summary!: Jeremy Gilbert has always been a walking tragedy, blood on his hands, ghosts in his lungs. When he disappears into the woods for another reckless hunt, you go after him, even knowing how often he tries to push you away. But under the moonlight and soaked in violence, something breaks between you both. What begins as an argument spirals into something raw, desperate, and real, something that might finally make him want to live.
Pairing: hunter!jeremygilbert x femalehuman!reader
Trope: hurt/comfort, friends-to-something-more, mutual pining, emotionally repressed idiot x the only person who sees him
smut warnings!: oral sex (m&f), rough sex against a tree, dom!jeremy, light choking (consensual), hair pulling, dirty talk praise/degradation, overstimulation, semi-public sex, emotional breakdown sex, jeremy being feral and a little unhinged.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
The woods feel different tonight.
You notice it the second your boots crunch down on the mossy underbrush, branches whispering like they know something you don’t. The air is thick, humid in that Southern, late-summer way, but beneath the heat, there’s something colder. Something wrong.
Terribly wrong.
You push forward anyway, your flashlight slicing through the darkness in a narrow beam. The grip of your blade is still warm in your hand from the last time you used it. Not on a vampire, not tonight, but the way Mystic Falls has been lately, you know it’s only a matter of time.
And you know he’s out here.
Jeremy Gilbert.
Vampire hunter.
Walking trauma magnet.
Elena’s little brother, but only in name these days. There’s nothing little or soft about him anymore, not since he came back from the dead with darkness etched behind his eyes. Not since the hunter’s mark burned itself across his skin like a brand.
You haven’t seen him since yesterday, when he’d muttered something vague about “tracking movement east of the Falls” and disappeared before you could make him promise not to do anything stupid. Again. Typical Jeremy.
Now it’s past midnight. You’ve called him twice. Texted four times. Silence.
So you come looking.
The smell hits you before anything else, metallic, thick.
Before all of this, before you knew of the supernatural, when you thought your life was simple and normal, you never knew how poignant the smell of blood could be.
You also never knew how often that smell would linger around you.
More Jeremy than you, actually. Since he himself says that everyone keeps dying on him.
Everyone but you, you want to tell him. But every time you try to get close to him, to show that you care, he pushes you away. Like he hates you, or worse, hates the thought of losing you.
That smell again.
Blood.
It weaves through the night like a warning. You slow your steps, muscles tensing, and flick the flashlight off. Your human ears do the rest. A sharp crack in the distance. A grunt. Something heavy hitting the ground.
You know how stupid you look. A human, alone in the woods with nothing but a mere flashlight, surrounded by a sea of trees, trapped in a town full of anything a nightmare would dream of.
But you're here for Jeremy, you remind yourself.
You move faster.
The clearing appears suddenly, like the trees just give up trying to keep you out. You step through the last wall of brush and freeze.
He’s there.
Jeremy’s crouched low beside a fallen body, chest heaving, shirt soaked through with sweat and crimson streaks that you hope aren’t his. One hand grips the handle of a bloodied stake buried in what used to be a vampire’s heart. The other shakes slightly as he yanks it free.
“Jeremy,” you breathe.
His head snaps up. His eyes, wild, dark, not right, lock onto yours. You see the moment he registers you. The way his entire body tenses like you’re another threat. Then, slowly, the tension drains from his shoulders, replaced by something worse: exhaustion.
Resignation.
He stands, legs unsteady, and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “What are you doing out here?”
His voice is rougher than usual, like he hasn’t spoken in hours. It scrapes against your nerves.
You step closer. “I could ask you the same thing. You went dark. Again.”
“I had it handled.”
You scoff, gesturing to the body. “Yeah, clearly.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he turns away, grabbing his bag off the ground and slinging it over his shoulder. You catch the wince he tries to hide and immediately move to his side.
“Jeremy, stop.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You always say that,” you snap, grabbing his arm.
His muscles go rigid beneath your fingers. For a second, he doesn’t move. Just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s deciding whether to shake you off or let himself crumble.
You look at him, really look at him, and your heart sinks.
There’s a shallow gash running along his ribs, tearing through the side of his shirt and leaking blood in a steady trail down his hip. His knuckles are split, crusted in red. There’s a bruise forming on his cheekbone, angry and violet beneath the moonlight. But it’s not the physical damage that gets to you. It’s his eyes.
There’s a storm behind them.
“You could’ve died out here,” you say quietly.
He laughs. It's humorless. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Jeremy.”
“I said I had it under control.”
“No,” you bite out, stepping in front of him. “You never have it under control. You throw yourself into these hunts like you’re trying to get killed. Like maybe you think you should.”
The words hang between you like fog, heavy and cold.
He finally looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes soften just enough to make your stomach twist.
“I’m not trying to die,” he says, voice low. “I’m trying to make it mean something.”
You shake your head, tears stinging hot behind your eyes. “And what happens when it’s not enough? When your death doesn’t fix anything? What do we do when Elena finds your dead body? What do we do then, Jeremy?”
His silence is the only answer he gives you.
And it hurts, how much he doesn’t say. How much he carries in that quiet suffering he thinks no one sees. But you do. You’ve always seen it.
Without thinking, you reach out and press your hand against his chest, right over the place his heart thuds beneath the blood-soaked cotton. His breath catches.
“I came out here because I care about you,” you say, voice shaking. “Because if something happened to you, I’d—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, harsh. But his hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, holding it against him. Like he needs the contact more than he wants to admit. “Don’t say that. Not unless you mean it.”
“I do.”
You don’t even blink when you say it. Because it’s the truth. Every word.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of crickets, wind in the trees, your ragged breathing.
Then, something breaks in him.
His mouth is on yours before you can speak again, hot, urgent, messy. There’s blood on his lips, but you don’t care. You taste sweat and desperation and something that feels dangerously close to grief. His hands are rough when they grab your hips, pull you closer. Yours find the back of his neck, fingers tangling in damp hair.
It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. But it’s real.
And you think: maybe this is what he needs. What you need. Just for tonight.
A reason to stay breathing.
You don't know who moves first.
One second, you're clinging to the shattered breath between you, and the next, he's slamming you back into the nearest tree with a grunt, mouth crashing into yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s starved for you. The bark digs into your spine, rough and grounding, a painful contrast to the way Jeremy's lips part yours so easily, so desperately.
His hands roam your body with none of the caution he used to show, no hesitation, no asking. Just need, pouring out of him like blood from a wound. One hand fists in your shirt, dragging you closer like he wants to merge you with him, like proximity is the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
You kiss him back harder.
Fingers in his hair. Nails scraping against the back of his neck. You don’t care about the dirt under your boots or the blood on his skin. You don’t care that the woods are silent now, like even the night is holding its breath.
All you care about is this.
Jeremy groans low into your mouth when you bite his bottom lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him feel it. His grip tightens on your waist, and then he’s dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point like instinct. Like he can smell how fast it’s beating.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he growls against your skin, voice dark and low. “I told you to stay away.”
You let your head fall back, exposing your neck to him. “You knew I’d come anyway.”
He presses his forehead against your collarbone, breathing you in, hands trembling where they grip your hips. “You don’t get it,” he whispers. “I can’t be gentle right now. I don’t have that in me.”
“Then don’t be.”
That’s all it takes.
He groans like the words physically crack him open. Then he’s turning you, pressing your chest to the tree, his body molding to your back. His hands slide beneath your shirt, rough palms skating over your skin. The scrape of his calluses makes you gasp. Every touch is urgent, like he's making sure you're real. That you’re here. That he hasn’t lost you, too.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against your ear, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other creeping up to your chest.
You reach behind you, grab a fistful of his hair, and yank him closer. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
His laugh is dark, wrecked. And then he’s kissing down your neck again, tongue dragging slow and hot over the shell of your ear before he sinks his teeth, not fangs, just teeth, into your shoulder. Enough to make you shudder.
