Older man that is so obsessed with you he becomes best friends with your dad. It's so fucked up but from the moment he saw you he knew he needed to have you. If being friends with your dad meant getting closer to you then he'd do it. It would give him easier access to you he wouldn't be such a hidden creep anymore. Now it's him being sweet and very involved. It's easy for him since your dad is such a shut in already. He becomes his only true friend.
You are noticing him so much now and it drives him nuts. He makes sure you get comfortable with him quick even if it comes off as weird. Your dad just excuses it says he's a lonely guy, no family of his own, and he enjoys being around people. He's over so much the couch is basically his now.
Your panties going missing more often? That's just the laundry machine. The shower door being slightly open? You probably didn't close it properly. The small touches? It's just his way of being nice. Your dad just pushes it off, that's his friend. Be nice.
The day he finally gets you under him is so...cute. A daughter just wants to be good for her father. Willing to take his best friends cock so that friendship can stay strong. He's so manipulative and good at playing this game that he has you spreading your cunt for him. Be nice to your father's friend, let him see that pretty hole. He is not nice with it! He is slamming his cock into you repeatedly with no breaks. Having to grip your own thighs that you are spreading. Eyes rolling back as his cock hits a little too deep.
But you better keep quiet since your dad is in the other room! He can't find out his so called friend only wanted to get with his daughter. It would break his poor heart so just take it. If he asks why you are limping you better make up a good excuse.
He eventually finds out but wants to keep his friendship so bad he's willing to let your older obsessed stalker keep fucking you as long as he has a friend.
"Your Man." you and your husband joel miller fuck after a long day
Living with Joel meant getting used to the long nights. Patrols were just a part of his life, something he’d insist on doing no matter how many people told him to slow down. You understood why. Jackson needed people like him. Still, understanding it didn’t stop the worry that crept into your chest every single time he left. The house felt far too quiet without him. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs as the TV hummed softly in the background. A glass of wine rested comfortably in your hand, and you took small, absent minded sips while your eyes remained fixed on the front door more often than the screen. Every creak outside made your heart skip, only for disappointment to settle in when it wasn’t him. Eventually, your gaze wandered to the clock across the room.
9:34 p.m.
Your brows knit together. He should’ve been home by now. You exhaled quietly, chewing at the inside of your cheek as your imagination began filling your head with every possible scenario, none of them good. “Come on, Joel…” you whispered to the empty house.
A couple more hours slipped by.
You couldn’t just sit around anymore, so you wandered into the kitchen and started making a pot of stew for when Joel got home. It gave you something to do with your hands, something to keep yourself from going insane. The broth simmered quietly while you chopped up a few vegetables, stirring the pot every now and then. Every few minutes, though, you’d stop what you were doing and glance over at your phone sitting on the counter.
Still nothing.
You picked it up for what had to be the tenth time that night, hoping there’d finally be a message waiting for you. There wasn’t. You frowned, typing out another text before immediately turning your phone off again. “Joel, where are you?” A sigh slipped past your lips as you rubbed your forehead. “This man is gonna kill me someday…” Normally, you wouldn’t panic if he was running a little late. Patrols didn’t always go as planned. But Joel wasn’t the type to leave you wondering if he could help it. Even if it was just a quick “Be home soon,” he’d usually find a way to let you know. The longer the silence dragged on, the harder it became to convince yourself everything was fine. You stirred the stew again, though your mind was miles away, and found yourself glancing toward the front window every time you heard the wind. Thats when you heard the front door open and a grunt. finally your man came home safe, you walked out of the kitchen rushing to him. "joel! you didn't reply to any of my messages! i was worried sick!!" you said to him upset before standing a few feet away from him, he looked up at you putting his bag down before stepping in front of you. "what? so you dont have anything to say!? joel i was worrying about you the whole time and-" before you could finish your sentence joel pulled you in for a warm kiss. your anger and worried faded away instantly feelings his warm lips against yours. his beard scratched against your skin beautifully. as he pulled away you couldnt help but let out a small whine before resting your head against his chest. "i missed you alot.. your always gone.." joel kissing your forehead, "i know babygirl.. shits been gettin outta' hand. but i still love you" he said pulling you closer. you inhaled his scent before leaning your head up pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "i made some stew.. and i also got some malt liquor.. i was thinking we can have a glass hehe!" joel chucked pulling away slapping your ass playfully. "y'do that baby.. ima take a shower" he said as he began to walk away. you went back to the kitchen, grabbing 2 bowls as you filled the bowls up with stew.
Joel came back a few minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower, an old gray T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. The familiar scent of soap mixed with cedar drifted through the kitchen as he walked over. “Smells good in here,” he muttered, pulling out the chair across from you.“Told you it’d be ready.” You slid the steaming bowl toward him before sitting down with your own. Joel scooped up a spoonful of stew, blowing on it before taking a bite. “Damn,” he mumbled around the food. “Think this might be your best one yet.” You grinned, trying not to look too proud of yourself. "So that’s a compliment?" “S’pose it is.” You laughed, reaching for the bottle of liquor and topping off both glasses. Joel raised his toward you. "To makin’ it home.” You clinked your glass against his. "To you actually answering your messages next time.” He snorted into his drink. “Can’t promise that Doll.” “Joel.” you whined “I’m kiddin’, baby.” You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally stealing glances at one another. Every now and then your knees bumped beneath the table, neither of you bothering to move away. When the bowls were nearly empty, Joel leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “You keep feedin’ me like this…” he said, swirling the last sip in his glass, “…I’m fuckin you on the table.” you giggle shyly "joel.. stop that!" “I mean it.” His voice was quieter this time, more sincere. You reached across the table and took his rough hand in yours, tracing absentminded circles across his knuckles. “I just like having you home all to myself ya know.." Joel looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening “C’mere.” You stood and walked around the table. Before you could say anything, he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you between his knees. “There she is,” he murmured with a tired smile. Your fingers brushed through the curls at the back of his neck as you leaned down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss against his lips. It wasn’t rushed or desperate just the quiet kind of kiss that said everything neither of you needed words for. When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together. "I missed you,” you whispered. Joel smiled, rubbing his thumb against your hip. “I know, babygirl.” He kissed your forehead this time, lingering there for a second before letting out a content sigh.
30 minutes later you and joel cuddled on the couch, You buried your face in the crook of his neck kissing and sucking the skin. he groaned before patting your butt affectionately. "Baby.. dont do that, continue and see what happens." you whined softly "but.." joel covered your mouth. "shh.. calm down.." you bit the inside of his hand gently, then thats when you felt his growing bulge against your ass. you whimpered a bit, your hands gripping his shoulders. joel reached down to touch your damp panties. "yeah.. you want it badly dont you baby..?" you nodded frantically "nuh uh baby.. words use your words for daddy" joel said rubbing your pussy through your damp panties. "y-yes daddy.. please.."
after all the teasing and grinding, joel had you in a doggy style position on the couch. your undergarments and his undergarments were on the floor as he pounded you from behind. your pathetic little whimpers filled the room. "jo-joel! go slower please..!" joel complied to your wishes and went slower. "yeah.. you like that baby..? you like when daddy fills you up.. you want my babies..? yeah.. atta girl.." your hands gripped the couch weakly with your toes curling. "m-mhm! fill me up daddy..~! g-get me pregnant! i want your babies.. mm.." his pace picked up pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. "yeah.. make u ugh- make u a mommy.. is that what cha want darling huh..?" you moaned loudly. exactly what he liked, he then flipped you onto your back fucking your pussy harder then before beginning to fuck you silly, you couldnt make out words anymore, all you did was babble and whimper as tears fell down your eyes. his hand reached up to wrap around your neck squeezing faintly making you see stars. "fuck- baby.." he panted "your so tight.. gah.." you whimpered pathetically as your walls clamped down on his lenght. "jo-- close..! jo-! ah!!" you said as you squirted allover him, your legs shaking for a split moment. joel never felt so turned on in his life, he leaned down to kiss and wrap his arms around your waist ramming into you harder. "hold.. hold onto me baby.. yeah? hold onto daddy.. oh-oh shit!" he came deep inside you painting your gummy walls in his sticky hot cum. he collapsed ontop of you afterwards, oh how much you loved joel..
