the entire bau know how u feel abt spencer. morgan gives u advice on the jet while spencer sleeps... or so u think.
tags: fluff, gn!reader x spencer reid, sleepy spencer, big brother morgan, feels maybe season 4-5 to me but can be read as whenever, mutual pining, written as a one shot but can be read as a part 2 to u don't mind sharing with me, do u? written at 2am and not proofread <3
warnings: none i think ? one use of fuck, ending maybe cld be interpreted as sexual but thats not rly the intention
wc: 948 crossposted on ao3
spencer reid sleeps curled up like a deer. elegant hands tucked under his chin, legs hanging off the end of the sofa like he isn't completely aware of his own height, fluffy hair almost halo-like. all long lines and soft edges. the case had been hard on him and you're relieved he's able to get some peace.
the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is difficult not to watch. it's almost meditative.
"your crush on him is so blatant," derek's voice appears behind you.
"i don't see the point in trying to hide it. i don't think he feels the same though... i've given him so many hints, so many opportunities to ask me out and he never does."
derek chuckles. "yeah, he doesnt really do that sort of thing."
reid doesn't date. that should make the rejection feel less personal but the disappointment is just as bitter.
"he's not used to being wanted," derek adds, making your heart clench. "he assumes he misunderstood something, or that he's reading too deep into it, or he just gets scared of messing up or being disappointed. you could literally hold up a sign that says *i want to fuck you* and he'd think you meant as a friend or a joke."
oh.
"have you actually asked him? or just tried to get him to ask you?"
his headphones are back on before you can reply.
you curl up in your seat and rest your forehead against the jet window. the low lights and gentle hum of the engine make it hard to keep your eyes open. if you focus you can almost hear spencer breathing.
★
the jet lands sooner than you expected. the airport feels liminal as the team stumble through it, all half-asleep. hotch mercifully announces that paperwork can wait until tomorrow and orders everyone to get some rest.
"do you want a ride home?" spencer falls into step as you begin your trek to the bus stop. you're not even sure any buses run this late.
"yes please," you murmur.
the drive is quiet. the car is comfortable, vintage with soft seats and a good heating system and a clean, bookish scent that reminds you distinctly of spencer.
he wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking soft circles through your hoodie. you hadn't even realised you were falling asleep.
your apartment complex looms over the car and you start to climb out, dreamily mumbling thanks.
"um," he's barely loud enough for you to hear, but you pause, car door still open, swaying on your feet. brown eyes catch yours, and his pink lips open then close again, contemplating how much he should say.
"did you-" he interrupts himself. starts again, "can i walk you to your door?"
"yes please."
you don't know exactly how your hands end up wrapped around his arm but he doesnt object.
the elevator ride is quiet. you lean into spencer. his cardigan is soft under your cheek, his arm warm under your palms.
halfway to your floor, he opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind.
at your door, he places a hand over yours, as if asking you not to let him go.
"i, um," you say, "i need my hands back? to get my keys..."
he releases your hands and you peel them reluctantly away from his arm, already missing the softness and warmth and comfort of him. you open the door with a soft click. you turn back to spencer, instinctively reaching for him. he slides his hands into yours.
wide eyes scan your face, reading every microexpression, studying all the emotions you're too tired to conceal. his throat bobs as he swallows nervously. you squeeze his hands in reassurance.
"did you want to ask me something?"
your eyes snap up to his.
it's a perfectly innocent question. there are a thousand things he could be referring to. a thousand less difficult, less terrifying, less vulnerable things. but it's been less than three hours since derek spoke to you, less than three hours since derek told you - oh, god, right in front of spencer - to just ask.
"you heard that?" you manage to whisper.
"morgan's right. i realise it's somewhat hypocritical of me to say, but if you want something, you should ask for it. you're... you would get what you want."
mortified, you bury your face in his neck. he traces his hands up your wrists, up your arms, across your shoulder blades, spreading his fingers across your back and gently pressing you into his chest. you reach for his waist and grab two fistfulls of his cardigan.
"take your time," he soothes.
he's soft and warm and you don't want to move, but you're almost falling asleep standing up and you can feel his grasp on you starting to soften.
"can we talk about this tomorrow?" you mumble.
"yeah. yeah, okay, see you tomorrow. goodnight." he says, detangling himself from you. a hint of disappointment clouds his eyes, but he smiles at you, giving your hand a final, gentle squeeze before turning back towards the elevator.
you watch him walk away.
and you don't want to let go.
"it's late," you call out.
"yes, it is."
"it's late, spence. and, um, it's like a twenty minute drive back to your place, so by the time you get to yours it'll be even later. and it's not safe to drive when you're tired."
he practically trips over his own feet in his hurry to get back to you.
"what are you suggesting, exactly?"
"you could stay here. with me. if you want."
"do you have a guest bed?"
"no, just the one."
i wanted this to feel sleepy and dreamlike, almost like a bedtime story... only one bed trope jumpscare sry :P
aaron hotchner x fem!reader
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word count: 7k
Warnings: references to prior violence/trauma, and a fair amount of extremely overdue (but not explicit) spicy time.
a/n: so i don’t write explicit stuff, it’s just not really my thing, but i also didn’t want to let you guys down after all of hotch and lil baddie’s tension. so please accept this fade-to-black/allusion situation with grace if it’s absolutely horrendous 😭
May 2012
Bookend: "How am I a whore?" — Aaron Hotchner
At your six-week follow-up, the exam room is too cold, too bright, and smells aggressively of antiseptic and latex.
You sit on the edge of the paper-covered table in leggings and one of Aaron’s sweaters, sleeves tugged halfway over your hands, trying very hard not to look as restless as you feel. Your chart hangs clipped to the door. Your healing has become a file. A timeline. A neat little record of measurements, tissue response, progress, and whether or not your body has decided to cooperate.
The doctor comes in with a small smile and your chart in hand. “Well,” she says, settling onto the stool, “you look much better than the last time I saw you.”
That is not an answer, and unfortunately she seems determined to prolong your suffering by being thorough.
The exam is quick but not quick enough. You stare at the ceiling. She checks the scar sites, asks a few questions, presses gently where things used to feel impossible, and finally peels off her gloves.
“Healing nicely,” she says at last. “Scar tissue is settling well. Bruising is mostly resolved. You still need to be mindful of strain, but overall?” She glances up from the chart. “I’m very happy with this.”
Relief hits so fast it nearly makes you lightheaded.
“Okay,” you say, trying for casual and landing somewhere closer to desperate. “So. Two questions.”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Those are usually the dangerous ones.”
“Probably.” You glance down at your hands, then back up. “Can I go back to work?”
She leans back slightly, considering. “Light duty, yes. Nothing physical, no fieldwork, no situations where you’re going to be running, lifting, or throwing yourself into danger.”
You stare at her.
She stares back.
“I hear it too when I say it,” she admits.
You sigh. “Great.”
“But desk work? Consulting? Limited hours if you fatigue easily? Yes. You can return. Carefully.”
The word carefully sinks into your chest in a strange mix of relief and dread. Good. Wanted. Slightly terrifying.
You nod. “Okay.”
Then there’s the second question.
You can feel yourself getting warmer by the second.
The doctor notices immediately, because of course she does. “And your other question?”
You clear your throat. “Right.”
She waits.
You glance at the wall like maybe one of the diplomas will step in and save you, then force yourself to look back at her. “When you said no strenuous activity for six weeks…”
A pause.
“Yes?”
You gesture vaguely with both hands, mortified. “Am I cleared for that now too or...?”
There’s half a second of silence.
Then understanding floods her face so quickly you consider simply sliding off the table and perishing on the linoleum.
“Oh,” she says, in a tone that means she absolutely knows.
You close your eyes. “Yeah.”
To her credit, she remains professional, though there is definitely sympathy there. Maybe even amusement.
“You want the official answer?” she asks.
“I want the answer that keeps me from accidentally reopening something and ending up back here having this conversation with you again.”
She flips a page in your chart. You fold your hands in your lap and try to look like someone discussing normal adult logistics and not the single most loaded clearance of her life.
“If you’re not having pain, bleeding, or significant pulling at the injury sites, and you listen to your body, you can resume sexual activity carefully.”
The relief that hits you is so immediate and so visible that the doctor actually laughs.
“Carefully,” she repeats.
“Yes. Right. Carefully.” You nod far too quickly. “Very important word. Big believer in carefully.”
“No positions that place significant pressure on your abdomen,” she continues, oddly composed, “and nothing that requires you to support your full body weight for long periods. Start slow. Stop if anything hurts. And if you have increased pain afterward, you’ve done too much.”
You swallow, trying to stay dignified. “Understood.”
She scribbles something in your chart. “You seem very motivated to follow instructions.”
You look at her with all the solemnity you can fake. “Doctor, I have never been more committed to a treatment plan in my life.”
That pulls a real laugh from her.
When she finishes writing, she tears off the work release note and hands it to you. “Light duty for two weeks, then reassess if needed. And,” she adds, already standing, “congratulations.”
You blink. “On?”
