hi!?! could you please write slowburn with hotch.. like working at the bau and being a little oblivious and udhhd until it eventually resolves with smut?? I lack fics without previously established relationship
you're the risk i'm gonna take it
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader, background michael robinavitch x reader
summary: request above
word count: 3.7k
tags: jealous!hotch, possessive!hotch, angst, hotch is lowk toxic but it works out for him, reader is oblivious but also kind of dumb, the pitt mention (helloo hyperfixation) dr robby is down bad, not proofread.
author's note: thank you for this request angel! i hope you like this and ty for being so patient xx
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── ·
The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re ready to hightail it out of the room. Your transfer to the Behavioural Analysis Unit was something done out of necessity—you’d spent a long time in private practice before deciding to branch out and were lucky enough to score an opening with the FBI.
Hotchner was…a lot. Of what? You weren’t entirely sure. You’d been made aware he had a reputation for being a hardass and somehow also one of the best team leaders in the FBI.
He was calm, confident and at times abrasive, but you wouldn’t have gotten to this point if you were unable to work under pressure. He had been strict and clear in his expectations of your role on the team; you were new and had to fight to prove yourself.
“I look forward to working with you Agent.” He had remarked, barely looking up from his pile of papers as he dismissed you from the meeting. If you were any less professional, you would have scoffed but all you did was offer a tight smile and nod.
“I do too, have a good day further Agent Hotchner.”
And that was that.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
The BAU was a learn as you go workplace and you quickly figured out it was also a seemingly do as I say, not as I do environment. If you had a dollar for every time you witnessed one of your coworkers pull some kind of self-sacrificing bullshit—you’re fairly sure you’d never have to work ever again.
You would be lying if you said it didn’t bring some sort of spark back into your life, despite the dead bodies and sadistic murderers—you had found that missing puzzle peace.
The team sat on the plane back from one of their most recent cases, half-asleep on the red eye whilst you had your laptop out, typing away at your report so you’d be able to sleep as soon as you got back.
“You should sleep.” Hotch’s voice startles you despite being barely above a soft murmur. He’s watching you over a case file whilst sitting across from you.
You snort, “Yeah, no chance.”
Hotch frowns, “You having a hard time sleeping?” His tone is concerned and it brings a stiffness to your shoulders. You shouldn’t have said that. You’re completely capable of doing your job and it’s not like you’re the only one on this plane who has a hard time closing their eyes at night and not picturing every other gruesome thing they’ve encountered.
“No,” you smile tightly, shuffling your laptop closer to you as you squint at the screen. “I’m fine.”
Hotch stares at you for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call you out on the blatant lie but instead heaves a sigh, slumping into his own seat.
“You shouldn’t squint like that—it will hurt your eyes.” He reprimands lightly and this time you can’t help the amused raise of your brow as you meet his dark gaze.
“God, you’re old.” You snort, immediately trying to muffle your laugh when his expression turns perplexed.
“Old?” he mutters in disbelief.
“Sorry,” you giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth as you watch him shake his head in fond amusement.
“You’re trouble for a man’s ego.” He points at you with a wry smile on his face as you flush.
You shrug, “Gotta keep em’ humble.”
Hotch flashes his teeth as he grins softly. Silence grows between the two of you as you continue to work on your own respective tasks.
As you continue to write your report, nibbling on your bottom lip you are seemingly unaware of the soft looks Hotch sends you in between his own reading.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
Your relationship with Hotch is complicated. There are times where you’ll catch him staring at you from his office, small smile on his face or there’s times where he inconspicuously accommodates you more than he would someone else.
He’s just being nice is what you tell yourself, because any other option would be ludicrous to even consider. Though there are moments that make you start to question whether those options might be reality.
You’re on a case in Pittsburgh, somewhere near the hospital you used to work at before transferring to the BAU and it’s just your luck that one of your key witnesses is currently being held in the ED.
You’re more than happy to accompany Hotch to the ED to try and get something useful out of the guy and you really struggle at schooling your face of excitement of seeing any of your past colleagues.