Clothes come off in frantic pieces. He helps when he can, but mostly he just watches, chest heaving, blood still drying in streaks across his skin. His hunter's mark is partly visible now, twisting over his ribs, and you trace it with your fingers as you turn to face him again.
“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, because he is. Even like this. Especially like this.
He exhales sharply like it hurts to hear. “You shouldn’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you do… I won’t let you go.”
You step in, lips ghosting over his, and whisper, “Then don’t.”
And he doesn’t.
Your back hits the tree again, and this time, it hurts, but you don’t care. Not when Jeremy’s hands are on you like this. Not when he kisses you like he needs you to breathe. His tongue pushes into your mouth, desperate, demanding, and you give it all, your breath, your moan, your goddamn sanity.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t want this,” he pants against your jaw, dragging his lips down your throat. “Not like this. Not with you.”
You grab a fistful of his bloody shirt and yank him closer. “Then stop thinking.”
He growls, growls, low and wrecked, and that’s all the warning you get before he drops to his knees in the dirt and shoves your pants down in one rough motion. You hiss when the night air hits your skin, but then his hands are on your thighs, forcing you open, and his mouth—
Holy fuck.
Jeremy licks into you like he’s trying to erase the memory of everything else. He groans when he tastes you, low and guttural, grinding into the ground like he needs the friction. His tongue moves in rough, hungry strokes, sloppy, dirty, filthy, like this isn’t something sweet, like it’s survival.
You tangle your fingers in his hair, hips rocking into his face.
“Jeremy,” you gasp. “Jesus—”
“Say my name again,” he mutters against your cunt, voice ruined. “Say it like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”
You do. Over and over again. Because right now, he is.
Your orgasm rips through you like a lightning strike, fast and furious, and you try to push him away, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t fucking stop. His arms lock around your thighs and he eats you through it, through the shaking, through the oversensitivity, until you’re begging, gasping out broken pleas he ignores with a moan of his own.
You come again on his tongue, thighs trembling against his ears. He finally pulls back, lips slick, jaw clenched like he’s in pain.
“Fuck,” he says again, voice rough. “Get on your knees.”
You drop without hesitation.
Your hands work open his belt, his jeans, and his cock springs free, hard, flushed, dripping. You look up at him through your lashes and his whole body shudders.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he snaps, voice ragged. “I’ll come before you even touch me.”
You smile, slow and wicked. “That’s not very hunter-like of you.”
He grabs your jaw, not hard, but firm, and tilts your head back. His thumb presses against your lower lip, smearing your spit. “Open your mouth.”
You do.
And when he slides his cock in, it’s like every restraint he had left shatters.
Jeremy fucks your mouth slowly at first, watching your eyes water, your lips stretch around him. His hand stays tight in your hair, keeping you in place. “So fucking pretty like this. On your knees. Taking me like you were made for it.”
You moan around him, because it’s true. You want this. You want him.
He fucks into your mouth harder now, breathing harsh, sweat dripping from his brow. And just when you think he’s about to come, he pulls out with a curse and hauls you to your feet like you weigh nothing.
“You want it rough?” he asks, voice barely human. “You want me to ruin you out here where anyone could see?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Jeremy, please.”
That’s it.
He turns you around, bends you over against the tree, and shoves himself into you with one brutal thrust. You cry out, nails scraping the bark, and he just grunts, hips snapping against yours with raw, savage force.
Every thrust punches a moan out of you.
Every drag of his cock feels like punishment and reward all at once.
“You think I don’t see it?” he growls in your ear. “The way you look at me. Like I’m not broken. Like I’m something worth saving.”
“You are,” you choke out.
He grabs your throat, lightly, just enough pressure to make your breath catch. “No. I’m not. But I’ll keep you safe. Even if it kills me.”
You don’t know if it’s the sex or the confession or the fact that he’s holding you like you matter, but the orgasm that hits you next tears through your entire body. You scream, full-on scream, and Jeremy shudders as your walls clamp down around him.
He buries himself deep and groans your name as he comes, hard, hips jerking, body shaking like he’s losing it. Like you are the thing anchoring him back to life.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, harsh and tangled. The forest is still again.
He pulls out slowly, careful now, and helps you turn to face him. You’re still trembling, but he gathers you close, pressing his forehead to yours.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to be… like that.”
You smile faintly, brushing a hand down his cheek. “I wanted it. I want you.”
He closes his eyes like that hurts more than anything.
You help each other get dressed in silence, limbs slow, sore. But not awkward. Not ashamed. There’s something tender in it. Something almost... hopeful.
When he threads his fingers through yours on the walk back, you don’t let go.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Back at the Gilbert house, the lights are off. Elena’s asleep. The world hasn’t stopped, but for once, it’s quiet.
Jeremy walks you to the door. His thumb brushes your knuckles.
“You’re coming back tomorrow, right?” he asks, voice soft.
You lean up, kiss the corner of his mouth. “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”
And for the first time in days, Jeremy Gilbert smiles.
Really smiles.
Like maybe, just maybe, he believes he still has something left to live for.
a/n: this makes me want to write a historical vampire!au with anyone lmao
(Fem!Reader x Tara Carpenter smut, I don't usually post these kinds of stories but I'm just gonna post some of my smut-drafts. Enjoy ppl!!)
Warning : G!P Reader, degrading, sex maniac reader
It was morning, you were reading a book Anika gave you for your 19th birthday last week. Thank the girl for giving you a new book to read and obsessed with.
You were reading while drinking coffee, being completely engrossed with the book, you didn't notice your phone ringing. It has been ringing for a few times yet you never noticed or bat an eye on it.
You being a bookworm yet having a crazy sex drive was what annoyed your girlfriend a lot, first second your fucking her then after that you go off to read books like nothing happened. Tara would burn all of the books you own if she ever had the courage to, but she loves you too much and wouldn't want to see you cry and break up with her.
Finally deciding to put the book down, you stretched your arms and reached out to grab your phone. Your eyes widened when you saw the amount of missed calls and messages Tara, your girlfriend. Had left, and you are definitely getting scolded.
Hi! I'm sorry babe, I'm at the library I didn't notice you called!!
You waited for a response from the girl but no response, it took her another minute when she finally responded. Your eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion when you saw how calm she replied despite she was chat-panicking you earlier.
It's fine, I was just worried on where you were. You didn't leave a note that you were heading out, you should return quickly though Sam is heading out and I'm gonna be all alone here.
You quickly typed your response and pressed send, putting the book back in your bag and slinging it on your shoulder. You hurried to get back home and apologize over and over to Tara.
Otw, sorry again babe!
Kicking your shoes off as soon as you arrived at the apartment, placing your stuff down on the couch and rushing to you and Tara's shared room. Opening the door quick as you took heavy breaths from the running you did.
"I'm really really sorry for not telling you earlier that I was gonna head off- Wai- Hey careful!-"
Without a warning, you were thrown in the bed and you felt your girlfriend tugging your jacket off. You looked at her curiously, her eyes - definitely dark and filled with lust and desperation - snapping out of your thoughts, you sat up and helped her take off the rest of your clothes.
"If you were this needy for sex you should've just told me,"
You teasingly said with a smirk plastered on your face, Tara suddenly stops and went quiet. You made her look at you by raising her chin up with your index finger, placing a kiss on her lips then licking your lips.
"Mmhm, strawberry chapstick? Have you been using mines? What a naughty girl~"
Tara whined at the lack of physical contact and tried to kiss you again but you instantly dodged it, letting out a tut and pulling Tara onto your lap. You whisper seductively in her ear.
"Ride my dick you needy slut."
Tara didn't need to be told twice and inserted your hard, throbbing cock inside of her cunt. You bit your lip and let out a groan of pleasure when you felt her walls squeeze you.
"Ohhh fuck Tara, we fuck everyday yet your still so fucking tight? Do I need to fuck you every hour so you could finally loosen up?"
You chuckled before letting out a deep moan when Tara scratched the back of your neck, it hurted but you couldn't care less, she was definitely enjoying this way more than you.