She gives you a look that is entirely too knowing. “On healing.”
You take the note, trying not to smile like an idiot. “Right. Yes. That.”
You finish lighting the last candle just as a knock sounds at the back door.
Your stomach flips.
You make a brief detour to the hallway mirror, smoothing your hair with both palms, checking your mouth, your sweater, everything, even though it is far too late to fix anything now.
“It’s open,” you call, and immediately wince at yourself because apparently tonight you have chosen to abandon every survival instinct you’ve ever developed.
The door opens.
He steps inside, and your knees nearly stop cooperating.
Black button-down. Dark slacks. Sleeves unrolled. Collar open just enough to become a problem. He looks less like he came over for dinner and more like he arrived specifically to see how little oxygen your brain can function on.
You cross the room before he’s even fully shut the door.
“Please tell me you did not wear that to work today.”
Your arms go around his neck. His answer gets delayed because you kiss him before he can give one. His hands land at your hips, then slip into the back pockets of your jeans, pulling you in with a possessive little squeeze that sends heat straight through you.
“And what,” he asks against your mouth, “would be so wrong if I did?”
You draw back just enough to look at him. “You look too good, Agent Hotchner.”
His mouth curves. “That sounds suspiciously like a complaint.”
“It is a complaint.” You kiss him again, deeper this time, and when his tongue brushes yours, you catch it lightly with your teeth.
The sound that leaves him is low and completely worth it.
“No,” he says, breath roughening as he chases your mouth again. “I did not wear this to work.”
“Good.”
You rise onto your toes and end the kiss with a little press to the tip of his nose, just to be difficult.
He lets you go only long enough to turn and lock the door behind him. The deadbolt clicks into place.
Then he looks back at you. “Why was your door unlocked?”
You blink. “Because I knew you’d be here soon.”
“That,” he replies, following you farther into the kitchen, “is not the answer I was hoping for.”
“No?”
“No.” He leans one shoulder against the doorway and studies you with that narrowed, intent expression that somehow manages to feel both affectionate and severe. “I’m not thrilled by the idea of the woman I love…who has been stalked, abducted, and generally terrorized on multiple occasions leaving her back door unlocked.”
You glance up at him. “You make me sound very high-risk.”
“You are high-risk.” He pushes off the frame and comes closer.
You fight a smile and turn to the oven before he can keep going. “Then maybe,” you sing, sliding the tray out and setting it carefully on the stove, “I should give you a key.”
He stills.
“A key,” he repeats.
“Mhm.” You nod, suddenly much too aware of your own pulse. “A key.”
He takes one step toward you. Then another. Slow, like he does not want to startle the moment and lose it.
“You’re serious.”
“I don’t usually make duplicate-house-key offers as a joke.” You lean back against the counter, “I just thought… if this is where we are now, if this is what we’re doing, maybe I’d like you to be able to let yourself in.”
His face changes.
“Not in a weird pressure way,” you add quickly. “I’m not trying to launch us into shared utilities and a joint Costco membership. I just…” You glance down, then back at him. “I like you here. A lot. And I think I’d like the option of you being here even when I’m not standing by the door waiting for you.”
“I’d like a key,” he confirms, the answer immediate now.
Then his hand finds your waist again, and his mouth lowers to your cheek. “And,” he adds, lips brushing your skin, “possibly the Costco membership.”
You laugh under your breath and slide your fingers into his hair. “Wow. A key and wholesale privileges. We are moving at lightning speed.”
His mouth curves against your cheek. “I’m prepared to take the risk.”
You tip your head, giving him better access, smiling when his lips brush just beneath your ear. “Should we celebrate?”
He answers by catching your skin between his lips, just enough to make your breath snag. Then he lets you go with a quiet exhale that sounds suspiciously like restraint giving way.
“Lead the way,” he says.
Aaron sets down his fork looking full, relaxed, and entirely too in love for your peace of mind.
You nudge a piece of pasta around your plate, then glance up at him as if the question doesn’t matter nearly as much as it does. “Is Jack with Jessica tonight?”
His eyes lift to yours, already catching the meaning tucked beneath the words. “No,” the corner of his mouth shifts.
You narrow your eyes. “So your plans for the rest of the evening are…”
“Yours,” he states calmly. Then, after the slightest pause, “If you want them to be.”
Heat spills low through your stomach. “Good.”
His gaze moves slowly around the room—the candles, the half-empty bottle of wine, the low music drifting in from the living room, the very obvious absence of dessert.
You see the exact moment the profiler comes back online.
A laugh slips out of you. “I was wondering when Mr. Profiler would finally arrive.”
His eyes return to yours, more focused now. “Your six-week follow-up was today.”
“Mhm.”
“And?”
You lift a brow. “And what?”
His chair scrapes as he leans back, studying you with infuriating patience. “You made me dinner. Lit enough candles to concern the fire department. Offered me a key. There is no dessert.” A beat. “I’m drawing conclusions.”
You smile into your wine. “Are you?”
“I am.” His voice lowers. “I’d still prefer confirmation.”
You set your glass down and let him sit in the silence for one extra second simply because you can.
Then, sweetly, “I got cleared.”
“Cleared,” he restates.
You nod once. “Light duty at work for two weeks.” Then, because the color in his eyes has already changed and apparently you are committed to your own undoing, you add, “And a very careful resumption of…other activities.”
His jaw tightens.
You try for innocence. “There were guidelines.”
“Of course there were.”
You rise from your chair slowly, giving your side just enough thought to avoid pulling anything. He watches every movement, which only makes it worse.
When you stop beside him, he tips his head back to look up at you. “You planned this.”
You let your fingers drift lightly over the back of his chair. “Maybe. The lack of dessert was probably a little too obvious.”
His hand circles your wrist, then slides higher until his palm settles at the back of your thigh, his fingers tracing the curve there in one slow pass.
“You seem very pleased with yourself.”
“A little.”
He looks up at you with that unbearable combination of restraint and hunger that only seems to intensify now that he knows he doesn’t have to deny either one. “Tell me exactly what your doctor said.”
A breath of laughter escapes you. “That is the most Aaron Hotchner response imaginable.”
“I’d like the parameters.”
“You’d like the parameters?”
“I’m serious.”
Of course he is. Of course even now, even like this, he wants the facts before he lets himself touch you the way he wants to.
You step closer, one hand settling at the back of his neck. “She said if I’m not in pain, and if we’re careful, and if we stop the second anything feels wrong…” Your fingers slip into his hair. “Then yes.”
His eyes close for one brief second.
When they open again, they are darker.
“Careful,” he says.
“Yes.”
“We can do careful.”
You smile. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
“Come here.”
You set your glass aside, then swing one leg over his lap, sitting over him. His hands come to your hips immediately, guiding you down with enough control to feel almost criminal until the second your weight meets him and his grip tightens.
You brush your hair over one shoulder and slip your fingers beneath his jaw, tipping his face up to yours. He lets you. Lets you take the lead for half a second, even though every line of his body is already straining toward you.
“I love you, Aaron Hotchner,” you whisper against his mouth.
The look that crosses his face nearly ruins you before he even touches you again.
His hands flex harder at your hips. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”
And then his mouth claims yours with a husky sound caught somewhere in his throat, and you open for him immediately, because there was never going to be another response to this version of him.
His hands slide from your waist and curve under you, spanning your ass with a firmness that pulls a gasp from your mouth straight into his. You answer on instinct, rocking against him once, experimental and slow.
The effect is immediate.
A groan tears out of him. His head falls back just enough to expose his throat, his hips lifting beneath you in an involuntary response.
“Mmm,” you breathe, your mouth trailing along the line of his jaw. “I was wondering how long that famous self-control was going to last.”
One hand leaves you only long enough to thread into your hair and guide you back where he wants you. His mouth takes yours again, deeper this time, tongue sweeping in, and the sound you make only seems to destroy him further.
You feel his smile against your lips.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” you ask, half breathless, half gone.
“I think,” he says, voice jagged and pleased all at once, “you know exactly what you’re doing.”
You do it again anyway.
Another slow drag of your hips over his lap, no longer tentative, no longer testing. His grip tightens at once, both hands sinking more firmly at your hips as he takes over the movement, stronger now, more certain, setting a rhythm that knocks your breath out of order.
“Aaron—”
“I know,” he acknowledges, and he very clearly does not mean stop.
His mouth leaves yours to trace along your jaw, then your throat, each kiss hotter than the last while he keeps you close enough that thinking becomes increasingly unrealistic.
“This is becoming a pattern,” you gasp when he closes his mouth over the sensitive spot just below your jaw.
“Hm?” The sound vibrates against your skin.
“You kiss me senseless in my kitchen and then…”
“And then,” he declares, teeth skimming your ear, “we go upstairs.”
A shiver runs through you. “Yeah… that.”
The next thing you feel is the quick, playful sting of his hand landing against you, startling enough to pull a breath from your throat. Before you can even react, his palm smooths over the spot in a slow, intoxicating pass, like he’s just as interested in soothing it as he was in causing it.
