of shame, think of your relationship, muster any kind of logic.
But it was hard to think when he was looking at you so prettily.
Eyes all watery, like youâre the only thing in the world, like heâd do anything for you.
So when he says, âplease,â softly, you feel like you donât have a choice but to lean down and press your lips to his.
summary á° perks of having a girlfriend that ran hot as shit at night was that clothes were pretty much nonexistent and that gave hotch the perfect opportunity to devour you whole anytime of the day. masterlist
perks of having you as a girlfriend was that you ran hot at night, so clothes just didnât exist in your dictionary. maybe a shirt of aaron that was way too big on youâon a good dayâand nothing else.
which brings us to the second point which is that it gave hotch a pretty good easy access in the mornings to do his job as being the alarm since you were a heavy sleeper.
itâs the same routine every time. he usually wake up a little early for his morning run anyway and then heâs on you. gently getting inside the covers kissing his way down your thighs.
he shifts under the covers, the fabric a soft weight over both of you. the air is warm from your body heat, smelling faintly of your body wash and whatever body oil youâve applied the night before. aaronâs movements are deliberate but unhurried; he has time.
he parts your thighs with a firm but gentle pressure of his hands, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where they meet your hips. he doesnât rush to the main event. he kisses the hollows of your hips, the crease where thigh meets torso, his stubble a delicious, rough counterpoint to the softness of his lips. heâs just breathing you in for a moment, his warm breath ghosting over you, making you twitch in your sleep.
then he leans in and gives a slow, flat lick from your entrance up to your clit. the sensation is a slow, creeping wave of heat that pulls you from the depths of sleep. a soft sigh escapes your lips as your body arches instinctively toward his mouth. you recognize him even in your sleep and he takes that as his cue, his hands coming up to grip your hips, holding you open for him.
his tongue is an instrument of pure, focused pleasure. he starts with broad, languid strokes, coating you in his saliva, getting you wet and ready. he explores every fold, every curve, learning your all over again as if itâs the first time. he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing, before flattening it and giving it a firm, slow suck. your hands fly down to tangle in his hair, your hips rocking against his face as you chase the sensation.
he groans against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through your core. he loves this. loves the taste of you, the way your body responds to him, the soft sounds you make. he doubles down, his tongue becoming more insistent, more pointed. he flicks your clit rapidly, then seals his lips around it and sucks, hard. your breath hitches, your back arching off the bed as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.
âshit,â you gasp, your voice thick with sleep and arousal.
he hums in response, his tongue never ceasing its delicious torture. he slides one hand from your hip, his fingers finding your entrance. he teases you, circling the tight ring of muscle before slowly pushing one, then two fingers inside. he curls them just so, finding that spot that makes you see stars. his mouth works your clit in tandem with his fingers, a perfect, relentless rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
your thighs start to shake, your grip on his hair tightening. the world narrows to the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the coiling tension in your belly. he can feel youâre close, your body clenching around his fingers. he sucks your clit harder, his tongue flicking it in a frantic rhythm, and thatâs all it takesâ
thatâs all it takesâexcept he stops.
his mouth pulls back just enough to leave you hovering, a breath away from the fall. the only point of contact is the kitten-soft flick of his tongue against your clit, a maddening, teasing rhythm designed to keep you right on the razorâs edge. your hips jerk, trying to force more pressure, but his hands hold you firm, pinning you to the mattress.
âsay my name baby?â he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your soaked flesh.
âplease,â you whine, the sound thin and desperate. you shove the blanket down just enough to glare at him, and the sight nearly makes you come anyway. his hair is a wreck, his lips and chin are wet and shining with you, and his eyes are dark with smug satisfaction. god, what a sight.
âmm,â is all he says, a noncommittal hum against your clit that makes your whole body clench. heâs not giving in.
âjames?â you grit out, a petty, triumphant barely there smirk touching your own lips. you know exactly what youâre doing. this is the downsideâno, the brilliant sideâof having a girlfriend who knows exactly which buttons to push. you rail him any fucking chance you get, just to see that muscle in his jaw twitch.
canât help it he just looks so hot when heâs annoyed.
his eyes narrow. he doesnât say a word. instead, he pulls his hand back and delivers a sharp, stinging slap directly to your pussy. the sound is wet and loud in the quiet room, and the jolt of pleasure-pain that follows is electric. it steals the air from your lungs and sends a fresh gush of wetness against his palm.
âwrong answer,â he grits out, before his mouth is back on you, devouring you with a renewed, punishing intensity. he sucks your clit hard, his tongue working frantically, pushing you right back to the peak in seconds. just as youâre about to tumble over, he stops again.
âtry again,â he commands, his voice rough.
you gasp, writhing beneath him. âfuck. you, james.â
another slap. harder this time. you cry out, your back bowing off the bed. the sting blooms into a deep, throbbing heat that makes your head spin. tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation prick at the corners of your eyes.
âone more,â he warns, his tone leaving no room for argument. his fingers replace his tongue, curling inside you, pressing mercilessly against that spot while his thumb rubs tight, fast circles on your clit. the pressure is immense, a coiling spring in your gut wound so tight itâs about to snap.
âaaron,â you sob, the name tearing from your throat as a tear finally escapes and slides down your temple. âplease, fuck, itâs aaron.â
âgood girl,â he praises, and the relief is so immediate itâs dizzying. he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, his fingers pumping into you with a perfect, relentless rhythm. he doesnât tease anymore. he takes what he wants, giving you exactly what you need. the orgasm that hits you is violent, explosive. it rips through you, stealing your vision and your breath, leaving you a shaking, sobbing, boneless mess. he works you through every aftershock, his touch softening as you come down, until youâre nothing but a pliant, trembling form beneath the sheets.
see? heâs so sweet when you corporate.
only then does he crawl up your body, kissing a trail over your stomach and tits until he reaches your lips. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
âneed to leave in 10, iâll be back before you know it,â he murmurs against your lips, a rare, soft smile in his voice when he sees your dazed expression.
18+ ⍜ đđđđ đđđđđ ? đđ đđđđđ = đđ đđđđđđđđđđđ .
the apartment walls are thin, and peter parker has just the trick up his sleeve⌠to muffle your moans with his webs. đ¸ď¸ŕžŕ˝˛
the apartment walls in queens werenât exactly built the best â a wooden frame sheathed with drywall so weak, you could hear the sound of water running through your neighbors pipes whenever theyâd touch their faucets. even a soft breeze outside could be heard whistling throughout the ridiculously flimsy walls, and unfortunately with thin walls⌠comes absolutely zero privacy.
but of course thereâs no privacy, not whenever peterâs hips are driving flush against your ass. his sweaty palms clasped around the lock of your knees, pressing them towards your chest as the weight of his hips continuously drop against you â punching air out of your lungs from every desperate thrust he feeds into your sopping pussy.
âmmphmm, f-fuck, peterâ feels sâ good!â you choke, throwing your head back against the pillow beneath your head. your arms hung from his neck, fingers engulfed in his silky, brunet curls as your soft cadences of pleasure get him going.
âi-i know, baby.â peter breathes against your skin, his face buried in the dip of your neck fanning warmth into dewy condensation. âi know, but we have to quiet down, remember?â he whispers with a struggled grit from the way your insides wrap his cock into snuggest tunnel he calls home.
âbut i canât, it feels tâ good!â you try to compromise, attempting to stifle your sweet moans and failing miserably â but how could you? how is it possible to quiet down whenever peter, himself is chasing that exact high that makes you both a little delirious in the feat of heat?
your toes curl, and hands claw down from his scalp to his shoulders making peter groan at the sting. âi knowâ hah- it feels it goodâŚâ he chokes, hips stammering in place. his cheeks are flushed, stray strands of hair glued to his forehead as sweat drips down every crevice of his sculpted muscles.
peter lifts his head, desperate eyes latched onto yours as his calloused hands snake up your waist to cradle your face in his hands.
his breathing is staggered â chest rising up and down at a quickened pace before dropping eye level, as if he were trying to tell you something telepathically before pressing his lips against yours. his mouth devouring every inch of your mouth as he repositions his hips while pulling away to replace his hand for his mouth.
âiâm so sorry, baby.â peter softens his voice, âi canât stop because it feels too fuckinâ good to stop.â he whines.
and maybe that kiss alone was a telltale sign of whatâs next to come as you feel the sensation of warmth spread across your mouth.
a stringy-like texture forming a tacky layer against your lips to silence any sound because as much as he loved your raw, sweet pathetic moans. he also knew that thereâd be a neighborly complaint waiting just outside his door the next morning.
peter drives his hips forwards, thrusting straight to the hilt making your back arch off the mattress. your nails carving moon-shaped crescents into his flesh earning low grunts as a moan climbs through your throat with nowhere to go because your mouth is webbed shut, forcing you to swallow down a few muffled whimpers. âthatâs betterâŚâ peter sighed, letting his subconscious thoughts slip past his lips.
this was the perfect solution. a little unethical? yes, but nonetheless perfect in his books because now â now, peter can finally immerse himself into pure lust that heâs strayed away from â the kind of lust where he doesnât have to hold back, where he can completely lose his mind in pleasure without having to worry about a disturbance warning.
and itâs all thanks to his organically crafted webs.
á˛ď¸ľđź thinking about Leon and his back pain...
tags:: RE9!Leon (or RE6) x F!reader, relationship established, maybe slightly suggestive, but no warnings in general, just Leon and his huge yummy yummy back hehe
note:: mini post about massaging leon's back, makes me melt ahhđŤ just enjoy and pleasee ignore any mistakes!!
It had been one of those particularly bad days for Leon and his aching back. You could see him groaning softly and sighing heavily as he paced the kitchen, his unconscious hand moving to his lower back, trying to ease the pain concentrated there. And like the good girlfriend you are, you sweetly asked if he wanted a massage.
"You don't need to do this, Honey. I promiseâ" His groans died the instant your hands roamed his back, trying to help him relax. You were sitting comfortably astride his body, while he lay shirtless with his face pressed into the pillow. His eyes were heavy, and his breathing was slow, letting the air fill his lungs.
You stood there for a few seconds, mesmerized by the beauty of his bent arms, revealing his biceps, and Leon's bareâand damn bigâback. There were small, old scars and patches where the skin was as smooth as a blank canvas, making you want to sink your teeth into them. But you decided to leave that for another time, making a mental note.
"Relax, I'll take care of you." you affirmed, humming softly. You had tied your hair back and stretched out your fingers confidently, mentally preparing yourself to help him relax. Your hands first found his tense shoulders, massaging the knots you encountered with your thumbs. Your first reward was a trembling sigh of relief from the man beneath you, his eyelids beginning to close heavily.
Your gaze followed the movement of your hands, tracing the area between his shoulder blades that was too tense. A long, low moan escaped Leon's lips, betraying the relief you were bringing him.
"God, baby..." he murmured, slurring his words as you massaged him with more enthusiasm. "Your hands are magic, fucking good." He was babbling, melting beneath you. His cheek was pressed against the pillow, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his breaths slow and steady. He was a sight to behold.
Maybe that's why you enjoyed this so much, hearing such kind compliments in his husky, sleepy voice. You felt a little warmth rise to your cheeks from the cheeky moans he let out when your fingers found another tense spot on his shoulders.
"Is it really that good?" you asked, slightly shy and eager to hear more of his praise. You got a small, raspy laugh in return, which made you smile foolishly too. This man was something else.
"It's like heaven," he murmured, already slightly sleepy. "You've got a talent, babyâright there..." His praise was cut short as your hands moved down to massage his lower back, the source of pain.
"Yes, yes...slowlyâ" He moan, frowning and squeezing his eyes shut. He was so cheeky with his sounds. Maybe he was just teasing you and making your face burn on purpose. Anyway, you did your best and gently massaged his lower back.
"Oh, fuuckâyeah, like that..." His raspy voice trailed off, a mixture of pain and relief in his throat as you massaged a little harder. You couldn't help but smile, feeling your silly heart race. A few minutes passed, you murmured about your day in a low voice, your hands still massaging his backânow much more relaxedâand you realized he had fallen into a deep silence. None of his soft "hmms" to let you know he was still listening. Absolutely nothing.
You moved your hands away, staring at him. No movement. You let out a small gasp, leaning forward to try and see his face.
"Oh god, did I kill him?" you whispered in horror, moving your hand to brush aside his thick bangs. You met his relaxed face and received a snore in response. You stared at him again, only to hear another, longer snore.
He fell asleep, fast asleep. You could only let out a small laugh, carefully getting off so as not to wake him, and collapsing down beside him on the bed.
Well, mission accomplished.
just thoughts and more thoughts haha, it's driving me crazyđ aand credits to @/cursed-carmine (on Tumblr) for the beautiful dividers!! đ
when sub!peterâs arachnid hormones start causing him to act up, the change is so obvious. that little part of his brain that really wants to be dominant and be good at it is intensified by 1000%. but his brain isnât really rewired, his actions are just skipping over the overthinking step. so heâs trying to force his brain to just focus on the simple things. you, your body, your reactions, and what he can do to pull those good reactions out of you. and heâs so focused on you and your pleasure, he almost forgets about his own.
it doesnât take long to catch up with him, though. even while his brain is stuck on you and the breathy moans slipping from your parted lips, his body is quickly feeling overwhelmed. his dick is throbbing at the feeling of you squeezing him, his stupid spider senses causing an overload of stimulation. but he canât stop. for months heâd wanted this. he was in control, he wasnât feeling completely lost and awkward in his body, and most importantly, he could tell that you were fucking loving it.
still, part of him wanted to hear you say it, hear you tell him what a good job he was doing. how strong he was for continuing to fuck you into the mattress, even as tears were streaming down his face from the painful feeling of his overwhelmed senses. but he pushed through it and his instincts that told him to let you take over, letting himself be in control for once. he soaked in the feeling of your tight pussy sucking him in, completely unaware to the painfully amazing feeling it gave him.
yet his desperate whines didnât stop from his new attitude, if anything they only got worseâand you werenât complaining. he was rutting into you almost pathetically while moaning and muttering, âiâm gonna come. please, can i? fuckâyouâre so tight, oh my god. i need toââ shooting his entire heavy load into you without a second thought, moving on pure instinct. âshit. shitshitshit, iâm soâjesusâiâm so sorry.â and he feels so so bad but he just canât stop, not when he sees the creamy ring around his cock as he relentlessly pounds into you, how you squirm when youâre the one being overstimulated. not when he hears your moans and sees you gripping the sheets like your life depends on it while telling him, âdonât stop, oh my god. peter.â
masterlist
note someone requested this and i accidentally deleted it so iâm sorry to whoever that was but i hope this lives up to what u were thinking !!
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, brat taming, rough sex, multiple orgasms (m), f orgasm, dom/sub dynamics (Dom!Hotch and Sub!Reader), deliberate disobedience, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, light bondage, reader being gagged, creampie, cum everywhere, possessive!Hotch, aftercare. L/N used twice.
Summary: You deliberately try to undermine and piss Hotch off in the field so he'll be rough with you behind closed doors.
A/N: If this stinks I'm sorry. I wanted to try and write a fic that wasn't completely in past tense to challenge myself.
But alsoâŚ. OH MY GOD MY PANTIES ARE SO WET AFTER WRITING THIS đ¤¤đ¤đĽ´
Youâre pushing it today, and you fucking know it.
Every time Hotch opens his mouth to give an order, you directly disobey him, already moving in the opposite direction of what he wanted. Every time he says âhold position,â you take three deliberate steps forward. And every time he shoots you that warning look, the one you know all too well, the one that makes your knees weak and your mouth dry, you smile back like youâre daring him to do something about it right here, right now, in front of God himself and the entire Kansas field office.
He doesnât. Not yet.
He just keeps that muscle ticking in his jaw that clicks every time he's trying to keep himself professional and his voice clipped, low, and lethal. He knows what you're doing and is mentally tallying every single disobedient act you decide to display for later score.
Morgan keeps glancing between the two of you like heâs waiting for the detonation. Prentiss pretends to be fascinated by the geographic profile. And Reid, poor oblivious Reid, has (actually) backed all the way up against a filing cabinet, as if distance might save him from whateverâs coming when Hotch finally blows.
Rossi, of course, is enjoying the show.
Youâre leaning over the evidence table, deliberately bending farther than necessary to reach a photo, when Rossi sidles up beside you.
âYou trying to get fired, kid?â he mutters under his breath. Already knowing exactly what you're playing at. Rossi knows Hotch too well, knows you too well. And has definitely figured out just what your relationship entails behind closed doors.
You donât even look at him. âJust keeping him on his toes, David.â
He hums, unconvinced. âHeâs gonna put you on your knees later, and not in the fun way.â
You grin, sharp and sweet, when in reality you should've been mortified at the words coming out of Rossi's mouth. âWeâll see.â
Hotchâs voice cuts across the bullpen. âL/N. My six. Now.â
You straighten slowly, brushing imaginary lint off your shirt. âYes, sir.â
You saunter over, boots echoing, and stop just inside his personal space, close enough that he has to tilt his head down to glare at you.
The rest of the room pretends theyâre suddenly very very busy. And definitely not listening to whatever is about to happen between the two of you.
âYouâre off the raid,â he says, voice low enough that only you can hear the tremor of fury underneath. Meaning that you've just struck bingo, and Hotch is giving you exactly what you were playing for later.
You blink, all mock innocence, before you raise your brows at him. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me. Youâre staying here with the locals.â
You laugh, actually laugh, straight in his face. âNo, Iâm not.â
âThat wasnât a request.â His eyes flash, his pupils dilating, darkening. You can tell that he is trying to claw his way out of Hotch, begging to be released upon you.
âAnd this isnât a negotiation.â You step closer, dropping your voice to a purr. âYou want me on a leash, Aaron, youâre gonna have to put it on me yourself. In front of everyone. Go ahead.â You cross your arms over your chest.
His nostrils flare. For one electric second, you think he might actually do it, might snap right here, take his belt off, and drag you out by the back of your neck like you both know you want him to.
Instead, he exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, trying to ground himself before he says something too unprofessional. When he finally speaks, he leans down to whisper in your ear through gritted teeth, âFine! Youâre with me. You leave my sight for less than .01 seconds, I'll cuff you to the SUV and leave you in the car overnight like some abandoned pet left on the side of the road. Try me.â
You lick your bottom lip. âPromise?â
He turns on his heel before he does something he canât take back in front of twenty witnesses and the entirety of his team.
The raid is a clusterfuck waiting to happen, and you are the match.
Hotch wants to go in quietly through the back. Youâre already halfway across the parking lot toward the front door before he grabs your vest and yanks you back.
âJesus Christ, do you have a death wish today?â He says, leaving little to no discussion in his tone, you know that tone all too well, even strive to get it out of him on occasion... well, more times than not.
You spin, grinning up at him. âOnly if youâre the one pulling the trigger.â
He looks like heâs two seconds from gagging you with his own tie and bending you over right here, right now.
Morganâs voice crackles over comms. âHotch, weâre set on the east side. You two coming or getting a room?â
You reach up and key your own comm without looking away from Hotch. âWeâre coming, 'baby girl'. Unit Chiefâs just having a little performance anxiety.â You can already imagine Morgan's confused look at the nickname.
Hotch rips the earpiece out of your ear and crushes it under his boot.
You whistle, low and a little playful. âThatâs destruction of FBI property, sir. Very naughty.â
He grabs the front of your vest this time, hauling you in until youâre nose to nose. There he is. âYou do not speak again until this unsub is in cuffs. Not one fucking word. Nod if you understand.â
You nod, solemn and mocking. Already planning to break that exact promise.
He releases you like youâre radioactive.
The warehouse is a maze of rusted machinery and broken skylights. Moonlight stripes the concrete floor. You move ahead of Hotch, deliberately, clearing corners before he can tell you to wait.
He hisses your name, barely audible.
You ignore him.
You hear the unsub before you see him: panicked breathing, the clatter of a dropped magazine. Heâs reloading behind a stack of crates twenty feet ahead.
You raise your weapon before you step into the open.
Hotch swears viciously behind you and moves to cover, but youâre already talking.
âFBI! Drop it!â
The unsub spins, wild-eyed, gun up.
You donât flinch.
Hotch is shouting your name now, furious and afraid all at the same time, but you keep your voice steady, taunting. âCome on, sweetheart. You wanted us to chase you. Here I am.â
The unsubâs finger tightens on the trigger.
Hotchâs arm hooks around your waist from behind, and he yanks you sideways, throwing you both sideways behind a forklift just as the shot rings out. Concrete explodes exactly where you were just standing.
You land half on top of him, ears ringing, heart slamming against your ribs.
Heâs shaking with rage, hands gripping your vest so hard the straps bite.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â he snarls into your face.
You grin, breathless, high on adrenaline and the feel of him under you. âYouâre welcome.â
Another shot pings off metal above your heads.
Hotch flips you onto your back, shielding you with his body, weapon already up. His voice in your ear is lethal. âStay. Down.â
This time, you finally listen.