“Fuck y/n,”
She said through gritted teeth. The stretch was intense and riding so quickly made it hard to think, but it also felt so fucking good.
Your eyes softened for a moment, hands rubbing soothing circles into her back.
“You look so pretty like this,”
You whispered, capturing her lips in a kiss. She kissed you back, leaning forward and subsequently sliding an inch of your cock out of her. She moaned, dropping her head to your shoulder as you rocked the inch back into her.
“I know you can take it, such a pretty slut like this. You ride my cock so well.”
You leaned back in the headboard, hands loose on her hips, and a cocky grin on your face. She lifted herself up until just the tip was inside of her and teased herself, sinking down an inch, then pulling back up, then sinking down two inches, and repeating the process until she was bottoming out each time she sat.
“No one could ever fuck me as good as you do y/n,”
She told you. She knew it would inflate your ego and she were well aware that it would turn you on more, your jaw clenched everytime she tightened around your cock. You were close and you could tell she was too.
Her words weren't helping as well, every word Tara utters out just gets you harder, the more she speaks the harder it gets to hold in.
"Faster,"
Was all you could moan out before Tara started rocking back and forth and bouncing like crazy, you felt your vision getting hazy and your chest heaving. Tara noticed the way you'd react whenever she bottomed out on your cock, she knew you were close. So like the good slut she is, she focused more on bottoming out on your cock and rocking back and forth on it.
"Fucking hell- Tara that's so good baby, keep going for me."
You groaned while biting your bottom lip harshly, too harsh it started drawing blood. Tara felt a knot forming in her stomach, she was close and needed release, So with the rest of her remaining strength. She rose up one last time until just the very edge of the tip was inside of her. You huffed in annoyance and tried to pull her back down, terribly failing.
"You wanna cum inside me?"
She asked, biting her lip with a dazed look on her face.
Tara noticed the way your eyes widened and the sudden tightness in your grip on her waist, she knew how much you loved dirty talk.
Then, she smirked at you and then slammed her hips down until her skin met yours.
"Fuck- Tara!"
You moaned loudly, sounding like your throat has been ripped out. You were cumming inside of her and her hips rocked up into you. Rolling her hips in small circles, cumming alongside you. Her pussy squeezed tightly around your cock, not allowing it to leave. All eight inches of her girlfriend filled her entirely.
“Fuck yes baby,” Tara gasped. “Fill me up.”
“Shitt,” you whimpered. It was a rare noise from you but she accepted it eagerly, eyes rolling into the back of her skull. You moaned out her name as you came down from her high, chest heaving with effort and your entire body shook.
You matched her a heartbeat later, the only sounds in the room were your combined heavy breathing. Slowly pulled out of her and carefully laid down with her, Tara's head on your chest as your breathing finally went back to normal.
"That was.. something.. do you need anything?"
You asked in a soft voice, looking at her with slight furrowed eyebrows. She nodded and pointed at her bedside table.
"My- My inhaler."
You cursed under your breath and quickly grabbed her inhaler from the table, holding up to her mouth and helping her while she regained back to her normal breathing.
"All good? You need anything else?"
Tara shook her head before laying back in your chest again, cuddling onto you like you just didn't fuck her dumb seconds ago.
"Nothing else, just you."
You let out an 'ahh' before relaxing back beside her, holding her by her waist gently. You kissed her forehead before speaking again.
"I love you, sorry again."
Tara smiled at you, feeling her heart flutter at the sight of you being a softy, not just minutes ago you were letting her ride you like crazy now you're just one big cuddly bear.
"I love you too, and you don't have anything to apologize for. I was just worried, sorry for suddenly throwing you to the bed."
She apologized with a little giggle, you said nothing back as you were too beat up to even protest. You only sighed in relief and closed your eyes.
"Sleep tight my book worm, I'll be here when you wake up."
Was all you heard before you finally drifted into a deep sleep.
Let's just say when you woke up you saw Tara in your study table reading the book Anika gave you, after that she never gave it back to you because she actually enjoyed reading it.
---------------------------------------------------
a/n : wrote this like weeks ago and left it as drafts, I refused to publish it not until an idol of mine found out I had it in my drafts. Basically told me to publish it so they could read it, so pls enjoy even though it's shitty:>> starting of with smut and ending with fluff bcs I like my smuts that way<33
s/n : @lilgodeeper have fun reading ma'am!:>
This is…the definition of shameless. I'll never read this again because I can't reread my own smut, but I hope you enjoy it x
there's Only One Bed. the AC is broken. you know the rest.
Read on fanfiction.net or ao3 or under the cut
JOIN MY TAGLIST
Emily had three problems.
The first was that the hotel room they'd booked only had one bed. The second was that the person outside the door, the person she had to share the hotel room with, was her boss. The third was that, expecting she would get her own bedroom, she had not packed appropriate pyjamas.
No, what she had instead was a tiny, cropped white tank and shorts so tiny she would be hesitant to wear them around her best friend, JJ, let alone Hotch.
She looked at herself in the mirror, at the way the tank clung to the curvature of her breasts. Turning, she tugged down the shorts, but they only went so far before revealing far too much of her midriff. She tugged them up a little, resigned, instead, to half of her ass being on display.
"It's fucking Texas, what was I supposed to pack?" she said to her reflection.
That was fair enough; August in Texas was no joke. Still, she wished she'd been a little more conservative with her choice of attire.
The bathroom was still warm with the steam from her shower, but as she stepped out into their shared hotel room, she realised she'd made a cyclical sort of error when Hotch looked at her from where he was standing near the thermostat.
Did she imagine it, the way his throat bobbed as he took in her appearance? Did his eyes really linger at the hem of her shorts, far too high to be appropriate in present company, or was she making that up?
"It's broken," he said, shortly, about the AC. Emily shivered on the spot, already too cold, and wrapped her arms around herself.
"Can we call reception?" She asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
"Already tried," Hotch said, gruffly, "They said there's nothing they can do until morning."
"Well, that's just great," Emily shook her head, "Cheapest hotel in the state, the AC is fucked and we couldn't even get our own damn rooms."
He tried not to take offense to that, shaking his head as he crossed to the bed and grabbed for his go bag. "I hope you left some hot water."
Emily, wringing out her damp hair, rolled her eyes, "I was in there all of five minutes."
"Hmmph," was all the reply she got as he slid past her and into the bathroom. As he manouvred around her, his hand grazed her exposed midriff, and she tried not to let her breath catch at the contact, turning with his hand and finding the bathroom door slammed in her face.
Afterwards, she would insist that he made the first move. He, of course, would do the same.
She was already in bed when he came out of the bathroom, too aware of both her state of undress and the possibility of seeing him emerge shirtless and damp from the bathroom. She didn't think she could handle that, honestly.
Aaron Hotchner was stubborn, impossible, immovable and downright rude sometimes. He was also, unfortunately, fucking hot. And, franky, that was Emily's type down to a T. Probably best not to psychoanalyse that.
Their relationship had been rocky from the beginning, and not really improved in the time she'd been with the team. He didn't trust her, after that business with Strauss, and she didn't particularly like him after all the times he'd been harder on her than the rest of them. But she still noticed the way his eyes seemed to darken whenever he looked at her, narrowing with such intense dislike. She noticed his hands, when they held his phone and made the same model that looked huge in her own hand look tiny, and the veins that stood out along the back of his hands, down into his wrist. She'd probably spent too much time thinking about his hands, if she were truly honest with herself.
So, really, the thought of sharing a bed with him was torture. Knowing he was inches away from her, breathing in the dark, all six-foot one of him, and all of him off limits.
She resigned herself to ignore him, turning her back on him and feigning sleep when he came out of the bathroom. She had tucked herself into the comforter, pulling it tight around her shoulders so that only her head was visible, dark against the white pillows. Still, she was shivering.