“Upstairs,” he repeats.
You swallow hard. “Oh.”
“Mhm.” His mouth curves, smug and devastating. “Now.”
The kissing follows you back to the bed.
He comes down over you slowly, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand cupping your chest through the thin knit of your sweater while you arch beneath him, all want and nerves and finally. His mouth drifts from yours to your jaw, then back again, and for a few aching seconds you let yourself drown in it.
Then his fingers find the hem of your sweater.
And you freeze.
It is the smallest change in energy. Barely more than a held breath.
He catches it instantly.
Aaron lifts his head at once. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You shake your head too fast. “No, God, no. It’s not that.”
He eases back enough to see your face. The heat doesn’t leave his expression, but it eases. He sits up, then brings you with him until you’re tucked against his chest, one hand firm at your back, the other still resting at your waist like he has no intention of letting you go anywhere.
You stare up at the ceiling, willing your eyes not to betray you. “I just…” Your laugh comes out thin and wrong. “I don’t look the way I did the last time we…”
His hand rises to your jaw, thumb resting there, not forcing your face up, only waiting until you look at him.
“Y/N.”
You let out a small, wrecked sound. “I know. I know, it’s stupid, I just…” Your eyes drop to the sweater hanging from your frame, to everything hidden beneath it. “I knew how to live in my skin then. Now I…” Your voice catches. “I’m not sure what to do with this version of me.”
He takes your hand and places it flat against his chest, right over the steady thud of his heart.
“Do you know what I see?”
You shake your head.
“The woman I love.” His voice is quiet, certain, leaving nowhere to hide from it. “The woman who loved me when I was scarred, angry, grieving, and barely recognizable to myself.” His fingers close gently over yours, pressing your palm more firmly against him. “How could I not love you with the marks that prove you fought your way back? With the scars that prove you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known?”
A tear slips free before you can stop it. “You haven’t…really…seen them yet.”
He looks at you for one long second.
Then he lets go and stands.
Your breath catches, confused, until he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undoes them, calm and unhurried, and shrugs the fabric from his shoulders. The old marks on his body catch the light. Foyet’s legacy. Pain cut into skin. History made permanent.
He glances down at them once, then back at you.
“Have you stopped loving me yet?”
The question hits like a blow.
You shake your head instantly. “I could never stop loving you, Aaron.”
He lowers himself in front of you, kneeling between your knees, his hands settling lightly on your thighs.
“Now you know how I feel.” His eyes search yours. “Can I see?”
You hesitate.
Then, with trembling fingers, you reach for the hem of your sweater.
“Here.” He catches your wrists gently. “Let me.”
He lifts the sweater carefully, giving you every chance to stop him. When the fabric clears your head, you take it from him and immediately cover your face with both hands.
“I can’t look at you right now.”
“You don’t have to.”
Then you feel him move closer, and the first press of his mouth against your stomach makes you gasp.
His lips find one scar, then the next, each kiss placed with such care it feels less like desire and more like worship. Your fingers curl tighter over your face, but not because you want to hide anymore. Because the tenderness of it is almost unbearable.
Your hands slowly fall away.
His gaze drifts over you, then comes back to your face. “You want to know what I see?” His thumb traces lightly along your waist. “I see a woman so beautiful I can barely keep my hands off her. I see the strongest person I know. And I see the body I have wanted for so long I stopped trying to measure it in months.”
Heat crashes through you, humbling and healing all at once.
He rises just enough to bring his mouth to yours, kissing you slowly, deeply, giving you time to feel the difference. To feel how wanted you are. How entirely he means every word. His hands move to the backs of your thighs and draw you to the edge of the bed, his body fitting between your knees with devastating ease.
“You said you didn’t know how to live in this version of yourself.” His mouth brushes yours as he speaks. “Then let me show you.”
“Aaron.”
His eyes lift immediately. “Yes?”
“Stop being so careful.”
The shiver in your voice does something immediate to him.
He looks up at you, pupils dark, mouth parted, love and want wound together so tightly there’s no separating one from the other now. For a second he only watches you, like he’s making absolutely certain you mean it.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Your breath catches, but you don’t look away. “I’m sure.”
His hands move to the button of your jeans, deft now, sure, and when he glances up again it’s not for permission exactly. It’s for confirmation. For you.
“Lean back.”
You do.
Your palms brace behind you against the mattress as he unfastens your jeans slowly. Not fumbling. Not dragging it out for the sake of it. Just undoing them with the sort of focus that somehow makes the whole thing more painful in the best possible way. His knuckles skim your hips as he eases the denim open.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband and starts working the jeans down your hips, pausing only to press a kiss to the inside of one knee, then the other, as if he can’t help himself, as if even this belongs to the same act of devotion.
When the jeans are gone, his hands come right back to you, smoothing up your legs in one slow pass that leaves goosebumps racing ahead of him.
He leans in then, mouth brushing the inside of your thigh, not where you want him most yet, just near enough to make your whole body tense in anticipation.
“You can still change your mind.” His eyes stay on yours.
You reach for him instantly, fingers sliding into his hair, keeping him there. “I’m not changing my mind.”
A breath leaves him, sharp and hot.
“No,” he says, voice rougher now. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Aaron, just—”
The rest dissolves the second he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.
Pleasure climbs through you so fast it feels almost cruel, enough to pull a broken sound from your throat and send your head back against the mattress. His hands tighten on your thighs, steadying you through the first rush of it, and every deliberate movement says the same thing he has been trying to tell you all night.
You are wanted.
You are beautiful.
You are his.
Whatever fear was left in you about scars or softness or whether this body would still feel like yours under someone else’s hands vanishes almost instantly, because Aaron does not touch you like he’s making allowances. He touches you like he has been starved for the privilege. Like he is in love with every inch of you and intends to prove it beyond argument.
Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Oh, God—”
He glances up at you then, and the look in his eyes is enough to ruin what little composure you had left. He is intent. Completely taken apart by you even now, even like this.
Your whole body arches. The hand not tangled in his hair flies to the sheets, gripping hard. He holds you through it, one hand firm at your thigh, the other flattening briefly over your stomach as if he can feel every reaction moving through you and wants to keep pace with it.
“Aaron—”
A quiet sound leaves him, pleased and falling apart all at once, and that alone nearly destroys you.
You cannot stop looking at him. At the broad line of his shoulders. At his shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor. At the scars on his body that you loved without question and the way he is loving yours now just as fully, without a flicker of hesitation.
The realization hits almost as hard as the pleasure.
He meant it.
Every word.
Your voice breaks when you say his name again.
“I’ve got you.”
And God, the way he says it.
That is what sends you over.
For a few seconds, maybe longer, the room loses all shape.
There is only the hard pull of air into your lungs, the trembling aftermath racing through your limbs, the feeling of Aaron’s hands holding you steady while your body catches up to what just happened.
You come down in waves.
Not all at once.
Your fingers stay tangled in his hair because you do not quite know what else to hold onto, and your thighs are still shaking around him, every nerve lit and oversensitive and spent. He rises like he understands exactly how helpless you are, and the first thing he does is kiss his way back up your body with the same reverence he started with.
You swallow and fail to do it gracefully because your throat still feels tight and your whole body feels boneless. “I think I just saw God.”
A laugh breaks out of him then, that rare full laugh he only ever gives you. He drops his forehead to yours for a second, shoulders shaking with it.
“Is that right?”
“Mhm.” You close your eyes and nod like this is a perfectly serious report. “And he looked a lot like Aaron Hotchner.”
His hand slides over your waist, anchoring there, thumb moving in slow, soothing passes while the aftershocks keep rolling gently through you.
“Any pain?”
You take a second, actually listening through the haze. “No.”
He studies your face like he will know if you lie. Then, apparently satisfied, he kisses the corner of your mouth and eases himself up beside you.
Your fingertips drift over his chest before he gets far, tracing downward across muscle, over old scars, lower still until you reach the waistband that is currently under significant strain thanks to you.
A soft laugh slips out of you. “You know… when you came back from Pakistan, Penelope said you had a certain look about you. The kind that could only come from breaking years of celibacy.”
His brows lift. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” Your finger traces lazily at the edge of the fabric. “I think the beard really sealed the deal.”
His mouth curves. “It was that obvious?”
You smile, lazy and satisfied. “I told you then. You looked like a man who had finally gotten laid.”
A breath of laughter leaves him, but it catches when your finger circles again. “It changed me.”
“Well,” you sigh, eyes dropping pointedly, “I think the glow may be starting to fade. It has been a while.”
He tips his head back against the pillow, trying for composure and not entirely finding it. “And what exactly would you suggest as the remedy?”
You do not answer with words.
You push yourself up and move over him in one swift, impulsive motion, and the twist of it pulls at your healing skin enough to make you wince.
His hand is on your waist immediately. “Hey.”
You catch his wrist and guide his hand back to your hip. “I’m okay.”
His eyes search yours, concern still there, even now, even through everything else. “You’ll tell me if that changes.”
“Yes, Aaron.”
That helps. A little.