He rises in one fluid motion, one precise shot to his leg, and the unsub drops like a puppet that just had its strings cut.
Silence falls in the warehouse, broken only by distant shouting as the rest of the team floods in.
Hotch holsters his weapon, turns back to you, where youâre pushing to your feet.
You meet his eyes across the moonlit warehouse, chest heaving, blood thundering in your ears.
The unsub is down.
The cuffs are clicking.
And Aaron Hotchner looks like heâs deciding exactly how long itâs going to take to make you cry tonight.
The jet is grounded until at least morning due to a mechanical failure in the engine, so the team books into the hotel closest to the hangar and landing strip.
Everyoneâs exhausted, adrenaline crashing hard, all a little annoyed from the lack of sleeping in their own beds tonight. But the air between you and Hotch is still a live current, ready to explode any second now.
Youâre leaning against the check-in desk, tapping your badge against your palm, when Hotch steps up beside you and quietly tells the clerk, âTwo singles.â
You donât miss a beat. âSeparate rooms,â you echo, loud enough for Hotch and the clerk to hear. You flash him a saccharine smile. âHow very professional of us, Agent Hotchner. Gotta keep up appearances for the Bureau. Wouldnât want anyone to know their precious unit chief has been balls-deep in his subordinate every night for the last eight months.â
The night clerkâs eyes go wide. Rossi, waiting for his key behind you, chokes on a laugh which he pretends is a cough.
Hotch doesnât flinch. He just signs the receipt with a pen that might actually snap in his grip, then hands you a keycard.
âRoom 312,â he says, voice flat. âIâll be there in five minutes. You open that door for anyone else, you wonât sit for a month.â
He walks away before you can answer.
You take the stairs two at a time, pulse already racing.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, the mask is gone.
He shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it toward the chair in the corner of the room, and stalks toward you like a predator whoâs finally off leash and pouncing straight toward its next meal.
âStrip!â
You arch a brow at him. âPlease?â
Heâs on you in two strides, hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, hard.
âDonât push me any further tonight,â he warns. âYouâve used up every last ounce of patience I have.â
âGood.â You smile slowly up at him.
He kisses you all teeth, no mercy, until youâre gasping against his mouth. Then he spins you, shoves you chest-first over the foot of the bed, yanks your jeans and panties down in one rough motion.
His palm slides between your shoulder blades, pinning you flat. You feel the heat of him behind you, the hard line of his cock pressing against your ass through his slacks.
âYouâve been begging for this all day,â he says, his voice low and more controlled than you had anticipated when you started pushing him this morning. It's the way he gets right before he completely unravels you. âEvery smart-ass comment, every eye roll, every time you said my title like itâs a fucking joke. You want my attention? You have it.â
He drags your hips back until youâre bent perfectly for him, feet barely touching the carpet. The first thrust of his clothed hips against your bare skin is deliberate, grinding, a promise and a threat all at once.
You push back, greedy for him to enter you.
He stills you with one hand splayed over the base of your spine, the other winding your hair around his fist until your neck arches.
âStay still,â he growls. âYou move when I tell you to move.â He leans over you, mouth at your ear. âColor?â
âGreen,â you breathe, already trembling. âSo fucking green.â
He pulls back just enough to unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink loud in the almost silent room. You hear his zipper, feel the blunt, bare heat of him drag up the seam of your body.
He doesnât enter you. Not yet.
Instead, he notches himself at your entrance and holds there, agonizingly still, while you try to rock back and take him, sheathe yourself on his cock. His grip on your hair tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you.
âBeg!â
âPlease, Sirââ
âLouder.â
âPlease fuck me, Sir, I needââ
He slams into you in one brutal stroke, no warning, filling you so suddenly your breath catches on a scream.
Your legs wrap around nothing, toes curling into the carpet, hips snapping hard enough to jolt the bedframe into the wall with every thrust.
He flips you onto your back without pulling out, hooking your knees over his elbows, and spreading you wide. The new angle drags a broken sound from your throat as his thrusts take him deeper and deeper.
âLook at you,â he growls against your collarbone as he shoves your shirt up and runs his mouth over your skin, teeth scraping against you. âActing like a spoiled little brat in front of the entire team. You think they didnât notice? You think I didnât see the way Morgan smirked every time you opened that mouth?â
âMaybe I wanted them to know,â you taunt, breathless, reaching for him. âMaybe Iâm tired of pretending I donât belong toââ
He cuts you off by pulling out entirely and flipping you again, this time onto your knees, face and chest pressed against the mattress.
He thrusts back in so hard your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets.
âSay it,â he snarls, one hand sliding up to collar your throat from behind, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave a bruise in the morning. âFinish that sentence.â
âI belong to you,â you sob, clenching around him. âOnly youâfuckâAaronââ
âThatâs right.â He presses you deeper into the bed, hips relentless. âYouâre mine. And tomorrow, when you canât walk straight and my cum still dripping down your thighs during our briefing on the jet, youâll remember exactly who you answer to.â
He reaches beneath you, finds your clit with better precision than a trained sharpshooter, no searching, no hesitation, just the rough pad of his finger settling right where youâre swollen and aching for him. He doesnât move at first. Just presses, holds, lets you feel the weight of that single point of contact while his cock throbs inside you, stretching you open, owning every trembling inch.
You try to rock back, to chase more, but his grip turns iron.
âStay,â he growls against the shell of your ear, breath hot, voice shredded. âYou take what I give you.â
Then he starts to move, slow, cruel circles that drag over your clit with exactly enough pressure to make your thighs shake. Every stroke is perfectly timed with the roll of his hips, the thick drag of him pulling out until only the head remains before he slams back in, forcing the air from your lungs.
Your hands claw at the sheets. Your spine arches so hard it hurts. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, vicious and unstoppable, until youâre sobbing his name into the pillow, broken and desperate little pleas of his name.
He speeds up, just barely, thumb flicking faster, hips snapping harder, the wet sound of him fucking you filling the room along with your wrecked moans.
âCum,â he orders, voice cracking with restraint. âCum on my cock right now. Show me who you belong to.â
The command rips through you.
You shatter, back bowing, toes curling, a raw scream tearing from your throat as your entire body locks down around him. Wave after wave crashes over you, so intense your vision whites out, every pulse of your orgasm dragging him deeper, milking him with greedy, rhythmic clenches.
He swears once and loses the last thread of control. His rhythm stutters, hips slamming forward one final time as he cums with a rough groan, spilling inside you.
You feel every throb, every pulse, the way he jerks and grinds through it, forehead pressed hard between your shoulder blades like heâs trying to fuse himself to your skin.
He stays there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving against your back, both of you trembling in the aftermath, slick with sweat and utterly spent. You canât help it, your hips give a tiny, greedy roll, chasing the last sparks of pleasure, trying to keep him deep.
A soft, satisfied moan slips out of you.
Hotchâs chuckle rumbles against your spine. His arms tighten, pinning you flat to the mattress so you canât move an inch further than you've already wiggled.
âYou think weâre done?â he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He nips the lobe hard enough to make you gasp. âOh, sweetheart. Youâve had your fun. Now itâs my time to play.â
He pulls out slowly, letting you feel every inch drag against your oversensitive walls. You whine at the sudden emptiness, but before you can protest, heâs already moving, shirt buttons flying, slacks kicked the rest of the way off, socks gone.
In seconds, heâs gloriously bare, all hard lines, cock still half-hard and glistening with your cum.
He turns his attention to you next, signaling with his hand for you to flip over on your back. You do as ordered.
Your shirt is shoved up under your arms. He yanks it off, unhooks your bra, and tosses both across the room. Then he grabs his discarded tie and crawls over you.
âHands up,â he orders.
You obey instantly, stretching your arms above your head. He loops the tie around your wrists, threads it through the headboard, and cinches it tight. Not painful, but absolutely inescapable from your end of the deal. You tug once; the silk holds firm.
A helpless little thrill shoots straight to your core.
He settles between your thighs again, slides back inside you with one smooth thrust that makes your back arch. Youâre so wet, so swollen, the stretch burns in the best way, you're not sure you can take the sensation much longer before cumming again.
âGood girl,â he praises, voice rough. âStay just like that.â
He starts slow. Long and deep strokes that hit every spot inside you. His mouth finds your neck, your breasts, sucking bruises into your skin while his hips roll in that maddening rhythm he knows drives you absolutely insane.
It doesnât take long before youâre writhing, breath hitching, thighs trembling around his waist.
âPlease! Sir, Iâm close,â you whimper.
He pulls out completely.
You cry out, hips bucking at nothing. He watches you struggle against the tie, thighs squeezing together for friction that isnât there.
âShh.â He strokes your hip in a soothing yet cruel manner. âCalm down a little. Weâre nowhere near done.â
He waits until your breathing evens, until the desperation fades, then slides back in and starts all over again.
He does it four times.
Four times, he builds you right to the brink, fingers on your clit, mouth on your nipples, cock dragging slow and steady against your walls, until youâre sobbing, begging, tears of frustration gathering at the corners of your eyes.
The fifth time you get loud, really loud, a broken, whining âPlease, please, I canâtââ spilling out over and over.
Hotch clicks his tongue. âToo noisy, baby.â He reaches for your discarded panties and balls them up. âOpen.â
You shake your head, playful defiance flaring even through the haze.
He arches a brow. âOpen that pretty mouth, or I stop entirely and you get nothing.â
Your lips part instantly. He stuffs the panties in, the taste of yourself flooding your tongue, muffling every sound to desperate, garbled whimpers.
âThere we go,â he croons, brushing the back of his hand over your cheek. âMuch better.â
He fucks you like that for what feels like hours. He comes once deep inside you again, groaning your name against your throat. Pulls out, strokes himself, and paints thick stripes across your stomach and breasts.
Later, he pushes your knees to your chest, and spills across your face while you keen helplessly behind the gag.
Each time he finishes, he starts again, sliding through the mess heâs made across your frame, using it to make you slicker, filthier. You lose count of his orgasms. Youâre a trembling, oversensitive wreck, and still he denies you that second release, pulling out the instant your walls start to flutter.
Finally, finally, he collapses over you, sweat-slick and breathless, cock spent and utterly dry. He reaches up and carefully unties your wrists, massaging the faint red marks with his thumbs. Then he gently pulls the soaked panties from your mouth. You work your jaw, swallowing hard, voice hoarse.
He kisses you softly. âUp,â he murmurs.
Youâre boneless, but he helps you sit. He slides the same wet panties that he just pulled from your mouth back up your legs, tugging them into place with deliberate care. The fabric settles against your abused, swollen pussy, trapping every drop of his cum inside you. You whimper at the pressure.
He leaves for a second before coming back with a wet cloth in his hand.
When he settles back down beside you, he cups your chin, tilts your face to his, and with the warm cloth, he cleans your cheeks, your lips, your eyelashes with tender, reverent strokes that make you melt against his hand.
But when you reach for a tissue to wipe your chest and stomach, he catches your wrist.
âNo.â His voice drops into that stern, deep tone that makes you freeze. âYou donât clean the rest off. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until weâre wheels-down at Quantico and youâre standing in my shower at home. Youâre going to feel me on your skin every second on the jet, every time you shift in your chair. Youâll remember exactly who you bratted off to today, and exactly who owns every inch of this body. Understood?â
You nod, throat tight, arousal somehow flaring all over again despite everything.
âYes, Sir.â
He smiles, a small, satisfied, and soft smile, before he pulls you into his chest. His hand spreads possessively over the sticky mess on your stomach, holding you close.
âSleep, trouble,â he whispers into your hair. âYouâre going to need it.
Youâre already half-asleep when he speaks again, voice low in the dark.
âNext time you pull a stunt like that in the field, I wonât wait until weâre in a hotel room.â
You smile against his skin, sore and sated and utterly ruined.
âNext time,â you mumble, âIâll be worse.â
He bites your shoulder in warning.
You wake up to the alarm on Hotchâs watch at 5:47 a.m. Heâs already sitting on the edge of the bed, hair damp from the shower, knotting a fresh tie. You try to roll over and immediately regret it. Every muscle between your hips screams. Your thighs are sticky, your pussy swollen and aching, and when you clench experimentally, you feel the slow, obscene slide of everything he left inside you only a couple of hours ago.
He glances back, eyes satisfied.
âUp,â he says, voice still rough from sleep and sex. âWheels up in forty.â
You groan. Actually groan. Getting vertical feels like an Olympic event that you never trained for.
He watches you struggle into yesterdayâs jeans with the faintest smirk curling his mouth, when in reality, all you want is a pair of sweatpants.
The panties he pulled back up your legs after he finally untied you are soaked through, his cum, yours, the evidence of four separate loads, and every step makes the fabric drag against your oversensitive clit.
By the time you limp into the hotel lobby, the whole team is already waiting. Morgan does a double-take.
âDamn, sweetheart. You pull a muscle wrestling that unsub... or something?â
You flip him off with the hand that isnât clutching your go-bag strap for support.
Hotch doesnât say a word, just opens the back door of the SUV for you like a perfect gentleman, as you make it to the cars. You slide across the seat and bite the inside of your cheek to keep from whimpering when your ass meets cold and slightly hard leather.
On the jet, you take the seat farthest from the group, legs pressed tightly together, praying the movement of the plane doesnât jostle anything loose. Hotch sits directly across the aisle from you, tablet in hand, leading the debrief like nothing happened last night. Like he didnât wreck you so thoroughly that youâre still tasting him through your pussy.
He starts with the profile review. Youâre supposed to contribute. Instead, youâre hyper-aware of the slow trickle working its way down your thigh every time the jet banks left. You shift, and the wet drag of cotton against your folds makes you swallow a gasp.
Hotchâs eyes flick to you. Calm and professional. Except for the slight curve at the corner of his mouth that says he knows exactly what youâre feeling.
âAgent L/N,â he says smoothly, âcare to walk us through the victimology again and what we can learn from it for future cases?â
You open your mouth. Close it. Clear your throat. âUh. Females, twenty-two to twenty-nine, brunettes, all abducted withinââ
Your voice cracks on the last word because the plane hits a pocket of turbulence, and you feel a fresh pulse of warmth slip free. You clamp your thighs harder, face burning.
Reid starts rambling about geographic decay rates. You stop listening. All you can focus on is the slow, steady throb between your legs and the way Hotchâs gaze keeps drifting to your lap like heâs cataloging every squirm.
Forty unending minutes later, the wheels finally touch down in Quantico. You stand too fast, and your knees nearly buckle. Hotchâs hand shoots out to steady your elbow, the perfect picture of a concerned boss... or partner.
You make it down the stairs on wobbly legs, every step making the mess in your panties shift and cling. Youâre praying no one notices the way youâre walking like you just rode a horse for twelve hours straight.
Rossi falls into step beside Hotch as you head for the car park. He doesnât even bother lowering his voice.
âAtta boy,â he mutters, clapping Hotch once on the shoulder.
Hotch doesnât answer, but you catch the faint, wicked tilt of his lips before he slides on his sunglasses.
You flip Rossi off behind Hotchâs back.
Rossi just laughs knowingly and calls over his shoulder, âFeel better, kid.â
Hear me out⌠best friend Leon offering reader to help them finish bc no other guy has ever been able to đ
a/n; LORD this has been on my mind so many times but I couldn't get to it for so longâthank you for this đŠđđť
sum; you best friend, leon, finds out that you have no luck in finishing during the hookups he knows you go to, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn't offer help?
When you weren't at home or work, you were likely at Leon's apartment. That meant he knew basically everything. He kept period products in his bathroom for you. You had pajamas and emergency outfits at his place. You kept snacks in his pantry. You kept a toothbrush in his toothbrush holder. His couch was basically your part-time bed, despite his offers to make the unoccupied bedroom a little nicer for your visits.
The point is, Leon knew you. Being friends since middle school, you two watched each other in some terrible phases of life. The beginning of puberty, the awkward fashion phases, the breakdowns over hormonal changes, and all sorts of silly and less fortunate changes. Now, in your mid 20s, you two were basically each other's support. Between job troubles, romantic mishaps, and the emotional ups and downs of being an adult with very few loved ones around.
What Leon didn't like was your new habit of dates. The dates weren't bad. He was happy you were finally looking for connection, but when you'd come to his place after 95% of them, whining about how the guy sucked and didn't open the door for you and how he tried to feel you up under the table at dinner. Recently, the dates morphed into bad attempts at hookups. Leon didn't stop you, only advised safety and regular checkups.
Finally, tonight, you came to his apartment, huffing and whining. Your shirt was messed up, hair mussed, and worst of all, there was a mystery stain on your shorts. Leon peeked his head out from the kitchen when he heard you shuffle to the bathroom. He called your name, only earning a grunt with the door slamming shut behind you.
"You want some brownies?" Leon asked. "Picked some up earlier from that bakery you like."
"Bri's Baked Goods?" You peeked out from the bathroom, irritation clear on your features.
"That's the one." He nodded.
"A brownie would be nice." You said, disappearing back into the bathroom to get rid of your clothes and hop into the shower. Leon waited, two brownies waiting on a paper towel on the living room coffee table next to a glass of water for when you finished your shower.
Ten minutes passed before you came out, wrapped tight in a towel as you used a smaller towel to dry lazily at your hair, shaking your head like a dog. You were still frustrated, but less so now that you were clean and refreshed. His shower was nicer than yours, with better water pressure and much steadier heating. And he had better ventilation to the bathroom.
Leon's head dropped to peek behind himself over the back of the couch. "Good shower?"
"Amazing." You muttered, sitting on the couch next to him as you crossed one leg over the other, reaching to grab a brownie and take a bite, humming quietly at the comfort it provided for you.
"You wanna talk about the date before or after you get dressed?"
"God, it was so embarrassing." You groaned, stuffing another bite of brownie into your mouth as you stood up. "He was so bad, Leon. Like.. he was nice for the dinner portion, but wow, he was terrible when we got to the bedroom." You spoke as you disappeared down the hall to Leon's bedroom. Leon followed, waiting outside the bedroom so he could listen to your rant.
"How bad was it?" He prodded further, leaning against the wall as he stared at the other end of the hallway.
"Bad. Like, that motherfucker almost gave me friction burn." You grunted, the sound half-muffled behind the cracked door as you rummaged through his closet to find the clothes you left here. "Where's my blue tank?" You asked, frowning.
"Uh, in the closet? Toward the back." He responded, raising a brow as he heard your rummaging become more insistent.
"I can't find it. Did you wash it? You said you'd wash it!" You peeked out from behind the cracked in the door, glaring vaguely at him.
"Hey, don't yell at me! I'm not the one giving you friction burn. I know where things are." He argued, scoffing at your anger.
"Yeah, well, come show me where my tank top is." You demanded, lazily covering your body with the towel and pulling the door open again. "Please." You added quickly.
Leon rolled his eyes and stepped in, eyes glued to the ceiling as he found the closet and then pulled the clothes toward the front, finding the blue tank top easily. He held it out to you, making you huff. "Anyway. You were saying?" He snickered, turning back and moving to step out again. What he didn't expect was for you to just drop the towel, back turned as you slipped the tank top on. You had your underwear on already, so you turned back and hung the towel up on the hook behind his door. He knew you were comfortable around him, but sometimes he couldn't hide how you stunned him.
"I was saying how directionally challenged my date was." You said, stepping out of the room and finding your place back on the couch, curling up under the thin blanket he kept on the couch for you since his apartment was always cold thanks to him running hot. He followed, sitting beside you.
"How far did you get before you had to leave?" He asked, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the empty half of the coffee table.
"We got to his room, okay? Terrible foreplay. The kissing was... okay, I guess, but he definitely isn't used to foreplay because the second I tried to mix in a little grinding, he assumed that meant I was ready. I didn't object, so he took my shorts off and started trying to make a fire while he tried to find my fucking clit." You rambled, reaching for the second brownie to eat it while you talked.
"Yikes." Leon hummed, idly sifting through thr TV channels to find something for good background noise.
"I literally tried to help him, and he laughed and told me he 'knows women's bodies'." You looked at Leon, almost mortified to repeat your date's words. "How can someone be so dumb? Like, genuinely. It's okay if you're not good at anatomy, or if you're inexperienced, but when you're trying to have sex, let the other person help! Yknow?!" You exclaimed, emphasizing your words with an impatient gesture of your hands.
"What a jerk. It sounds like it didn't get much further than that?" He looked back at you, setting the remote down as he landed on a rerun of an old TV show.
"Nope. I cut it off right there. I swear, man, I've never found a guy who's made me cum." You blurted out, mouth full of brownie as you grumbled at the thought. "It's not even hard to do! I can get myself off just fine, but sometimes it's a little tedious when I'm too tired or when my body gets shaky. It's hard to go further when your own body doesn't let you."
"Jesus," he scoffed. "I'm no expert or professional, but I've never had that much trouble making women finish." He snorted at the idea of so many men being incompetent.