She felt the bed dip as he sat on the edge of it, tried to keep her breathing steady as he lay down. On top of the comforter. Emily frowned, her brows forming a little divvet inbetween them. So much for pretending to be asleep, she rolled over and looked at him.
In the sliver of moonlight that filtered between the curtains she could see him laying there with his eyes closed, one arm resting behind his head, the other resting on his bare stomach. All of the muscles she had imagined he would have were present and accounted for, more defined than even she had pictured, and she felt her mouth go dry at just the proximity of him.
"What are you doing?" She whispered into the dimness of the hotel room, and tried to ignore the fact that he was shirtless.
"Trying to sleep." He didn't bother opening his eyes, and she could hear a faint trace of annoyance in his voice. She quirked an eyebrow. "Stop looking at me like that."
"How do you know how I'm looking at you if you have your eyes closed?" They were about to start bickering like children, she knew. This, also, was part of their dynamic.
"Because I know you." He said it simply, and the four words shouldn't have meant much, but they made her pause in the act of whatever she was about to say, her mouth closing, softly as she watched him. He opened one eye, surprised by her silence, and then the other followed as he caught the expression on her face. Something like curiosity, something that stirred something else inside of him. Something that pooled low in his belly.
She gave a little shake of her head, rolled her eyes, "Just be an adult and get under the covers."
She rolled over, effectively putting an end to the coversation, and not really expecting him to listen to her order - because when had he ever before? She was therefore surprised when she felt him move, sitting up, standing up, and then felt the covers pull away from her body as he slipped into them.
Aaron tried not to stare at the curve of her waist into her hip as he lifted the comforter to get into the bed, tried not to let his eyes linger too long on her ass in those little white shorts. He turned his back to her, too.
"Goodnight." He said, gruffly.
"Goodnight." She whispered.
Unsurprisingly, neither of them could sleep.
Whether it was the presence of the other, or the chill of the room, they both lay awake, both pretending they weren't.
Emily kept shifting, presuming Hotch had fallen asleep, curling her knees up, tucking the blanket in even tighter around her, tucking her head into the duvet and then back out, anything to try and take the chill out of the air.
Hotch ignored it, at first, closed his eyes and really did try to go to sleep, despite the image of Emily's silhouette lingering unwantedly in his mind.
He couldn't understand her effect on him; from day one, even back when he was still married to Haley, he'd been more aware of her than the rest of the team. She tapped into something inside of him that he didn't fully recognise; something ancient and primal; desire.
He tried to distance himself from her, pair her with other members of the team, mostly Morgan, in the hopes of reigning in the inappropriate way he so often thought of her. Once Haley left him, it only got worse even though nothing had changed, not really; she was still off limits, as part of his team.
But he would have to be blind not to notice her. The others had noticed her, too, he knew. Morgan certainly had. He'd seen the way the younger agent's eyes sometimes lingered on her, the way he looked at her, hungrily. It made him - and he would never admit this to anybody - jealous, whenever she heard Emily laugh at one of Morgan's jokes, or when he heard them bonding over their favourite author, or when she rested her hand on his arm. It was harmless, he knew, but it still made his jaw tight.
So when this case came across his desk, he knew he had two options. He could send Emily and Morgan, or he could go himself. The decision he made was not the professional one, although anybody outside of his own mind wouldn't think twice about it. He was good, almost too good, at withholding his emotions, and confident that nobody knew of his attraction towards the younger profiler.
Still, even he hadn't anticipated that there would only be one hotel room, one bed. He hadn't imagined that those were the type of pyjamas she packed for a case. Well, okay, he had…but he hadn't thought his imagination would be so accurate.
When she moved again, he let out a frustrated growl and reached behind him, grabbing for her and grasping her hip, without really thinking. She stilled, shocked by the touch that sent currents of electricity through her body, made her heart beat that little bit faster. He let her go as quickly as he had grabbed her, immediately aware that he had overstepped.
"Can you stay still?" He asked, frustrated for more than one reason, and she didn't reply, but she didn't move again, either.
For a few minutes.
"God, Emily, what's wrong with you?" He asked, shoving himself to sit up and switching on his bedside light so that he could look at her. He'd pushed down the comforter, but Emily snatched it back around herself again, and not out of modesty.
"I'm fucking cold," she whined, and, true enough, he saw that her lips were slowly turning blue.
He raised his eyebrows, as she glared up at him, nestled down into the thick duvet. Then he rolled his eyes, switched off the light and lay back down.
Emily continued to glare at him in the dark, until she felt his hand back on her hip, shoving her this time, and she rolled back away from him as he nestled himself against her, his chest against her back, his knees locking in behind hers, his arm flung over her ribs.
Oh. That certainly had the desired effect; instantly, Emily was hotter than she'd ever been in her life. She knew he felt it, too, because he had gone so still behind her. She couldn't even feel the rise of his chest, he was frozen. Panicked by his own action, probably wishng he could take it back instantly. But it was helping with the cold, and Emily arched her back, tucking herself in closer to him.
His hand hung right there in the dark, and Emily's breath hitched with the knowledge that just the twitch of his fingers would have him grazing her breast.
She bit her lip, tugging it between her teeth. She would be lying if she said this wasn't exciting; the sudden wetness between her legs was a testament to that. She hadn't been close to sleep, and certainly wasn't now. They lay like that for a while, Emily breathing steadily, and, slowly, he began to do the same. His chest rose against her back (and even that touch had her breath hitching in her chest) eeking out all of the cold from her bones as they breathed together.
She had never been this close to him. Hadn't ever imagined that he could excite her this way, but his proximity had ignited a fire in her belly and Emily felt as though all of her nerve enddings were raw, exposed, the excitement of what might happen next making her almost vibrate with anticipation.
"Are you warming up?" His breath brushed her ear, and Emily had to close her eyes, her lips trembling as she exhaled, hard.
"Yes," she breathed, unable to help herself, and well aware that her tone told on her.
Afterwards, she would insist that he made the first move, but the truth was that she was the one who pushed her hips back into him, feigning the need for closeness, for warmth, and that the movement of his hand, the way he involuntarily cupped her breast, was more of a reflex than anything. He gasped into her hair as she pushed her ass back into his crotch.
Emily's heart stuttered in her chest, beating so hard she was sure he could hear it, the tension between them only increasing now that she could feel that he was hard against her backside, and she knew this was having the same effect on him as it was on her.
He still hadn't let go of her. She still hadn't moved away.
Emily turned slowly, her breathing the only sound in the darkness and Hotch leaned in as soon as she turned. His lips were a hair's breadth away from hers, his breath tickling her upper lip. She swallowed, loudly, and then he brushed his lips against hers, barely skimming them. He pulled away. Emily chased him, but he was out of reach at this angle. She pouted in the dark.
Then, he did the most Hotch thing ever.
"Can I kiss you?" If she said no, he was going to have to get up and leave this bed, splash his face with cold water, because he was achingly hard now, and still pressed against her ass. Emily couldn't help but smile into the darkness, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she said,
"You'd better."
His tongue was in her mouth immediately, and Emily lifted her hand to slide her fingers into his hair. He used his mouth like he did his gun, all focus and strength, sure of his aim; she couldn't help whining against his lips at the sudden, welcome invasion. She craned her neck at an awkward angle, her back twisted almost impossibly, but she didn't care as his tongue licked through her mouth, as she tasted him for the first time.
His hand tightened around her, the squeeze almost painful, but still she pushed her chest forward, offering him more, still, even as he ground his pelvis into her ass. His cock was hard, laid up against his stomach, and wedged into the crevice between her ass cheeks. She pushed back into him and even through their clothes, she could feel the heat coming off of him as he pushed back against her.
It was exhilarating. She didn't even really believe it was happening and the pitch blackness of the room only heightened her other senses.