You arrange yourself more carefully this time, your hair spilling forward, your palms braced lightly against his chest. Beneath you, he lets out one long breath and looks up at you like he cannot decide whether to thank God or blame you.
You smile. “You like this?”
His hands spread over your hips, strong and reverent all at once. “I like anything that involves you on top of me.”
Fresh heat rolls through you.
You lean down and kiss him slowly, taking your time with it, letting him feel the shift. This is not passive. This is youwanting. Choosing. Meeting him with the same hunger he has been giving you all night.
Your hands move to the fastening of his pants, and the second he realizes what you’re doing, he helps without hesitation, impatience finally making itself known in a way that feels deeply satisfying.
Then you start moving against him with that same deliberate rhythm from the kitchen, only now there’s nothing left to buffer the effect. His hands lock onto your hips, his head tipping back for a second as a rough sound leaves him—one of those sounds that goes straight through you and sinks somewhere low and dangerous.
You kiss him again at once, like you need to catch it with your mouth.
Aaron is not a man who comes apart easily. Even now there is still some last disciplined part of him trying to hold order. Trying to stay composed. Trying to give more than he takes.
And then your head tips back, your body arches with it, and his name breaks out of you.
The sound goes through him like a blade straight to the center.
Whatever control he had left dissolves.
It happens all at once and in pieces. A sharp inhale. His hands locking at your hips hard enough to tell on him. His head falling back for one second as if the force of being wanted like this—openly, greedily, without reservation—has become almost too much to bear.
Then his eyes find you again.
And God, the look on his face.
Not just desire, though there is more than enough of that. Not just awe, though it floods him so plainly it nearly hurts to witness. There is something deeper in it too. Something stunned. As if some hidden, long-starved part of him still cannot quite believe this is real—that you are here, that you are choosing him, that you are saying his name like that while loving him with your whole body.
“Y/N—”
Your name leaves him broken.
You lean down to kiss him again, to soothe it, to answer it, but he catches your face in both hands before your mouth can reach his. He looks at you for one suspended second, breathing hard, eyes searching yours like he needs to memorize exactly who is giving this to him.
Then he kisses you.
Not with control this time.
Not with patience.
With everything.
Years of restraint, of discipline, of loneliness and almosts and all the words he swallowed for so long pour out of him without language. His mouth finds yours like he’s starved. Like you have just given him something he didn’t let himself believe he would ever have again—not just pleasure, but surrender. Permission. Love, unhidden and returned in full.
Your fingers tangle in his hair. His hands slide from your face to your waist and around your back, drawing you down until there is no room left at all. He buries a groan against your mouth, and it is not just the sound of a man being undone. It is the sound of a man being answered.
When it finally hits him, it is not dramatic. Aaron Hotchner does not lose himself loudly. He does it thoroughly.
His whole body tightens beneath you. One rough breath leaves him, then another, your name caught between them. His forehead drops against your shoulder as his hands hold you like you are the only thing keeping him tethered to the room, to his own skin, to the fact that this is happening and it is you and it is him and he is being loved like this.
You feel the exact second the last of his control gives way.
He shudders against you, pressing kisses to your shoulder where his head rests.
You kiss his temple. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth, because he looks so beautifully ruined and so impossibly dear you cannot seem to stop touching him.
When he finally lifts his head, his face is flushed, his breathing still uneven, and his eyes—
His eyes are devastating.
The almost wounded wonder of a man who has spent so much of his life bracing for loss and is now being held, kissed, wanted, and cherished all at once.
“You have any idea,” he begins, then stops to catch his breath, one hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face, “what it feels like to be loved by you like this?”
You shake your head once, because you don’t trust your voice.
His thumb grazes your cheekbone. “It feels,” he says, and there is nothing guarded left in him now, “like being forgiven for every year I wasted not asking for it.”
Your eyes sting.
He sees it at once and his mouth softens. “Hey.”
You laugh shakily. “That was a wildly unfair thing to say right now.”
A small, tired smile touches his face. “I’m not at my most strategic.”
“No,” you say, fingertips brushing his jaw. “I don’t think you are.”
He turns into your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. “I love you.”
Your smile comes soft and helpless. “I love you too.” Then, because you are still you, “And my doctor, for finally giving me the all-clear.”
That pulls a real laugh from him. He gathers you against his chest, arms closing around you with that deep, instinctive certainty that still feels new enough to make your heart stumble.
“It was worth the wait,” he says into your hair.
“Yes,” you admit, breath catching as you settle against him. “But no more waiting. Years of pent-up tension is simply too much for me as a person.”
“Agreed,” he says, laughter still warm in his voice.
You tip your head back to look at him. “Good. I’m glad we’re finally aligned on this.”
His mouth curves. “Finally?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Hotchner.”
“I do.” He kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose, like he still can’t quite stop himself now that he’s allowed. “And for the record, I have not enjoyed the waiting either.”
You pretend to consider that. “Hard to tell. You hide things so well.”
He gives you a look. “Not tonight.”
“No,” you say, smiling as you tuck yourself closer into him. “Definitely not tonight.”
His hand slides slowly up and down your back, soothing now instead of searching, and the two of you lie there grinning into the dark like a pair of teenagers who somehow got handed a future after all.
After a minute, you mumble against his chest, “You know what the best part is?”
He glances down. “What?”
“I don’t have to pine after you anymore.”
That earns you the softest laugh yet. “That’s good. I was getting a little tired of watching you pretend not to.”
You gasp and lift your head. “Pretend?”
His brow lifts. “You were not subtle.”
“That is deeply offensive.”
“It is also true.”
You narrow your eyes, but he kisses the protest right off your mouth before it can fully form.
He groans into your shoulder, the sound muffled against your skin, and your nails drag lightly down his back before you can help it. “Oh—oh,” you gasp, the words breaking apart on the way out.
He lifts his head just enough to find your mouth, your jaw, your throat, unable to decide where he wants to kiss you most. “You feel so good,” he gets out, voice ruined and reverent all at once.
“I’m—” Whatever you meant to say dissolves into a breathless sound when he moves again, when his hand tightens around yours, when the whole world narrows down to him.
“I know. Me too.” The words barely make it out before his mouth is back at your neck and the two of you shudder through the last of it together.
For a few seconds after, neither of you does much more than breathe.
He twitches once, twice, still coming back to himself, and you feel the smile begin against your shoulder before you see it. It is small and helpless and so pleased it makes your chest ache.
Then he starts kissing you.
Not urgently now. Just everywhere he can reach. Your collarbone. The top of your breast. The place just below it. Slow, lingering presses like he has all the time in the world and plans to spend it being grateful with his mouth.
You laugh weakly, still trying to pull air into your lungs. “God, work would be a lot more bearable if every day started like that.”
That gets a warm huff of laughter out of him. He lifts himself enough to look down at you, hair fallen over his forehead, mouth flushed from kissing you. “I agree. Productivity would improve dramatically.”
He eases away just enough that the lingering pulse between your thighs makes you squirm. His hand is there immediately, smoothing up your side and then back down again, soothing now instead of searching.
“Hey.” His eyes catch yours. “You okay?”
You nod, though your whole body is still humming. “Yeah. Just…” A shaky laugh slips out. “Recovering.”
His expression turns unbearably fond. “You did very well.”
You blink up at him. “Did I?”
“Mhm.” He brushes your hair back from your face, then seems unable to stop touching you after that. His fingers skim your cheek, your throat, your shoulder, his entire face gone soft in a way that still catches you off guard. “Very well.”
He bends to kiss the corner of your mouth. “If I’m being honest.”
Then your cheek.
Then your forehead.
Then your shoulder again, because apparently he has become incapable of leaving any piece of you unattended for too long.
You laugh and push lightly at his chest. “You are so touchy now.”
He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles, proving the point instead of denying it. “Get used to it.”
“Good,” you murmur, curling into him. “Because I’m not done being adored yet.”
His hand glides up your back in one slow pass. “That’s convenient,” he says, voice low and warm against your hair. “Because I’m not done adoring you.”
Your alarm goes off.
The sound is offensive enough to make you both groan.
You lift your head from his chest and squint toward the nightstand. “Well.” You reach out blindly for your phone and silence it. “Maybe you can keep adoring me in the shower, because we do, unfortunately, have jobs.”
He studies you for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You want to go back today?”
You flop onto your back dramatically, then turn your head to look at him. “I think if I can survive three rounds of this in the span of six hours, I no longer have a valid excuse not to go sit at a desk and answer emails.”
That earns a real laugh.
“Then,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow, “I suppose, as your boss, I should approve your return to work.”
You gasp. “That is such a misuse of authority.”
“And yet.”
You squeal, lunge for him, kiss him once, twice, and then slip out of bed before he can catch you and drag you back down. You make a dash for the en suite bathroom, half laughing, half trying not to trip over your own feet.
At the doorway, you turn.
He is still in bed, one arm behind his head now, sheet low at his waist, looking at you like the entire morning has been engineered specifically to undo him.