Mal's Note: I hate how blurry my banner is but I don't care enough to fix it. I seem to have a thing for pink right now... This is... the horniest thing I've written in a while, but I seem to have been possessed. There probably won't be a part 2 to this, I have too much on my plate right now and I'm overwhelmed by everything in my drafts. Just use your imagination my loves, I know you've got them. Enjoy this so much, I'm still shaking in my boots.
Love,
Mal <3
Warnings: MDNI 18+, 20ish year age gap, reader has a good relationship with her father (if you don't just pretend ig, that's what I did to write it), alcohol use, vaginal fingering, biting, general fondling, hotch's mouth is filthy, reader cries a lil bit cause it's so good, female orgasm, light degradation, loads of praise, hotch makes her suck his fingers clean after she comes on them soooo, Morgan is ageist (sorry it was for the plot), I'm fairly certain that's everything, Have fun!
Word Count: 5.9k
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You truly didn’t know what your problem was.
Your father was very present in your life, in fact, he took you to dinner once a month. Just you and him at your favorite restaurant, he paid, and drove you home after. Walking you to your door and kissing your cheek with a “Sleep tight, darlin’. Call your mama in the morning, she’s missing you.” You had known the princess treatment since the day you were born, and had always thought you knew exactly what you wanted from a man because your father had shown you. Nothing less than the way he treated your mother was acceptable, and he’d have to dote on any future daughters the way your father doted on you. If your father knew the kinds of thoughts you were having… about a man closer to his age than your own…
He’d never be able to look at you the same way again.
Forty Seven.
Forty-fucking-seven.
That’s how old Aaron Hotchner was.
You knew because you’d asked. One day you just couldn’t contain yourself. He’d been driving you nuts for weeks already, plaguing your mind like a disease. So you thought that maybe—if you put a definitive number on it—knowing the age gap would help.
It did not.
The outcome had been so much worse.
“Hotch?” You’d asked, trying to seem busy with the file on the table in front of you.
“Hmm?” He’d hummed, not looking over from the cork board.
“How old are you?” You continued, trying to keep your voice as nonchalant as possible, eyes glued to the paper; the one you’d read ten times already.
He had paused and you could feel his eyes on you, but he only let out a soft chuckle, as though you had amused him.
“Forty seven.” He murmured, and went back to the cork board.
You’d nearly dropped the pen you’d been holding, your eyes snapping up to study his back in disbelief. Your father was fifty five, just eight years older. Swallowing hard, you went back to the file and found that, unfortunately, you still couldn’t focus on it. Instead, thinking of the way his sleeves were rolled up nearly to his elbows, and the way the muscle of his forearms might feel beneath your fingers… or teeth. The way his slacks hugged his ass, making it seem like he actually had one, and how they had a hard time hiding what he did have—
“Did it help?” He asked a few minutes later, and you realized, you had never given him a response, or a reason for your question…
“Huh?” You looked up at him, slightly stunned.
“Did it help?” He asked again, looking at you over his shoulder with that smirk; the one he often turned on unsubs if he saw right through them.
“I—” Your voice betrayed you, coming out broken instead of smooth, so you cleared your throat and tried again. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t?” He purred, the smirk turning into a knowing grin.
“Not at all.” You lied, feeling your cheeks begin to heat under his gaze.
“Hmm.” His brows furrowed and you knew he didn’t believe you in the slightest as he turned back to the cork board.
That was the first time you’d realized that maybe you hadn’t been hiding your crush as well as you’d thought.
Several weeks later, on a case, you were in a heated debate with Morgan—having been the first two to make it back to the local police station—over a man who’s daughter was a victim. A man who’s current wife was only a little older than the daughter herself. All while Hotch looked on from the corner, not bothering to get involved.
“Either she’s taking advantage of his grief for financial stability, or he’s taking advantage of her naivety and financial instability to cope with his grief. Either way, he’s having a midlife crisis and she’s got daddy issues.” Morgan insisted, looking at you across the table like you were insane.
“That is not a fair assessment, Morgan, and you know it!” You shot back, “There are lots of reasons for age gap relationships, and most of the time they rarely have anything to do with money!”
“Name five.” He challenged, smirking at you because he either thought you couldn’t do it or were just playing devil’s advocate.
“Mutual attraction, being treated with respect, emotional maturity, the excitement of being with an older man or a younger woman and vice versa, and—” You stopped yourself short… You had the fifth one, but saying it felt awkward.
“And?” Morgan smirked, thinking you didn’t have a fifth.
You took a deep breath looked him in the eye and said, “Sexual experience.”
“Sexual experience, as in they’re in it for the experience?” He asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.
“No… I mean that older people—with the exception of those who abstain—are more experienced sexually than younger people.” You explained, and when he laughed you felt defensive. “Don’t laugh at me! That makes sense and you know it! Practice makes perfect or whatever the fuck the saying is! Older—sexually active—individuals have more practice, therefore more experience, and that—to me—says that they’d be better at sex!”
“What about stamina?” Morgan argued, “A fifty year old man is not gonna be able to keep up with a thirty year old woman!”
“That is not always true! It depends on the shape the man is in!” You threw your hands out to the side, and you almost found yourself using Hotch as an example—as your eyes flickered over to him—but caught yourself just in time, deciding to change the subject. “Besides, sex is not all there is to a fulfilling romantic relationship! There are all the other things I said too!”
“You can find all of those things with someone much closer to your own age.” Morgan reminded you, shaking his head, “An older guy could mean three or four years older! Why choose someone that’s twenty years older and has nothing in common with you, over someone who might and could keep up with you?”
“Curiosity?” You shrugged, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked briefly to Hotch again, who was already watching you with an amused smile. “And no, I don’t think some women can find what they’re looking for in a man their own age. Which does not automatically mean daddy issues.”
“I disagree.” Morgan shook his head.
“Well you’re not a woman, so I don’t think you get to have an opinion on what we can and cannot want in a man.” You scowled, crossing your arms.
“Kid, you’re not even out of your twenties yet. You don’t know what you want in a man.” Morgan chuckled, clearly amused by your stance, for a totally different reason than Hotch.
“Some of us have it modeled for us from a young age and know what we want early.” You shrugged, keeping your eyes on Morgan and not daring to look over at Hotch again. “My dad is very present in my life, and we have a wonderful relationship, so I tell him everything. He comes and takes me out for dinner at least once a month, he calls me every single day, he reminds me to eat lunch, he makes sure I have good tires on my car, and he checks the latch on my door every single time he comes to my apartment; just to make sure it’s sturdy. He treats my mother like a goddamn queen, anything she wants she gets, and they are so in love it’s palpable, after nearly thirty years. He’s only five years older than her, but before you say that proves your point… Even though I know it works for them, I find myself disgusted by men my age. They’re crude, they’re rude, they don’t have any modicum of emotional maturity, they’re disrespectful, they’re boring—most only care about cars, video games, and money—and if you think a man in his mid twenties is in his prime… I beg you to look at pictures of Patrick Dempsey, Ryan Gosling, or Robert Downey Jr. in their twenties, versus their forties. The difference is night and day, and so much sexier.”