They kissed like that for a long while, like teenagers discovering sex for the first time, afraid to take the next step. Take it they did, though, as Hotch slipped his hand into the neck of her tank top, greedily searching out her nipple with his fingers, his hand moving from one breast to the other, as though he couldn't get enough of her, as though he couldn't believe his luck. He caught her nipple between two fingers, squeezed it, and Emily's mouth fell open in a gasp, releasing the airlock between their lips even as his tongue swept across hers. Her breath was little more than a stutter as Hotch moved on, his lips on her cheek, her ear, her throat. He paid attention to her pulse point, just below her ear, kissing and licking there as his fingers continued their ministration of her nipples, teasing and twisting and tugging them into hard, rigid peaks. He alternated between that and palming her, the soft warmth of his palm a relief after the roughness of his calloused fingertips.
"God," she breathed, shifting just enough so that she could lay flat on her back, unwinding her arm from the back of his head and turning herself into him, seeking his lips once more. His hand withdrew from her shirt as she moved. They kissed quickly and wetly, each as afraid as the other that one of them would come to their senses and stop this before it had a real chance to begin.
Hotch's strong arm went around her waist, pulling her in closer to him still as he kissed her, and then that same hand, satisfied that she couldn't be pressed more tightly against him if he tried, moved down past the hem of her shorts, to grip her thigh. She was sure his fingertips would leave imprints, he grabbed her so tightly, hitching her leg up and over his hip so that he could push his hips forward, and, again, she felt the promise of his arousal. This time he pressed up against her pussy, the thickness of him a familiar feeling as he nestled into her slit. Her shorts were pulled up and tight, and she could feel him even through two layers of fabric, her imagination running wild as she anticipated the feel of him inside of her, and her stomach jolted with just the thought.
He kissed her ravenously, like a man starved, and he was. The divorce was finalised a few weeks ago, making it nearly six months since he'd so much as touched a woman, longer even since he'd been nestled between the thighs of one. He was painfully hard, now, and rutted against her between their clothes. Her hand slid between them, and she suddenly grasped him through his boxers. He felt her gasp as she closed her hand around him and felt his thickness, and couldn't help but smirk to himself, feeling smug. Hotch moved, tilting his head and focusing his kisses on her throat, alternating between kissing, sucking and licking, all the way back up to her ear, again. Once there, he paused, his breath hot on her skin.
"Think you can take it?" Emily's insides seized as he growled into her ear, his words a teasing taunt she had never imagined he was capable of, had never imagined was his sort of thing. It made her curious what else he might be capable of.
"Only one way to find out," She responded in kind, and slid her hand past his waistband. It was his turn to gasp then, as her fingertips grazed the head of his cock, felt the wetness of precum there and then she gripped him, and pumped him once, twice, slowly.
"How long have you wanted me like this?" She asked, certain that his hardness couldn't just be a product of tonight. She continued her movement as he buried his face in her throat, the beginnings of his beard scratching sensitive skin.
"Fuck, Emily, since the first time I saw you," he said, between kisses, as his hips bucked involuntarily, his cock sliding in her hand. She closed her eyes, smiling, smugly, to herself at his admission, and rewarding him with a few quick pumps of her hand. He groaned against her skin, slid his hand up from her thigh. It lingered at the hem of her shorts, tracing soft lines back and forth over her skin, and Emily felt herself grow wetter at the teasing touch.
Pressing kisses down the column of her throat, Hotch moved down, trying not to shift his hips too much, wanting her to keep touching him, keep working his cock, and licked teasingly at the curve of her breast, down into the crevice of her cleavage.
In the dark, Emily was all touch and no sight, and she felt everything as he pressed his tongue flat against her skin and licked her, tasting the salt on her skin. It was a teaser, she knew, a trailer for the movie he would play later, and as his tongue danced quickly over sensitive skin, she knew he was making a promise. The thought of him performing those same moves between her legs made her thighs clench together, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Aaron, his fingers playing at her inner thigh. She trapped them between her legs, felt the brush of him against her pussy, and froze, holding him there. Her hand, too, stilled on his cock.
Her breath was coming in quick, her brain fuzzy, so high was her arousal.
"We can stop-" Hotch started, but she shook her head, quickly.
"No-" she breathed, "god, please, don't, I just-" her hips stuttered, and, smiling, he understood. He moved his fingers, still caught between her thighs, twitched them just a little.
"Are you desperate to be touched, Emily?" he whispered in the dark, and curled one finger down. Through her shorts, his knuckle grazed her slit, and Hotch moved his finger back and forth, more of a tickle than anything. Emily moaned in frustration, releasing her thighs and trying to grind down against his hand as best as she could.
Chuckling, Hotch pulled his hand away, to another frustrated noise from Emily, and instead grabbed her thigh once more.
"Up," she might normally have bristled at the order, but it sent bolts down into her pussy and she was only too happy to oblige, finding that she enjoyed taking his orders in the bedroom. Eagerly, Emily straddled him, all too happy to settle herself across his crotch, to feel his hard cock laid against her slit and grind down against him.
With a growl, he slid one hand into her hair, pulling her down, his lips reclaiming hers as she rolled her hips against him. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him, and Emily fisted the pillow either side of his head, scrunching the fabric into her hands, as he kissed her, deeply.
Then his hands were moving, grasping at the hem of her cropped tank, pulling it over her head. He kissed across her chest, quick and brief, then reached behind his head, flicking on the bedside light.
"I need to see this," he was as breathless as she was, she was glad to hear, and she felt herself flush as his eyes raked over her, lingering over her chest, his pupils blown wide with desire for her. She had the urge to cover herself, her arms moving involuntarily to do so, but Hotch caught her hands in his, twining his fingers through hers, and bucked his hips, jolting her. Emily laughed, the sound breaking through the tension. Hotch smiled at that, at the way she lit up when she laughed. A topless Emily was a beautiful sight, but the smile…god, the smile made her radiant.
Emily paused, looking down at him, the smile lingering around her lips but her eyes curious and wondrous.
"What?" Hotch ran soft, reverant hands over her hips, over the smooth skin he found there, into the dip where her hips gave way to her narrow waist. His thumbs grazed the underside of her breasts.
"You're smiling," she said, "I just don't get to see that a lot."
"You're worth smiling at," he said, and then sat up, keeping her on his lap as he kissed across her chest and licked over a nipple, a hand playing absently with the other. Again, his tongue danced skillfully across her skin and Emily's head fell back with pleasure, her own hand tangling in his soft, black hair as he pulled her tight against him with one hand splayed across her back and nipped, playfully. She hissed through her teeth, bucked her hips against him, and he groaned against her skin.
"Do that again and you'll be in trouble," his voice rumbled against her, and Emily felt it low in her belly, pooling between her legs. Curiosity, more than anything, made Emily roll her hips once more, hard, and she could have sworn she felt him pulse beneath her. Hotch chuckled, low in his throat. "Oh, you wanna play it that way?" He asked, and leaned back against the pillows.
Again, Emily felt exposed as he looked up at her from beneath eyes hooded with lust, her rosy nipples standing taut in the cold air now that he'd left them coated in his saliva. He wasn't smiling now, and Emily felt a hint of something that lingered between excitement and fear as he looked very seriously at her.
"Get on your knees."
She laughed, actually laughed, because no man told her, Emily Prentiss, to get on her knees. No, she only did that when she wanted to, and sure, she absolutely wanted to right now, but the order was unexpected and made her giggle, nervously. Then the smile fell from her face as she realised there was no hint of a joke in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow.
"You're serious."
In response, Hotch twisted his hips, Emily falling sideways onto the bed beside him. She yelped her surprise, then watched as he stood up. Her eyes went wide as she watched him tuck his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and push them down. He was…Emily swallowed, audibly, and felt her mouth fill with saliva as she looked at him, as her eyes traced his thick, rigid cock, standing to attention, poking at the air, desperate for somewhere soft and warm to be. She felt herself clench around nothing, her eyes darkened with lust, as images of Hotch burying that thing inside her pussy filled her mind.
"I said," He repeated, his tone measured as he grasped the base of his cock and brazenly, slowly, pumped it, completely unashamed in front of her, "Get on your knees."