You lean against the frame, smiling. “You look like you’re in love, Aaron Hotchner.”
His eyes move over you once, unhurried and completely unashamed. “I am in love,” he says. “And I’m having a hard time believing that getting to watch you run naked to the shower isn’t some kind of hallucination.”
You laugh, bright and easy. “Come over here and pinch me.”
He throws the covers back without hesitation. “Be careful what you ask for.”
You barely have time to grin before he’s crossing the room, all sleep-warm skin and bed-tousled hair and that devastating, impossible calm he somehow keeps even when he’s clearly one breath from losing it.
When he reaches you, he doesn’t pinch you. His hands find your waist instead, and he backs you into the doorframe just enough to make you laugh again.
“That,” he says, dipping his head, “would be a waste of a perfectly good opportunity.”
“To do what?”
His mouth brushes yours once, soft and lingering. “This.”
You hum against his lips. “That does seem more productive.”
He lets you pull him in, smiling to himself like a man who would happily be late for the rest of his life if it meant starting his mornings exactly like this.
contents: spencer reid x fem reader. childhood best friends who are idiots in love!!!!! and a brief mention of clothes sharing bc im weak
notes: you will never guess who i just childhood best friendsified… also i picture mid seasons spencer during this but i just had to use this gif hes sooo cute
The second Penelope steps out of the bar, her hands fly desperately to her phone. She needs to text the only person who would enjoy the new information she has as much as she does.
ARE U HOME???? Sent 10:34 pm.
Spencer’s contact photo smiles back at her. It’s one of him from his early college days, which places him at about fourteen. He smiles sweetly at the camera from behind thick frames. It looks like he’s ready to correct someone who’s said something stupid.
Reid’s response doesn’t come nearly as quickly as she had hoped, seeing as she’s already standing outside his front door, her spare key in hand.
Yes, why? Are you ok? Received 10:40 pm.
It would be proper to knock and ask to be let in, but Penelope is a little past tipsy, and… it’s just Spencer. He trusted her enough to give her an extra copy of his house key, and with the information she has that’s just waiting to be freed from her mind… she knows he won’t mind.
It takes her a few tries to get the key into the slot, scratching the doorknob a few times before she can finally turn it. But then she’s spilling into Reid’s apartment, squinting into the darkness.
All the lights are off, and Penelope is just about to shoot him a very angry text about lying about being home when she picks up on the sound of the TV. She ditches her favorite pink pumps by the front door and hurries quickly into his living room.
During her rather difficult trip to the next room over, Penelope decides she’s going to have a serious talk with him about keeping the hallways clear. His house is a very clear health hazard.
With the serious lack of light, she bumps into what feels like a suitcase and nearly trips over a pair of sneakers before she even catches sight of the television.
The outline of Reid’s frame sticks out very quickly against the brightness of the TV. She doesn’t recognize the movie playing, but can hear him mumbling quietly to himself, and she giggles a little.
Reid makes commentary on movies out loud even when he’s all by himself. How cute.
Penelope grows sick of the darkness very quickly. Grumbling under her breath, she taps around the wall before flicking on the light.
“Reid, you’ll never guess who I just— Oh!”
The one big blob that Penelope had assumed was Reid comes into focus. Now bathed in the bright overhead lights, she watches in horror as the blob splits into two different people.
Penelope shrieks.
The blob on the left — the one that’s actually Reid — turns to face her, confusion and slight fear on his face.
“Garcia!” he says, his voice cracking up half an octave. “What are you doing here?”
The words pass in through one ear and out the other. Rubbing her dreary eyes, she squints at the half of the blob that’s sitting on the right.
It’s… a girl.
A girl. In Spencer Reid’s apartment.
Alone. With him!
The lack of space in between you both becomes very obvious the longer she stares. Spencer’s side is against the arm of his couch and you’re sitting next to him, leaning half against his chest. A patchwork blanket is thrown haphazardly over your laps, barely an inch of space between you.
“I— oh!” Penelope's eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees the arm he has wrapped around your shoulders. “Hi, hello, Reid. I didn’t know you had a guest.”
He gives her a sheepish smile, and the two of you untangle from each other. Spencer goes to greet her while you search for the remote to pause the movie.
Penelope stares without shame. You give her a sugary sweet smile while you fold the blanket up on the couch, looking exceptionally cute in what looks like Reid’s pajama pants.
“Garcia?” Spencer says, waving a hand in front of her face after what’s probably a moment of silence. “Are you okay?”
She swats him on the shoulder, whispering in what she hopes is a quiet tone. “Spencer Reid. Introduce me to your girlfriend!”
The blood rushes to his face. “My what? No… um. She’s not my girlfriend, Garcia—”
Spencer gets bowled out of the way when you nudge him to the side, a wide smile on your face.
Penelope almost awws out loud. You seem amused at his embarrassed stuttering but come to his rescue nonetheless. So cute.
You give her your name and your hand to shake, and she takes it in her own, shaking you around wildly.
“Are you Penelope?” you ask, ten seconds into the handshake Garcia still hasn’t stopped. Reid plucks your hand free from her grip, and you squeeze his wrist once before letting your hand fall down to your side. “Spencer talks about his team all the time. It’s really nice to meet you.”
Penelope soaks up every single detail of the way you interact with Spencer.
Spencer Reid, always so finnicky with physical contact doesn’t seem bothered by your closeness at all. The two of you are standing so close together your sides brush while you breathe. You’re wearing his pajamas and Reid’s hair is messy and unbrushed.
She’s never seen Spencer look so… domestic.
“Reid,” she says, turning to face her friend. “I think I’m hallucinating.”
She ends up on his armchair some time later, a tall glass of water in her hands given to her by Spencer in an attempt to sober her up. The both of you also assure her that you’re not a hallucination, and you even let her pull you into a hug just to make sure.
“Did you walk here from the bar by yourself, Garcia?” Spencer asks, the two of you blinking at her from his couch. He looks awfully concerned.
She waves him off, taking a nice sip of water. “Oh, relax. It’s barely a block from here, you know!” He doesn’t look too comforted, but she continues on. “I just— I had to come and tell you who I saw on a date there. And I know I should’ve knocked, so I’m sorry for that, but…” She points at you. “I didn’t realize you’d be on a date, too, Spencer!”
He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and you snicker from your spot next to him.
“This isn’t a date,” you say, prodding at Spencer’s side. “Me and Spencer are just friends.”
Penelope is far from convinced. “But… you were cuddling on the couch when I walked in.”
The two of you exchange a look.
“Cuddling?” you repeat. Penelope can’t tell if you’re a great actor or if there’s genuine confusion on your face. “We weren’t cuddling.”
“We were watching a movie.” Spencer shakes his head, his big brown eyes going comically large. “Definitely not cuddling.”
Are you two… trying to gaslighting her?
“But the blanket! And the hugging and the touching! I saw it. I am seeing it,” she insists frantically, water threatening to spill over the rim of the cup. “Why else would two people need to sit that close during a movie?”
Spencer gestures to the TV screen, still lit up. “I was just translating the movie for her. It’s in Korean and it’s only just been released, so it hasn’t been subtitled yet. We were sitting close because I don’t like translating too loudly during movies. I enjoy listening to the actors speak.”
His quiet mumbling earlier hadn’t been him talking to himself. It’d been him talking to you.
Ohh, Penelope thinks, and she says it aloud too.
There’s beeping from the direction of the kitchen and you get up, but not before squeezing Spencer’s shoulder on the way out. His eyes follow you until you turn the corner, like he’s reluctant to let you go ten feet to the next room.
When he turns back to face Penelope, she’s grinning.
“Just friends,” she muses, taking another long sip of water. “Are you sure?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure, Garcia. Why?”
“I don’t know about you, Boy Genius, but I don’t keep any of my friends a secret.” Penelope is sure her eyes are gleaming with excitement. She has a real life love story on her hands, whether Spencer wants to admit it or not. “I also don’t look at any of my friends like that!”
He smiles at her ribbing, looking at his lap. “I don’t look at her in any particular way, Garcia. And she’s—she’s not a secret. I just haven’t had the need to bring her up.”
“‘Cause you have a big fat crush on her?” she offers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “And you’re too scared to talk about her because you get all starry eyed and mushy whenever you do?”
“No, I do not have a crush on her. She’s visiting from Vegas. We’re close because she’s my childhood best friend.” He says it so quickly the words mesh together.
Penelope gives him a disbelieving mhm, and he rushes to defend himself.
“It’s not like any of the team talks about their friends from when they were kids. It wouldn’t make sense to bring her up.”
If Penelope was sitting close enough, she would swat at him again. “Well, you should’ve, since the two of you are absolutely not just friends—”
“Penelope, do you wanna stay for the rest of the movie?” you ask, appearing in the doorway with a big bowl of popcorn in your hands. “It’s almost over, but Spencer says the ending is crazy good.”
When you sit down on the couch again, you lean into Reid’s side and his arm goes around your shoulder almost automatically.
For translation purposes, she’s sure.
The two coworkers exchange a very loaded look.