"That's because you're nice, Leon. These guys are just... whiney and horny." You mumbled, swallowing the last bite of the brownie before you leaned back on the couch, sighing heavily. "I'm so tired of having to rely on silicone and bad vibrators in order to get one good orgasm. And the good sex toys are all so expensive, it's unfair!" You whined, complaints growing more and more shameless.
Leon let you complain, shamefully distracted by your hips and belly poking out from beneath your tank top and the blanket that you tried to use as a cover. Leon didn't mind the lack of pants, but you kept covered anyway. He was still distracted by the vision of earlier when you'd given him such a brief, faint glimpse of your breast from the side, only the fat visible, not even the nipple. He looked back up at you when he got an idea. One that could've fucked things up really bad.
"What if I helped you?" He asked suddenly. You lifted your head, brow raised.
"Help me how?"
"With... with your issue. You want someone else to do the work to make you finish, and I think I'm capable enough." He spoke like it was such a simple, casual suggestion.
Thinking he was just teasing, you snorted at the idea. "That's sweet, but unnecessary. If I'm so desperate that I consider letting my best friend touch me like that, I should be put away."
Leon laughed at your words, shaking his head as he sat forward, turning to you fully. "No, I'm serious. Of course, no means no, but you sound like you don't believe me."
"I don't doubt your ability to make a girl finish, I just doubt that you're serious about helping me. I mean, wouldn't that be weird?" You asked, head tilting as you looked at him.
Leon deadpanned, slightly baffled at your words. "You're on my couch. In your underwear. I keep pads here for you. You use my shower regularly. You've told me so much about your cycle that I have it memorized so that I can keep you comfortable when you come over, andâ"
"Alright! Alright, I get your point." You laughed, hands waving at him to stop his endless ramble. "I just.. wasn't expecting that to be your solution. I would've expected you to offer to hook me up with one of your friends, not.... this."
"The only guy I know that would be competent is in a relationship, so..." he clicked his tongue and shrugged, lips pursing in faux consideration as he waited for you to respond.
"Sure. Why not? It's not like we haven't shared a bed half-naked already." You gave in, the desire burning deep down. Whether it was because of him directly or because you'd been unintentionally left on edge for so long, you weren't sure, but Leon was your best bet at getting what you wanted.
"C'mere." He patted his lap, urging you closer. He didn't put his hands on you until you came closer, settling to straddle his lap. He leaned back against the couch, hands settling at your hips. "Comfy?" He asked, thumbs soothing against the hem of your tank top. You nodded.
Leon started like this wasn't the first time for you two. He leaned forward, lips attaching to yours with a familiarity that almost made you moan. You leaned into it, body relaxing on top of him as he led the kiss slowly, relying purely on how your lips fit so nicely against his. His right hand drifted up slowly, staying over the shirt as his palm found the side of your breast, halting there. He pulled back, eyes much softer than you'd ever seen.
"What's off the table?" He asked, his hand still hovering like it was afraid to hurt you, despite how gentle his hands always were with you.
"Uh.. I.. I don't know. Just don't ignore me, I guess?" You muttered, brows furrowing at the foreign concept of being asked exactly what you didn't want to happen.
"No, I mean, what are your major no's with intimacy?" He elaborated slightly, chuckling at your uncertainty.
"Oh. Right." You relaxed with a small laugh, looking off to the side. "I'm not big on guys being mean. Like, insults during sex. And I don't really like choking, either."
"Jeez, you're only getting hookups, and that's what they're jumping to?" He scoffed. "No wonder they can't make a woman finish." He muttered, thumb curling under the underside of your breast, feeling the weight of the mound.
"And if you're gonna actually fuck me, we're using a condom. I'm not onâ"
"You stopped the pill a while ago, I know. 'Cause it was becoming too stressful and making your anxiety worse with all those damned side effects." He nodded understandingly, lifting his head again to kiss your jaw gently. "Don't worry, this is about you. Not me." He whispered, lips pressing to the spot just below your ear.
Words fell useless upon the gentle kisses he was giving. He was being so soft and slow, you began to feel impatient. Leon noticed the small squirm in your hips, so he finally let his palm fully cover your breast, squeezing just enough to get a small noise from you. He lifted his head to find your lips again, muffling the small whine that fell from you as his thumb rolled over your nipple. Your nipples pebbled beneath his touch, becoming visible through your tank top. His other hand came to your untouched mound, both hands working slowly against the fat to squeeze and grope and pinch and roll.
"Fuck," you broke the kiss with a heavy exhale, another curse falling from your lips as you felt your hands grab tighter against his shirt. He bit back a chuckle, not wanting to make you shy away. He took the chance to kiss down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses as he moved down your neck and paused at your collarbone.
"Hickeys off the table?" He asked quietly, thumbs and forefingers pinching your nipples just as you opened your mouth to respond. The beginning of your answer was forced into a whimper, making your cheeks flush.
"This whole thing is gonna be off the table if you don't quit." You pouted, smacking his chest half-heartedly.
"Okay, okay, no more messing around." He snickered, kissing the corner of your lips as an apology. "Hickeys? Yes or no?"
"'S fine." You murmured, leaning forward to catch his lips again, desperate for a little more of a proper make out. He returned the same desire, a low sound of pleasure leaving his throat.
Once he felt you'd had enough of his groping and teasing on your tits, he moved one hand down, fingertips tapping teasingly along your waist to make you twitch. He chuckled, deepening the kiss as a distraction. He planted both hands on your hips now, pulling your core closer to the bulge in his pants. You moaned quietly against his lips as he began to grind his hips upward, the bulge pressing just below your clit, but in a way that made you think he knew he wasn't hitting it, and he was simply teasing for now.
Emboldened by his little ruts and groans, you began to move against him. Dragging your hips in slow, torturous motions that made him moan, having to pull away for air when you pressed your hips harder against his erection. He cursed under his breath, his fingers digging into your hips. You leaned forward, only getting in a small peck on his lips before he was moving to mouth down your neck again, this time leaving small hickeys in his wake. You mewled at the double sensation of his grinding mixed with the feeling of him suckling gently at your skin, the perfect spot that made you shiver.
"Remember, this is about you. Not me." He spoke softly, a gentle reminder as he worried you were grinding to keep the pleasure even. "I'm not the one who can't finish. Trust me, I get more than enough of a reward from this."
"Leonâ" You squeaked as he lifted you into his arms, standing up and moving toward his bedroom. You held onto him, kissing at his neck and shoulders until he lowered you onto the bed, only for him to kneel in front of you, his hands already spreading your legs. You looked down at him, eyes wide like he'd just proposed.
He blinked up at you, pausing with his hands on the waistband of your light blue cotton panties. "Is something wrong?" He asked, thumbs soothing against your hips.
"No." You barely mumbled. "No, not wrong, I normally have to ask and whine for a guy to go down on me." You admitted, watching him roll his eyes.
"I'll go down on you like I get paid for it." With that, he was already getting rid of your panties, tucking them into the pocket of his sweat pants. The most selfish thing he'd do for himself tonight.
Your face felt like it was on fire, breath shuddering at the act of him keeping your dampened panties in his pocket. "Youâyou don't have to. I know it's not always enjoyabâ"
"Is it enjoyable for you?" He asked, head tilting.
"If you do it right, yes." You nodded, words sounding breathless.
"Then it's enjoyable for me." He said firmly. His tone left no room for doubt, and neither did his enthusiasm. He dove in with slow, firm kisses against your thighs, making his way closer until his mouth found your seam.
You let out a small gasp when his tongue worked through your folds, spreading your arousal and his spit all the way to your clit. You whimpered, his attention focusing heavily on your clit as he held your legs open. You let yourself fall to lie back properly, one hand gripping the back of his head to keep him there. He didn't move, tongue flicking back and forth rapidly, with an almost inhuman speed. He switched steadily with rapid flicks of his tongue and then harsh sucks and gentle nips. Your toes curled at the stimulation, back arching. Your moans became louder, but not louder than your regular speaking voice.
He looked up at you, taking in the sight. Your chest rising and falling heavily, back arching, head thrown back against the comforter of his bed. You lifted your head to look, only to be briefly stunted by the sight. Leon looked so good. Hair messy from your hand tangling through his dark blonde strands, some already sticking to his forehead, his nose buried in your bush as his mouth worked tirelessly on your throbbing clit. His eyes on you only made your body become hotter. Blue eyes half lidded and softânot hungry, not impatient, but soft, at ease, and focused entirely on you.
When your head dropped back again, your body shivered fully, the image of him burned to memory. Your fingers tightened in his hair, and he remained steady, relying solely on his tongue to get you there. It took effort, his jaw becoming sore, tongue almost following suit, but he persisted, refusing to be the one to fail at making sex an enjoyable thing for you. His persistence worked, and his chest swelled with pride.
"Fuck, LeeâLeon," you panted, thighs tensing as the knot in your belly pulled tighter and tighter. "Shit, don't stop. Don'tâplease," you pleaded, words almost a sob as your body trembled, desperation taking over as you bucked your hips against his tongue and held his head in its place, which only made him grunt, eyes fluttering closed only for a moment. Your body teetered on the edge, hanging over it for so long until finally it felt like heaven. You choked, a silent cry getting caught as you pulled at his hair, hips bucking wildly against his face, thighs trying desperately to close. He held your legs wide open, tongue working you through the pleasure as much as he could until you patted his head and made some strained sound that he barely made out as a plea for a breather.
He pulled back, easing away with soft kisses along your thighs that stopped at your knees. He let your thighs drop, letting your body relax as he remained kneeled between your legs, his chin resting on your knee as he waited for you to come down with a clearer head. You pried your eyes open, a heavy exhale leaving you as you slowly sat up, body still shaky. Leon stood finally, bending at the hips to press a soft kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on him, and it made you groan. Not out of disgust or anything alike, but out of mild shock.
"How do you feel?" He asked, moving to sit beside you, hand resting gently on your thigh, thumb shifting idly.
"Tired." You murmured, shifting to pull your feet up and sit with your legs pulled beneath you as you moved to lean against him.
"Too tired for one more?" He proposed, pulling you in to sit sideways on his lap, his head dipping to kiss your neck.
"Jesus," you laughed shakily.
"I figured I'd go for two at a minimum since you seem to have gone so long without it." He said bluntly, making you groan at the thought. "Is that okay?" He asked, words falling softer.
"I'm barely able to get past the first one, let alone handle a second one. On my own, I mean." You admitted, looking off to the side.
"Lemme try? We can stop here, or if you change your mind halfway, we can still stop." He tilted his head to look at you. You feigned consideration for a moment, only to nod. He shifted you quickly, laying you down on the bed. He got on top of you, attaching to your lips again.
As your tremors and shakes eased, muscles now melted into his touch, and the plush comforter beneath you, Leon's hands ventured lower once more. He massaged your hips gently as if to apologize for holding them in one place for so long, hoping he didn't cause any stiffness. He kissed your lips, cheeks, jaw, and neck, taking turns with each spot, but ultimately getting the most attention from your lips. Your hands lifted, gently coming to wrap around his neck to pull his chest closer to yours. He chuckled, lowering himself carefully, now propping himself on one of his elbows while his other hand found its way down, gently cupping your mound, making you shiver against his lips.
His palm pressed against your sensitive clit, making you jolt, breath punching out of your lungs as you closed your legs around his hips. He gave a rough, lazy circle grind of his palm, letting you hump against his palm. He had to bite back a groan at the sight, his mind going fuzzy at the shakiness of your hips enduring the oversensitivity so you could chase more pleasure. He slid his fingers down, spreading your lips using his index and ring fingers, only to have his middle finger slide down and find your seam, circling slowly before he dipped in, feeling your cunt squeeze at the intrusion.
"Relax," he breathed, kissing gently at your forehead and peppering soft pecks down til he met your lips again.
"Sorry," your voice shook with embarrassment. "The.. penetration gets me a little tense." You revealed quietly.
"I've got you. We can stop if you're not feeling it." He moved to retract his hand, only for you to shake your head and reach down to grab his wrist.
"Don't stop, Leon. I didn't say I wanted to stop." You said, brows faintly knitted together.
Leon blinked, nodding briefly. "Yes, ma'am." He nodded more firmly, easing his finger back inside of you. It took a moment, some gentle praise and sweet kisses, but once your body agreed with you, he was pumping his finger back and forth in no time. He opened you up by adding a second finger, speeding up ever so slightly as his fingers curled upward, dragging his fingertips up against the button of your front wall. The stimulation made your thighs quiver, head falling back as your nails dug into his skin.
"Oh, god." You mewled quietly. His fingers were unbelievably thick, the perfect size for what he was focusing on. His fingertips dragged and prodded perfectly against your g-spot, and while that stimulation was good, it began to hover. It felt good, but the repetition of minimal internal stimulation and no external stimulation made it hard to reach the peak you needed. Leon understood that when he felt your hips push up against his palm again, brows furrowing with a curse falling from your lips.
"I know, I understand," he purred, his palm shifting and thumb angling to press against your clit. You twitched, a low, rumbling groan leaving your chest as you bit your lip and melted into the mattress, the attention simultaneous on your sensitive spots making it much more enjoyable. "That good, huh?" He teased, smugness growing as he held steady with the pace of his fingers fucking into your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit up and down, angled precisely to hit just under the hood of your clit, ensuring precise and accurate stimulation.
"Fuck, yes," you breathed, head tilting back as you arched into him, chests touching through the fabric of your untouched tank top. "Keepâmmfh!âkeep doing that." You urged, toes curling and heels pushing into the mattress as your hands clutched tighter at the back of his shirt.
"As you wish." He mused, head dipping to mouth at your collarbone, leaving sweet kisses to balance out the way his fingers were ruining your wet cunt, letting you take what you wanted as your hips bucked and fucked back against his fingers. He used his teeth to pull the collar of your tank top down below your breasts, thanking the heavens for the stretchy fabric. He kept his thumb and fingers steady, but added in the stimulation of gently sucking your nipples and toying with the stiff peaks with the tongue, similar to how he toyed with your puffy clit earlier.
"Hoâoh, god, don't stopânngh!"
Your sounds were like music to his hears, professionally composed and played by the best musicians around the world, a reward he'd only ever cursed at himself for dreaming of. He felt your walls throbbing and pulsing around his fingers, gushing a warm sensation that coated his fingers in your mess until you were squirming and desperately pushing his shoulders away. He eased his fingers out of you, and without missing a beat, used his mouth to clean the mess of you off his fingers. You watched him through dazed vision, only for your eyes to fall shut as you regained composure.
He shuffled to lay beside you, letting you decide if you wanted to make it any more intimate than it already was. And you did. You rolled over, curling yourself around him and hiding your face in his chest. He chuckled, fixing your top to sit comfortably again as he pulled a thin blanket over your lower body so you weren't so exposed to the cold air of his apartment. Before he could even ask if you were alright or if you needed anything, you were grumbling as you had to force yourself out of the bed.
"Gotta pee." You barely explained loud enough as your half-naked body left the room, leaving leon to snort at your clear exhaustion and shaking in your legs with each step. He was worried you'd fall, but you used the wall for help.
Leon grabbed you a water bottle while you were in the bathroom, returning to the bedroom just before you, sitting down and taking a sip from said bottle. You grabbed a clean pair of panties from the small drawer set in his closet, stepping into them and finally coming to lay back in bed, face down as you buried your face into his pillows.
"Y'alright?" He asked quietly, reaching over to gently massage your scalp with his rough fingertips. You purred at the sensation, giving him a thumbs up. He laughed quietly, leaning back beside you.
summary: you get shot (in your vest) and your boss falls a part for a second.
word count: 5.1K
aaron hotchner masterlist
-
Derek spins around in his chair, glancing up to find youâre still standing in the doorway of Hotchâs office. Youâre nodding along to whatever heâs saying, he canât see your face but he can tell youâre smiling. He can however see the small smile that Aaron gave out rarely while at work.Â
âThis is painful.â Derek sighs dramatically.Â
âWhat?â Emily looks up at him from her paperwork. He nods his head in the direction of the office and she quickly catches what he was referring to.Â
âTheyâve been making eyes at each other for twelve months.âÂ
âThey donât make eyes.â Reid corrects without looking up, âThey make⌠extended mutual gazes with elevated dopamine responses.âÂ
Morgan looks at him and blinks a few times.Â
âKid, thatâs making eyes.âÂ
Everyone now turns to look back at the office. Hotch has fully set down his pen and is turned to where youâre leaning in the doorway.Â
âI give it six more cases before one of them slips up.â Morgan bets.Â
âTry five.â Emily throws down.Â
âMake it three.â Rossi steps out of his office.Â
Aaronâs phone rings and your spine automatically straightens. He answers it with a simple âHotchnerâ and says very few words before hanging up. The second he does he looks back up at you.Â
âWeâve got a case.âÂ
He gets up from his desk and you step out of his way.Â
âConference room.â He calls, walking directly to the room. Everyone gets up and follows, a minute later Garcia enters with a tablet in hand. Everyone else has filled in the remaining chairs.
Hotch clicks on the monitor and three pictures pop up on the screen. A uniformed cop shot execution style. Another, shot through the windshield of the police cruiser. A third, off the shoulder of the highway with his car abandoned.
âThree officers in five days.âÂ
The light atmosphere from the morning was long gone now.Â
âThe unsub is also taking their service weapon after each murder.â Garcia adds.Â
Rossi nods, âPower.â
âOr souvenirs.â Reid adds.Â
Garcia pulls more information onto the screen, âAll three victims were patrol officers, two different precincts. So far theyâve come up clean, no major cases.â
Morgan frowns, âNo personal connection?â
âExactly.â You nod, all eyes falling on you, âHeâs targeting the badge, the officers are interchangeable.âÂ
Hotch nods for you to continue.Â
âIf this was revenge against specific officers weâd expect complaints, lawsuits, and arrests from them.â You look at each victim's picture, âNone of them have disciplinary records.âÂ
âSo, why them?â JJ questions.Â
âTheyâre accessible, it isnât personal.â You look up, meeting Aaronâs gaze, âItâs symbolic.âÂ
He likes watching you talk, you start to talk with your hands when you get invested in something. Itâs another thing he noticed but would never admit.Â
âHe isnât killing officers.â His brows furrow.
You nod, âHeâs killing what they represent.âÂ
Rossi smiles into his coffee cup, looking between the two of you.Â
âThat distinction changes the profile.â Reid comments.Â
âIt does.â Aaron agrees, âHe wants the public to see that officers arenât untouchable.âÂ
âExactly.â
-
An hour later, the team was up in the sky. The jet is headed to Cleveland, everyone has settled into their usual seats. Hotch sits across from you, a file in his hand. Youâve already kicked off your shoes and have one leg tucked under yourself.Â
Most of the team is resting now, knowing how this will go. Cop cases were hard, the local law enforcement always takes cases like this personally making it harder for them to do their jobs. You and Aaron are the only ones with the window shade up and files open.Â
âPublic panic is going to get out of hand once the news of the third officer hits the news cycle.â You comment, Aaron nods instantly.Â
âIâm having Garcia look into social media posts to see if anyone in recent weeks has had a problem with the police or believed wrongful action.â
After landing, the local police station was buzzing with tension. It was clear that no one was sleeping, exhaustion was evident on everyoneâs face. The sheriff met the team at the entrance.
âYouâre the profilers?â
Hotch nods and offers his hand, âIâm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.âÂ
He introduces the team one by one, landing on you last. The conference room becomes the command center for the team. Crime scene photos cover one wall, Reid manages a city map with various pins in it.Â
âConfirmed, no overlap in arrests,â Garcia sighs on speaker, âNo lawsuits, no complaints, no disciplinary records, no common calls for service. This guy is cleaner than my browser history.âÂ
Morgan looks up, âThatâs not saying much.âÂ
You snort into your coffee.Â
âIâve checked family connections, nothing.â JJ shakes her head.Â
Reid paces in front of the board, a legal pad in hand.Â
âIf we assume heâs selecting officers randomly-âÂ
âHe isnât.â You interrupt and tap the photo in front of you with your pen, âHe wants us to think he is.â
Rossi leans back in his chair, âExplain.âÂ
âHe isnât picking the officers, heâs picking symbols.â You get up and walk toward the map, âSymbols still have patterns. All of these officers were killed in highly visible locations.âÂ
âPublic places.â Emily agrees.Â
âSo the message is more than the victim.â Hotch finishes.Â
You nod, âHe wants witnesses.âÂ
The room falls quiet. Aaron watches you for a second before calling the sheriff into the room.Â
âWhen does the second shift end?â
The sheriff looks down at his watch, âIn about forty-five minutes.âÂ
âI want every available officer briefed before they leave.âÂ
The sheriff shifts in place, adjusting his hands to rest on his hips. His cliche mustache doesnât even hide his frown.Â
âWeâre already short.âÂ
âAnd youâre going to be even more short if this unsub keeps finding exhausted officers alone.âÂ
The room falls silent, Hotch steps closer to where you stand by the map. He points to the same three spots you had minutes ago.Â
âHeâs hunting opportunity, let's not give him any more.âÂ
Officers crowd into the station, the other local precincts call in.Â
âFatigue creates opportunity.âÂ
One lieutenant crossed his arms, âWe canât stop policing.âÂ
âNo,â Hotch frowns, âno, you canât.â
He looks around the room.Â
âIâm not asking you to,â He continues calmly, âIâm asking you to be smart.âÂ
Hotch began issuing instructions for everyone, calm confidence and a stern look leveling the room. It settles the few grumbles and pushbacks from angry men already looking for revenge.