“What does that prove?” Morgan asked, unwilling to admit he was wrong just yet.
“That I don’t have daddy issues.” You insisted firmly, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Hotch bite his lip to keep from laughing. “I’d love to be treated the way my dad treats my mom, and any man I might see a future with would have to be one that I could see treating my future daughters the way I’ve been treated. However, I still find myself drawn to older men because men my age just don’t do it for me. Sometimes it really is just about attraction.”
“That’s all fine and good, I’m not gonna shame you for what you like, but in their case—” He circled back to the original topic of the victim’s father and step mother. “I don’t see what you’re seeing.”
With that, Morgan got up and left the conference room in search of coffee, leaving you alone under the discerning gaze of Aaron Hotchner.
“Who are you trying to convince?” Hotch chuckled from the corner once Morgan disappeared. “Morgan, or yourself?”
“What?” You breathed, finally looking over at him to find him studying you with laughter in his eyes.
“You sound less like you believe what you’re saying, and more like you desperately want it to be true.” He smirked, pinning you to the spot with those gorgeous fucking eyes… “I think you’ve recently realized you have a thing for older men, or more likely an older man, and you don’t know what to do with that information. So you’re struggling to make sense of it, and you thought arguing with Morgan—if you won—would help.”
You hated how close to the truth he was…
“Or…” You murmured, not trusting your voice to sound as strong as you wanted. “Maybe I do believe what I was saying, and I wanted Morgan to stop being so ageist about it because it was offensive.”
“Is that what you wanted?” He challenged, giving you that look again. The one that said he saw you… and knew how badly you wanted him.
“I think I would know what I do or do not want.” You shot back, with a little more attitude now that you thought you were being patronized.
“Do you?” He asked, undeterred by your snark, in fact, he seemed encouraged by it.
“Do I what, Hotch? You’re not making any sense!” You huffed, frustratedly.
“Do you know what you want?” He clarified, with a roguish smile on his face.
Suddenly, you didn’t think he was talking about Morgan and ageism anymore.
“Yes.” You whispered, hoping that was a safe answer either way.
“Are you sure?” He asked, and there was something else in his eyes this time. Something you’d never seen in them before… Something… Warmer.
“Are we still talking about Morgan’s ageism?” You asked, knowing that it had never been about Morgan… It had always been about him… and the way you felt about him.
“Are we?” He teased.
Before you could say anything Morgan came back, and you found yourself wondering how that conversation would’ve ended if he hadn’t interrupted it.
Over the following weeks, you caught Hotch watching you just as much as he caught you watching him, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Truthfully, you thought he found your little infatuation to be entertaining. He would laugh when you panicked over prolonged eye contact. Watch you with glee as you blushed over a compliment or the tiniest hint of praise. He’d rest his hand on the back of your chair if he chose to sit next to you—and he always chose to sit next to you—making sure you were aware it was there, but never letting it touch you. He’d make comments that made your heart race at their ambiguous nature, uncertain if he was flirting or just making small talk. He was always winking at you if you glanced at him, but would make sure his face was perfectly neutral if you did a double take. Along with a hundred other things to let you know he knew and thought you were just a silly girl.
He was teasing you.
At first, you thought it was cruel of him to play so flippantly with your emotions, but you noticed he was never mean about it. In fact, he never used it to humiliate you, never said anything about it in the presence of the team either. It was like a secret game that only the two of you were aware of, and having something to share with him—even if he didn’t take it seriously—was exciting.
So you began to play too.
Instead of pretending he didn't effect you, you showed him how much he did… and how much you could effect him if you tried.
If he winked, you bit your lip and winked back. When he would rest his hand on your chair, you would slip your shoe off and toe at the hem of his pants under the table. Sometimes brushing his ankle, but most often you teased him with almost but not quite touches. Every time he said something that could've had a double meaning, you always replied to the meaning you were meant to ignore. You could tell that he was well aware of the change in your behavior, but he never did anything about it.
So you got bolder.
You’d meant it when you said you knew what you wanted.
Two months after your argument with Morgan, it was the hottest day of the summer—in Texas—and Hotch had taken you with him to interview a victim’s family. You were boiling because the family’s A/C had been out. They’d had all their windows open, but it hadn’t helped. The trailer they lived in was basically an oven.
By the time the two of you made it back to the car, you were both sweating and he’d started taking layers off before he ever got in the vehicle. Suit jacket? Back seat. Tie? Right alongside it. Buttons? Undone to his sternum. Sleeves? Rolled up to his elbows.
He had ran his fingers through his hair so many times to keep the sweat at bay that it was standing on end and pointing in every direction. Effortlessly sexy. You were sure yours was plastered to your forehead, so you shook it out, and—as he started the car—you leaned across the console and plucked a pen from his shirt pocket. He barely glanced at you, not seeming to mind at all, if he even noticed.
But you would make him notice.
Using the pen you secured your hair up into a twist to get it off your neck. Then you slowly began unbuttoning your own blouse, just as far as he had. So that if he glanced over at you he would catch a glimpse of flesh and pink lace. You didn’t say a word, and neither did he, he didn’t so much as blink… but his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
That wasn’t enough for you.
Fanning yourself, you slouched a little in your seat, letting your blouse fall open farther. Then you lifted your leg—slipping your foot out of your heel—and rested in on the dash as he drove. Letting your skirt ride up, you un-clipped your garter from your thigh high hose, rolled it down slowly, then tossed it into the back seat, and did the same with the other. When you put your second leg back down, you didn’t bother straightening your skirt, in fact, you let your legs splay a bit so that it would ride higher.
He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in his seat, then clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white and the veins in his forearms stuck out.
Much better.
When you reached the field office, Hotch disappeared to the restroom for ten minutes.
The night that case wrapped up, you all decided to visit a club in Austin, waiting for the Jet to refuel and be ready to go.
Hotch looked delicious, wearing that black polo you were so fond of and a pair of jeans. You didn’t have much in the way of club attire but you made it work with your shortest pencil skirt—which you folded under and clipped to your garters to make shorter—and the vest that matched it, with nothing but a bra and panties underneath. You looked… Well, you’d never been one to brag.
When you walked into the hotel lobby—your heels clicking softly on the tile—the girls saw you first. JJ and Prentiss were the best hype women on the planet on nights like this.
“Goddamn, how do you manage to make that same outfit say, ‘respect my badge,’ in the daylight, but say, ‘fuck me sideways in the bathroom,’ at night?” Emily teased, giving you an appreciative round of applause, that subsequently got Hotch’s—and everyone else’s—attention.
His eyes locked onto your cleavage, and you focused on breathing into your upper chest to make your breasts rise with each inhale… He was mesmerized.
“Layers and choice of lipstick.” You joked, giving her a little spin that was not at all for her benefit, but for his.
When you faced them again, he was gone, but you caught sight of him… slinking into the men’s room.
Later at the club, you, Emily, and JJ hit the dance floor for long enough that you began to get thirsty, so you left them together in the crowd and made your way to the bar. You spotted him there, getting another round for himself, Rossi, and Morgan; though the other two were nowhere to be found.
You didn’t think it through, you just acted.
Slipping up behind him, you slid a hand over his ribs and up his chest, using it to put a little bit of space between him and the bar, but you didn’t look up at him as you stepped into that space.
“Hey, Hotch.” Was all you said to acknowledge his presence, before leaning over the bar and pressing your ass right against his crotch as you flagged down a bartender.
As you ordered, you made sure to wiggle around enough that he could feel every movement.