This conversation is not over, Penelope’s eyes say.
We are not bringing this up ever again, Spencer’s silence replies.
Penelope gives you a wide grin. “Oh, I’d absolutely love to stay!”
She’s already looking forward to the future conversation between Derek and Spencer about his secret girlfriend who’s definitely, totally not his girlfriend.
notes: me giving spencer the childhood best friend he deserves because i cant imagine him going through all That alone…. my baby my baby….. also i fear i may be rusty at writing!!!!! lmk if u enjoyed !!!
summary - you and your boss does something not that common for you guys to do 30,000 feet above sea level
pairing - aaron hotchner x reader
warnings: SMUT +18, oral sex (m!receiving), semi-public sex, dirty talk, mentions of p in v sex, humping, mentions of cases, typical criminal minds talk
notes: DAY 1 of KINKTOBER, divider by i08cymm
main masterlist | criminal minds masterlist
The team gathered together on the jet. Hotch was passing out the files while Spencer turned on the small laptop in front of him to contact Penelope.
The case wasn't that rough on their stomach. There were two missing girls— both of them were best friends. Both was abducted 3 days, after their dance practice. As soon as team received the file, they quickly scanned and then shared their thoughts with the group.
It was only a short discussion since their technical analyst already has the name of the unsub and the suspected area where the girls were held. All of the team decided to do their own business. Reid read a book that he brought, Prentiss and Morgan were chatting about women, while Rossi and J.J chatted about J.J's son—Henry.
The team sees you and Hotch as the parents of the team. Hotch was strict, straightforward and silent like a father; you were sweet, kind, and cares for the team like a mother. What the team doesn't know is that you and Aaron are dating for a couple months now. There were times where you enter his office and have a little make-out session in there. The team doesn't suspect anything since you know, you both are parental figures— and thank God for that. They probably think that the both of you were discussing case files or help Hotch about his paperwork during those times.
And now, you felt that mood in you again.
The two of you haven't done it on the jet yet so it might sound like new to you and him. You gently stood up to your seat and excused yourself, leaving the team and went to the other side of the jet where Hotch was. You closed the curtains that was dividing the plane.
"Mama and Papa bear are talking about paperworks again. Can't they have a life?" Morgan commented, seeing you going to Hotch and slid the curtains.
"Well, work is always on their minds." Prentiss replied.
As you entered the area where Hotch was, he was sitting down, his back facing you, paper works were all over the table. It wasn't just any paperwork nor file, it's paperwork regarding the team's behavior. You find it funny when he does that since you know how silly the team member gets.
"Hey, what's up?" you walked towards him, getting his attention as he looked at you and smiled.
"Just the behavior paperwork." Hotch answered before his eyes went back to the file and answered.
"The team can get reckless sometimes." You laughed at his statement. You sat on the chair in front of him, crossing your legs. You observed him deeply. He wasn't that stressed nor tensed but you can see how his long sleeved white shirt was getting tighter and his muscles are getting visible which is making you feel something.
That feeling increased when you looked at his face. He was focused, his eyes fall in every word he writes. Jesus— he looked so fucking hot.
"Are you doing my behavioral report?" you asked as he grabbed a new file and opened it. You saw your 2 by 2 I.D card that was clipped on the pages of the file.
"Yes. I've done the others."
"Tell me about them— their report."
He scoffed at your request. Hotch grabbed the previous files and read each report to you. "Garcia hacked 3 private servers. Morgan kicked another door during our cases even though the door was unlocked. Reid academically insulted the local P.D during our previous case. And Rossi insulted another police.." Every word he said, it wasn't coherent to you but that didn't matter.
All your attention was to him. His eyes. His face. His arms. His fingers. And his... you know where. You felt that feeling rise up again. You felt like you need his touch— which you really do. You feel like the seat was stained with how wet you were right now.
"Are you okay? Are you listening to me?" Aaron asked.
The vulgar thoughts suddenly disappeared in your mind. "Y-Yes, I'm okay. And I'm listening to you."
"You're sweating. Your breath is rigid. Something is up." he didn't buy your answer. You stood up from your seat, you pushed the table away to the aisle and sat on Aaron's lap. He was surprised but he saw it coming. Your wet lips finally met his. He returned the kiss deeply, allowing the both of you to taste each other.
It's been awhile since the both of you had sex. Cases were always here and there. You even never had the time to sleep due to how busy the team was with these harsh cases.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "We've never done it on a plane.. or miles above sea level.."
"Please, Aaron— I just really badly need you." you begged as you began to rock your heated core with his thighs, riding him.
The both of you were still fully clothed but Aaron can definitely feel how wet you were. You humped on his thigh, finding a friction on his pants; and when you did, you gripped his shoulders for support and moaned softly, your head resting on his neck.
"What if we get caught?" Aaron asked, holding your hips for support.
"They won't. Fuck— you feel so good." you moaned.
His fingers found your clothed breast. It was hard and can be seen through your thin grey shirt and he was drooling about it. Aaron began to toy with your hardened nipple, making you moan out loud. He immediately covered your mouth, muffling out your moans.
As your pace went faster, your orgasm did too. You felt a coil in your stomach and clenched on his pants.
"Come for me, honey. That's it— you're doing such a great job." he praised in your ear.
After a few more rocks, you finally came in your underwear. It didn't stain his pants but it was crumpled.
"Since you're gonna do my report... then I'll show you what a bad behavior is."
You jumped out from his thigh and kneeled. Your fingers started to unzip his pants and pulled it down. Hotch was definitely hard. Then, you removed his black boxers, allowing his hardened cock to sprung out. There was a small leak of precum on his tip. Your fingers started to toy with his tip, brushing it in a teasingly way. Aaron closed his eyes at the pleasure, his back arched slightly. Your palms begin to pump on his whole length slowly.
Aaron was desperate.
Desperate for your touch.
Desperate for your mouth.
Desperate for you to take him whole.
"(Y/n).." he moaned softly.
A smiled carved your lips as you heard him moan your name. It was your favorite music. Your favorite note. Your favorite melody. Your palms pumped his dick faster and faster. He whined and whimpered. His head moved back with his eyes completely shut. In a surprise, your mouth fully took his cock, the tip hitting at the back of your throat. You gagged at first but you got comfortable after a few seconds; you started to bob your head, your tongue licking on his dick inside. Aaron's cock hit your cheeks, the soft and warm feeling made him even more harder.
"God—so warm.. Just like that, yes.." Aaron took a fistful of your hair and guided your speed. He was big, thick, and veiny. You looked at him with innocent eyes but a lustful mouth. You gripped his thighs for support as you continued bobbing your head.Your pace quickened and you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth.
He's close.
"Are you going to swallow it all, honey?" You nodded in response as he thrusted his hips, fucking your mouth over and over again.
"Swallow it all, honey. You're doing such a great job."
After a few more thrust and bobbing, he finally came. White, warm, and creamy liquid spurted out on his dick inside your mouth. You licked his dick from top to bottom clean, making sure you get to taste and swallow every single cum he has.
You stood up and Aaron put his boxers back on and buckled his pants. The both of you were out of breath.
"I'll list that. Not on the file but on my journal." Aaron commented.
"You know, Aaron, we still have 30 minutes 'till landing. Maybe you can pay me back, huh?" you said, grabbing his tie seductively and whispered on his ear.
Little did the both of you know, all the team members were now awake.
And they heard every single noise that came out from the both of you.
AN: After 10 million years, please enjoy the wedding!
The Ties That Bind Master List
You’re in the middle of making sub plans in preparation for being off Thursday and Friday. It was Wednesday now, and since your wedding dress wouldn’t be ready for at least another month, you had to go find something to get married in on Friday. You were just going to wear one of your regular dresses, but when you had said that Aaron, Jack, Jess, and Spencer had thrown a fit.
You’re heading down to the work room, to print out what will be needed while you’re gone, when you hear the tell tale signs of heels against the floor. Your eyebrows shoot up at the sight of Penny, Will, and Jess coming down the hall, led by your principal.
“Ms. Reed.”
You smile and greet her, “Ms. Preston.”
“I hear the wedding has been moved up.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She gives you a gentle smile, “Your friends told me why, and it’s time for you to go.”
You wince, “I still have a few things to finish.”
“Nonsense. Send me everything in an email, and I’ll handle it from there.”
Penny shoots you a thumbs up, and you nod, “Alright. Thank you.”
She laughs, and waves off your thanks, “I hope you have an amazing wedding.”
“Thank you.”
Ms. Preston nods and heads off. You look at your friends, “Thank you.”
Penny giggles and takes your hands, “Come on. We have shopping to do!”
You laugh, “I have to get my stuff first.”
You lead them to your classroom. You let them look around while you send the email to Ms. Preston, and then you start packing up your things. The four of you head out in Will’s car. Penny talks the entire way there, “Okay, so I have no idea what your actual wedding dress looks like. You know since I didn’t get to tag along.”
Jess shoots you a look. Penny hadn’t been mad that you’d gone without her, but she had been bugging you for details ever since. You still intended to wear that dress for your wedding ceremony.