âNo one goes home alone. Double units only. If your shift ends, another officer escorts you to your front door.âÂ
He looks around the room once more.Â
âYouâve been running on adrenaline for five days. Tired officers make mistakes, go home and stay vigilant.âÂ
The room slowly emptied, you watch Aaron for a moment while the rest of the team returns to the conference room.Â
âYou know,â You take a step closer, âYouâre good at that.âÂ
âAt what?â
âMaking people listen.â
He bites back a rare smirk, âIâve never had much luck with you.âÂ
âWell, I never said you were perfect.â You smile, breezing past him to follow the rest of the team.Â
By eleven thirty that night, the precinct was abandoned. The lights had been dimmed and the cleaning staff made a pass through, but the team was still situated in the conference room. Garcia is still on screen, but her eyes are starting to glaze over.Â
âI have officially entered the part of the evening where every license plate looks like alphabet soup.âÂ
âYou passed that hours ago.â Emily sighs.Â
Morgan stretches in his spot, âMy back hurts.â
âMy brain hurts.â JJ echos.Â
âEverything hurts.â Rossi tops.Â
Reid hadnât sat down in nearly an hour, pacing keeping him awake.Â
âMaybe he identifies with law enforcement but simultaneously resents authority.âÂ
âNo.âÂ
Everyone looks over at you and you donât even lift up your head. Your head is resting in your hand, which is resting on the table.Â
âHe doesnât identify with them⌠He envies them.â You rub a tired eyes and a long yawn escapes, âIf he identified with them, heâd want acceptance.âÂ
Rossi nods, âHe wants control.âÂ
âGood distinction.âÂ
Hotch writes it on the board, âEnvy.â
âIf he wanted revenge, heâd escalate emotionally.â Another yawn escapes, your elbow slides down the table, âHeâsâŚâ
âY/n?â Emily looks up.Â
Morgan looks over, âDid she just?â
âShe fell asleep.â JJ smiles.Â
Youâre still sitting mostly upright, completely asleep.Â
Reid looks genuinely impressed, âI didnât know people could actually fall asleep that quickly.âÂ
Hotch looks over from the board, a soft expression crosses his face immediately. It was subtle, and most people would miss it. His shoulders relaxed and the hard line between his brows disappeared. He looked fond. You were the only person in the room to miss it.Â
Nobody said anything or tried to wake you. For twenty minutes the team worked around you, speaking softer without realizing it. Eventually Garcia yawns loudly over the speaker.Â
âOkay my crime fighting ducklings, I officially vote bedtime.âÂ
Rossi checks his watch, âI second.âÂ
Hotch reaches into his pocket for his phone and checks for any new messages from the sheriff.Â
âWeâll resume at six.âÂ
Everyone slowly packed up and grabbed their things. Everyone except for you. You were still asleep and undisturbed.Â
âWhoâs gonna wake her?â Reid whispers, nodding in your direction to Morgan.Â
âJust wait.âÂ
As if on cue, Hotch leaves the board and stops beside your chair for a moment. Morgan deliberately busies himself with collecting files. JJ slowly organizes the crime scene photos. Rossi takes twice as long to put on his jacket.Â
When Aaron looks down at you, something warm fills his chest. You look softer when you sleep, the sarcasm and sharp edges tucked away for the time being. A loose strand of hair has fallen across your face.
He should hesitate, but his want overpowers him for a few seconds. He carefully brushes it back, stopping it from tickling your nose.Â
Behind him, Emilyâs brows shoot up toward the ceiling and Morganâs smile nearly splits his face. JJ looks over at Rossi who has a simple knowing smirk.Â
Aaron crouches slightly beside you, his voice drops a full octave.Â
âY/n.â
Nothing.Â
A tiny smile tugs at his lips.Â
âY/n.âÂ
This time you stir slightly, âHm?â
You donât even have the energy to open your eyes.Â
âWeâre heading to the hotel.âÂ
You sit up, blinking slowly as you try to orient yourself.Â
âDid I fall asleep?â You look up at him.Â
âA little.âÂ
You look around the conference room and see everyoneâs eyes on you. The team is clearly packing up and moving toward the door.Â
âThatâs embarrassing.â You mumble, standing up and stretching, clearly not too embarrassed.Â
âNot really.â Hotch looks down.Â
âYou all just let me?â You point at the team and Derek makes a face that clearly said absolutely.Â
You groan dramatically, âIâm transferring.âÂ
Emily laughs, âToo late.âÂ
You shift in your spot, the tiredness still seeping into your bones.Â
âCâmon Sleepy Girl.â Morgan chuckles.Â
âShut up,â You slowly roll your eyes, âSome of us didnât sleep on the flight, some of us worked.âÂ
âWhat, you and Hotch?â He raises brows that show you walked right into that one.Â
âShut up.âÂ
Everyone makes their way back to the SUVs. No one utters a word when Hotch opens your door for you.Â
-
The hotel lobby was almost empty at five thirty in the morning. A sleepy desk agent noticed Aaronâs sharp suit and straight tie for the early hour as he makes his way over to the coffee station. He makes one black and the other doctored to your liking.Â
Five minutes later a knock echoes in your hotel room. You groan into your pillow, your alarm still has two more minutes.Â
âIf itâs MorganâŚâÂ
Another knock.Â
âIâm armed!âÂ
Aaron's voice comes through, close to the door.Â
âItâs Hotch.âÂ
Your head quickly snaps up from the pillow, suddenly sleep is the last thing on your mind. You toss off the covers to make your way over to the door. You crack the door open and squint at the bright light it lets in.Â
Aaron looks down at you, barely awake. Your hair is a mess and you have a big FBI hoodie hanging off one shoulder.Â
âAre we being called in already?âÂ
âNo.â He holds out one of the coffees, âI thought you might need this before heading over.âÂ
You look down at the coffee, then back at him, then back to the coffee.Â
âYouâre voluntarily bringing me caffeine?â You raise a brow.Â
The corners of his mouth curl slightly, âIâd like you awake for the morning briefing.â
You finally accept the cup, your fingers brushing his as you take it.Â
âI think you just like seeing me suffer.â You tease, âMy alarm hasnât even gone off yet.âÂ
Now he openly smirks, âWeâre supposed to leave for the station in ten minutes.âÂ
âDonât doubt me.â You shake your head and take a long sip of coffee. You arenât surprised itâs exactly to your liking.
He hides his smile now, âYou have five minutes.âÂ
He turns and leaves your doorway and heads in the direction of the elevator.Â
âYes, sir.âÂ
He almost reaches it, but you step out into the hall with your hand still holding your door open.Â
âHotch?â
He turns, taking in your bare legs as youâre just standing out in the hall. Your free hand braces the door behind you so you donât lock yourself out.
âThank you.âÂ
He nods and the elevator doors open and you go back inside your room. Taking your coffee with you. A second later the room across the hall from you opens, Morgan steps out and looks both ways in the hall. JJ walks out of her room just down the hall in time to see the elevator doors close with Aaron inside.Â
âHe just brought her coffee.â Derek shakes his head and gestures between the elevator and your room.Â
âCoffeeâŚâ JJ nods.Â
Rossi steps out next, adjusting his watch on his wrist.Â
âGood morning.âÂ
âHotch is getting awfully domestic.âÂ
Rossi smiles, âI noticed.âÂ
You're the last one to join them in the lobby, coffee still in hand. You take one last sip before throwing out the cup by the door. By six o clock, the team is back at the precinct. The atmosphere felt different. Heavier.Â
The sheriff meets everyone halfway to the conference room. His face said everything before he even had to speak. Hotch noticed it instantly.Â
âWhat happened?â
The sheriff swallowed.Â
âWe lost two more.âÂ
The room froze.Â
âThey were together.âÂ
Silence.Â
Emilyâs shoulders drop, âThey followed protocol?â
âThey did everything they were supposed to.âÂ
The sheriff rubbed tired eyes.Â
âThey were parked outside a closed convenience store waiting on another unit.âÂ
Morgan frowns, âHow?â
The sheriff passes Hotch a folder, âExplosion.â
Everyone turns toward you and you continue to stare at the crime scene photos.Â
âHe expected us to pair officers.âÂ
Hotch nods once, âSo he changed tactics.âÂ
Rossi sighs, âWhich means heâs watching.âÂ
Derek folds his arms across his chest, âHe knew our response procedures.âÂ
-
Half an hour later the team is standing outside of whatâs left of the police cruiser. The blast tore through the driverâs side, metal warped in horrifying directions. Bomb technicians were still searching the area.Â
Morgan crouches near the crater âHe knew exactly where to place it.â
âHe needed line of sight.â Reid looks around the intersection.Â
Your head turns on a swivel, âSo he was nearby?â
Aaron scans the surrounding businesses, âWatching.âÂ
His phone rings loudly and he answers it, putting Garcia on speaker.Â
âIâve got surveillance cameras from the liquor store across the street.âÂ
Back at the sheriffâs station everyone crowded around the laptop with the file Penelope sent over. The time stamp read 2:13 AM, a patrol car pulls into frame. The footage is grainy and nothing happens for the first four minutes. Then, a figure walks calmly on the sidewalk. Hands shoved into a hoodie pocket, he doesnât even look in the direction of the officers.Â
âHe isnât looking at the cruiser.â Morgan observes.Â
âHe doesnât have to,â You reply, âHe already knew exactly where it was.âÂ
Garcia works on enhancing the footage. Enough to see dark work boots and a baseball cap. One shoulder sits noticeably lower than the other. Reid notices it instantly.Â
âHeâs not carrying his weight regularly.âÂ
âDomintant right side.â You agree.Â
âConstruction?â JJ guesses.Â
You shake your head and trace the angle of his arm, âHeâs carried something heavy on one side for years.â
âWhat?â
âI donât know.â You admit.Â
Hotch hasnât taken his eyes off the screen, âPlay it back.âÂ
The footage backs up, he leaves the frame, before starting over again. This time itâs slower and focused on his walk rather than the explosion.Â
âHe never looked back.â You swallow.
âHeâs done this before.â Aaron continues, eyes darting to yours.Â
The words settle over the room with weight. Your eyes stay locked on his as you continue to think, finally placing what you thought you saw before.Â
âSomeone who spent years carrying a rifle.â You point to the suspectâs gait.Â
JJ nods before adding, âHe scans reflections instead of turning his head. Store windows, car mirrors.âÂ
Rossi looks towards Hotch, âMilitary.âÂ
Aaron nods, already looking down at his phone.Â
âGarcia, look into anyone who recently applied to the police academy with a military background.âÂ
Her typing became audible with rapid speed.Â
âFormer Staff Sergeant Daniel Mercer. Three deployments, honorably discharged four years ago.âÂ
Garcia puts his photo onto the screen, âHe was diagnosed with severe PTSD after his last tour. He applied to three police departmentsâÂ
Three rejection letters appeared.Â
âThe psychological evaluations all came back the same.â Garciaâs voice softens, âNot fit for duty due to unresolved combat trauma.â
âThatâs him.â You stand suddenly, grabbing your badge and gun.Â
Rossi nods, âThe military gave him purpose⌠Law enforcement was supposed to replace it.âÂ
âWhen they rejected him,â Morgan sighs, âThey became the enemy.âÂ
Garcia sent the coordinates for Danielâs hunting cabin to everyoneâs phones.Â
Hotch reaches for a vest, âLetâs move.â
The cabin sat deep in the woods. It was too quiet, the team studies the layout before moving in.Â
âOne front entrance.â Morgan points.Â
âNo movement.â Emily confirms.Â
You adjust your point tail tighter, âHe knows weâre coming.âÂ
Aaron looks over, âWe need to assume he has every inch trapped.âÂ
You smirk, âYou always know how to make a girl feel welcome.âÂ
He gives you the look. Even now.Â
You smile, âThere it is.âÂ
JJ shakes her head, âSeriously?â
Hotch continues to stare you down, âFocus.âÂ
âBreach on my count.âÂ
Three.
Two.
One.
The flashbang goes off and the front door explodes inward. The team floods into the cabin.Â
Morgan and Emily go left. Rossi and JJ clear the kitchen. Reid heads upstairs. You and Hotch move deeper into the house. Empty rooms with lights off, Hotch leads through the halls. Thereâs a closed door at the very end, he opens it and you march in. Hotch follows close behind, then the door slams behind the two of you. You both spin around to face him, Daniel Mercer standing there with a gun already raised.
âDrop it!â Hotch shouts.Â
Danielâs eyes werenât on him, they were on you. He doesnât negotiate for a second, his finger tightens on the trigger. Two deafening shots ring out, the impact slamming you backward. You crash to the ground and Aaronâs world stops.Â
Mercer doesnât get the chance to raise his weapon again, Hotch fires. Once. Twice. Three times. He drops before he can hit the ground. Aaron doesnât even look, heâs on his knees next to you. Blood roars behind his ears and his heart thunders in his chest.Â
His hands shake as he reaches for your shoulders, he can barely breathe. Somewhere behind him he hears the door open and he can see David, Morgan and Prentiss in his peripheral.Â
âY/n?â He whispers your name.
You suck in a painful breath and he freezes. Two hot pieces of metal sit against your vest, protecting you from actually being pierced.Â
You wince, â...Ow.âÂ
He simply stares for a few seconds.Â
âI think I have some broken ribs.â You mutter.Â
He still looks unable to process, stuck in a state of panic. You reach out a hand slowly to his arm. His eyes dart down at the contact.Â
âHey.. you look,â You hesitate, â...really freaked out.âÂ
He lets out something between a laugh and a sob.Â
âYou got shot.â
âIn the vest.âÂ
âYou got shot.â He says it again, but this time you can hear the raw deep emotion in his voice. Fear.Â
He pulls you into his arms, carefully. One arm behind your shoulders and the other behind your back supporting you. Heâs holding onto you like if he lets go youâll disappear. You hiss through the slight pain. He loosens his grip immediately.Â
âSorry.âÂ
Emily blinks looking down at the two of you. Morgan couldnât ignore it either. None of them said a word, not now. They hadnât seen fear like that on Hotch in a long time. His composure was gone, breathing uneven. His hands still shake where they hold you.Â
He pulls back and looks at you. Then, very faintly, âYou scared me.âÂ
Your teasing smile softens, âIâm sorry.âÂ
The sincerity in those two words hit him harder than he cared to admit. You were rarely serious and normally would take every possible opportunity to tease him. Only after you give his hand a squeeze does it finally stop shaking. He lets Morgan help you up.Â
Twenty minutes later you're sitting in the back of an ambulance. The EMT carefully examines your ribs, you wince every couple of seconds as the bandage braces you tighter. Youâre sure to have a couple of ugly bruises as well.Â
Aaron stands several feet away, his eyes still carefully trained on you. Rossi wanders over, no longer able to watch the man suffer alone.Â
âYou can breathe now.âÂ
Aaron doesnât answer.Â
âAaron.âÂ
Still nothing. Rossi looks toward the ambulance. Youâre laughing despite the pain as JJ fusses over you.Â
âYou almost lost her.âÂ
Aaron's jaw tightens. Itâs the first sign heâs shown that heâs actually listening.Â
âI know.â
âNo,â Rossi looks directly at him, âI donât think you do.âÂ
Aaron finally looks over.Â
âIâve seen you worried about this team. Iâve seen you angry. Iâve seen you blame yourself.â Rossi nods in your direction, âIâve only seen you fall apart like that once.âÂ
Haley.Â
Aaron looks away.Â
âI thought she was dead.âÂ
âI could tell.âÂ
Another long silence. Finally Rossi smiles.Â
âSoâŚâ
Aaron already knew where this was going.Â
âNo.âÂ
âYou need to do something about that.âÂ
âI donât know what-â
Rossi doesnât even let him finish, âYou emptied half your magazine into a man because he shot the woman youâre in love with.âÂ
Aaron sights, âIâm not-â
Rossi holds up a hand, âSave it.âÂ
-
The ride from the station to the airport was unusually quiet. Everyone was tired and you were wincing every time the SUV hit a bump. You tried to hide it, but failed miserably considering the audience.Â
Emily commented on it first, âYou okay?â
âIâm great,â Another pothole, âI hate Ohio roads.âÂ
Aaron looks over from the driverâs seat, âYou got shot.âÂ
âIn the vest.â You sigh dramatically, âWeâve been over this.âÂ
JJ smiles in the backseat, âWeâre worried about you.âÂ
You twist painfully to look at her in the back, âThis is excessive.âÂ
By the time you reach the tarmac, so does the rest of the team. Morgan insisted on carrying your go bag. You try to take it back but he slings it over his shoulder and walks ahead.Â
Emily reaches the stairs first, âEasy.âÂ
âIâve climbed stairs before.â You roll your eyes.Â
âNot with bruised ribs.â Aaron calls from behind you.Â
JJ hands you a water as soon as you settle into your chair, âYou havenât been drinking enough.âÂ
Reid frowns thoughtfully, âActually, hydration helps with tissue recovery.âÂ
âAlright, alright.âÂ
It was clear that without having to discuss it, the team had all decided you wouldnât be lifting a finger tonight. The jet lifted into the darkness within a half an hour. The cabin lights were dimmed to a minimum. Reid fell asleep with a book on his chest. Morgan was stretched across the couch. Emily and JJ took two seats near the back. Rossi quietly sipped coffee in the way back. The engines settled into their familiar hum that signaled it was time to go home.Â
You shift in your seat and regret it instantly.Â
âOw.âÂ
Aaron looks over, âYou alright?â
âIâm discovering muscles I didnât know existed.â You sigh, trying to stretch out and keep your ribs straight.Â
âYou donât have to pretend youâre fine.âÂ
Your eyes snap open to look at him. He openly stares back and you smile faintly.Â
âI know.âÂ
He hesitates for a few seconds, looking at the empty chair to your right. He quietly moves into the seat beside you and you look at him with an amused smile. He adjusts the armrest between the seats so you can lean against him, not having to support yourself while still being able to stretch out across to the seat he had just been occupying.