“She’s on my tab.” Hotch told the bartender after you’d both been handed your drinks.
The man nodded then walked away, so you turned around and leaned back on the bar—exposing your cleavage and throat—as your leg slipped between his and you made sure he felt it. You took a long sip of your drink, wrapping your red lips around the straw as you looked up at him from under thick lashes. Daring him with your eyes to make a move.
His own eyes were devouring you, and you thought he might break—might finally drop the act and do something about the way you’d been teasing him—but he took a deep breath instead.
“Thanks for the drink.” You smirked, and slipped back into the crowd as quickly as you’d appeared, but you watched once again as he excused himself after delivering Morgan and Rossi’s drinks. He found his way to the bathroom, and when he came back out you felt his eyes on you for the rest of the night.
Once everyone stumbled drunkenly onto the plane—yourself included—it didn’t take long for everyone else to fall asleep; except him, though you pretended not to notice. You wanted to get one last tease in before the long weekend, something he could ruminate on—obsess about—until he saw you again.
Standing from your seat, you pulled your go-bag out from beneath it—having planned this in advance—and pulled out a pair of sweats and an over sized tee. Your heels had long since been discarded so it was easy to slip the sweats on over your skirt, pulling it up to your waist once you were covered, and removing it over your sweats. Your garter belt following immediately after. You turned away from him, toward the wall where no one could see if they happened to wake, and unbuttoned your vest letting it slip off your shoulders. You contemplated removing your bra as well, but decided that with the others present… that was too far.
You took your time putting your shirt back on though, and you could feel his eyes on your back. When you turned around again, he didn’t even pretend not to have been staring. He watched as you sat down again, curling up into a ball and trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, content that he would be thinking about you incessantly.
“I know what you’re doing…” He murmured quietly, after several minutes had passed.
You didn’t respond, but you couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at the corner of your lips. Teasing him had become your new favorite pastime. Half an hour later, when he thought you’d fallen asleep, he slipped out of his seat and snuck to the restroom.
You could just barely hear the faint sound of his moans, each one resembled a broken utterance of your name.
Rossi invited the whole team to his house for dinner and drinks the very next night, and couldn’t help but see it as another opportunity to push your agenda. So upon receiving your invitation, you immediately texted the other girls saying, ‘let’s dress up and be cute, we can take pictures together!’ Penelope immediately jumped on the bandwagon, and with some gentle prodding—shameless begging—from her, the other two agreed as well. You knew exactly what you were going to wear.
When you arrived at Rossi’s that night, you were the very last one to show up. Partially on purpose, but also because you’d spent hours making sure you were irresistible. You’d been saving the little dress for an important occasion, maybe a first date or something, but breaking Aaron Hotchner’s will seemed like the perfect use for it. It was a black, satin, backless, halter top, minidress so short you couldn’t so much as bend slightly at the waist. Your hair was styled so that it wasn’t obstructing the view of your bare back, your makeup flawless. If he resisted you tonight…
You’d fucking give up.
As you walked into the dining room, Morgan let out a low, playfully teasing whistle—being the first to spot you—and that had everyone else looking your way. You blushed at the attention, playing up your innocence and biting back an ‘oh so timid’ smile. Hotch wasn’t buying it, you could tell by the way he was smirking at you that he knew exactly what you were doing.
“You look amazing!” Penelope gushed, wobbling over on her platform heels. “Do a twirl, lemme see the back!”
So you did a slow twirl… and when you faced them again, the smirk on his face was long gone. What remained was something between panic and desire.
“Do you like it?” You asked Penelope, smiling and looking down as if you were unsure of yourself. “I’ve had it for like two years, but never had a chance to wear it, and we were dressing up tonight so I thought… Why not?”
“Do I—? Do I Li—? Do I like it?!” Penelope blustered as if it was an absolutely ridiculous notion that she might not. “Sugar, I love it! You look like— Like— Like a dark seductress of the night or something!”
You tried not to laugh.
JJ and Emily did no such thing.
“Garcia, you just called her hooker!” Emily cackled, falling into JJ, already a few drinks in.
“I did not!” Penelope protested, absolutely aghast at the suggestion. “She looks much too sophisticated to be a hooker!”
“So a very expensive call girl then?” You teased her, joining in on the fun, even as you felt his eyes drinking you in.
“No— Well… now that you mention it— No! I’m kidding!” Penelope joked as well, laughing at your mock outrage.
Once the laughter faded, you all made your way to the table, and—as always—it seemed as though Hotch would sit next to you. This time however, he pulled out your chair for you, something he’d never gone so far as to do before. You could feel the heat of his hands, just inches from your skin, gripping the back of your seat as he pushed it up to the table, but as always… he didn’t touch you.
So you didn’t touch him either, instead ensuring that he could only feel the heat of you as you almost made contact all through out the meal. His hands twitched in your direction with a frequency you found encouraging, his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking, his breath hitched each time you laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile because you had him at the end of his rope. Of that you were certain.
By the time dinner was over, the others were several bottles in collectively, and they’d decided to abscond to the patio for more. They were intoxicated enough that no one noticed when you slipped away.
No one but Hotch, of course. Exactly as you’d intended when you made eye contact with him as you disappeared inside.
At first, you weren’t sure if he would follow you, and you couldn’t hear anything but the soft clicking of your heels as you traipsed down the hallway. Looking for a dark corner to get cornered in.
Hearing the faintest scuff of a shoe behind you, you stopped, but you didn’t turn around. You knew it was him, you could feel his eyes on you and recognized their weight.
“Do you enjoy torturing me?” His low rumble of a question just barely reached your ears over the sound of the music the others were blaring outside.
“Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” You quipped, still not turning to face him as he took a few steps closer.
“Is it not?” He asked, his voice near enough that it almost startled you. “Is that not exactly what you’ve been doing for the last five days? Before this week it was just retaliatory and I deserved that, but you’ve been taunting me, Sweetheart. I don’t like being taunted.”
You laughed softly, even though you could hardly focus… How could you? Your pussy had it’s own goddamn pulse.
“The only person taunting you was you.” You shrugged.
“I beg to differ.” He chuckled, and you felt his breath disturbing your hair, tickling your ear, sending a thrill down your spine. “Do you know how hard it’s been to keep my hands to myself? While you’ve been taking your clothes off in front of me, or just not wearing enough of them to begin with… Do you know how many times I’ve had to sneak away and take care of the evidence of what you do to me?”
“Four, by my count.” You grinned, turning your head just enough to make sure he could see it. “My name sounds so good falling off your lips…”
“You’re a menace…” He groaned, and you knew if you looked at him his fists would be clenched at his sides.
“And you’re a masochist.” You let another laugh roll off your tongue, shaking your head. “All this self inflicted yearning, when you could’ve just taken the invitation I’ve been serving to you on a platter.”
“You’re not even thirty.” A weak attempt at reason, and you both knew it.
“And you’re old enough to be my father, but I don’t have daddy issues, and you’re too uptight to be having a midlife crisis…” You shrugged, a smile pulling at your lips. “Sometimes it’s just about attraction, and having the balls to take what you want. We both know what we want… So what the hell are you waiting for?”
The force of your chest hitting the closest wall nearly knocked the breath out of you, but the feeling of his hands—sliding up under the hem of your dress and forcing it up around your waist—was what had you gasping. You moaned so loudly, as he took a handful of your ass and squeezed, that you bit your lip to keep from being heard.
“Don’t be shy now,” he growled in your ear, biting it, “they can’t hear your filthy little mouth out there, the music is too loud.”
“Hotch!” You whined, as he licked and sucked his way down the side of your neck.