You laugh, “It was spur of the moment Penny, and you were working a case.”
“Well I’m thinking we should go for fun. Maybe a tea length dress? Or? Ohhhh! A wedding pant suit.”
You laugh. To be honest you’re more than a little tired. The last few days have been a whirlwind. You’ve been busy preparing Aaron to ship out to Pakistan, trying to help Jack work through his emotions and prepare him for going months without his father, and you’ve had everyday life. It’s sweet that they want to make this special for you, but you really plan on keeping this simple and waiting for the big ceremony. However, if this really makes them happy, you’re happy to do it.
You live to regret those words when Penny drags you to no less than ten stores. You’re not even sure how she manages it. You end up at stores waaay after closing in a few cases, but everyone seems more than happy to be open for you. You suppose Penny really does know everyone, and everyone really does love Penny.
Still, when it hits ten o’clock, you’re done. Thankfully you aren’t the only one who feels that way. Will, who is next to you, watching Penny and Jess argue over a certain dress, leans in and says, “I think you were smart to just take Jess and Jack the first time.”
“I think Aaron and I better damn well stay married, because a divorce and new marriage might just kill me, and I’m not talking emotionally.” Will laughs.
You head home without a dress, and Penny tells you to be ready first thing in the morning to try again. You and Will whimper. Luckily Aaron is waiting for you. Jack has long gone to bed, but Aaron is on the couch, with a tumbler of what looks like whiskey. It’s barely been touched. He takes one look at you, and opens his arms.
You go to him and snuggle in. It makes you want to cry, because you know you won’t be able to snuggle with him for much longer . . . for a long time. He kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”
You yawn, “Love you too.” And with that the two of you head to bed.
True to word Penny and Jess arrive early the next morning with a very sleepy and grumpy Will. Aaron puts travel mugs with very strong coffee into your hands, and another into Will’s. Will looks like he could kiss your fiance. Penny tugs the two of you out before that can happen.
****
While you are wedding dress shopping Aaron is trying to take care of other things. He has the appointment made at city hall, and he’s in the process of trying to make a reservation at a nice restaurant, but it’s hard when it’s last minute.
He’s on the phone with a restaurant he’s taken you to a few times, when there’s a knock on the door. He opens it up and finds Dave, Morgan, and Spencer storm in. He lets out a groan, when the restaurant says there’s no room for Friday.
He hangs up. “What are you all doing here?”
Dave smiles, “We have come to help out. Flowers will be delivered shortly, along with our suits. I have also made a reservation at a fabulous restaurant for your wedding after party.”
Aaron raises an eyebrow, “How did you manage that?”
“I’m rich Aaron.”
He glances at Spencer and Morgan. Morgan is smart enough to not say anything, Spencer on the other hand, “That seems like a fairly obvious conclusion.”
He just barely resists slapping the back of his soon to be brother’s head.
Dave carries on, “The only bad thing is, we have to put the boutonnieres and bouquets together.”
Aaron can’t resist, “What happened to being rich?”
Dave waves it off, “They wanted a ridiculous amount of money to put them together on short notice. I’m rich not stupid. And how hard can it be to put together some flowers?”
There’s a moment of silence before Spencer says, “I believe that is what people call, famous last words.”
****
You listen as Jess and Penny argue at the front of a small vintage store. Will is following you around as you look through the dresses on the hanger. That’s when you find it. You smile to yourself as you pull it from the hanger. You look at Will, and he grins.
“Try it on, and if that’s the dress, don’t let Penny or Jess see you in it.”
You stare at him, “Feeling a little evil?”
“Twenty seven stores. They’ve dragged us to twenty seven stores, and that was after making me try on nineteen different suits in order to find the right one for Aaron and Jack and the others. And then I had to watch as they tried on bridesmaid dresses. I’m ready to conquer the world.”
You bite back a laugh, and head into the dressing room. The dress looks amazing on you. It gives you the same feeling as the other. You quickly show Will who gives his stamp of approval, and you change.
You sneak back up while Will makes a distraction, and check out. You come up behind Jess and Penny as they fuss at Will for something. You clear your throat, “I’m ready to go.”
They both spin and look at the hanging bag you’re holding. Both of their mouths drop open, but neither says anything for a moment. Finally, Penny says, “You still need shoes.”
Will curses, and then says, “You have got to be kidding me!”
You smile, and head home. You give the dress to Will who takes it and hides it from Penny and Jess. He promises to hide it from JJ too.
You enter the apartment to find Aaron and a crying Jack.
You head to Jack’s room, where Aaron is holding him. You can just make out his words. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay.”
You settle on the bed next to them, and place your hand on Jack’s back. You rub up and down and then sandwich him between you and Aaron. Eventually, Jack calms down and you try to reassure him, “We are going to skype with daddy, every day. And I promise I’m going to be here the entire time, and Aunt Jess too. And we’ll spend time with Uncle Dave and Uncle Spencer.”
A teary eyed Jack nods snuggles into the both of you.
*******
You get married at eleven in the morning. You’re in a last minute dress, and you’d gotten ready in the courthouse bathroom with the rest of the girls. It’s nothing like you expected, and yet you don’t regret it.
Spencer is waiting for you as your group of girls, plus Will, step out of the bathroom. He smiles at the sight of you. The others go on ahead, leaving you and your brother alone.
He kisses your cheek, and then you pull him into a hug. Quietly you whisper, “Who knew?”
Spencer pulls back, “Who knew what?”
“Who knew, that all those years ago, when mom brought you home, that you would be one of the best things to ever happen, and that you would lead me to other amazing things.”
Spencer smiles, “I had to pay you back for raising me, and taking care of me, and everything else.”
“That was my pleasure.”
“I love you, sis.”
You hug him again, “Love you too.”
With those words he offers his arm, and walks you to the very small aisle in the justice of the peace’s office. The moment you lock eyes with Aaron, you feel a feeling of completion fall over you. You’re ready for the future.
On a Saturday morning after a night of drinking, the last thing you personally cared for was to be awoken by the loudest noise on earth. Some terrible creaking sound, mixed with thuds that seemed to resound in your apartment every thirty seconds had you practically developing a stress-induced twitch as you laid in bed.
To put it nicely: you were at the end of your rope.
You begrudgingly got out of bed, roughly washed your face, angrily brushed your teeth, and stomped to your door. You may not usually be prone to dramatics, but you felt it necessary for your well-being this time. You opened your door, about to confront your terribly noisy neighbor, when you realized that it was someone moving in.
You wanted to be angry. You really did. But…
“Hello,” said a man who you could only describe as genuinely tall, dark, and handsome. He also looked a little surprised.
You wiped the scowl off your face. “Hi.”
He looked around, as if the answer for you standing in your doorway in pajamas, looking quite annoyed, would appear out of thin air. It didn’t. You realized as much about thirty seconds later as you finally started speaking.
“Sorry. Are you moving in?”
"Oh! Yeah," he breathed out a small laugh. God he was handsome. "I apologize for the noise.”
You shake your head. “No! No, that’s okay. Just… curious.”
He smiled a little and you tried not to melt on the spot. He reached his hand out in greeting.
“I’m Aaron.”
You shook his hand, trying not to stare at him as you gave him your name.
“Nice to meet you,” you said softly.
“You, too. Uh… I’m just gonna…” he trailed off, nodding at the box under his arm.
“Of course!” you nod quickly. “Right. Um… I’ll see you around, Aaron.”
You went back to your apartment, shutting the door behind you with a little grin. So much for staying determined to be grumpy and less than pleasant today.
It was, unfortunately, two weeks later before you saw him again. This time as you were checking your mailbox in the lobby. As you heard someone clear their throat, you muttered a small apology, stepping out of the way as you looked through the letters in your hand.
“Um… hi,” he offered as a greeting that made you jump a little bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Just wanted to say hello."
You looked up at the voice that was irritatingly smooth, finding yourself getting a bit warm in the cheeks when you noticed him giving you almost a shy smile. You turned towards him more to give him your full attention.
"Oh, gosh. Uh, sorry," you chuckled softly, returning his smile. "Guess I'm not very good at being neighborly, am I?"
"You're doing just fine. I'm sure it might be a little... maybe off-putting to have a strange man approach you in the lobby, now that I think of it."
You shook your head. “It’s not that at all. I’m just… not used to people approaching me here at all.”
“Not exactly social?”
“More like nobody else here is. I don’t mind a little company,” you replied, a little more flirty than you were intending.
Clearly he didn’t mind.
“Good to know,” he nodded once with a growing smirk.
“Uh…” you clammed up a tiny bit. “So… Um, are you, like, new around here?”
“Only to this building. I’ve been in D.C. for too many years to count,” his smirk melted into a softer smile. “Just needed someplace new, I guess. My old apartment… I just needed a change of scenery.”
“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’ve been there,” you nodded softly. “How are you liking it so far?”
“It’s great. My son loves it here.”
Your brows raised a little. “You have a son?”