Emily met his eyes and saw, for a brief flash, the moment when she could have backed out. His eyes softened just a touch, as through asking if this were okay. She knew if it wasn't, he would come back to bed and they would fuck, all vanilla and nice, and then sleep. But Emily was never one to back away from a challenge, and her insides were turning to liquid the longer she stared at him, the longer she contemplated exactly what this version of Aaron Hotchner could do to her.
In answer to the question in his eyes, she moved slowly, compelled by lust and intrigue, entranced by this version of her boss that was not so different to her boss at work, just naked and painfully hard for her.
Emily sank gracefully to her knees on the rough carpet in only her shorts. Clasping her hands together behind her back, she arched her back, pushing her tits forward as though in offering, and looked up at him with huge, innocent eyes. She looked phenomenal, willing and waiting, and it didn't go unnoticed when the hand pumping his cock sped up, nor when his tongue shot out of his mouth to wet his lips.
"Open your mouth," if she'd missed the signs, she knew the effect she was having on him just from his tone of voice, the way it was lowered and quiet. His eyes had darkened and, again, Emily did as she was bid, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out.
Hotch didn't waste a moment.
She gagged, involuntarily, as he slid his whole length as far into her mouth as it would go. And then repeated the action. She felt her eyes water at the invasion, Hotch not having given her any time to adjust, but she saw from the way his eyes gleamed that this was the intended effect. He wouldn't keep it up forever, he just wanted to see her gag around him, so gag she did.
"Good girl," Emily's thighs clenched around nothing at the praise. She tried to pleasure him, tried to use her tongue on the underside of his cock, but he slid in and out of her mouth so fast that all she could do was be there. He was using her mouth like a pussy, she realised, and the thought made her mind go fuzzy.
He thrust forwards a few more times, and each time Emily felt herself gag, until her eyes were streaming and he was grinning at her, proud of his handy work. When he stopped, she looked up at him with those big, wet brown eyes, her face flushed, her chest heaving as she breathed, hard.
"You're so beautiful," Hotch said. He held her face, one hand on her forehead, the other holding tightly to her chin, and bent to kiss her, quick and rough, "You're doing so good, Emily," she hummed at the praise, and he smiled against her lips, speaking into her mouth, "You're going to work for it now, though, my girl," he said, and she nodded, only too willing, slowly going mad with lust, "You're going to work for all of the nice things I'm going to do to you, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," the title came out involuntarily, but Hotch closed his eyes, his mouth opening wider against hers, not quite kissing her, but sharing breath, and she knew she had pleased him. When he looked at her again, it was with open lust and approval, and he straightened up, sliding his hands into her hair.
That was all the encouragement Emily needed before she took him back into her mouth, this time using her hands, too. She was no novice, and proved as much, no longer gagging as she was able to set her own pace. He was thick, too thick to fit comfortably down her throat, but she did her best, desperate to please him, to pleasure him.
"Fuck, Emily," his encouragemnt, his open approval, only made her work harder and Emily pumped him, pulling her mouth off of him long enough to spit on the head of his dick, using her hand to spread it, making him slick, her hand moving more easily over his stiff length. He groaned at that, and his hands slid into her hair. She looked up at him, and he nodded, tightening his grip. Emily lined him up and opened her mouth, and then she could only taste him as Hotch bagan to fuck her mouth, his hands so tight in her hair that they almost hurt.
Stars burst behind her eyes as her senses were overwhelmed by him, and the sounds of her throat, of her gagging, of his groans, were obscene.
Emily felt her throat constrict, as her ears bagan to ring, and had to slap Hotch's thigh. Immediately, he withdrew, a string of saliva still connecting her lips to his cock as it stood, red and rigid, and she knew he was close.
Swallowing, hard, she was breathless as she looked up at him and grasped it in a fist, "Are you going to come for me, sir?"
She knew exactly what she was doing, and she felt his dick throb in her hand, to her pleasure. Her shorts, she knew, were ruined, and Emily grinded down against her own heel, searching for any relief she could get. That didn't go unnoticed by Hotch, who stroked her cheek, gentle even as he guided her back to his cock with his other hand.
"You'll get your turn, princess, I promise you that," he said, as she popped him back into her mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head at the pleasure, "But for now, be a good girl and let me come down that pretty throat."
It didn't take long, Emily's mouth and hands working in tandem over his huge cock. She felt his hands fist in her hair, so painful she had to close her eyes, and then his hips stuttered. He held onto her, her nose pressed into his pubic hair, as he came, and she didn't gag as she swallowed his huge load, hot and salty in her throat and when he jerked his hips back, now oversensitive, she caught the rest of it in her hand. Looking him in the eye, she flattened her tongue against her palm, licking the last of him from her skin.
"Fuck, Emily," he growled, grasping her under the arms and pulling her, roughly, to her feet. His lips crashed against hers, and she knew he could taste himself and that he didn't care as he walked her back against the wall. His hand was down her shorts, finally, fingers sliding into her underwear, and when he ran two of them down her slit he found her wet and hot. His fingers slipped over her and he had to stop kissing her long enough to comment.
"You're fucking dripping," he said, appreciatively, his finger gently circling her clit. Emily's legs almost buckled, she was already so sensitive, and she clung tightly to his biceps to keep herself from falling. He smiled, amused and endeared by her. "All this for me?"
He withdrew his hand, much to Emily's disappointment, and brought his fingers instead to his lips. She watched, mesmerised, as he sucked her juices from them. Emily's stomach twisted at the sight, as she watched his tongue dance around his fingers, cleaning every drop of her from them. He pressed his forehead to hers, looked her dead in the eyes.
"You taste so good, sweetheart," he said, running his tongue over his lips, "I'm going to make you come with my tongue, and then I'm going to fuck you, and make you come again, all over my thick cock, okay?" His voice was gravelly, low, even as dropped the hand with his wet fingers to her breast, played with her nipples again, and all Emily could do was nod, weakly, her body feeling like a live wire about to burst into flames. Hotch smirked, clearly proud of the effect he was having on her, and kissed her, again, the taste of them both now mingling in her mouth.
His lips travelled from her mouth to her throat, his lips leaving searing specks over her shoulders and her collar bones, her sternum and across both breasts as he occasionally paused long enough to suck a sore, red bruise into her pale skin. He paused at each nipple, swirled his tongue, nibbled playfully, and she ran her hand through his soft hair. Her head fell back against the door and she sighed, contentedly, at the comfort of that sensation, as his hands circled her waist and she felt him drop to his knees in front of her. She was so engrossed in the attention he gave to her breasts that when he grabbed her shorts and yanked them, and her underwear, down, it knockled her off balance.
Hotch chuckled, darkly, "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, but he didn't sound very sorry. Trying not to feel self conscious as she now stood as naked before him as he was, Emily let him lift one foot, then the other, and stepped out of her shorts. Hotch looked up at her as he threw them elsewhere in the room, maintained eyecontact as he leaned in, kissed her belly button, both of her hips, the very top of the little triangle between her legs.
"Aaron-" she started to protest, and he stopped, sitting back on his own heels. She paused, and he waited, his hands finding hers at her sides. He twined their fingers together, as he had earlier.
"You're perfect," he said, with the slightest shake of his head, leaning in and repeating the same kisses. Tummy, hips, triangle. Then he met her eyes, "Let me."
Nodding, overcome with need for him, Emily breathed out, "Please."
He grabbed her leg, lifted it onto his shoulder and she clenched his hands as she tilted her head back against the door again. His breath was hot against her, and Emily was shaking with anticipation as she waited for him. The first swipe of his tongue against her was slow, drawn out, as was the moan that escaped her lips at the contact. His tongue was hot, pointed, skilled.
"You taste divine," he said, into her cunt, and Emily gushed at the praise. He chuckled, "Oh, she likes that," he said, making her stomach clench at the vibrations his voice sent into her pussy, "My good girl likes that."