“Aaron.” He corrected, slipping his other hand into the top of your dress and kneading your breast as he kept gripping your ass. “I knew there was no way you were wearing a bra under this little thing, I half expected you to have forgone panties too. Did you, sweetheart? I can’t feel anything but skin…” He released your ass, only to reach around and cup your cunt possessively. “Ah, there they are… must be a thong. I think I’ll leave that on while I fuck you, I bet it’ll look so pretty.”
His teeth snagged the bow on the halter of your dress, and he pulled it loose with a jerk of his head; exposing your breasts to the cool air and causing you to gasp. Gripping your hips he flipped you around and pressed your back to the wall, trailing hot, sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your chest. Then sinking his teeth into the mound of your breast he—making you cry out—he slipped his hand inside the front of your panties. His fingers swiping through your folds, gathering wetness and dragging it back up to your clit.
“You’re so fucking wet already…” He groaned, then sucked a nipple into his mouth, drawing on it hard enough to make you whimper before dragging his mouth back up to your throat. “Are you always this wet for me, darling? Have I always made you this desperate, or is has it built up with the anticipation?”
His fingers were circling your clit so perfectly, you couldn’t have answered him if you wanted too, and you didn’t because the answer was too raw… it was humiliating. Then he stopped, wrapping his free hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make a point, and make you dizzy with lust.
“Answer me.” He growled looking into your eyes, and holding your gaze so that you could see the fullness of his own desperation, his desire for you.
“Always.” You gasped, and the truth of it must have shown in your eyes because his softened.
“Fuck.” He nearly sighed, and then his lips crashed into yours, messy and frantic, all consuming.
His fingers grazed down from your clit to your entrance, and he kept the other hand around your throat as he slid one inside. You moaned into his mouth at the thickness of it, as he worked it in a come here motion against your g-spot.
“Aaron!” You cried, as he added a second digit, his thumb finding your clit as he moved the two fingers faster.
“I know baby, I know.” He cooed, and you felt him smile against your lips. “Let me have it baby, tell me how good it feels.”
“So good!” You panted, writhing against the wall and grinding down into his hand, desperate to have him deeper, to be fuller. “More please!”
“Such a good girl…” He chuckled, and the sound only nudged you closer to the edge, making your pussy clench around his fingers. “Begging for me already… You want another one baby? Need to feel fuller?”
“Yes!” You sobbed, the tension had built so quickly that it was beginning to throb painfully. “Please, please, please…”
“Pitiful.” He growled against your lips, biting the bottom one and dragging it through his teeth. “You sound pretty when you’re desperate.” You could feel his smile as he nipped and sucked his way up your jaw to your ear, his voice was a low rumble that made your whole body quiver when he said, “Ask me one more time, tell me exactly what you want, and make it sweet, darling.”
You couldn’t fucking breath, but you forced yourself to do it anyway.
“I need another one, please Aaron, I wanna feel so full of you it hurts! Please…” You pleaded, your body shaking with a mix of apprehension and pleasure as he huffed a condescending laugh against your skin.
“That’s my girl…” He murmured, and slid a third finger inside.
“Fuck!” Your voice broke, ragged and harsh as you panted through the stretch of it. “Oh, fuck!”
He busied himself with your neck, trailing kisses and finding sensitive skin with his tongue, fucking you into oblivion with his fingers all the while. You’d never been this overwhelmed by someone in your life, he was doing everything so perfectly as if he’d made you fall apart a thousand times before and knew exactly what you needed.
“Fuck, Aaron, I’m—” You choked out, barely able to speak at all as the pleasure mounted and you felt tears running from the corners of your eyes.
“I know you are, pretty girl… So fucking pretty.” He hummed, taking your lips with his again before pulling back to look at you, studying your trembling form and meeting your eyes with a fiercely possessive gaze. “Don’t look away from me, angel, I wanna see it in your eyes when you come.”
Then you were gone. It was like he’d broken something in your mind with that last command and completely shattered your last shred of self control. The sensation was white hot, and so powerful your knees buckled, but he kept you on your feet. Clapping a hand over your mouth as a scream ripped its way from your throat.
“Good girl, sweetheart, you’ve done so good…” He cooed, fucking you through it gently, and stroking your cheek with his thumb when your scream softened to short little whimpers. “Such a good girl, you came so hard, baby, I’m so proud of you.”
You whined when he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, and he stifled the sound by sticking them in your mouth instead. The taste of your release on his fingers was intoxicating.
“Clean up your mess for me, pretty girl.” He murmured, his tone somehow soothing and condescending at the same time. Then he chuckled when you moaned around him and began to suck without hesitation. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”
You nodded, as he wiped tears away from your cheeks, now that it seemed your legs functioned well enough to stand.
“Can you walk, baby?” He asked, stroking your hair away from face.
When you shook your head no, he laughed, pulled his fingers out of your mouth, then slipped his hands beneath your thighs and lifted you off the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Where are we going?” You murmured, as he began to carry you up the stairs.
“To find a bed.” He said, kissing his way back up your neck and somehow managing to stay on his feet. “I’m too old to fuck on the floor, and I want you on your knees.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” You sighed into his mouth as you captured his lips with yours, threading your hands through his hair like you’d been dying to do for months.
“When I get done with you…” he growled, biting your bottom lip, “you’ll be thankful for the bed too.”
(Dbf! Frank Castle x reader)
Summary: It's your college graduation party and your parents demanded they threw you a party, inviting everyone they knew...including your dad's best friend and his new girlfriend. Fic based on this ask.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: MDNI, sexting, jealousy, p in v, age gap, dirty talk, cheating, hair pulling, porn with plot, slight fingering (f! receiving), name calling (kiddo), swearing....im sorry if I missed anything
SONG SOUND TRACK
Being the only child was never an easy task. Parents that were overbearing in every aspect of life; social life, academics, extracurriculars, relationships. Nothing went unnoticed under their overprotective eyes. A change in the direction of the wind would lead to a bombardment of questions. So, when you left for university a new almost foreign sense of freedom relinquished a misguided version of yourself. The shackles your parents casted upon you were finally released. A breath of fresh air after years of being captivated under their dainty spell. Sure you loved your parents with no means to an end, but the feeling of not having to answer a million questions or risk total depletion of a connection within society was liberating.
Bars? You were stationed on a barstool or hitting the dance floor as you tossed back shots of vodka as if your life depended it every weekend. Mind growing numb to the short term effects of being intoxicated as you grounded your hips against a stranger. Often leading to a promiscuous hook up that remained a secret between yourself and the bathroom stall. Sentences flowing out gurgled and misconstrued as you slowly built up your tolerance over the years. Your university friends finding humor at your lack of judgement and desire to have fun.
The fresh start to a week would roll around with a thumping migraine and a bottle of ibuprofen awaiting like a long lost friend. Mustering up the courage to attend respective courses as your parents still 'checked in' once a week; somehow acquiring access to your attendance. Probably threatened the Dean with lawful action or whatever else bullshit excuse they could conjure up.
However, your newfound lifestyle refused to contaminate any scholastics. Weekdays were specifically designed for studying and homework. Endless caffeine driven hours staring at page filled books describing body processes and human anatomy. Wishing the information could absorb into your brain subconsciously as your eyes burned with tiredness and despair. Awarded with scholarships and grants due to your studious determination. Your life long goal of building a career as a nurse becoming just within reach.