“I’m shocked you didn’t file a complaint last night with the tantrum he threw,” he chuckled a tiny bit.
“I was out last night, so no worries here.”
“Oh? With friends, or…?”
You couldn’t help but smile a little more. “Yeah. Just a couple of girlfriends.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Maybe too much fun.”
“You get up to a lot with them?” he asked casually, though not without humor, crossing his arms over his chest.
You smiled. “Only on occasion. I don’t think I could really handle the way they go out practically every single night. I only agree to go out like that with them once a month.”
“Now you’re sounding a little too much like me for someone so young and pretty.”
You find your cheeks warm at that, though you try not to react outwardly. You could tell that he knew just how much he had affected you, though. If you didn’t know any better, you might guess he was a mindreader.
“I think you make yourself out to be too boring for someone so friendly and handsome.”
He laughed a little at that. Then a comfortable silence falls over the both of you for a moment. Maybe two moments. Eventually, you shift your weight, and look back up at him again. He really is horribly handsome. A guy shouldn’t be able to look like that, and… God, he smelled good, too. You shuffled the mail in your hands a little bit before speaking again.
“Uh… Well, it was nice chatting with you, but unfortunately I do have to go clean my apartment. Family is coming over tomorrow,” you said softly. “I’ll see you around, though, yeah?”
“Yes, that sounds… sounds good. Maybe if you end up wanting some of that company you were talking about, we could get dinner some time?”
You couldn’t help a giddy smile sneaking onto your face. You nodded easily, glancing at his hand as he shut your mailbox for you near your head.
“I could come knock on your door some time soon and invite you properly, if you’d be alright with that,” he said, that little smirk sneaking back onto his face.
Hii, I would like to request a Derek Morgan angst/fluff imagine
Like she sees him with another women and thinks he’s with that women and she’s heartbroken. So her and Spencer (because why would Spence miss out on messing with Derek) come up with a plan to make him jealous. So she and spencer pretend to be together, yk hugging each other and being touchy when everyone is around and so Derek finally confronts her like “so when we’re you going to tell me about you and spencer.” You can make up the rest but that’s basically it!
Two can play that game
Pairing: Derek Morgan x reader, Spencer Reid x platonic!reader
Summary: Derek cant keep himself from seeing other women (or so you thought) so with the help of spence you give him a taste of his own medicine
Warning: Derek is a man whore, Spencer is a sweetheart, the literal tiniest bit of angst.
AN: whoever requested this I love you. When I read your request I was so excited to start it.
You knew Derek Morgan was a… lady’s man, to put it lightly, which is why he made it so easy for you to fall for him. He was good-looking and a natural flirt but also a protective sweetheart who cared more about the people he loved than anything else. So when he walked into the BAU headquarters with a pretty woman at his side your heart nearly dropped. It wasn’t one of his sisters or his mother so who was she? They seemed to be in a pretty serious conversation, one that you couldn’t hear.
The two of you had been more involved than not, but you weren’t dating much to your dismay, so that meant technically he could still lay with any woman he wanted to and you guess he did.
You hadn’t realized you were staring until a hand waved in front of your face. “You okay?” You looked up to see Spencer holding a coffee in his hand, you’d forgotten that you asked him to make you one when he went to make his. “Do you know her?” You asked nodding your head to where Derek and the unknown lady stood. He looked over tilting his head. “I can't say I do no” he replied with a frown. He turned back to you “Why did something happen?” He asked. You sighed leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee from his hand as you did so.
Spencer wasn’t good at social cues, but it didn’t take a lot for him to see that you were jealous, the way you intently watched Derek and the mystery woman with creased brows and an unmistakable frown that only made its way to your face when the situation involved Derek. “Are you jealous?” Spencer asks quietly, tilting his head in question. You almost choked on your coffee at the question. “Sorry, what?” You quickly asked, clearing your throat. “No, I'm not I'm just… curious” you finished with a tight-lipped smile. “Oh she’s jealous,” Penelope spoke from behind you.
You whipped your head towards her “Seriously pen?” You hissed. She shrugged while sipping her coffee “Not like you're trying to hide it, even Reid picked up on it” she said with a playful smirk, gesturing to the curly-headed man standing next to you, he looked offended at the statement. “Okay so what, maybe I'm the tiniest bit jealous.” You muttered, looking back at Derek and the woman. “So, make him jealous,” Penelope said, dragging out the ‘so’. “And how do you suppose I do that?” You asked, leaning back in your chair. “Very simply, use Spencer,” she said casually.
Both you and Spencer turned toward her, “Think about it, as much as he wouldn’t admit it, Spencer is kinda like his best friend, other than me obviously. And there’s no doubt he's attracted to you” she said. You thought about it, looking at Spencer who shrugged “I don't mind” he said. So you nodded, agreeing to her plan. Penelope squealed in excitement, “This is so going to backfire on me but if it means you two finally get together I am completely okay with that” she said. Just then, Pen's face dropped and she urgently whispered “he's coming, Spencer be natural and not so well… you.” She said before scurrying off in her hot pink kitten heels.
Derek approached you and Spencer, eyeing the scurrying blonde, “what was that about” he asked with a raised eyebrow pointing to Penelope’s office. You and Spencer looked at each other and shrugged “No idea” Spencer answered. Derek didn’t look convinced but decided against saying anything. Then Spencer placed an arm over your shoulder, “We should get to work, I'll see you later hmm?” He asked, you were surprised at how naturally it came out but didn’t let it show. Smiling you nodded with a quiet ‘yeah’ playing into your part. Derek's brows raised even more at the interaction, he didn’t seem pleased with it. “Wanna tell me what that was about?” He asked, tone a little deeper than usual.
You held back a smirk and let a confused look consume your features “What?” You asked. He pointed between you and Spencer who had just sat down at his desk “There something goin’ on between you two” he asked skeptically. You huffed a laugh “C’mon Derek you know better than that” you said purposefully sounding unconvincing. His expression hardened, giving you and Spencer a look before walking off.
Penelope's plan was officially in action and you and Spencer were playing your parts perfectly. As the day progressed the two of you got more and more into it. Hugging, whispering, even going as far as holding hands. And it went on for days, the team could feel the tension radiating between the three of you.
“I don't think I can do this much longer, he looks like he wants to murder me every time he lays his eyes on me” Spencer whispered to you as he walked you to your desk. You laughed “I can see that, don't worry he'll break soon. I can feel it,” you said, and even right there, and then you could feel Derek’s glare from his desk.
Derek's final straw had been when the team got a new case and instead of sitting in your usual spot, you sat next to decided to sit with Spencer. So when you landed Hotch assigned you and Derek the task of talking to the victim's parents. The tension in the car was unmistakable. You were holding your breath, waiting for the moment he decided to say something. You didn’t have to wait very long because about three minutes into the car ride he started “So something is going on with you and Reid” he said with an even tone. “No, I told you that already” you replied, matching his tone. he scoffed “So this past week with the giggling, hugging, and secrets, you're still telling me nothing is going on” he pushed. You smiled “If I didn’t know any better Derek Morgan I'd say you sound a little jealous,” you said teasingly. He took his sunglasses off, keeping his eyes focused on the road “I just want to know the truth” he sighed.
You frowned slightly. “Derek nothing going on between Spencer and I,” you told him honestly. “But,” you said, making him tense. You tried not to let him see the smile growing on your face “We did exceed our plan” you laughed. His face morphed into confusion “What are you talking about?” He asked “Well… we kinda came up with a plan to make you jealous and it worked very well,” you said dragging out the ‘well’. He looked as if he was processing the information before he let out a laugh “So you mean to tell me this whole week has been a big joke” he asked. You nodded, humming a ‘mhm’ with a smirk. “Oh y’all play dirty,” he said. You laughed even louder “Oh yes we do” you confirmed. He nodded “Alright I'll give it to you, but what made you do it anyway?” He asked. Your smile dropped at his question “You're a profiler, I'm sure you can figure it out” you said, turning to look at him.
You watched the gears turning in his head, and then you could see the answer dawned on him. “This about last Tuesday?” He questioned. You nodded “Right in the net Derek Morgan” you answered. “Now it was his turn to laugh “Baby girl, you tellin’ me you did all this because of my cousin?” He asked. You frowned in confusion turning your whole body to face him. “Cousin? That’s who she was?” You asked. He laughed, giving you a nod “Yes she was arranging for a family dinner, wouldn’t leave ‘till she had a date to set” he clarified. Your face burned and you wished you could crawl out of your skin. “I thought you slept with her.” You muttered embarrassed. He laughed extra loud at this “You should know there ain’t nobody else for me but you miss thing” he smiled.
“I- you-“ you stuttered but he cut you off “I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you,” he said. You sighed, sinking into your seat. He stopped in the driveway of the victim's home and grabbed your hand “Come on, pretty mama let me see that pretty face” he teased. You sat up looking at him “How about this, after this case is over I'll take you on a date and we can go from there.” He said. You nodded in agreement he smiled giving you a quick pack on the lips. “Now come on mama, let's go talk to these parents,” he said exiting the car.