It doesn’t slip passed Hotch’s notice who quirks a curious brow at you from the driver’s seat, “You’re quite eager to be meeting a witness.” He remarks dryly but there’s no hiding the humor in his expression.
You grow shy, nibbling on your bottom lip and drawing his attention to your action. “I used to work in the psychology department at PTMC.” You admit softly, wringing your hands in front of you.
Hotch hums interestedly, it’s not often in their line of work that Agents are transferred into the FBI from outside of the academy. He’s willing to take any chance to know the parts of you he’s been yet to discover and visiting your work is what brings him hope that this might just push you both closer together.
You haven’t been outwardly dismissive of his advancements, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t killing him inside that you weren’t as forthcoming. Sure, it had been a while since he’d had to whip out his flirting tactics—his first and last relationship being well his late wife.
But you were so enigmatic that he just couldn’t help but want to be near you, he’d been making every effort to impress. Well, at least he thought he had, if your blatant obliviousness to his affection wasn’t sign enough.
Hotch had found himself gritting his teeth one too many times after he’d been blatantly flirting with you only for you to respond in your sweetest smile yet most professional tone.
He knew it wasn’t right, that he had no business crushing on his subordinate but Lord help him if you weren’t the only woman who had made him feel things he didn’t think himself capable of.
When Hotch parks the car, you practically launch yourself out of the vehicle to speedwalk your way into the entrance. You’re fast enough that Hotch has to jog a little to catch up to you with a breathy chuckle before matching your strides.
“So, you can run in those heels,” he teases softly, his arm coming back to rest on the curve of your back to guide you to the entrance.
You lift your hand to swat at his chest half-heartedly with a playful scowl that diminishes the moment you step into the bustling ER, the both of you adopting your composed manner of professionalism despite your simultaneous twitching lips.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You’re met by a blonde nurse whose smile is as wide as can be when she catches sight of you, her southern drawl echoing as she crosses the room, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes sunshine? Who knew we’d be seeing your face again!” she remarks happily, wrapping her arms around you in a motherly hug.
“Dana, I missed you.” You say softly, hugging her back before throwing a sheepish expression to Hotch who shrugs.
“And who’s this with you?” Dana sizes up Hotch, staring him down something fierce and he feels himself paling a little.
“Uh—” you chuckle nervously. “This is Agent Hotchner, he’s um—he’s my boss.” You say.
Dana turns to you, quirking a brow that makes you roll your eyes fondly. “We’re here on a case, Pittsburgh PD should have called ahead, we’re here to interview a James Harlow? He was in—”
“MVA, Yeah Robby’s got him down in South 12, you remember where that is don’t you? He’s gonna be real excited to see you.” Dana drawls teasingly.
Hotch expects you to laugh and wave off the statement, but he’s surprised to see you fluster, your shoulders hiking up towards your ears as you shove Dana softly.
“Stop,” you chastise her through a whine and Hotch feels like a rock had lodged itself in between his heart and ribcage. Who the hell is this guy?
He has no right to be jealous, the two of you aren’t…anything. You’re both colleagues, he’s your superior but Hotch feels his gut clenching and palms sweating all the same.
He coughs, clearing his throat which draws your attention back to him. You have the decency to look embarrassed but without further mention of it you say a hasty goodbye to an amused Dana who looks like she’s sizing him up and drag the both of you to what he assumes is South 12.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
When the curtain is drawn away, you both are met with the sight of your witness and what Hotch assumes is “Robby” explaining his blood test results to.
“Uh,” your witness mutters awkwardly, gaze switching between yourself and the man behind you. You suppose you must look quite intimidating in your formal wear and FBI badged plastered to your lapels, but you school your expression into something that you hope resembles comfort.
“Sunshine.” Robby remarks surprise as you muster a shy smile and an awkward wave while Hotch behinds you clenches his jaw.
Fuck. Granted, Hotch could’ve rationalised his jealousy if the guy were your age (no he couldn’t have) but Robby must be his age if not older. He’s all crows’ feet and greying hair that Hotch can’t help but measure himself up against.