So there you stood in your parent's backyard as the sun gleamed brightly in the sky admitting treacherous waves of heat upon anyone in its path. Your skin glistened with sweat and copious amounts of SPF; banning sun spots before they had the chance to appear. Your mother whisked away in the kitchen; putting her heart and soul into the various foods being made. Your dad offered to pay for catering, wanting the evening to be relaxing for all parties involved, but your mom canned the idea. Explaining sweetly that there's nothing in this world that could compare to a home cooked meal. She wasn't wrong, but her arthritic hands would've appreciated the gesture. Meanwhile, your dad took his time hanging up decorations, as it being the only task he was entrusted with. Streamers hung from one side of the picket fence to the other in your school colors blowing softly in the wind. Balloons were tied to chairs scattered out among the lawn, even a few flying astray urning curses from your dad. Your family home was suddenly starting to look like a Party City took residence.
You wished and even pleaded for a small get together, immediate family and friends only. Wanting to spend an evening with the people who made this accomplishment plausible. But of course, as always your mom enforced a graduation party. Mainly to brag about how her daughter graduated from the most prestigious nursing school in the country; with all honors at that. Unbeknownst to her knowledge, her little girl could hardly remember the dreadful years she spent there. Too intoxicated to care honestly. The only memories worth remembering were spent with a man you had zero excuses on seeing and refused to ever mention.
Frank Castle.
Your dad's childhood best friend, Frank Castle.
The man who practically watched you grow up from a small pea to a minimal sized green bean, Frank Castle.
Amongst the continual nights partying until your feet practically floated and your liver was begging for rejuvenation; you accidentally called your dad's best friend. From what you could recollect, it pertained to searching for discarded car keys and having little to no luck. Frank being the protector and provider that he is, even at wee hours of the morning with work in the future, drove to help you. Half asleep, still in his pajamas, with a mop of fluffy chocolate curls on his head completing the look. You were in full hysterics when he had arrived. Eyes puffy as black tears continuously streamed down your reddened cheeks. Lips quivering as oxygen begged to be replenished, never taking a full breath. Clearly you were disheveled and his heart ached at the sight until he smelt the liquor on your breath. Drunk off the smell alone.
"Are you drunk," he questioned well aware of the answer as you wobbled on each foot towards him. Nearly loosing your balance over air.
"That's not important," you whined, sniffing up snot not caring about your appearance. It was just Frank, who has clearly witnessed worse from you. Helping your dad fix the family car was not a pleasant time.
"It is important (Y/n)! You're supposed to be asleep or studying! Not terrorizing your liver for fun," he roared disapprovingly as he ran his fingers through his hair. In hopes to relieve the growing thump in his forehead.
You peered up at him with big puppy dog eyes, the ones you would use on him as a child when your dad bedded no at buying you candy. "Frank...I need your help and you're yelling at me." It always worked then, him going against your dad's wishes often, in hopes of doing anything to make you happy. The wide child like grin that stretched from ear to ear fulfilled the holes in his heart from losing his own family. And it continued to work as Frank let out an exasperated sigh and pulled you into a side hug, messing your hair as he scuffed it with his hand.
"M' sorry kid. Just worry bout you. It's a scary world out here an your young is all. Don't want you messin' up your future for stupid shit."
He could picture your eyes roll as he spoke without needing to physically look at you. Knowing it irritated you when people assumed you weren't responsible or doing the right thing.
"I'm fine Frank. Just need to find my keys so I can go home and sleep," you quietly let out, exhaustion riddled in your tone. You slowly pulled out from Frank's arms, noticing the sudden loss of heat. Shivering softly as the night sobered you up.
"Where you have em' last?"
That stupid question.
"If I knew where I last had them...I'd be able to find them Frank," you quarreled, squinting your eyes with a 'duh' look spreading across your face. He let out a chuckle as he scratched the nape of his neck, confused on how else to offer his help.
"Well....where were you at?"
Another stupid question.
You shifted your body to the left as you held up your arm, swiftly pointing at the small run down bar located directly next to the university's dorms. It was as if they wanted to promote underage drinking and alcoholism.
The bar was clearly built in much earlier decades as the surrounding beige paint chipped away exposing the natural wood underneath. A giant neon 'OPEN' sign hung crookedly on the front door, threatening to fall off with every movement. Loud music mixed with yelling could be heard from where you and Frank were standing.
"Jesus Christ, I don't know how else to help kid. You're giving me nothing to go off of," another sigh leaving his lips. Annoyed with how he couldn't help you and the fact he would be dealing with jack hammers or forklifts off three hours of sleep.
"I don't know what to say-," before you could finish your sentence, a large object fell from your shorts pocket onto the ground. A thump echoing along with the realization. Keys. The said keys you spent hours looking for becoming more distraught the longer you looked. The keys that Frank drove in the middle of the night to help look for, fall from your dingy little shorts that were decorated in barely anything you would consider a pocket.
Widened eyes stared at the ground as if the object was speaking to you. Suddenly wanting to crawl into a hole from udder embarrassment. You avoided Frank's gaze completely as you reached down slowly, hoping by some unforeseeable chance he didn't notice.
"They were in your-," Frank grunted, flustered as he tried to wrap his mind around what just took place. "You didn't think to check your pockets (Y/n)? Seriously? I just drove an hour in the middle of the goddamn night to help you." Frank wasn't just minorly inconvenienced nor was he just upset. He was seething with rage at your blatant disregard for his own life and responsibilities. Smoke blowing out his ears, jaw clenched as his teeth ached, fists clenched tight, type of anger.
Before you could muster up an excuse or drunken apology, Frank angrily pointed his finger towards the dorms uttering out a swift 'go' before taking initiative. Did he know where he was going? No, but his anger and your belligerence clouded his judgement as he stomped towards the dorms. You followed suit with your tail between your legs guilt and embarrassment filling your body. For some reason it didn't occur to you to check your pockets. It landed last on your list, way below the option of calling Frank.
"Hurry up! I got work in a few hours," he grimaced at his harsh actions, but he couldn't stop. If it was one thing Frank struggled most with, his quick wired anger would land a spot at number one. He tried therapy. He tried medications. Nothing sorted out the mess in his head. So he just lived with it in his own Frank way. Didn't mean he relished in it though.
"I'm sorry Frankie," you squeaked out terrifyingly quiet as your feet dragged towards the cement steps leading to your room. You genuinely did feel sorry for Frank. He was an important person in your life and his opinions mattered greatly to you. More than the effect your parent's did.
"It's okay (Y/n)...just tired," he admitted, stopping at the bottom step to watch you safely make it inside. Still protective even when angry.
You conjured up an idea, rational but it was your way of expressing how sorry you truly were. Even if it went against any moral and school rules being withheld. Without a second thought you called out to Frank as you opened up the heavy glass door, "Why don't you stay here tonight? Drive back in the morning?"
Furrowed eyebrows as he contemplated your request, weighing out his options sparingly. If your parents, especially your dad, discovered his impromptu sleepover at their daughter's dorm they would be livid. But, the idea of making it to work energized and avoid killing himself weighed out to be a better option. Against every fiber of his being screaming to turn around and march back into his car while he had the chance, Frank followed you inside. Sleep deprivation enticing his lack of judgement.
The steps leading to your school apartment were covered in a melancholic carpeting. Hues of purples and various shades of navy spread throughout the material. Aching as you both placed your weight onto them. The snow colored paint on the surrounding walls added to the professional nature. Everything was clean and sharp; not a speck of dust or grime could be seen within eye shot.
There was your front door just mere steps away. Frank smiled to himself as a bright pink welcome mat laid on the floor. The words 'Why are you bothering me' staring back at him in a bold font. Only you would buy such a thing; dry humor destined to follow wherever you went.
The keys put up a fight as you attempted to unlock the door. As if they were aware of what the night would commend to; trying to desperately prevent it from happening. A whine left your lips at the struggle. Your drunken state amplifying every emotion. All you wished for was to flop onto your bed and forget about your actions as sleep took over.