âYouâve never sat here.â You sound surprised, âYou donât have assigned seating?â
âI donât.âÂ
âSo this is voluntary?â You raise a teasing brow.Â
âYes.âÂ
You smile, âIâll try not to let the power go to my head.âÂ
For a minute, the two of you just sit there. You enjoy the feeling of his warm chest under you, his arm protectively keeping you there. Eventually Aaron breaks the silence.Â
âIâve replayed it.âÂ
You look up at him.Â
âBack at the cabin,â his jaw tightens, âif I had entered first.âÂ
He huffs and you start to frown.Â
âIf Iâd seen him sooner, if Iâd-â
âAaron.âÂ
âI canât stop thinking about it.â His voice is barely above a whisper.Â
âI thoughtâŚâ He swallows, âI thought you were dead.âÂ
You watch him carefully. He isnât looking at you, heâs staring at his hands.Â
âIâve lost agents before.â He continues quietly, âIâve attended funerals. I know what this job costs.âÂ
Another pause.Â
âBut today,â His voice cracks just enough for you to hear, âToday rattled me more than it should have.âÂ
You already knew what he meant, he finally looks back at you.Â
âIt shouldnât affect me like that.â
âWhy not?â
âIâm your unit chief.âÂ
You hold his gaze, âAaron.âÂ
He waits. Hanging on your every word. He would wait for the rest of the flight if you made him.Â
âYou donât look at me like youâre my unit chief.âÂ
He doesnât deny it and you give him a small smile.Â
âYou havenât for a long time.â You tilt your head, âYou look at everyone else like youâre responsible for them. You look at me like Iâm precious.â
His breath catches, âI tried.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
He sighs, âI told myself a hundred times that I needed to keep things professional.âÂ
You nod, âI know.âÂ
âI convinced myself that what I felt would eventuallyâŚâ He searches for the word, âfade.â
âIt didnât.â You look all over his face.Â
âNo,â a humorless laugh escapes him, âit only got worse.âÂ
Your ribs want to protest, but you reach your hand out to his. He looks down at it, tightening his grip before looking back at you.Â
âToday, I was terrified. When you went down, I was terrified. I wasnât thinking like your supervisor, or a profiler. I wasnât even thinking like an FBI agent.âÂ
His thumb brushes against your fingers.Â
âI was thinking like a man who was about to lose the woman heâŚâÂ
He stops and you give him an encouraging smile.Â
âGo on.â You bite your lip to stop the grin from spreading.Â
He laughs softly, âI profile serial killers for a living.âÂ
âAnd yet this is somehow harder?â You bite.Â
âIt is.âÂ
You squeeze his hand, âI know.âÂ
He looks at you for a long moment.Â
Then, with all the certainty he brings to every single profile, âI love you.âÂ
The words hang in the quiet cabin.Â
âIâve been trying not to, burying it under paperwork and professionalism.â He smiles weakly, âIt didnât work.âÂ
âIf it makes you feel better, Iâve been denying that Iâm in love with my boss.âÂ
His eyes widen and you squeeze his hands again.Â
âI love you too.âÂ
Every worry heâd been carrying since the cabin vanished. Every ounce of fear seemed to disappear all at once. Neither of you speak, you simply look at each other. He lifts his hand and you lean into the touch when he cups your cheek.Â
âI almost lost you.â His voice is impossibly soft. He takes your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it.Â
âI know, but I'm here.â You remind, âBecause of you.âÂ
You lean forward enough to rest your forehead against his.Â
âIâm here.âÂ
Your words are warm on his face, he smiles.Â
âYou are.âÂ
He leans down, closing the short distance between the two of you. His lips are careful on yours, clearly not trying to shift you around and hurt you. You donât let that stop you, chasing his lips to deepen the kiss.Â
A few rows behind the two of you, Rossi smiles into his coffee cup.Â
JJ looks up from her book, âI can see forehead touching.âÂ
Emily looks over, thanks to being nudged by JJ a dozen times.Â
âTold you!âÂ
Morgan stretches at just the right time, âConfession time!âÂ
Rossi shakes his head, âAnd it only took one of them getting shot.âÂ
âWait, so who won the bet?â
Back at the front of the cabin you smile, finally pulling away from him.Â
âShould we tell them?â You nod back toward the team filling the rows behind the two of you.Â
Aaron straightens for a second, looking over the top of the chair and catching several eyes immediately. Everyone looks elsewhere too suddenly. Emily inspects the ceiling. Morgan suddenly reaches for the safety card. JJâs book is now somehow upside down. Reid is still asleep. Rossi simply raises his coffee in acknowledgment.Â
He sighs, settling back into his seat and pulling you back against him.Â
âI think they already know.âÂ
You laugh, âTheyâve known longer than we have.âÂ
âShould that make me proud?â
-
an// aweee cute! that was fun, plz let me know what you thought of it!
the fire alarm ruins your orgasm, for the third time this week. thankfully, your neighbor offers to help you after you snap at him in the parking lot, and in return, he wants cookies. you would give him anything if it meant he would ruin you...
pairing | aaron hotchner x neighbor!fem reader
disclaimer | don't read this if it makes you uncomfortable. what you consume is your own responsibility <3 MDNI
warnings | PORN WITHOUT PLOT, PERV!hotch, also dark and cocky!hotch, he is sooooo confident and fulllll of himself, reader is very sexually frustrated and angry like that's the entire plot, a lot of cursing, italics, mentions of outfit, no body descriptions, no use of y/n, hotch lives alone!!!, sex of convenience (is that even a trope?), basically a week of edging up until this point, rough sex and gentle touches!!, crying, oral (both), protected p in v (be proud of me), multiple orgasms, dubcon undertones but in a sexy way, slight choking, almost loss of consciousness?, reader says no but he keeps going and it all works out<3, forehead kisses, slight exhibitionism kink? ..... this is PURE FILTH. #ovulating
word count | 4.3k we're all going to hell together <3
It had to have something against you, that was the only explanation.
Perhaps you had done something to anger it, to provoke the monster inside to unleash its wrath and direct it at you. Maybe it was karma for that time you finished check-out at your local grocery shop, and didn't give the change to the homeless man outside.
In your defense, you were in a rush, and the few dollars had been pushed into the depths of your back pockets in a hurry.
But you should have given him the change, you would have given him all of your money if that cleansed your karma.
The fire alarm had blasted its deafening howls at the wonderful hour of two in the fucking morningâand you suppressed the urge to cry with it as you kicked off the sheets of your bed and stomped to the door. Angrily.
Three times in one week.
Three times had the fire alarm gone offâthree fucking times had you not gotten off. It sent your nerves into overdrive. Every fiber in your body was tense, buzzing with frustration. Your mind no longer worked properly, there was not a single thought in your head that could even resemble sanity.
You were spent, uptight. Fired up. Deeply and infuriatingly.
The past week had been Hell. Capital H. Like the place they send your soul to suffer for eternity. Someone should call the Devil and tell him if his Underworld was ever at capacity, they could send the rest to live in your apartment complex. There was no difference.
Maybe this was the Underworld, and the Devil was the one causing you to suffer.
You wondered if the Devil fucked good.
Probably. Most likely. Unfortunately.
Half of the week had left you exhausted. Passed out the moment your head hit the pillow. Every other day you worked at the Office of Worst Kinds of People (a staff of only business men), and you had repeatedly run out of patience and will to live.
When you had not been swamped with work, you found yourself alone, in the solitude of your own apartment.
The quiet was driving you insane.
Every single one of your friends had been busy, whether with their own jobs or vacations. You didn't have a boyfriend, despite how much you found yourself needing one right about now. You were lonely.
It was you and your steadily growing collection of adult toysâexcept, you didn't get to be with them either.
How was it even possible that every moment you had to yourself, to get the release that would hopefully lift your shitty mood, the fire alarm protested by screaming its discontent.
Its pleasure was your displeasure, you were sure of that.
Oh, how you wished you could have gotten your shit together and downloaded the dating app your friends had begged you to get. Or even gone to a club, a barâeven a fucking strip clubâjust to get laid.
Fuck, you needed to get someone inside of you. Soon. Hard and fast.
"Aren't you cold?" Aaron, your next door neighbor, asked from your immediate left. Your head whipped to the side, to glare at him while you mentally sewed your mouth shut. It took everything in you to not snap in his stupidly handsome face.
Apparently, by the looks of him, he had better instincts when it came to urgent situations. You know the questions that are like 'what three things would you grab if there was a fire'? Yeah, Aaron seemed like he had his things figured out.
First of all, he was actually wearing clothesâand not a cropped tee and frilly, ruffled shorts that made your ass look amazingâmostly because it didn't cover anything.
Second of all, he had a bag slung over his shoulder. Which you guessed was actually useful stuff, and not the initial image that popped into your head of sex toys and bondage equipment.
Third of all, he didn't seem to mind being hauled out of the comfort of his apartment in the ass crack ofânot even dawn.
Of-fucking-course you were cold. It was two in the fucking morning and your shit had been scared out of you by the infuriating fire alarmâwhich, also, most definitely, had it out for you.
And not 'out for you' in a good way, like it had whipped out its boner just for you. Because if that was the case, you wouldn't have been as cranky and frustrated as you were.
You would have climbed it, that was how desperate you were.
Pride was long lost and it would be a fool's mission to search for it.
"It's fine," you lied, lifting and dropping a shoulder to really sell the act of indifference. The urge to cross your arms over your chest and rub some warmth into your skin was increasingly hard to resist. You wished someone else would rub warmth into your skin instead.
Maybe the cold would seep into your bones and extinguish the burning between your legs. Hopefully.
"You're in a bad mood tonight," he clicked his tongue and chuckled, almost more to himself than you, "here, take this."
The world seemed to slow as you watched him reach for the zipper of his jacket. One inch was all it took, it slid down one inch to reveal the column of his throat and panic struck you.
"Stop," you gasped but it sounded more like a whine, an open palm stretched out to shield the sliver of skin from your visionâfrom the wrath of the demon in between your legs, "if you undress any more, I'm going to fucking jump. God."
"Fuck," your voice lowered to a whisper, to direct your words to yourself, as you dragged a hand down your face, "I need to get it together." This was getting out of hand. You had to get your shit together before anyone in the sea of people around you ended up the a danger zone.
"Three fucking times this week," you closed your eyes and sighed, "I justâneed to get laid."
Aaron stilled as you continued muttering to yourself. He just stood there, unsure how to react, close enough that the warmth of his body caressed your skin in a way that drew goosebumpsâfar away enough that he wasn't in immediate danger of getting pounced on. Yet.
You met his unreadable gaze with an apologetic wince, "sorry."
Shit, you must have come across as an insane and desperate whore. Which might have been true, but that was not the subject of panicked discussion here. Aaron was nice, he always offered to help carry your stuff if you were struggling. Was always helpful if you had trouble with your car.
And he always appreciated your baking. If he wasn't home whenever you had made a batch of cookies or muffins or whatever, you'd shoot him a text and he'd knock on your door as soon as he got back.
Aaron watched out for you. He didn't deserve your shitty attitude.
He chuckled, a dark sound, rough and raspy. Like his throat had yet to fully wake up from slumber. Your thighs pressed together without your consentâand you knew he noticed. Apparently, your brain and your body no longer conversed before decisions were made. What a team, right?
"Can you wait until they let us back inside, or?" he purred, a playful smirk toying on his lips. As if the idea of it was amusing and not an actual fucking issue. But the urge to wipe that infuriatingly sexy look off his face vanished, as soon as his words sunk in.
Did he think you were joking?
The sticky mess practically dripping down your thighs was not funny, at all. It was embarrassing and annoying, and extremely frustrating. The idea of being this... aroused in the parking lot with every single resident of the complex presentâit honestly kind of turned you on even more.
"It's not funny," you grumbled under your breath, arms folded over your chest to try to keep from shaking. Whimpering. Somewhere in between glaring at the asphalt under your shoes and picturing a giant orgy in the parking lot, Aaron had slipped his jacket off.
"Didn't say it was," he bit back a grin as he hung the jacket around your shoulders, "but only if you bake those cookies again." The scent of him waved around you, the heat of his body lingering inside the fabric now seeped into your skin.
"Are you making demands for sex?" you huffed a laugh, both unbelieving and intrigued, as you clutched the jacket tighter, "we'll fuck if I make you cookies?" Was it sad that you really hoped he meant it?
Maybe, but you did not give a single shit. Dick was dickâand he was absolutely not the ugliest person to be dicked down byânor was the request anything but it's own win.
He was fucking gorgeous, in a dark and mysterious way. Like you'd never know if he was plotting your assassination or fantasizing about his cock deep in your throatâwhich was all the more attractive.
Not to mention, he liked your baking so much, he was trading sex for a batch of cookies.
This is what capitalism could have been.
Aaron chuckled, shrugging with a wicked gleam in his dark eyes, "give and take, right?" Oh, he was absolutely onto something, that man. And, soon, he could be onto youâif the firemen could just get their fingers out of their asses and let you back inside.
"How could I ever refuse such an offer?" you licked your lips and smirked, reflecting the smug expression forming on his face.
The stairwell door stood directly across from your apartment, pushed against one end of the hallway. On the middle wall was Aaron's door. His apartment was the biggest on your floor, save from the exact mirrored layout on the opposite end.
It was longer than yours, stretching further out than most of the other apartments.
You halted at the familiar crossroad, tilting your head as you studied the two doors with feigned indecisiveness, "mine or yours?" It didn't matter, you did not care at all. Not even a little bit. All you wanted was to get pounded so hard, you wouldn't be able to get out of bed for a week. And then some.
"Mine," he stated, decided, keys jingling in his hand as he unlocked the door. He held it open for you to enter, then closed it shut behind you.
Aaron kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys onto the console table, before turning back to look at you with a devilish smirk on his face, "can I get you anything?"
"Yeah, a dick and a bed, please and thank you," you mumbled as you hung up his jacket on the hooks, then snorted, "actually, the bed is optional." Anywhere would be acceptable, you thought to yourself as you sat down on the floor to untie your shoes.
Why the hell did you decide on converse? An even better question, how the hell did you manage to put them on while rushing out of the building?
"Well, I was thinking a glass of water or something," he mused, taking a step closer to where you knelt on the floor, "but, since you asked so nicely..."
"I'm going to scream if you don't touch me now." you glared up at him after pushing your shoes out of the way, barely restraining yourself from sinking your teeth into his thighs like a fucking vampire. They were right in front of you.
He seemed to really enjoy your snappy words and lack of composure, or perhaps he was the Devil himself come to prolong your sufferingâmight as well been as he didn't move an inch. Aaron just tilted his head down, filling your vision with his tall body and satisfied, smug expression.
However, you were a woman of your word. So, you took a breath, intent to actually scream your frustrations outâbut the moment your lips parted, his cock hit the back of your throat.
You hadn't even noticed his pants coming undone, or his cock being whipped outânot until he was pushing past your lips with a groan and his hand tangled in your hair to keep you in place. He was careful, despite his grip on your head, his pace was slow and easy.
But slow and easy was not your style. Slow and easy would not do fucking shit to the volcano of horny you had transformed into.
Grazing your teeth lightly, in warning, a reminder of who really had the power, then you relaxed your jaw entirely. Offering the space of your mouth for him to use freely. Roughly, hopefully.
Aaron did. He fucked your throat until tears were streaming down your face. Until you had snaked a hand down your shorts and fingered yourselfâuntil you had gotten so close you trembledâand that was when he pulled out.
Seconds before release could wash over you.
You tried your best to not sob as he lifted you up to your feet, a smile on his lips, his hands on either side of your face. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his thumbs brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks, "how many times, sweetheart?"
"What?" you shook your head in attempt to focus on the question he had asked. The gesture was so gentle, you almost passed out from the shift in energy. But the fire in your veins burned with threat and promise of eruption. Every cell in your body was tense, every fiber was screaming for the release you had been denied way too many times now.
"How many times do you want to cum for me, sweetheart?" Aaron repeated casually, like it was the most common question. His hands traveled down your sides, to your waist, under your shirt. His touch was like gasoline, fuel to what was brewing in your lower stomach. You shivered as his thumb grazed your peaked nipple, moaned as he pinched it between his fingers.
"Three?" he suggested in the absence of your answer, his hands cupping both your breasts firmly, "or more?" The smile on his lips seemed even more devilish as he tilted his head to the side, studying your dazed expression. A predator watching his prey. Fuck, it was hot.
"Three," you managed finally, nodding absentmindedly at your own confirmation, "fast, please. I'm going to explode if I can'tâ"
"I know, come on," Aaron relented with a chuckle, dragging you through the living room, to his bedroom.
The moment your feet crossed the threshold, his lips were on yours. Hungry and claiming. His tongue darted into your mouth with a force that stole your breath away, that had you wishing to never need air again. There was nothing slow and easy about him anymore.
He was all fire. Consumed by a demon of his own.
His mouth traveled across your jaw, biting the soft skin down your neck. As if he was teasing himself, refraining from devouring you entirely. If vampires were real, you would gladly offer your own neck if it felt like this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, clawed at his neckâanywhere you could reach, you scratched. Every thought in your brain evaporated as he groped your ass. Harshly. Everything about him was demanding, every touch on your body was an act of claim, every bite on your neck was a mark.
Then, he stepped back, out of your grasp, to rake his gaze down your body. He was appreciating the sight, drinking in the state of you. His cock was pressed against his lower stomach, the tip glistening with precum and the remnant of your spit.
You clenched around nothing at the thought of him inside you, how big he was in your mouth and how deep he fucked himself down your throat. How good he'd stretch you out. How you had promised him three orgasms.
Aaron clicked his tongue and tilted his head, "as much as I would love to fuck you in those shorts," he purred lowly, almost growling, "if you want to keep them in one piece, I suggest you take them off. Now."
You did not need to be told twiceânot when the look on his face alone had you shivering with anticipationâthe sound of his voice echoed through your bones, vibrating your body with the melody. His eyes darkened with something you could only assume was a warning sign, as his own clothes decorated the floor alongside yours.
The moment your shirt was off, he threw you on the bed, his hands gripping your hips to pull you to the edge as he positioned himself between them. His cock twitched against your thigh as he leaned down, face hovering inches above yours with a predatory look in his eyes.
"Sweetheart," he purred, in a way so condescending, you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs around him, "how would you like your first one?"
Fuck. In the dim light of his bedroom, with the gleam in his eyes, he looked every part of the Devil you had imagined.
"Don't care," you breathed, grinding you hips against him, "would jus' like it right now." The ache was consuming you, the desperation was at an all time high. You could practically feel your head emptying, and filling up again with images of him. No thoughts, it was all a burning need for Aaron.
"Guess it's my choice, then." he mused, a satisfied smile on his lips.
Then he was gone again, rummaging in the closet on the opposite side of the bedroom, returning with a blueâtie? You shuddered, breath hitching with a small whimper as he stalked for you. Slowly.
With a nod of his head, you pushed yourself backwards until you hit the headboard. Without exchanging a single word, you lifted your arms and he tied them together, securing you to his bed. You were at his mercyâand, God, did it turn you on.
Aaron was everywhere. His hands spread your thighs, his mouth devouring your breasts. Then his hands snaked up to replace his mouth, and his head lowered between your legs. He blew, air fanning across your foldsâbefore he settled.
You moaned as his tongue danced around, plunged into you, pushing every button that ensured you would explode in no time. He rolled your nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger, the other hand moving down to your lower stomach, to press you into the mattress.
Your hips bucked, or tried to, against his hold. Tried to both push yourself into the feeling of his mouth on you, as well as away from it. It was dizzying and breathtaking, too much and yet not enough. The tie around your wrist dug into the skin, to keep you restrained as you pulled.
His groans were muffled by your thighs, vibrating around your clit. The sounds of him consuming you like it was everything he'd ever wanted, it sent you barrelling for the edge. Tumbling rapidly for the pleasure you had been denied for a week, as if it could be ripped out of your grasp any moment, and this was the only chance.
Your thighs shook with the intensity of your approaching orgasm, your whimpers turned into breathy moans, then small screamsâuntil his fingers plunged into your mouth, and you unfolded. Drowned in darkness, the abyss of bliss.
It hurt so fucking good.
The sound of a wrapper ripping open did not register in your dazed state. You didn't register much at all before his cock slammed into you. In one movement.
Aaron wasn't giving you the moment to catch your breath, or to adjust to the size of him. No, he was a man of his own word, and he was intent to collect the debt you owed him. In his own pace, hard and fast, unrelenting.
It didn't take long for the sensitivity to melt back into desire. For the pain to reshape into a mind-numbing pleasure.
"Fuck," you gasped, eyes rolling as he hit the deepest spot inside of you over and over again. Both of his hands gripped your hips to hold, to use you as his anchorâand you hoped there would be bruises. Prints of his fingers, marks of his claims. Tattoos of the memories.
Aaron looked like a god above you. A disheveled, sexy god. His hair stuck to his forehead, slick with sweat as he pounded his cock deeper. Rougher. His eyes were wild, like he was in a crazed state and the urges had taken over. As if he had been possessed. He fucked like it, too.
"Wan' touch you," you managed to breathe, back arching off the bed with another forceful thrust. Your jaw was slack with the intent of forming another sound, yet none came out. Nothing but gasps could be heard. Gasps and skin slappingâand his deep rumbles that almost sounded like praiseâbut you couldn't make it out over the buzzing in your body.
The pressure lessened around your wrist and you pulled them free, grabbing his shoulders instead. Raking your nails down his back as he leaned over you, fucking you harder into the mattress.
Aaron bent your leg, your knee pressing against his chest to allow him deeper. His hand moving to your throat. It was a light hold, but firm enough to restrict the airways. You were shaking again, moaning pathetically as you clenched around him. The pressure around your throat was dizzying in the best ways. Intoxicating.
"Give it to me, sweetheart." his lips brushed your ear, his tone so demandingâyou obeyed even before his words registered.
Everything was on fire. A delicious flame threatening to consume you as your body went numb with the force of your second orgasm. Skin buzzing with electricity, legs shaking around him as it swallowed you whole. A scream stuck in your throat, hindered by his tightening grip.
The world started to fade, the edges of your vision darkening. The abyss stretching endlesslyâ "Don't you dare," Aaron muttered somewhere far away, followed by a small sting on your cheek.
You gasped at the pain, the haze clearing up again to find his dark eyes staring downâat you.
He clicked his tongue, in what sounded like disapproval.
"I'm not done with you yet," he stated, a fake sweet smile growing on his lips, as if that would make it easier for you, "we had a deal. I'll fuck you until you give meâ" he halted his words to move his hips, dragging himself out and pushing himself all the way back in, "âhow many?"
"No, m' can't." you whimpered as tears rolled down your cheeks, his thumb swiping them away gently. Every slow thrust of his cock rubbed against your walls, you shuddered as he bottomed out, whined as he rolled his hips.
Aaron cooed, condescendingly, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, "but I know you can."
His pace picked up, slowly increasing to give you a chance to follow, until he was pounding into you again. Hammering while kissing away the tears on your cheeks, fucking you like his life depended on it, while gently stroking your hair. The contrast of his actions confused you enough, distracted your mind enough that your body melted into him. To give him what he wanted.
"Good girl," Aaron purred in your ear, snaking a hand around your thighâ"look at you," he hummed with appreciation, continuing his distractions to keep you focused on his voice, as his thumb started rubbing circles on your clit, "always knew you'd be good for me."