It was the my that did it, made her hold his hands tighter, made her whimper, desperately, and then he pressed his tongue flat against her, licked between her lips, tasted all of her, caught her juices with his tongue and swallowed her down as she gushed over his lips. Her mind was blank, her chest heaving as he went to work, his tongue fulfilling the promises he had made earlier, skilfully flitting over her clit, fast as a snake's, or sliding, rigid and probing, against her hole, or flat and wide and wet between her slit. When he circled her hole with his tongue, pushed it inside, his nose slid against her clit and she thought she might lose her fucking mind right then. He alternated, never letting her get too used to his actions, never letting her settle into the motion, building her up and up until she was a frustrated bundle of nerves, until she wanted to hold his head in place and fuck herself against his tongue.
She did wind her hand through his hair, like he'd done to her, did thrust her hips a few times, but Hotch grabbed them and held her in place, and she could hardly fight that. He was much stronger than she was, and held on to her, easily, letting her go only so far as he wanted.
He teased her, tasted her, taunted her with his tongue until she was whining, all but grinding down against his face, and she knew what he wanted, then.
"Please," she breathed, and felt him grin against her, his cheeks in a wide smile between her legs.
"Hmm?" He hummed into her pussy, and she hissed.
"Please," she repeated, through her teeth, tightening her grip on his hair until she knew she was almost pulling it out at the root. He didn't seem to mind, his tongue flitting even faster against her clit.
"Please, what, sweetheart?" He prompted, smugly, and Emily might have shoved him off of her right then if she wasn't so fucking desperate to come, so drunk on this version of him.
"Please, let me come," she gasped, "God, Hotch, I need to come."
"I want you to come, sweetheart," he agreed, "I want to taste you, I want you to lose control all over my face," she whined, hips starting to move erratically, and he let her go, let her hump against his mouth, "Lose control, Emily," then he latched onto her clit and sucked, hard, and she stopped breathing entirely as a searing, scalding orgasm wracked her body, making her blind and deaf all at once. The only thing that kept her on her feet was Hotch's intuition, as he grabbed her hips and pushed her back against the wall.
When she came back down from heaven, Emily felt pleasantly dazed.
"You're too fucking good at that," she said, her voice weak, her hand now soft as she stroked through his hair.
Hotch rose to his feet in front of her and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned in to kiss her, the taste of her still fresh on his tongue. Against her belly, she could feel that he was hard again, and, again, she clenched around nothing, aware that she would soon know how it felt to be taken by him.
Hotch swept her feet from beneath her, lifting her in his arms and carrying her the few feet back to the bed, where he laid her down, her head on the pillows. She looked at him from beneath eyelids heavy with lust.
"I'm clean," she said, without prompting, and he looked at her with approval, stroking his cock as he climbed onto the bed between her legs.
"Good, me too," he leaned over her, and she felt the tip poke against her folds, felt his length slide against her slt. Her slick coated his shaft, and Hotch lazily moved his hips, each gentle thrust bumping the head of his cock against her sensitive bundle of nerves, "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, his lips against her throat, "because I'm going to fuck you senseless until I'm empty, sweetheart, and I'm going to fill you up with come," Emily's mouth went dry, her nails digging into his shoulders where she'd been gently drawing circles, at his words, "How do you feel about that?"
She couldn't believe he still had words left to play with, because she didn't; there was barely a coherent thought in her head as she felt him line himself up against her, as she breathed erratically, anticipating him. Luckily, he wasn't waiting for an answer, and slid, slowly, inside of her. He was even thicker than he seemed, but her tight channel was slick with her orgasm and he slid in easily, even if he did take Emily's breath away with the sheer stretch of him. He went slowly, though, letting her adjust, moving only when she encouraged him with a nod, her eyes closed with concentration as she relaxed around him.
"Fuck," Hotch said, his breath hot against the sensitive skin beneath her ear, "Em, you're so tight."
This time his praise wasn't solely to elicit a reaction; she could hear it in the raspy way he spoke, the effect she had on him and she knew what it was taking for him to not immediately begin pounding into her. His arms shook as he held himself up, and Emily stroked a hand up and down his back, searching for his lips and sliding her tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply as he notched one last inch inside of her and bottomed out, his balls pressed against her. They were locked together and Emily's breath was shaky when she broke their kiss.
She nodded, shakily, "Go slow," she said, and he did, pulling out of her leisurely, agonizigly, only to surge forwards and repeat the motion. It was bliss. She could feel every contour of him as he slid into her, every ridge as he slid out, and as she grew accustomed to his size, she nodded again and, understanding, Hotch snapped his hips forwards, jolting her up the bed slightly.
"Hotch!" Emily gasped, her mouth open, as the pleasured bordered on pain. He smirked, playfully, at her, and did it again, sending pleasurable waves through her body. "Fuck," she cursed, under her breath. He chuckled, darkly, dropping himself onto his elbows rather than his hands, his chest pressed against hers and bending his legs at the knees to give himself more leverage.
"Fuck, indeed," he said, and started a brutal pace that stole the air from Emily's lungs. He pounded into her with reckless abandon, snapping his hips expertly, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. Emily could only hold onto him and she wrapped her legs around him, tilting her pelvis and giving him an even deeper angle. She would have sworn she could feel each thrust in her throat.
It didn't take long until her second orgasm was building, already sensitive from her first. The last thing she wanted to do was become too overstimulated, but she wasn't about to tell him to stop when he was eliciting rivulets of pure pleasure from her body, and as her climax washed over her, she clung tight to him and felt his hips stutter, overcome by the clench of her around him.
"Oh, baby," he praised, the nickname coming easily to his lips, "Sweetheart, you feel so good, milking my cock with that pretty pussy."
The dirty talk still surprised her with every word, unexpected but welcome, and had her coming harder. Hotch dropped his hand between their bodies, rubbing her clit with the pad of his thumb, dragging out her orgasm until she had to push his hand away from her, gasping, and he grinned, slowly thrusting his hips back and forth.
"You're not done yet, Emily," he told her, as she ran her hands over his chest, over the strong muscles she found there, and he lazily thrust into her, giving her a moment to come down, "You're not done until I say you're done, are we clear?"
Again, even through his words, she saw in his eyes the need for her reassurance, her consent, and, licking her lips, Emily nodded, pulling his face back down to hers for a kiss.
"Take me," she said, against his lips, and felt the sudden snap of his hips against her, as his control faltered at her sensual words, eliciting an involuntary groan from the back of her throat, she breathed, hard, and fixed him with her eyes. He stared down at her, as she ran her hands into his hair, and her pupils were blown with lust and desire, her pale skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat, "Fuck me, Aaron, harder."
And maybe it was the use of his name that did it, breaking the last of his resolve, or maybe it was the plea for him to go harder. The permission she gave him to be ruthless.
He pulled out of her, Emily whimpering at the contact and lack of, all at once, and she reached for him. Her hand was on his chest when he grabbed her wrist tightly, bone scraping bone, and pulled her palm to his lips, kissing it, a moment of tenderness before he dropped her hand and grabbed for her hips, instead.
His strength was impressive, and he flipped her like she were a ragdoll, Emily landing on her stomach on the bed, her cheek against the pillow as he manouvred her according to his own will, spread her knees and lifted her hips.
His hand came down, hard, on her ass, the sound splitting the room, and she yeled, her world narrowing to the burning sensation. Hotch stared at the red imprint he'd left on her pale skin, licked his lips, and did it again.
"Aaron," she gasped, pleading.
Hotch stared at her, at where she was pink and glistening, at where her pussy clenched, desperate and needy, around nothing, and couldn't help himself as he leaned in and swiped his tongue through her, once more.
"I'll never get enough of you," he said, burying his face between her legs, and Emily hissed, fists balling up the pillowcase, so sensitive was her pussy. He pumped his cock as he licked through her, high on the scent and taste of her. He fluttered his tongue against her clit, and she groaned, grinding back against his face, as Aaron speared his tongue into her hole. Pathetically, she felt herself winding up again, like a coiled spring, and as Aaron's fingers joined his tongue, his thumb sliding into her hole as his index finger rubbed over her clit, she was coming, again.