"Here lemme do it," Frank spoke as he reached for the butterfly lanyard. Also wanting to forget about tonight with sleep before remorse and guilt took over. You shot him a dreadful look, mascara stained tears dried onto your face. "I got it," you muttered out laced with irritability.
Frank stepped back with his hands slightly raised as a submission to your tone, not wanting to provoke anymore negative antics. Finally, the door unlocked with a click as your body swelled with relief. It was as if any obstacle that could make itself present, did.
Both of you walked into the small dorm. You flipping the light switch hastily before tossing the keys on a table and sauntering towards your room. While Frank slipped off his worn down boots and headed for the living room. His eyes glanced around taking in the scenery around him for the first time. Different shades of pink encapsulated the room. Curtains? Pink. Rugs? Pink. The tiny vase filled with tulips? Both also pink. A small picture frame on the wall caught his attention as he walked around aimlessly. It was of you, your dad, and him at the state county fair they would visit yearly as a tradition. The girl inside the faded photo was no older than seven. Perched on her dad's hip with a smile on her face showing off her missing front teeth, hair pulled into lopsided pigtails, as an ice cream cone melted covering her hand and clothes in the mess. Your dad holding you proudly with a similar grin. Then there stood Frank, a quiet smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as a beer accompanied his grasp.
"God you grew up on us kiddo," he whispered at the memory. Bringing about feelings of grief as you were now a grown woman. Independent and carelessly taking the world into your grasp.
Frank bedded off around the apartment in search for you and a blanket; declaring the small couch would grant him sleep tonight. He knocked softly on your door; the noise echoing still in the dead quietness. No answer. Another harsher knock sounded off. Again no answer. The door creaked with a groan as it opened under Franks grasp. Revealing you standing in front of a body length mirror washing away the night's horrors with a makeup wipe in nothing but a sheer white tank top and lacy black panties showing a small bow in the reflection. Completely unaware of Franks existence in your room.
Meanwhile, Frank felt the blood rush to his growing bulge as his breath hitched. A quiet groan leaving his lips as he adjusted the sudden growth and tightness in his plaid covered bottoms. Slightly disgusted at the reaction he had to his best friend's daughter. Yet, Frank still greedily watched with his eyes practically relinquishing any provocative thoughts his mind was currently creating. Oh what he would do to get his hands on-
A muster of coughs interrupted his obscene thoughts, capturing your attention immediately. You yelped as the mirror was suddenly a short memory and frantically searched for something to cover up the bareness. Frank watched like a predator hunting his prey; tits bouncing on full display as your soft buds began to pebble. The fat on your bottom following in suit as you jostled around recklessly.
"I'm so sorry Frank! I forgot you were even here," you excused as you slid on a pair of dark black sweatpants that were definitely stolen from your dad, as they humorously hung off your hips. Not covering up much as Frank could still see the little black bow peeking out of the waist line. Wishing to capture it in his teeth as you pawed at his head.
"It's alright...just came to get a blanket and say g'night," voice laced with desire and utter need. You let out a stale laugh, nodding your head in understanding, reaching onto your bed for the soft throw. "Yeah...not too sure this will cover much. It's all I have," you admitted jokingly as you handed Frank the blanket. His palm gracing yours tentatively as time froze with the foreign exchange. His eyes pierced through yours, dragging down slowly taking in the sight. Eyes intoxicated by not only you but the sudden difference between the two of you. Your eyes widened as blush spread across your cheeks, feeling the rush of butterflies in your stomach. You've been around Frank numerous times, never becoming embarrassed or even anxious. But with the way he was looking at you with hunger and your slightly intoxicated state you were a puddle of shocked nerves.
You both remained in your current stance for what felt like hours. Neither wanting to move risking the other to disappear. The blanket becoming a barricade as your hands slightly touched, electrifying you both.
"Uh, do you need something else," you questioned, putting the ball in Frank's court to make the next move. Praying to whoever above to grant you this one wish. He let out a dark chuckle, eyes blackened with lust, tongue poking out to dampen his lips. "You have no idea kid," before tossing the blanket onto the ground as if it personally offended him and capturing you into a bone crushing kiss. The night spent engulfed into each other. Sweat and sex stained sheets mixed with the releases from you both. Surprised if you didn't receive a noise complaint the following morning. Frank became the embodiment of your new found lifestyle, a secret that could never be admitted until you took your last breath.
The spot next to you was empty the following morning. It was as if Frank was never present, only being proven by the indentation in the sheets and soreness in your body. He kept coming back. Every weekend for months Frank would make the drive and spend the hours with you in bed. Savoring your body like it was his last meal on earth. Filling your mind with nothing but him. Until one weekend he didn't. Calls and texts were ignored; tossed away like a memory not worth keeping.
You were saddened at first, spending many days and nights rotting in bed replaying the memories in your head like a sick love song. Refusing your friend's endearments to go out and party like usual; silently hoping Frank would call and muster up some bullshit excuse as to why he completely ghosted you. But the call never came and your feelings for him solidified; never to allow him back in and keeping him mutually what he always was. Your dad's best friend.
That is until now, your eyes narrowed menacingly as you scoffed loudly offended at the sight playing in front of you. Frank walked through your parent's back door dressed in light wash jeans and a navy blue t-shirt, joy evident on his face as he proudly dragged someone behind him. Another woman. Hands tightly held together as they conversed with one another, too caught up in their own world to see the jealous stance you held. You were burning with anger as they walked over. A match delicately being placed into a pit of fire hoping it wouldn't explode.
"Ah there he is! My man," your dad cheerfully exclaimed, stopping his previous act of hanging up yet another set of streamers. He shook Frank's hand before pulling him into a hug. Excited to see his friend and meet his significant other. "And who is this gorgeous woman," he asked before extending out his hand. You were sickened. Wanting to scream out how she was the devil and Frank was her accomplice, even though she had nothing to do with the unfinished business.
"I'm Lisa," her smile was disgustingly attractive. Teeth bright white and straight as they captivated the men with conversation. Her brown hair loosely curled with hints of caramel strands. A flowy blue sundress adding to her innocently sweet appearance. Try hard.
You could feel eyes on piercing into you as you looked up and were met with Frank's. Quickly looking away before he could see the gruesome effect him and his unrequited lover had on you. It was honestly childish the way you were acting. You couldn't help it as the forgotten obsession with Frank made its appearance. Just this time angst and rage filled its path.
You stood up abruptly wanting to escape from the one side tension before accidentally ruining decades of friendships with your tongue. "I'm gonna go help mom," you notified your dad before attempting to briskly make a run for the house. "Hey! Don't be rude! Come say hi to Frank and Lisa," as if the day couldn't grow worse. It was the last thing you wanted to waste your sudden precious time on.
"Yeah kid! Haven't saw you in ages." A smug grin bound to Frank's face.
Is he serious?
Is he actually acting like months ago he didn't spend hours deep inside you, moaning out broken promises of you being his girl. Only his and no one else's before vanishing from thin air.
"Wasn't long enough," you vomit out earning a crisp glare from your dad accustomed with a soft smack to your shoulder. Your provocative nature only enticed Frank more. He knew bringing Lisa would set you a blaze. It's what he wanted. It was Frank's own twisted way of ensuring the feelings you had were true. Which he achieved far before this conversation.