You mumbled incoherent noises, shuddered as new waves of pleasure jolted through your sensitive cunt, cried as he hit that very spot again. He was getting close now. His breath turned ragged and his hips were faltering, snapping with desperation for his own release. But he wasn't going to let himself, not until you gave him your last.
With a sob, your third orgasm washed over you, and Aaron followed with a groan of your name. A string of curses, along with coos of praise, as he came.
By the time you had reentered your body, regained a sliver of composure in the comfort of his arms, the sun had started to rise.
His curtains were open and you were curled up against him and admiring the view. The sky turning pastel, pink melting into a light purple, over to blue.
"You can see straight into my bedroom from here," you mused, a soft smile spreading on your tired face at the revelation. The bed was perfectly in line of sight with your bed, you could even see your sheets on the floor⌠You snapped your head around, gasping, "how muchâ"
Apparently Aaron had followed your train of thought, he understood instantly. "Only when you don't close your blinds," he grinned, not bothering to hide his amusement as he watched it sink in, "speaking of, maybe you should close them more often."
"Aaron," you raised a hand to cover your mouth, a panicked giggle escaping from your lips, "I never close my blinds." Yet, despite the horror of knowing you had been watched in the not-so-private privacy of your bedroomâwhich was absolutely your own faultâit also sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. Pooling right between your legs.
He had watched you.
And you didn't hate it. At all.
"Do you have anywhere to be today?" he whispered into your hair, his breath fanning the shell of your ear. You shook your head, biting your lip as his nose brushed down your throat, to your shoulder, "no, why?"
Aaron lifted his head and smiled sheepishly, "you still owe me cookies."
the five times you fell asleep on hotch, and the one time you fell asleep next to him
aaron hotchner x fem!reader
something cute after writing angst all week, and to say thank you for 300 followers :)
2.2k - sexual content (not explicit)
1. The BAU Jet (Somewhere over Kansas)
The low, steady hum of the jetâs engines was a hypocritical rhythm. It was supposed to be soothing, but after seventy-two straight hours of unweaving the mind of a serial arsonist, every rattle of the fuselage felt like a spike to the temple. You were sitting next to Aaron, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees as you tried to format the final narrative report before landing.
Your eyes burned. The white background of the document was blinding. By your side, Aaron looked as pristine as he had at four in the morning, jacket off, sleeves rolled neatly twice to his forearms, dark hair completely unaffected by gravity or exhaustion. He was reviewing case files, his pen moving in methodical, precise strokes.
You blinked once. It lasted three seconds. You blinked twice. The next thing you registered was the subtle shift of the plane tilting into a gentle bank, and the sudden, grounding warmth beneath your cheek. You weren't leaning against the cold window anymore. Your head had fallen sideways, resting squarely against the firm, tailored fabric of Aaronâs shoulder.
You stiffened immediately, your eyes snapping open. You were ready to scramble backward, pull together a hurried apology about muscle fatigue, and scramble for your seat. But before you could even lift your chin, you felt a slight, deliberate pressure against your arm. Aaron hadn't moved an inch. His shoulder was held perfectly steady to support your weight, and his left arm was rested along the back of your seat, keeping you anchored so the turbulence wouldn't jostle you awake.
"Stay still," he murmured, his voice low and rich, not even looking up from the paper in his hand. "We have forty-five minutes before we land. The report can wait."
You held your breath for a second, then let out a slow, quiet exhale, letting your eyes drift shut again. He didn't shift. He didn't move away. He just kept reading, his breath a steady, comforting rhythm right above your crown.
2. The Briefing Room ( 11:42 PM )
The rest of the team had cleared out an hour ago. Piles of red-labeled folders were stacked in neat towers along the long oak table, waiting for the morning shift. You were sitting in the swivel chair at the end of the table, holding a lukewarm mug of black coffee that had long since lost its potency.
Aaron was standing by the glass wall, a phone pressed to his ear, his back turned as he handled the administrative fallout of a closed bureau audit. His voice was a calm, low baritone, filtering through the quiet room like a lullaby you hadn't asked for.
You rested your elbow on the table, propping your chin in your palm. Just five minutes, you told yourself. Just while he finishes the call.
Your palm slipped. Your head dipped forward, coming to rest not on the hard wood, but on something soft and woolly.
Aaron had walked over silently while wrapping up his call. Spotting you on the verge of collapsing forward onto the table, he had pulled his dark suit jacket off and folded it twice, sliding it right beneath your cheek just before your head landed.
When you jolted awake twenty minutes later, the jacket was still acting as a pillow, smelling faintly of sandalwood, and early morning rain. Aaron was sitting in the chair right next to you, silently reading through a thick stack of requisitions by the light of a single desk lamp.
"I was going to wake you," he said softly, turning a page without looking at you. "But you looked like you needed the rest more than I needed my coat."
3. The SUV (Interstate 95, Rainstorm)
It was pouring. The windshield wipers were sweeping back and forth in a hypnotizing, rhythm. Aaron was driving, his hands steady on the wheel at ten and two, his gaze fixed on the slick, dark highway ahead. You were in the passenger seat, tasked with navigating, but the GPS voice had been muted, and the heater blowing against your feet was a trap. Every time the car rolled over a smooth patch of asphalt, your chin would drop to your chest. Eventually, fatigue won out completely. You didn't just nod off, you fell sideways like a falling tree. Your head thudded lightly against his upper arm.
Aaron didn't flinch. With one hand on the steering wheel, he reached down, caught the edge of your coat, and pulled it up higher over your shoulders. Then, very carefully, he adjusted his driving posture slightly, leaning subtle weight into the door so you had more room to rest against him without sliding toward the gear shift. Every time he had to change lanes, he signaled far earlier than necessary, turning the wheel with painstaking smoothness so as not to disturb the warmth of you settled against his side.
4. The Office Couch (After a 36-Hour Dragnet)
It was four in the morning. The bullpen was pitch black, save for the emergency lights near the exits. You had walked into Aaron's office to drop off a final stack of victim profiles, only to find him sitting at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, looking thoroughly spent.
"You should go home, Aaron," you had said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
"Ten more minutes," heâd replied, though his voice sounded raspy. "I just need to finish signing off on these travel vouchers."
You walked over, sat down on the leather sofa along the side wall to wait for him, intending to offer him a ride home so he wouldn't have to drive tired. You leaned your head back against the leather cushions, crossing your arms over your chest. Ten seconds later, you were under. When you woke up, it was six-thirty in the morning. The faint gray light of dawn was filtering through the blinds. You weren't sitting upright anymore, you were lying down on the couch, your feet tucked onto the cushions. A thick, dark fleece blanket, the one Aaron kept in his lower desk drawer for emergency overnights was pulled all the way up to your chin.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, with his thigh underneath your head, was Aaron. He had his elbow resting against the arm of the couch, holding a hot paper cup of tea, watching the bullpen outside his glass walls. He hadn't left his office. He had just stayed there, sitting quietly on the corner of the leather sofa, guarding your sleep until the building started to wake up.
"Good morning," he said softly, turning his head to offer a faint, genuinely warm smile. "You snore when you're completely exhausted."
"I do not," you grumbled, pulling the blanket over your nose.
"You do," a hint of a smile curving his lips. "It's fine. I didn't mind."
5. The Suburb Case (Safehouse Porch)
It was a rare moment of downtime during an active surveillance detail in rural Virginia. The house was quiet, the local authorities were handling the outer perimeter, and you and Aaron were stationed on the covered back porch, watching the treeline through night-vision optics.
The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp pine and autumn leaves. You were sitting side-by-side on an old wooden bench, wrapped in matching heavy canvas coats. The silence between you was comfortable, the kind built over years of shared trauma, unsaid understanding, and a quiet, simmering affection that neither of you had ever explicitly named. Your head began to droop. You fought it, snapping your eyes open twice, but the cold air and the heavy silence were overwhelming. Without thinking, you tilted sideways, resting your temple against his shoulder again. This time, Aaron didn't just hold still. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his arm and slid it around your shoulders, pulling you in closer against his side to block the wind. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head, his thumb stroking smooth, rhythmic circles into the fabric of your coat sleeve.
"I've got the treeline," he whispered into your hair, his voice vibrating softly against your temple. "Go to sleep." You didn't fight it. You pressed deeper into his shoulder, falling asleep to the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath his chest.
The One Time You Fell Asleep Next to Him
The case had ended with a pile of tedious paperwork and a collective sense of relief. To celebrate the end of a six-week stretch that had taken the team through three different time zones, Rossi had practically dragged everyone to a quiet, dimly lit dive bar three blocks from the Quantico building.
What was supposed to be "one quick drink" rapidly devolved into rounds of cheap whiskey, loud laughter, and heavy releases of built-up tension. You, usually a moderate drinker, had vastly underestimated the impact of two double scotches on an empty, overtired stomach. By midnight, the world was spinning in cozy, warm loops. Aaron had knocked back his fair share, his tie loose around his unbuttoned collar.
When you stumbled slightly coming out of the booth, his hand was immediately at the small of your back, steadying you with practiced ease.
"Alright," Aaron said quietly, his lips brushing near your ear so you could hear him over the jukebox. "Time to get you home."
"I'm fine," you giggled, leaning back against his chest as he guided you toward the door. "I am a picture of professional composure, Agent Hotchner."
"You're slurring the word 'composure,'" he murmured, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement.
The cab to his apartment was a blur of streetlights and soft jazz playing from the car radio. You don't quite remember walking up the stairs to his front door, but you remembered the feeling of his front hallway, quiet, clean, and smelling of him. You ended up in his kitchen, leaning against the counter while he brought you a tall glass of ice water.
"Drink all of it," he ordered gently, standing right in front of you.
You took a sip, set the glass down, and looked up at him. The suit jacket was gone. His tie was loosened, his top two buttons undone, revealing the warm skin of his throat. The warm, alcohol-induced courage took over before your brain could filter it.
You reached out, catching the edge of his open collar, and pulled him down to you. Aaron caught his breath, his hands instantly resting on your hips to steady you. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice suddenly thick, his dark eyes searching yours with absolute seriousness. "You've had a lot to drink, and you're exhausted-"
"Hotch," you interrupted, stepping closer so your chest pressed against his. "Aaron. I've been waiting for you to look at me like this for three years. Please."
The restraint that Aaron Hotchner had cultivated for decades seemed to snap in a single, quiet beat. He didn't answer with words. His mouth came down on yours, deep and heavy and desperate, lifting you easily off your feet and onto the kitchen counter. You gasped into his mouth, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him as close as physical law permitted.
The transition from the kitchen to his bedroom was a chaotic, beautiful haze of discarded clothes, heavy breathing, and skin burning against skin. It wasn't gentle, not entirely. It was the desperate release of months of quiet yearning, heavy glances across briefing tables, and deliberate, excruciating professionalism finally collapsing under its own weight.
Aaron was meticulous, reverent, and surprisingly intense. He held your wrists pinned lightly above your head, his eyes never leaving yours as he moved inside you, driving you to a shattering, breathless peak that left you sobbing his name against his neck. When he finally let go, his own release came with a low, ragged groan into the crook of your shoulder, his heavy weight pressing down on you in the best possible way.
Afterward, the room was silent save for the sound of your synchronized, heavy breathing. The sheets were tangled around your waists. The air in the bedroom was cool, but the heat radiating off Aaronâs bare skin was suffocatingly wonderful. He rolled onto his side, pulling you back against his chest, his strong arm wrapping tightly around your waist, anchoring your spine against his stomach. He pulled the heavy comforter up over both of your shoulders, burying his face into the back of your neck.
"Aaron?" you whispered into the dark room, feeling a soft wave of liquid exhaustion settling deep into your bones.
"Hmm?" he murmured, his lips pressing a warm, lingering kiss against the delicate skin just behind your ear.
"I'm not on your shoulder this time."
You felt him smile against your skin, a real, unfiltered, genuine laugh that vibrated straight through your body.
"No," he said softly, tightening his grip around your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't a single inch of air left between you. "You're right where you're supposed to be." You smiled, resting your hands over his forearm, and for the first time, you fell asleep next to him, wrapped in his arms, drifting off to the steady, undisturbed beating of his heart against your back.
He doesn't fucking sleep and it's driving you insane.
And it's not cute. No. It's 4 AM and he's still at his desk, screen glowing, and he hasn't eaten sinceâ since when? Yesterday? The day before?
You want to throw his laptop out the fucking window.
You don't.
Because you know why he's doing this.
He's doing this for you.
The promotion. The overtime. The side projects he picks up like a stray dog dragging home scraps. The spreadsheet he updates every monthăźsavings for vacation, savings for her birthday, savings for the ring, savings for the house, savings for her to never have to worry about anything everâ and you found it once, accidentally, when he forgot to close his laptop, and you cried in the bathroom for ten minutes because he's killing himself and it's your fault.
Not that he ever blame you. You know he's more likely to put a bullet in his own skull to say anything is ever your fault.
He'd just smile.
That exhausted, hollow smile and kiss your forehead and promise he'd come to bed soon and then stay up for three more hours.
Every night.
Every single fucking night.
But not tonight.
Tonight you've had enough.
He's been in there for sixteen hours.
He was in there when you left for work. He was in there when you came home. He was in there when you ate dinner alone, when you watched your show alone, when you went to bed alone, and now you're standing in the hallway in your sleep shirt with your arms crossed.
You push the door open.
He doesn't notice.
Of course he doesn't notice. He's got his noise canceling headphones onä¸the expensive ones you bought him for his birthday, the ones he said he didn't need but now wears like a second skullä¸and he's hunched over his laptop, shoulders up around his ears, left leg bouncing nervously.
There's a mug next to his elbow. Empty. There's another one on the floor. Also empty There's a protein bar wrapper unopened. He forgot to eat it. He forgot to eat.
He always forgets to eat.
You walk up behind him. He still doesn't notice. His screen is full of spreadsheets and emails and whatever the fuck he does at his job that he never complains about but is clearly eating him alive. His fingers are flying. His jaw is tight. There's a vein in his temple that's been pulsing for three weeks straight.
You put your hand on his shoulder.
He startles so hard he nearly knocks the laptop off the desk.
"Fuckä¸ babyâ" He's ripping the headphones off, spinning in his chair, eyes wide and bloodshot and so, so guilty. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I was trying to be quiet, l just had to finish this one thingâ"
"It's almost four in the morning."
"It'sâ what? No. No, it's like midnight, I justâ" He checks his phone. His face falls. "...Oh."
He looks up at you with his red rimmed eyes.
"I'm sorry." he says again, quieter.
"Come to bed."
"I can't. I have toăź"
"Bed."
"Just let me finish this report, it's due tomorrow and the formatting is fucked and my boss is being a dick about the projectionsâ"
You close his laptop.
He makes a sound like a kicked puppy.
"Heyâ"
"No. You're done."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
He looks down at his hands. They are, in fact, shaking. He shoves them under his thighs like that'll hide it.
"I'm fine," he repeats, stubborn, stupid, infuriating.
God, he's such a liar.
He's not fine. He hasn't been fine in months. He's running on coffee and cortisol and some deeply pathological need to provide, to protect, to make sure you never want for anything even if it means grinding himself into dust. He does all the cooking. All the cleaning. All the grocery shopping, the bill paying. the appointment scheduling, the car maintenance. He won't let you touch the dishes. He physically removes your hands from the laundry basket. You tried to vacuum once and he looked so genuinely distressed you thought he might cry.
"l just want you to have a good life," he said once, when you confronted him about it. "I want to give you everything. The nice things. The expensive things. You deserveâ you deserve so much, and I can'tâ I have toâ"
He couldn't finish the sentence. His throat closed up. You held him for an hour.
That was six months ago. He's gotten worse since then.
Now he's sitting in his office chair at four in the morning, vibrating with exhaustion and the desperate, delusional belief that if he just works hard enough, he'll finally be worthy of you.
As if he isn't already. As if he hasn't been since the day you met him.
You take his face in your hands.
He freezes.
His eyes go wide and wet and immediately. instantly. all the fight drains out of him. His shoulders drop. His jaw unclenches. His breathing hitches and then slows, and he's looking up at you like you're the sun and he's been living in a cave for a thousand years.
"There you are," you murmur.
He makes a soundăźa tiny, broken thing, half sigh, half whimperä¸and leans into your touch like a cat seeking warmth.
"Baby," he whispers, and his voice cracks on it.
"I've got you. Come on. We're going to bed."
"But the reportâ"
"Fuck the report."
He blinks. You never say things this... aggressive.
"Okay," he breathes. "Okay."
You take his hand and pull him to his feet. He stumbles. He actually stumbles. Your strong, capable, hyper competent boyfriend can't even stand up straight because he's so depleted. You have to hold him. And when you do, his forehead drops to your shoulder and he just... stays there. Breathing. Just breathing.
"I'm so tired," he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.
It's the first honest thing he's said all week.
"I know, love."
"l justâ I want to give youâ want you to haveä¸the necklace, the blue one, I saw you looking at it, and I've been saving, I've almost got enough, l just need to finish this project and then I canâ"
"You think I want a necklace?"
"..."
"You think I want anything more than I want you alive?"
He doesn't answer. But his hand clenches in your shirt.
Fuck.
He always have to make you emotional.
"Alright, we're going to bed."
He follows you.
Of course he follows you.
In the bedroom, you sit him down on the edge of the bed. He's still in his work clothesâbutton down wrinkled, top two buttons undone, tie somewhere lost in the office. He looks up at you with those huge, exhausted eyes, and you can see him trying to figure out what you want, what he should be doing right now to make you happy.
You peel his shirt off. He hold out his arms to help, even now, still trying to make it easier for you. His pants come next, then his boxers.
Such a beautiful man.
Your boyfriend is such a beauty.
So lucky he's going to be your husband.
"Do you trust me?" you ask.
His brow furrows. "Of course I trust you. I trust you more thanâ more than anything, more thanâ"
"Then lie down."
He lies down.
"On your stomach."
He rolls over. Hesitates for half a secondăź just confusionä¸and then settles onto his stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, hands fisted loosely in the sheets.
You run your hand down his spine.
He start shaking. Full body. Like he's been electrocuted. A tiny, punched out sound escapes his throat, and his back arches into your touch before he can stop it.
"When's the last time you slept?" you ask.
"..Tuesday?"
"It's Friday."
"...Oh."
"Mmhm."
You keep stroking his back, slowy, tracing the knots in his shoulders, the tension that's been there for god knows how long. He's so tight it's like touching hot rock. He's been barely holding himself together and his body is screaming.
You lean down and kiss the back of his neck.
He sobs.
"Shh," you murmur against his skin. "I've got you. Let me take care of you. Just this once. Let me."
"I don'tâ I'm supposed toâ you shouldn't have tä¸"
"You do everything for me. Let me do this for you."
He's crying now. Quietly, shamefully, face pressed into the pillow so you won't see. His shoulders are shaking and he's trying so hard to be quiet, to not be a burden, to not make this about himâ
Fuck, he's such a mess.
Such a beautiful mess.
He's lying there naked and trembling and so vulnerable it gives you butterflies.
"Good boy." you whisper.
He whimpers. Actually whimpers. Like a fucking dog.
You reach for the drawer in the nightstand. The one he never opens because he's too busy taking care of you to even think about sex.
He hears the click of the lube cap and his breath catches.
"Babyâ?"
"Shh. You're going to let me do this. You're going to let me take the stress out of you. And then you're going to sleep. Understand?"
"...Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yesâ yes, I understandâ pleaseâ"
Please. There it is. The word he never says because he's too busy being the provider, the protector, the one who never needs anything.
You slick your fingers and then your strapä¸the one you bought specifically for this, for him, because you knew this day was coming, knew he'd eventually run himself into the ground and need someone to pull him back out.
Or maybe you just wanted to fuck him. But that's not important right now.
He's so tight. Damn, he's so tight.
Your first finger slides in and he gasps, back arching, hands fisting in the sheets.
"Breathe," you remind him.
He breathes. Shaky. Wet. Still crying a little.
"You're doing so well."
Another whimper.
You work him open slowlyä¸so slowly. Because he deserves it, deserves gentleness, deserves to be handled like something precious instead of a machine that just runs and runs and runs.
He's making sounds you've never heard from him before. Little broken moans. Desperate, needy sounds. His hips are twitching, pushing back against your fingers, and he's babbling into the pillow.
"pleaseâ"
"I love you ughhâ"
"Ahh fuck don't stopâ"
By the time you're three fingers deep, he's a mess. Tears and pre cum and a flush that goes all the way down his chest. He's stopped trying to be quiet. He's just making noiseâopen mouthed, broken, gorgeous noise.
"Ready?" you ask.
"Uh-huh?"
He looks confused. So out of it already.
How cute :)
You position yourself behind him. Press in.
He keens.