She was still coming when she felt him slam back into her pussy and the cry she let out was pathetic, delirious, as she involuntarily tried to escape his overstimulation. Aaron held fast, though, reaching beneath her, grabbing onto her breasts and using them to leverage himself, jamming her back onto his cock roughly, spearing her, hips snapping against her in a relentless rhythm.
"God, you're fucking perfect, Emily," he leaned forwards, biting at her neck, his back pressed against hers and he was everywhere, all over her, all around her, all at once. He was the only thing she knew as she felt her walls clench around him again, and she knew he felt it too by the gutteral moan that came from deep in his chest and rolled over her like a wave. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed himself so close to her, deliberately angled his waist so that he bumped again and again against the same delicious spot inside of her, driving her to the point of insanity.
"Come for me, Em, you can do it again," he told her, lips at her ear, and kissed down her throat. He grabbed for her face, turned her to look at him and then his tongue was in her mouth and she did as she was told, spasming beneath him as she came, again, only moments after her last, searing, brainmelting orgasm, and she knew he was close, too, as his lips opened against hers, his breath ragged, "Where?" he could barely manage to breathe.
"Fuck, in-inside, please," Emily gave him all the permission he needed and then she felt the hot spurt of him inside of her as he came, buried to the hilt in her pussy, her walls still clenching him, prolonging his pleasure as she milked him dry. The groan against her ear was gutteral, primal, animalistic and Emily's head was empty of anything but him as she spiralled with him.
He collapsed against her back, spent and exhausted, the delicious weight of him pushing her into the mattress, and Emily realised she wasn't cold anymore. Her skin was on fire, her insides were on fire.
They lay like that for a moment, both of them breathing hard and fast.
Hotch pressed soft kisses across her shoulders, pulling her hair, stuck with sweat to her slick skin, out of the way. Each kiss soothed her, and her breathing began to slow, her heart finally slowing to a normal pace in her chest. She whimpered as he slid out of her, soft now, sensitive after his brutal but satisfying treatment, and felt the gush between her thighs, knew they'd ruined the bedsheets.
Hotch lay beside her, a gentle hand on her back as he tucked himself close and tilted their foreheads together.
"Still cold?" He asked, softly, and Emily chuckled, the sound reverberating through the now silent bedroom.
"Actually, yes," she said, truthfully, the chill creeping back in now that she was exposed to the room and the adrenaline was settling in her veins. He shifted closer to her, pulling the comforter over them both as he lifted his leg over hers and pulled her into him.
"I have to-" she started, but he shook his head, pressed a kiss to her temple.
"In a minute," he said, and she could tell by his voice that he was already falling asleep.
"Alright," she sighed, contented, against his chest, the smell of him, of them, on his skin a comfort she'd never realised she was missing, "Alright, in a minute."
His hand ghosted softly over her back, fingertips tracing patterns she couldn't make out across her soft skin, and he looked down at her with gentle eyes, under tired, hooded eyelids. "How are you feeling?"
"Wow, aftercare, too?" she teased, smiling lazily up at him, and he smirked back, shaking his head a little.
"That was intense," he clarified, flattening his palm against the small of her back, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
Emily reached her hand up from where it lay beneath her head, pressed it against his cheek and pulled him down to her, to kiss him, to reassure him, "I'm great," she said, honestly, because she wasn't about to say I feel like I'm glowing golden.
He kissed her once more, and these kisses were somehow more intimate than those they'd shared before, when they were led by lust. They were soft, searching and almost hesitant as his lips moved against hers.
"We're going to do that again, right?" Hotch said, as Emily finally rolled away from him and stood up on shaky legs. He caught sight of the red marks he'd left behind, whether by his fingers or his mouth, and knew she would be carrying him around for days.
She cast a cheeky glance over her shoulder, caught his eyes roving appreciatively over her body, the slope of her waist, the plump curve of her ass, and grinned. "I hope so."
In the bathroom, Emily caught sight of herself in the mirror and realised that she still had three problems.
The first was the lack of clean - or dry - bedding on which they could sleep tonight. Although she figured they could remedy that by…not sleeping.
The second was the rapidly reddening marks Hotch had left over her throat (over her entire body, really, but the throat was the problem) and the way she knew she didn't have either the clothes or the make-up to cover those the following morning. She traced them with her fingers.
The third was that the man laying in their shared bed, in their shared hotel room, was the best lay she'd ever had, and just so happened to be her boss.
There were, Emily Prentiss figured, definitely bigger problems to have.
Official Post from RoboticPopSauce: Become a patron to get access to this post and other exclusive content.
Heyooo I almost died the other day and it made me realize, "hey, I've never written lesbian smut before". So I hammered this thing out and decided to post it as my semi-monthly, Patreon exclusive smut-shot :p Become a $5+ Patron to see this kind of extra content ;D
Also, I know it’s not Billdip but I really need to branch out so we’re all going to accept that lmao
Emily is back from Paris and there's a chasm between them wider than ever before, as she withdraws into herself. Then comes the storm.
Angst and Fluff and Smut. Content warnings apply.
Wordcount: 6k
Based on a prompt "Are you insane? You're soaking wet."/"I don't care, I had to see you." from @borg-queer and an anon.
Read it on AO3 or Fanfiction.net
Preview below the cut.
The pavement gleamed, refracting the glow of the streetlights, so that white-gold halos bloomed across the wet, black floor. The wind whipped around his head, assaulting his ears. Nearby, trees groaned with the effort it took to withstand its onslaught.
JJ was right; it would have been foolish to drive. So he walked, instead.
His coat was redundant; he might as well have swum the distance between his apartment, and hers. Plastered to his face, he blinked hair out of his eyes. Even his hands, slung deep into the pockets of his coat, were damp. Overhead, tree branches grated together like broken teeth, then banged wildly together in a sudden gust of powerful wind.
Halfway to her house, it occurred to him that she would think this strange, if he just turned up on her doorstep, wet through, but he couldn’t turn around. He kept walking, stubbornly, laden with guilt and trauma, and longing that had only intensified in the time they’d been apart.
Clouds gathered overhead, a dark, foreboding blanket, filling him with a growing sense of dread. For years, he’d ignored his attraction to her, his want for her. First, there was Haley, then there was grief, then there was duty. Now, what was there but the longing? Duty be damned. The wind shoved and tugged fiercely at him, whipping his coat around his body, growing from a gale into a churning torrent by the time he was nearly there.
The streets were empty of life, as he battled against Nature’s rage, a man in possession of nothing but an iron will and a broken heart.
Aaron and Emily both have feelings after he sends her in to flirt with Viper.
or
Porn with Plot that i stayed up until 4:32 in the morning writing
18+. potentially the filthiest thing i've ever written, so bear that in mind.
tw: mentions of domestic violence pertaining to Hotch's childhood
read on ao3 or fanfiction.net
JOIN MY TAGLIST
It's the little black dress that does it. The one she's wearing specifically to entice Viper, that low-life, scummy, germ of a man who doesn't deserve to so much as breathe in her presence.
She's all dressed up for him and as Aaron watches her cross the street, having dropped her, Jordan and the boys off at the club, he can't help the way his jaw tightens, nor the way his trousers do, watching her ass sway. He cricks his neck, twists his head away from her, and it's not without effort. He and Rossi will be waiting back at the precinct, but he wishes he was inside that club to keep an eye on her. He knows she's got this handled, knows she's got plenty of backup between the other three agents who are with her, and knows that Morgan, at least, will be watching out for her, but it doesn't make him feel better.
He has to wait, feeling impotent and restless, while she not only potentially puts herself in danger once again, but flirts, under his orders, with that…that…
His knuckles crack against the steering wheel, he's holding it so tightly. And it takes everything in him to drive away.