He took note of you. How being filled with jealousy, you still carried it well. Only slipping up a few times before plastering a facade smile and an annoyingly chipper tone to your voice. You wore tight ripped jeans that hung low on your hips, exposing your tanned stomach, the one you would spend hours on during his weekend escapade. A pastel yellow tank top decorated your upper half, barely covering your chest. Knowing fully that your outfit earned chaste remarks from your parents. And if you looked close enough, right above your waist line barely noticeable, a black bow poked out. The black bow that started this affair many many months ago.
You wore them on purpose with the smallest shorts you could find. Were you trying to gain Frank's attention? Not entirely but it was well played on your part because it was all he could think about the rest of the day. How they would dampen with your mess before he even touched you. How your moans would pierce through the apartment as he kissed your most intimate spot through the fabric. How he would pull them to the side as he dragged his long finger through your soaked folds, the forbidden liquid gathering onto his digits. Frank was stiffened. Who would've imagined that Frank Castle could get so worked up over panties?
The sun began to set with hues of orange and pinks cascaded across the sky. Heat dispersing with the dimming sun as chill began to set in. You were in your childhood bedroom changing your outfit to better accommodate to the weather, currently residing here until your finances allowed you to move out. The jealousy was short lived as you drowned your thoughts in the burning liquid that became your accomplice. Buzzed from the margaritas your mom passed around like wild fire, consuming copious amounts reminding your liver of past reckless nights. A ping from your phone sounded throughout your room, gaining your attention. Rolling your eyes at the contact name, one that used to ease your nerves, now cold.
Frank: You wear those for me kid? Don't have to guess which ones. Already know.
Heat began to pool in your lower stomach subconsciously, the effects of Frank's words becoming second nature.
You: Don't know what you mean
Frank: Don't play dumb. Saw em' earlier when you bent over.
You smiled as you bit your lip. Conjuring up a witty response to his lustful antics.
You: Shouldn't you be with your girlfriend? I don't think she'd appreciate this ;)
Proudly hitting send at your devious rebuttal, revoking the cockiness from Frank. Even though you were delighted to still imprison his mind after months.
Frank: Meet me in the bathroom upstairs. Boutta put that attitude to use.
The color drained from your skin. Pure shock ridden as you debated your options. Inner monologue screaming to lock your door and stay inside for the remainder of the night. While your heart and cunt begged for you to meet with Frank. One more time couldn't hurt right?
Drunkenly stumbling quickly across the hall to the guest bathroom, nerves pumping with electricity as you waited. Your earlier rampage being forgotten by current attributions; both in a fairly intoxicated state. All you could think about was Frank's mouth on yours intoxicating you further. His hands eliciting reactions from your body that only he could manage. The soul aching orgasm that waited for release.
The opening of the bathroom door interrupted your daydreaming as Frank stalked in. Hair disheveled from running his fingers through it. His eyes already dark with desire, for only you. His hands quickly taking their respective places; one wrapped around your neck while the other shoved its way into your pants. A hushed moan escaping past your lips as his fingers toyed with your clit. You being soaked already from the mischevious conversation held prior on your phone.
"Y'know how crazy you drive me? Wearin' these little things knowing they're my favorite," Frank groaned out tightening his grip on your neck. Breathing heavy as you looked at him with innocent eyes; like you didn't purposely plan it. Dumbfounded by the dizziness filling your head, completely consumed by the way Frank made you feel. Completely and utterly his without a cost.
His pointer finger circled your throbbing clit tentatively, drawing out more delirious moans from you. He was enthralled with the effect he had on you. Your body begged for him. Begged for him to touch you. For him to kiss you. For him to be inside of you. Primal instinct threatening to come loose.
"Thought about you all day," he continued swirling your clit more as you moaned louder. Quickly putting the hand around your neck over your mouth to quiet the noises, last thing he wanted was to be caught.
"Thought about pulling these pretty panties to the side like I used to. Bitin'. Suckin". Spittin'."
Pawing at his chest as a silent beg for more. Wanting Frank to fill you any way he could, crawling into your skin wouldn't suffice the need building up.
"Frank....more please," you gasped out before he pulled you into a kiss, forcefully shoving his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like beer with remnants of frosting from the graduation cake. Sweet but devilish with how wrong this was. Neither of you cared about who could be affected. Too engrossed with each other.
He slid your bottoms down quickly, dropping to the floor in a puddle. You worked at his belt, aimlessly struggling before finally getting it loose, like a forbidden present wrapped in filth. His cock sprang free from its holding, bouncing lightly as it tapped against lower abdomen. Tip angrily red as his excitement leaked out, wanting to bruise your insides once more for old time sake. You remember Frank being big, the heaviness in his walk proving it further, but you couldn't recollect it looking like this. Veins bulging down his shaft. Long and rock hard.
Movements were quick, rushed with the time restraint before people noticed both of your absences. No time to do everything he planned, ached for. Frank lined himself up with your gushing core hissing at the warmth and wetness encapsulating his tip.
"Fuck. You're soaking. All this for me," he rasped out, pushing himself in further, hyper focused on the way you gripped his length like a glove. Like you were made for him. Sucking him in like a magnet, drastically opposites being pulled together regardless. You moaned at the sudden stretch, as Frank pushed you against the wall, hiking your leg onto his own hip. Allowing for a better position.
"You're so big," you bubbled out, mind fucked, body moving on its own. Frank began to thrust his hips forward, forcefully and quickened. Hips colliding with yours at a force hard enough to surely leave bruising. Your wetness dripped down his length and your thighs, which urged him on further. Releasing an animalistic groan from himself, completely lost in you.
He gripped your hair, revealing the side of your neck as he attacked. Sinking his teeth into the skin and sucking, marking his territory. Soothing the purpled skin with chaste kisses as he made a path to your lips, taking you in for a hungry kiss once more. You lazily wrapped your arms around Frank, aching for him to come closer. The smell of cologne and smoke filling your senses, intoxicating you further.
"God I missed this, missed you," Frank admitted as the tip of his cock brushing your cervix, eliciting a gasp from you. So full he could easily split you in half, and you would willingly let him. His ears taking in the sounds he stole from you. Moans. Skin clapping. Slickness that bubbled with each thrust. If someone were to walk past, they would surely know what was taking place.
"Missed you too Frankie," the all too familiar electrified feeling began to bubble, threatening to explode with each impaled movement. Your body shivered, back arching into a crescent as you reached you desperately raced to finish. Franks movements followed as his thrusts grew sloppy, hand tightening in your hair while the other gripped the hold on your thigh.
"Come on lemme' feel it," he grunted trying to hold back his own release, failing as minutes passed. Your body erupted with a blissful earth shattering moan. Gripping Frank tight as you clenched on his cock, a white ring forming at the base. Mouth wide open, with no noise mustering out, too caught up in the ethereal feeling. Following suite Frank eagerly thrusted a few more times before spilling into you with a loud groan as he shoved his head into your neck to quiet himself.
"Fuck Fuck Fuck," echoed through the sex drunk air, reality setting in. Frank pulled out with a shutter as he shoved himself back into his pants quickly. Confusion evident on your face as your eyebrows furrowed. Suddenly growing embarrassed at your current naked state.
"What's wrong," you questioned Frank, not entirely desperate to hearing his answer. Too afraid and vulnerable. His mess leaking down your thighs as you awaited for the denial. Knowing him all too well.
He forcefully ran his fingers through his hair. Guilt ridden as he looked over at you. Jaw clenched as he pictured your dad, his best friend.
"We shouldn't have done this. Ts' why I left the first time. Shits wrong...so wrong, Jesus Christ," full anxiety attack taking place as Frank sobered up.
"Didn't stop you before."
"Cause you're dangerous (Y/n). Being around you is dangerous..."
You pondered for a moment before grasping Frank's jaw softly, pulling his worried eyes onto your own.