A high, desperate sound that goes straight to your own core (of course you're wet, but tonight is just about him)ä¸and his whole body goes taut for one second before it melts. All the tension, all the stress, all the months of holding himself togetherâit all dissolves as you push deeper.
"Ohâ oh fuckâ babyâ"
You start to move. Slow at first. Letting him feel every inch of it, letting him adjust, letting him remember what it feels like to be taken care of instead of taking care of.
His hands are white knuckled in the sheets. His face is pressed into the pillow, mouth open, tears and drool soaking the fabric. He's moaning your name over and over like a prayer.
Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.
So hot.
"You're so good." you tell him, picking up the pace. "You're so good to me. You work so hard. You take such good care of me. Now let me take care of you."
He sobs again. Nodding frantically into the pillow. His hips are pushing back to meet your thrusts now, desperate and uncontrollably, and he's so hard it's leaking onto the sheets but he hasn't even touched himself, hasn't even tried. He's just letting you use him, letting you fuck the stress right out of his body.
"Let go. I've got you."
He comes with a cry of your name. Ropes of it, hot and thick, painting the sheets under him. His whole body clenches around youä¸around the strap, around this moment, around the feeling of finally, finally letting someone else hold the weight.
You fuck him through it. Gentle. Lovingly. Until the last tremor runs through him and he goes completely limp.
And thenăź finallyăź he passes out.
Just like that. Face down on the bed, tears still wet on his cheeks, body finally relaxed for the first time in months. He's breathing deep and even, the way he hasn't breathed in weeks, and his pulse is slow and calm under your fingers when you check his wrist.
You clean him up. He doesn't stir. You wipe the tears from his face, the cum from his stomach, the lube from his thighs. You change the sheets around himâcarefully, so carefullyä¸and pull the blanket up to his chin.
He murmurs something in his sleep. Your name, maybe. Or l love you. Or both.
You kiss his forehead.
"Sleep well, honey."
He sleeps like a baby.
When he wakes up, the sun is streaming through the windows and the bed is empty and he panics.
What the fuck??
Where are you???
Fuck, he didn't made you breakfastâ
He's on his feet before his brain catches upä¸stumbling, sore in a way that makes him pause for half a second...
Oh, right, last night, oh godâ
And then he's moving again, grabbing the first thing he finds (your robe, pink, too small, he doesn't care) and following the smell.
Bacon.
Eggs.
Pancakes.
And you, standing at the stove in your pajamas, flipping pancakes like it's the most natural thing in the world.
He stops in the doorway.
"...Baby?"
You turn around. Smile. The smile that he loves more than anything in his miserable life.
"Morning, sleepyhead. Sit down. Breakfast is almost ready."
"But Iâ youâ I alwaysâ"
"Yeah. I know. Today it's me. Sit."
He sits at the kitchen table and watch you cook.
He's confused. He's wearing your robe. He's sore. He doesn't know what the fuck is going on.
You set a plate in front of him. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs over easy, just the way he likes them. A glass of orange juice. A cup of coffeeâJUST ONEâ fixed exactly the way he takes it.
He just... stares at it.
"lt's not going to eat itself."
"Iâ" His voice breaks. He tries again. "You made me breakfast."
"I did."
"But I always make you breakfast."
"I know."
"I'm supposed toâ you shouldn't have toâ"
You immediately rush to him, take his face in your hands, and kiss him. Soft. Sweet. Syrup from your lips sticking to his.
"l love you," you say against his mouth. "l love you and you're running yourself into an early grave and I'm not going to let that happen. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to eat this breakfast. Then you're going to take a shower. Then you're going to tell me what's been going on at work. And then we're going to figure out a schedule that doesn't involve you dying of sleep deprivation. Okay?"
"But the choresâ"
"We'll split them."
"The billsâ"
"We'll look at them together."
"l just want to give you everything," he whispers, and his eyes are wet again, and god, he's so tired of crying but he can't seem to stop. "You deserve the world. And I can'tâ I can't give you anything if I stopä¸"
You kiss him again. Harder this time.
"You are the world, you idiot. You're my world. And I need you alive in it. So eat your pancakes."
He laughs. It's wet and snotty and a little hysterical.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He picks up his fork. Looks at the pancakesâperfectly golden, just the way he taught youä¸and his heart just skip a beat. "But I'm doing the dishes."
"Fine."
"And tomorrow I'm making you breakfast."
"Obviously."
"And tonight..." He pauses. Cheeks flushing pink. "Tonight can we... can we do that again? The... the thing. With the..."
You raise an eyebrow. Smile.
"You want me to peg you?"
He buries his face in his hands, "Oh my god."
"Is that a yes?"
"...Yes."
"Then sure. But only if you promise to sleep at least six hours every night this week."
"l promise."
"And eat lunch."
"l promise."
"And let me do the vacuuming sometimes."
"...I'll think about it."
You laugh and ruffle his hair and he leans into your touch like a starving man offered bread.
He's still a mess. But he's eating. He's sleeping. He's sitting at the table in your too small pink robe with syrup on his chin and a soreness in his body that's painful in a good way.
And when you sit down across from him with your own plate and your own coffee and your own smile, he looks at you like you're a miracle.
"Thank you," he says.
"For what?"
"For..." All of it. For not leaving him even when he's disgusting. "Everything."
"Eat your pancakes."
"Yes ma'am."
He eats his pancakes.
He's going to be okay.
You'll make sure of it.
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Š pluvial-lake 2026 : do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.
you always felt like something or someone has been missing from you life after the major incident happened in nyc. you felt less like you in a way.
no matter what it was you always seemed to brush it off, even when it was late at night with your complicated situationship sleeping next to you with one of his arms lazily draped around your stomach after a âromanticâ night.
the feeling of romance and longing was missing from you, you couldnât find it in any guy even if you tried.
well, maybe just one..
every time you saw spiderman on your television, something in you enlightened as if you knew him for years on end. your heart skipped a beat and you can feel yourself entranced by him, wanting to know who was under that mask.
something about him just felt so familiar, yet you could never place a finger on it, like if any clue on who he was was wiped clean from your mind.
either way, it was impossible for you and the number one vigilante of queens to have any past relationship.
or so you thought.
if only you knew who was keeping an eye on you for the past four years. making sure you got home safe, making sure no one bothered you when you were mindlessly roaming the streets late at night.
he missed you, he missed you bad.
peter parker regretted his decision each day. each night whenever he came home from fighting crime with open wounds he wished yiu were there to help patch them up, to hold him and kiss him to make him feel better.
and maybe he also missed how you felt clenching around him late at night, legs wrapped around his waist as you negged him for more with your nails clawing down his back so badly it was promised to be red and painful the next morning.
he knew you didnât remember him, but he remembered you, and all those memories came flooding to him every night in bed. some memories lead to his hand going under the sheets before he was a whining mess with your name bouncing off the walls.
he wasnât a creep or anything, he just missed you. plus, a man can only survive so long with his hand before needing something way more warmer.
peter wanted to reach out multiple times. he wanted to explain everything like he said he would, but he was scared. the thought of you just not remembering who you were scared him. peter didnât know if he could handle all that.
plus, he didnât just want to show up unannounced all of a sudden and put this burden on you.
he had that missing and longing feeling you were looking for, it was just a matter of time before you even remembered.
finally, it was a night where you could âdistractâ yourself.
four long and excruciating years of college flew by and you couldnât help but admit that it was bitter sweet. the memories, professors, friends, and people you all met were finally about to start their own real chapters. it was a huge moment.
and whatâs not a better way to celebrate a huge moment by throwing a party?
people hands were up, swaying to the music as others cheered whenever someone made a shot in beer pong. the music was blasting and laughter filled the small apartment. you were by yourself, a half filled solo cup in your hand as you swayed to the music. you were in your own little world, you thought no one eyes were on you, but there was.
across the room was peter, drink in hand as his eyes lingered up and down your body. his gaze was deep, intense as he watched your body get lost deep into the rhythm.
he could tell that you were halfway intoxicated, and so was he. something was slowly pulling him towards you though, maybe it was the alcohol.. no, yeah, it was definitely the alcohol, and so suddenly his feet were moving straight towards you.
âhey, iâm peter.â
you turned, seeing him with a sheepish smile. a warmth instantly spread through out your body.
âhi.â you returned the greeting, a small smile appearing on your moist lips as you took another sip from your drink.
âi saw you from across the room- i wasnât being creepy or anything, i just thought you were really cute and i wanted to say hi.â peter started rambling, finishing it off with an awkward laugh as he saw your intrigued expression.
âyou think iâm cute?â you asked, a teasing edge to your voice. he nodded.
âyouâre cute too.â
peter felt his ears turn red, tilting his head down before he felt it get picked up by your hands. you both stared at each other before you fully leaned in and connected your lips together. it took him a few seconds before he kissed you back, but as he did, it felt so natural.
honestly, you didnât know why you kissed him. maybe it was because you felt lonely, pent up and the alcohol was getting to you, or maybe it was because you were attracted to him.
his lips felt good against yours though, a soft sigh traveling from your mouth to yours before his tongue started slipping into your mouth, swirling against your taste.
âdo you wanna go to my room?â you panted it in between his kisses.
âyeah..â
your back hit the rough mattress as he climbed over you.
his lips found the sweet of your skin, lapping at nipping at your pulse point as you held the back of his head, moaning softly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your core grinding against the soft material of his pants.
âoh god.. please, more..â you breathed out, the house music overpowering the soft moans that escaped your lips.
peter felt so so so lucky. he dreamed of this happening again over and over again each night. he missed the feeling of your nails scratching his scalp as he kissed you, your soft noises as he worshipped you.
âtell me what you need, câmon..â peter breathed out, inhaling your scent, cherishing the way you feel beneath him.
âyou, i need you.â you whined, lowering your hand to loop a finger through the belt loop of his pants, pulling him closer as you rolled your hips slowly against him. a high pitched moan, almost a whimper left his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.
âoh god..â the sensation of your slick core pressing against his hardening cock was so euphoric to him. this was the reason he never want ed to be with anyone else. he wanted you, he knew no one could ever feel the same as you.
âi need you, like right now.â peter moved his hands down to his jeans, unbuttoning them as he pushed them down quickly. the outline of his throbbing cock strained against his black boxers briefs, a wet patch starting to form in the center.
âso big..â you murmur, a surprised laugh escaped your lips as if you weâre expecting the worst. you lightly cupped him, rubbing your thumb slong the print, earning another throaty moan from him.
peter managed to move his hands more up your body, stopping at your hips as he started to bunch up your dress. your stomach was exposed, the cool air hitting under the warm light of your bedroom.
âi need to be inside you.â he moaned, moving your hands off of him as he pushed his boxers down, the girth of his cock slapping his stomach, causing some pre-cum to smear over the tone of his abs. he watched over your facial expressions, seeing your eyebrows perked up and your hand move lower towards the wet patch in between your legs.
your fingers grazed over your underwear, feeling his eyes stare over you and the squelch of his hand mixing with the salty pre-cum slobbered all over his cock. you lightly pushed your underwear to the side, your middle finger running a stripe over yourself, making your back arch slightly.
peter sped up his motions, his eyes darting down to your fingers as his hips started rutting into his fist.
âstop teasing..â he complained, watching you rub yourself with your fingers before bringing them up to his lips, making him lick them off clean, and of course, he did. peter tasted your juices as his tongue lapped against the, savoring everything.
âiâm not teasing, your just taking to long..â you murmur, pulling your fingers out of his mouth, seeing his saliva glisten under the light.
âfine, iâll pick up the pace then.â he said, a hint of sarcasm under his voice as he grabbed your underwear with his free hand, pulling you closer as your legs wrapped tighter around him. his other hand aligned himself to your entrance, his thick tip nudging into it.
a sharp breath entered your body as he sunk into you slowly, inch by inch. your hands instantly clawed at his hair, moaning loudly as he fully bottomed out, his hands gripping at the plush of your hips.
âyouâre so tight..â he moaned, started to thrust slowly. itâs just like he remembered, warm and tight. this meant everything to him. he wanted this again for so long, for you to be focused on him, in his arms, at âhisâ mercy even though he was at yours.
his hips snapped against yours, his pace quickened and hardening as he got lost in the feeling. your moans of encouragement fueled him in further, seeing the outline of his cock go back and forth inside you.
âsooo good.â you babble out, hearing the bed creak beneath the two of you as your eyebrows perk up and eyes flutter shut.
âlook at me baby, i wanna see your face.â he moaned, feeling you helplessly clench around him before your eyes opened once more, that desperate look in your eyes as you lips parted like a fish out of water. âgod, youâre so pretty..â
peter wished this would never end, he loved this so much. he wanted to stay in your arms forever, to be inside you forever. he wanted to confess everything right there, but a part of him didnât want to take your safety away. he didnât want to put you in danger.
peter could have this, but spider-man couldnât.
his thoughts cut off as you pulled him back into a kiss. the warmth of your tongue mixing against his as the sweet noises of the two of you combined into one. your fingers curled into his hair, raking through the soft strands as you clenched around him repeatedly, feeling the pool inside you come undone slowly.
âiâm so close, please..â you beg softly, your lips turning pouty as you tugged on his hair, causing a groan to escape his lips.
âi got you, just come undone.â he ensured, picking up his pace for one last time as he felt his high also coming undone too. âi wanna feel you all over me.â he whined, his breath picking up rapidly, his state of euphoria peaking.
and with his words, you finally released, the four years of college stress leaving your body as you gushed around his cock, soon having that warm feeling of his own seed fill you up, his hips riding you out slowly.
âjust like that, fuck.â he praised, feeling both you and his body go limp before crumbling down besides you on the bed, all your senses finally came back, hearing the music an laughter seep back into the room through the closed door.
âthat was- fuck- incredible.â he laughed, turning his head to face you, a droopy smile on your face.
âyeah it was..â you sighed out, pulling the covers over the both of you.
for once, peter didnât regret putting himself first. he needed this, he missed you, and heâs doing whatever itâll take for you to rebuild this relationship with him, bold start or not.
he was right where he wanted to be, he knew this was just the start to what you used to have, he preferred this over having to burden you with all the information of the past. so, as he watched you drift off to sleep, he held you extra tight.
leia speaks; ok hi guys i watched bnd on saturday and iâm obsessed, aha mj pls remember already. also i have a new fic idea for adapt so stay tune for that, idk when itâll get published but iâll try working on it later this week! : )
pairing. ex-boyfriend .á jason todd x ex-girlfriend .á reader
summary. months after their breakup, jason and y/n spot each other on the streetâ both with someone new at their side. things go wrong (or perhaps very right) when they end up at the same party, seemingly unable to move on.
content. references to the young justice tv show. classic misunderstanding trope. wally x artemis sideplot (theyâre idiots your honor). one accidental and harmless incest joke. avoidant behavior. mentions of alcohol. forced proximity if you squint. cursing and harsh language. arguments. wally is a protective best friend and i would die for him. pet names (babe, sunshine, baby, doll, sweetheart). nsfw tags include mirror sex, dry humping, vaginal fingering, talking reader through it, licking fingers clean, dirty talk, thumb in mouth (my beloved), jason cumming in his pants, and some soft aftercare. i personally think this fic is really funny but iâm biased. not beta read.
word count. 5.6k
authorâs note. based on this request. this was requested in october. iâm so sorry. everything in my life went wrong and i lost all motivation to work on creative hobbies like this. but weâre so back. huge thank you to @froggibus for letting me work through my writerâs block in her dmsâ what a godsend.
masterlist & taglist
Š deadofnightwing. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, or translate on any site. reblogs always appreciated .á
it wasnât that y/n didnât like the guy, per se. he was kind. polite. she had to admit it was somewhat refreshing to speak to a man who didn't interject halfway through her sentence just to talk about himself or reiterate a point she already made. and yeah, maybe it was nice that he held her gaze with crinkles framing his own, and no, his airy laugh didnât make her ears itch when the sound hit them.
but fuck, if she wasnât bored out of her mind.
all fairness to him, the dude never stood much of a chance. few things irked her worse than a meeting that could have been an email, even if said meeting was taking place in her favorite cafĂŠ in gothamâ she admired the cozy atmosphere so rarely found in the downtown vicinity, but now she was starting to regret soiling its visage with the last hour and a half of monotonous conversation (ninety minutes of her life she would never get back).
the mug that had been warming her fingers had gone tepid some forty minutes ago. the chill of the ceramic against her skin did nothing to soothe the nervous energy pooling in her bonesâ the urge to excuse herself to the restroom and climb out the window, to go home to her cozy bed, was slowly conquering her will to succeed in class.
no tutoring sessionâ a groundwork session, at thatâ should last more than thirty minutes. hell, y/n thought sheâd be out of here before she finished her first latte. sheâd answer all the basic questions, like âwhat kind of help are you looking for?â and âhow often should we meet?â and be on her merry way, but no. she had to get stuck with the charming, respectful guy who insisted on paying for her coffee.
ughhhhh.
and while the thought sparked an ache somewhere behind her ribs, she had to admit⌠it made her miss jason.
y/n shooed the idea away before it could sink its teeth any deeper into her amygdala.
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
âhow about this nice cashmere sweater? safe optionâ thoughtful, elegantâ and dick looks great in blue.â
âhe has a whole drawer in his dresser dedicated solely to his cashmere sweater collection. veto.â
âthis is pointless. iâm just gonna get him a fifteen dollar batburger gift card and call it a day.â
jason laughed, stuffing his icy hands into his coat pockets. dry, cracking skin grazed uncomfortably against the fleece lining, and he made a mental note to buy hand cream at the nearest convenience store. âwell, at least you wonât have to worry about getting him the same thing as someone else.â
âalways finding that silver lining, arenât you, hood.â
âgotta earn my keep somehow.â
âmoney would be good, too.â
another laugh from jason. artemis sighed.
âi blame your dad. i mean, what do you even get a kid whoâs been spoiled rotten all his life?â
a smirk creeped its way onto the boyâs face. âwhy donât you try asking his best friend?â
artemisâs nose scrunched up as if sheâd downed a shot of lemon flavored vodka, and it took all of jasonâs concentration to maintain his composure. âwally?â she lamented, âabsolutely not. i donât need that idiotâs help.â
âiâm just saying, i sorta missed out on a few of dickâs formative years. yâknow, on account of being dead and all. might not be a bad idea to get some insider information on what he likes.â
âyouâre his brother, jason. how much more inside can you get?â
âfor the love of all things good and holy, please never say that again.â
a series of groans and retorts tumbled from the blonde as she told him off for twisting her words, but they soon fell on deaf ears as jason felt his heart leap into his throat.
his eyes narrowed as he peered across the street, convinced the light was playing tricks on him. he mustâve been hallucinating his ex-girlfriend walking out of a cafĂŠâ their cafĂŠâ with a guy who looked like the personification of a sweater-vest.
jason knew it wasnât his place, but his chest burned as it filled with jealousy and⌠something akin to longing. he decided he couldnât be blamedâ it had only been a few months, after all, itâs not as if he shouldâve been completely over her by now. but as she turned to meet his gaze, no less beautiful despite her startled expression, he wondered if heâd ever gotten over her at all.
she was like a deer in headlights, jason could tell by the tensing of her shoulders and the paling of her cheeks. she always did skip from fight or flight straight to freezeâ jason always mused that was why she could never be a vigilante (forget the fact that she once cried over stepping on a ladybug). beyond the rushing cars and bustling foot traffic, he watched as mittened hands met at her chest, lips parted as if she too was in disbelief at the sight of him. the poor shmuck at her side chattered cluelessly in her ear, and jason almost felt bad for the fact that whatever he was yapping about was clearly going in one ear and out the other.
almost.
âokay, what about this chain?â artemisâs voice yanked him from his thoughts, though his eyes were slow to meet hers. âsterling silver, delicate⌠not too much but not too little, right? what dâyou think?â
âuhâŚâ jason only spared the image on her phone a brief glance before seeking out those eyes again, but by the time heâd looked back across the street, all he saw was sweater-vest watching with slumped shoulders as the girl rounded the corner of twenty-ninth and park, vanishing entirely.
â⌠yeah. thatâs the one.â
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
hey! just wanted to double check if youâre coming on friday? donât think i caught your rsvpâŚ
alfredâs making that pasta you like ;)
plus thereâs gonna be cake! duh
promise i wonât make you sing happy birthday this time. iâll conveniently time it for when youâre in the bathroom or smth so you can rest easy lol
are you a hostage rn or smth? should i send b to come rescue you?
what if i told you i only have a week to live? would you answer me then?
just called the doctor she says itâs not looking good :( you should hang out with me while you still can :(
come onnnn y/n i know youâre reading these. everything ok?
everything was not okay. in fact, nothing about anything having to do with y/n had been okay since she left the cafĂŠ yesterday. she thought sleeping it off wouldâve helped somewhat, but when she woke up with the same knot in her stomach that sheâd gone to bed with, she knew she was hopeless.
every waking moment was spent replaying that same image in her headâ jason and artemis, cozied up to one another outside a storefront, clearly shopping together. laughing and smiling and overall happy. it made her sick.
she wanted to disappear off the face of the earth (⌠it wasnât entirely impossible, there were people she knew who could help her do it). but she found it hard to wallow in her loneliness and despair with her phone buzzing every five seconds.
dick grayson was one of her favorite people in the world, but he was nothing if not clingy. his heart simply produced too much love and affection for his body to contain, and y/n always figured if he didnât share his feelings he might actually explode. it would be annoying if it wasnât so endearing.
y/n knew it wasnât fair to take her frustrations out on him. he didnât deserve to be collateral damage in her breakup with jason. but it was foolish to hope that jason and artemis wouldnât be at his party, and the thought of seeing them together again made her dizzy in all the worst ways.
a long, tired sigh escaped her lungs as she made her way to the pantry, only to find nothing even remotely appealing. she was halfway through re-installing doordash on her phone when she was interrupted by a knock at her door. a quick peek through the peephole revealed red hair and green eyes, and y/n groaned as she slid the chain out of the lock and disengaged the deadbolt. before she opened it, she typed out one quick message.
did you really just send kid migraine for a wellness check?
ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
great. just what she needed.
âwhat are you doing here, walls?â
âyeesh, canât a guy get a âhelloâ first? ran all the way here.â there was no real bite to his words, a lopsided grin plastered on his face.
âhello. now goodbye.â but wally caught the door before it closed on him.
âwoah, woah, woah, câmon. i havenât seen you in a million years, let me in.â
y/n shot him an unamused look. âyou saw me five days ago.â
âclasses donât count. please?â
â⌠fine. but youâre buying pizza.â
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
âso what? just âcause you saw them outside together doesnât mean theyâre dating,â said wally through a mouthful of blĂźdhavenâs finest three-cheese.
âgod, do you chew?â y/n chastised, toes curling beneath her on the sofa. âand thatâs not the point. he looked so⌠i dunno⌠okay. itâs humiliating, iâm barely able to get out of bed some days and heâs out there, perfectly fine, chatting up a tall, hot heroine with washboard abs and legs for days. itâs⌠itâs like i never even mattered to him.â
the freckled face next to her softened. âbabe, they werenât even holding hands. for all you know they could be undercover or something.â he scooted closer, so close that their knees bonked against each otherâ wally was never much for personal space. âand even if he is seeing someone, you gotta start moving on, live your life. donât let yourself miss out on good things because of your ex.â
y/n paused, considering that. âif i see them kiss at that party i might throw up.â
wally snorted. âtrust me, jasonâs not artemisâs type.â
the corners of her lips quirked up just so. âoh, yeah? who is, then?â
she took great joy in watching the speedsterâs face turn redder than his hair. itâs the little things.
âhow should i know? all iâm saying is itâs not hood, heâs too broody for her. likeâ like her dad, who she hates, so not⌠not him.â
âright.â
âweâre talking about you, yâknow.â
âi know.â
âi hate you.â
âyou came to me, in case you forgot.â
âeverybody makes mistakes.â
that earned him a genuine laugh, and the sound had him perking up like a sunflower at noon.
âlook,â he began, voice playful, but with an underlying serious tone, âiâll be at the party. iâm practically hosting, so you know iâm there all night. just⌠come. hang out with me if things feel uncomfortable. i know dick wants you there, and so do i. weâd hate to lose you over your breakup with jason, okay?â
he had a point. y/n had been avoidant lately among their mutual friends. she just didnât want dick to have to choose between his brother and his teammate. and wally was practically joint to dick at the hip, so sheâd let him slip away, too. but she had to admit, a part of her felt relieved that they were missing her the way she missed them.
âplus, i might need someone to help me get the boy wonder down off the table at the end of the night.â
âfine. but i swear to god, walls, if he throws up in my hair, neither of you are living to see your next birthdays.â
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
it didnât take long for jason to be reminded of why he rarely attended parties hosted by dick grayson.
his big brother was a menace.
barely an hour in, dick was already hopping on countertops, belting out bad karaoke, and taking body shots off of any redhead he could get his greedy hands on. it didnât help that his closest friends were super-powered instigatorsâ jason swears he saw the former acrobat turn nearly as green as garfield when kori held him upside down by the ankles for a keg stand.
miraculously, wally of all people seemed to be chaperoning the night, never straying too far from his gymnastic bestie. jason vaguely remembered hearing something about his inability to get drunk, having something to do with his extra-speedy metabolism. one of lifeâs great trade-offs, he figured: you donât get to break the sound barrier on your morning commute and get plastered at parties. fair is fair.
jason had at least planned to stay for cake, but with each tick of the clock, he found himself longing for a quiet room and a good book. maybe it didnât count as âleavingâ if he just retreated to the other side of the manor⌠on the technicality that heâd still be in the building. there was a great little nook by a fireplace, with windows overlooking the west garden calling his name.
his fingers were reaching for his jacket when he saw her in the doorway.
âbreathtakingâ was the only word that came to mind. she was breathtaking in that dress, the one heâd only seen onceâ when heâd introduced her to bruce. âfirst impressions are important,â sheâd said. jason remembers spending hours with her, window shopping all across downtown gotham for the perfect shade to compliment her skin tone. her anxiety about meeting mr. wayneâ y/n refused to call him âbruceâ until he insisted upon it many weeks laterâ bled into the crevices of even the most minute details, like: how should she stand? what should she do with her hands? should she go for a shake, or was a smile enough? at the time, it was incredibly endearing.
now, seeing the girlâs tense shoulders, fidgety fingers, and downturned lips just broke his heart. heâd never seen her so uncomfortable at the manor.
jason didnât have time to deliberate between staying or going before their eyes met. it was brief, barely anything at all, but where the man expected to find angst and betrayal, he was instead met with warmthâ relief, almost. like seeing him brought her some peace amidst the chaos.
he surely didnât expect that.
but the moment was short lived, y/nâs attention stolen away by wally zipping over to greet her. jason couldnât hear them, but if the bashful expression on her face had anything to say about it, wally was laying on the compliments. even though he knew it wasnât his place (and realistically, there was nothing to worry about regarding the speedster), jason felt jealousyâs claws gripping his lungs. maybe it was time for a drink.
it took everything in him not to glance back at y/n on his way to the kitchen.
jason busied himself with smalltalkâ one of his least favorite activities, admittedly, but he couldnât bring himself to leave the function knowing y/n was there, standing just within his peripheral vision at any given moment. they moved counter to one another throughout the room, like two koi circling a pond. as y/n moved to chat with a new person, so would jason. it was the respectful move; he wanted her to feel comfortable roaming without fear of having to interact with him.
but every so often, heâd catch her gaze. it turned into a game of cat and mouse, sort of. someone would steal a glance, looking as long as they could before the other caught on. rushing to look away, avoiding eye contact for several minutes. demanding a rematch.
it was distracting. so distracting that jason barely registered artemisâs voice in his ear.
âhelloâŚ? earth to jason.â
with a small hum, the man shook his head clear of any lingering thoughts. âwhatâs up?â
âgood to know the lights are back on up there,â the girl teased, crossing her arms over her chest. âyou seem a bit distracted, todd. wistful is good look on you.â
ânot distracted,â he glared. ânot wistful. you need something?â
artemisâs teasing smile softened. âno. just wanted to thank you for helping me find dick a gift. i think heâs really gonna like it. honestly, even if he doesnât, i doubt heâll remember who gave it to him when he wakes up tomorrow.â
he snorted. âgood point. maybe iâll take the credit when he asks.â
jason delighted in the unamused look on his friendâs face. just as she opened her mouth (no doubt to deliver some snarky reply), someone came stumbling off of the dance floor, barreling into artemis and spilling their drink down her dress. the forest green fabric darkened along her side and down past her hip as the alcohol seeped into it.
âtimothy drake-wayne, you owe me a new dress!â but tim was too busy tripping over himself, presumably on the way to the nearest toilet, to acknowledge his mistake.
âforget it, heâs a lost cause,â jason muttered, reaching for the napkins on the nearest table. he did his best to pat her dry, but the gown was effectively ruined for the night. nothing a little pennyworth magic couldnât fix tomorrow, though. âcâmon,â he said, âyou can borrow my clothes.â
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
the trip to jasonâs room was as uneventful as ever. he tossed artemis a pair of his skinniest jeans (which still fit baggy on her) and a clean tee. she pulled it off well enough, claiming it would do for the rest of the night.
it was the trip back downstairs that was the problem.
jason likes to think he wasnât particularly searching for her in the crowd when he saw her. if anyone were to ask, heâd say there was no way to miss the look on her face as he rounded the spiral staircase. the girl had what appeared to be a death grip on wallyâs arm as they spoke in hushed whispers, a deep crease between her brows and empathy etched in his.
he didnât mean to make eye contact as he reached the landing, and often he wishes he could forget the drop in her expression as artemis came into view, clearly coming from his room, wearing his clothes. there was no time to react before y/n turned away from wally and made a beeline out of the room, haphazardly shoulder-checking party-goers in an effort to disappear.
it didnât take long for wallyâs gaze to find jason, eyes narrowing in realization at the sight of the blonde behind him. his jaw ticked, a faint blush settling in behind his freckles before he headed off after his friend.
fuck.
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
âgo away, wally.â
âcâmon, sunshine, you and i both know youâre not fixing your lip combo in there. open up.â
âi said leave me alone. iâm not in the mood to be talked off a ledge.â
âso you admit thereâs a ledge. which implies youâre about to jump. notably one of the worst times you can abandon a friend.â a beat passed. âiâm not leaving until you talk to me.â
y/n sighed. a long, deep, from the marrow of her bones sigh. if mental exhaustion had a gaseous form, itâd have just escaped her lungs.
âi just⌠canât right now, okay?â her voice broke on the last word.
âi know, y/n. i get it. but listen, youââ
suddenly, silence. for a moment, the girl worried dick had actually hurt himself and wally had raced off to his rescue. it was stupid (sheâd just told him to piss off), but his absence left a pang in her chest. maybe she didnât want to wallow alone after all.
there wasnât much time to deliberate that, though, because it wasnât long before she picked up on the whispering on the other side of the door.
ââdonât think itâs a good idea, man. maybe some other timeââ
âwhat are you, her guard dog? iâm not asking your permission, sparky, iâm telling youââ
âiâm sorry, was the running away not enough of a hint for you? let me dumb it down: she doesnât want to see you.â
âthatâs fine, i donât need to see her, i just want to talk to her.â
âyou know what i meanââ
y/n mightâve thought their bickering was endearing if it wasnât so damn annoying.
âitâs fine, walls,â she said, not giving herself the opportunity to talk herself out of it, âhe can stay.â
for a second, it was quiet. then, âfine. but iâm staying, too.â
âif dickhead gets a concussion, itâs on you.â jason muttered.
âleave him be, jason. heâs⌠heâs just looking out for me.â
y/n heard him sigh, all too familiar with the sound of her former boyfriend gathering his thoughts, centering himself. it used to fill her with prideâ she remembered a time when patience was a rare practice for jason. she remembered helping him hone that skill, learning to prioritize productive conversation over displays of anger. what was now second nature had taken months of effort on both their parts. she couldnât help but still feel some of that pride shine through the mosaic cracks of her broken heart.
âi know. i know you have other people looking out for you now. i know you donât need me anymore. but i wanted to make sure youâre okay.â
y/nâs nails dug into her palms.
âyeah, iâm great, jason. never better. i fled to the bathroom to snoop through the medicine cabinet. you happy now?â
âi just thoughtââ
âof course, iâm sure you are happy now. i would be too, if i were you. you really upgraded, didnât you? though, next time you decide to play eye-tag with a girl at a party, you could at least have the decency not to do it with your new girlfriend in the same house.â
âwait, y/nââ but it was too late, the pent-up pettiness in her was quickly snowballing into an uncontrollable avalanche of rage-filled word-vomit.
âand who are you to ride in here like prince charming on your high fucking horse? you dumped me, remember? youâre the one who doesnât need me anymore.â she was seething now, fists shaking at her sides. âyou know, i tried to give you the benefit of the doubt after you gave me the worldâs vaguest breakup explanation. god, i even tried to reason with myself on your behalfâ âmaybe heâs just not ready, maybe itâs the ptsd, maybe bruce made him end it because heroes should be unattached,â or some other bullshit excuse. but clearly, i was wrong, so no, you donât get to come over here and make sure iâm okay when youâre the reason iâm so miserable. itâs patronizing and mean and fucking chauvinistic, so why donât you go take artemis back up to your room and stay there so i can celebrate your brotherâs birthday in peace?â
y/nâs breath came out in harsh bursts, her vision blurring and voice cracking. although she meant every word, each passing moment left her wishing more and more sheâd just kept her mouth shut.
a soft thud came from the other side of the bathroom door, and jasonâs voice was much closer, as if he was pressing his forehead to the oak. ây/n, iâm sorry. i know i hurt you. but⌠look, youâve got it all wrong. i didnât break up with you because i donât need you. itâs the opposite. i ended things because⌠because i knew youâd never really be safe with me. iâve made a lot of enemies in the past, trained assassins who are still hunting me down every day. i donât know what iâd do if you got hurt just for loving me, and i wasnât about to gamble your life over my own selfish desires.â
she laid her own forehead against the door. âyouâre such an idiot, jason.â there was a bite to her words, but he caught the underlying current of remorse.
âyou would have tried to stay, though. donât act like you wouldnât have. i needed you to let me go. to let me let you go.â
if jason heard her sniffles, he didnât say anything. the sounds of the party droned on in the other room.
âartemis and iâ weâre just friends. she wanted my help picking dickwadâs present. and just now, she needed a change of clothes after timbo gave her a vodka shower. nothing happened, honest.â
she wiped her cheeks hastily. âyeah?â
y/n could hear his smile. âyeah. donât get me wrong, i like artemis almost as much as wally doesââ
âhey!â
ââbut my feelings for her are strictly platonicâŚ. unlike wally.â
âgod, please give me permission to kick this guyâs ass.â
the door creaked on its way open. âitâs okay, walls. heâs⌠weâre good. go back to the party, okay?â
wallyâs concern lingered in the air for a moment, arms crossed over his chest. when he finally tore his eyes from the girl, they landed on a hopeful-looking jason. âjust remember that you canât physically flee the city faster than i can catch you.â he turned around and walked away.
âignore him. heâs⌠protective.â
ââs okay. i deserve it.â
y/n cast her gaze down, fiddling with her fingers. âyou donât. i was way harsh. iâm sorry.â
ânothing to be sorry about.â tentatively, jason took her nervous hands in his own. âand for the record, i kind of like it when youâre jealous.â
she looked up, meeting his warm eyes with her bashful ones. âi get a say in the topic of my safety, jay. you donât have the right to unilaterally decide whatâs best for me, got it?â
his lashes fluttered shut as he lifted one of her palms to rest against his cheek.
âiâm sorry. the thought of you getting hurt, or worseââ y/n swore she saw a flash of green when he opened his eyes again. âi couldnât take the chance. youâd be safer with the walking sweater-vest.â
confusion hijacked her features before the realization kicked in. she used her free hand to flick jasonâs forehead.
âheâs my tutor, dumbass,â she scolded, ignoring his yelp, âyou know i prefer my nerds with a little more meat on their bones.â
jasonâs hands landed softly on her hips, tugging her gently forward. âyâknow, you could stand to call me a nice name here and there. just to shake things up.â
âi will when you deserve it. iâm still upset with you.â contrary to her words, y/n couldnât stop the butterflies from taking flight in her belly as jason nosed at her cheekbone.
âlet me make it up to you, baby.â
ââ´ď¸Ë･â
there were enough restrooms in the east wing of the manor to accommodate the rest of the party guests. jason knew this to be true, but he couldnât count on a bunch of drunk fools not to come interrupt his work. he would just have to be quick.
which was a real bummer, truthfully, because jason wanted nothing more than to take his time with her.
she deserved better than a quickie in a half-bath. she deserved roses and candles and all the other cheesy, clichĂŠ rom-com stereotypes. she deserved all kinds of apologies from his lips, his hands, his hipsâŚ.
⌠but his fingers would have to do.
the vibrations of the bass beat synced with the pounding of jasonâs heart against his rib cage. he was sure y/n could feel it slamming against her back as he hiked her dress up to her hips.
âhold this for me, doll?â he whispered in her ear. with a shudder, she nodded, gathering the fabric into her arms, leaning back involuntarily.
his chin rested on her shoulder, her perfume blessing his sinuses as he traced miscellaneous shapes along her hips. a kiss next to her ear, a fingertip running across her panty seam, a gentle voice asking, âcan i take these off?â
the nod of a head.
jason didnât take her permission right away. his middle and ring fingers loitered for a minute against her underwear, teasing her through the fabric. y/nâs knees buckled when he grazed her clit, and if his arm hadnât been slung around her waist, sheâd be tending to bruised knees in a puddle of her own arousal. or so jason figured.
âeasy,â he cooed. âi gotcha. just relax, okay? deep breaths.â
he did it again, wasting time they didnât have for the self-indulgence of watching her crumble as he hit that spot over and over. by the time he pulled her panties off, there was a dark patch staining the cotton, a string of slick connecting them to her before breaking off as they landed at her ankles.
one look at her wrecked expression in the mirror had jason picking up the pace, his pants getting tighter by the second. the pad of a finger ran through her folds, collecting the wetness there, before he brought it to his lips, humming around the digit as he tasted her.
ââs even better than i remember, baby. howâd you manage that, hm?â
âwas w-waiting for you, jay.â
he groaned, rutting against her ass once, twice. âyeah? gonna let me have a proper taste later, doll?â
the prettiest whine parted her lips. âmhm, promise.â
âgood. âcause iâm starving.â he punctuated the word with a long, thick finger in her warm cunt.
âj-jay, oh god.â one of her hands gripped his forearm, the other fisting her dress for dear life.
âfeels good, sweetheart?â he teased, adding another finger. then, just to hear the whine itâd bring, he curled them in a come here motion, the poor girl choking on her words as she attempted to agree.
âiâm sorry for being so stupid,â he said as he hit that spongy spot at the perfect paceâ the one he knew like second nature, even after months apart. he raised his voice just enough that she could hear him over her own moans. âiâm sorry for deciding for you. wasnât fair of me. missed you every single day.â
then, as if to prove his sincerity, his thumb found her clit, rubbing quick figure-eights against the nerves. she cried out, and jasonâs arm left her waist in favor of quieting her down with the weight of his thumb resting heavy on her tongue. his hips bucked faster against her backside.
âgotta keep quiet, baby. the music is only so loud.â although he felt her nod, jason wasnât sure she truly comprehended his words. it didnât matter much, though, because if the hastening of her grinding hips were any indication, his girl was close.
âsay you forgive me,â he muttered against the shell of her ear. âsay you forgive, and you can cum.â he pulled his thumb from her mouth, resting it now against her bottom lip, big hand still cupping her jaw. his right hand never let up its movements. âcâmon, doll⌠take me back. please.â
a guttural noise sounded from her chest. âi-i forgive you. i forgive you, jay. please, donât leave again, i love you.â
jason was so glad he was wearing his darkest jeans as he came in his pants.
y/n followed suit mere moments later, whining all through her high as jason kept his pace, letting her ride it out. he stopped only when her sounds made that u-turn from conveying pleasure to overstimulation, and he gently pulled his fingers out of her.
ââm sorry,â he whispered. when he was sure she could balance on her own, he snatched the nearest washcloth and ran it under warm water, ringing it out well, careful not to dampen her dress. he shushed her with sickly sweet kisses as he cleaned her, pulling her underwear back up and her dress back down.
discarding the cloth, he washed his hands in the sink drying them on a new towel. his mouth opened to say something, but as he turned to face his girl, the words died in his throat.
there she stood, a tube of lotion in hand as she squirted some into her palm.
âhands,â she ordered softly, reaching for his. he held them out to her, and she began rubbing the cream into his cracked skin. when she finished, she sighed. âyou have to take better care of yourself, jay.â
he hummed. âmight need you to remind me of that most days, doll.â
they stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, before wordlessly, y/n closed the gap between them as if caught in his gravitational pull, resting her head against his chest to hear the thumping of his pulse in her skull. his big arms held her tightly, like she might not be real. like she might disappear if he let go.
âiâll always take care of you first, though,â he promised. âcâmon, baby, let me take you home. iâve got a lot more apologizing to do tonight.â
âbut dickââ
âisnât going to remember a thing when he wakes up tomorrow. besides, heâll just be happy to have you around the manor more often.â
âfine, but if he throws a fit, iâm throwing you under the bus.â
jason laughed. a true, hearty laugh, for the first time in months. âdeal.â
he took her hand in his and reached for the doorknob, then paused. turning around, jason took one look at y/n in her post-orgasm radiance, and in one still moment, in the silence between two party songs, declared:
âi love you more.â
Š deadofnightwing. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, or translate on any site. reblogs always appreciated .á
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