He hates this. Never once has something so personal jeopardised his ability to maintain professionalism yet you have a way to test all of his boundaries. He hates how Robby is looking at you—like you’re some kind of miracle that he never thought he’d have the chance to see again.
It’s how Hotch looks at you. He knows that look, he wears that look every day with a feeling of pride because up until now—he had no reason to doubt that it was a matter of when not if you returned his affection.
Now? Now he feels the urge to drag you out of this ED and make you promise to never look at another man ever again. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.
“I uh—we’re here to interview Mr. Harlow. We’re with the BAU—we just have a couple of questions about what you saw today,” you murmur reassuringly to the wary man whilst glancing back at Robby.
Hotch’s firm voice startles you slightly when he moves from behind you to stand next to you, effectively acting as a barrier between you and Robby, “We need you to go over anything you can remember from this morning.”
Robby’s gaze turns amused when he notices Hotch’s posturing, snorting to himself as he shuffles out of the room, “I’ll leave you to it.”
You nod meekly, opening your mouth to start the cognitive interview before Robby’s voice interrupts you, “Dinner later Sunshine? Would be good to catch up.” He offers, an easy smile in his place.
Your heart warms, as much as you’ve enjoyed your time at the BAU, the day shift were the first people who made you feel like you were part of a community.
“Yeah,” you offer easily. “I’m working a case right now, but I’d like that. Maybe you could invite the rest—”
“Agent, we’re in the middle of something.” Hotch spits out, his eyes ablaze as he stares you down.
You shrink into yourself, not noticing Robby’s frown at your demeanour though he leaves after you give him a reassuring smile. You give your full attention back to your witness and proceed with the interview.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You somehow feel like you’ve done something wrong despite the interview being a complete success. You walk out of the room with the feeling that Hotch is…mad at you? Frustrated?
You’re not entirely sure, only that he speaks to you in one word responses if he’s not supplied a grunt of some kind. It gets worse when you confirm your plans with Robby as you walk out, offering for Hotch to go on without you when you notice other Pittsburgh PD officers also in the ED.
“It’ll give me some time to ask him a couple more questions and you can go over what we already know with the rest of the team, I’m sure the officers won’t mind.” You reassure him.
Hotch fights the growl that wants to burst out of his throat. He minds. He minds that Robby’s been waiting not so patiently to get you wrapped around his dirty little fingers, for you to decide that maybe you don’t want Hotch and instead want to trade up to some fucking ER Doctor.
“No, we came together. I’ll drive you back.” His answer is curt and your confusion doubles. What is his problem?
“But I—”
“Sunshine, my truck’s sitting outside if you’d rather drive that. I don’t mind coming and getting’ it from you later before dinner.” Robby offers, interrupting your conversation Hotch thinks bitterly.
Of course he drives a truck, and of course he’d offer for you to take it. Any excuse in the book to get to see you again huh? Well Hotch can deal with that.
“That won’t be necessary, we have everything that we need to form a working profile and time is really of the essence here. We need to go. Now.” He orders, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he grabs your arm despite the gasp you let out, sparks shooting up your arm as your dragged out the parking lot.
“What? Hotch—” you squeak out, trying to tug your arm from his hold as he pulls you into the car, lifting you by your hips and plopping you into the passenger seat. You squawk in protest squirming as he adjusts your legs slightly and closes the door, jogging to the driver’s seat and getting in with a scowl still planted on his face.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You’ve been silent and matching Hotch’s scowl the entire drive back to the precinct, “This is kidnapping you know.” You remark sarcastically, folding your arms over your chest..
Hotch blows out a frustrated breath, “We had to leave, we didn’t have time for you be chummy with your friends.” He growls out, hands tightening on the wheel until he’s white knuckling it.
“Yeah sure, blame me when you’re the one with a stick up your ass.” He hears you mutter to yourself, forcing his resolve to break.
“That’s it.” He snarls, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. There are barely any cars on this stretch of road, but it still brings a gasp to your lips at the jerky movement.
“What is wrong with you!” you hiss out, clutching at your seatbelt and the handle of the door as your eyes grow wide in panic.
“You’re being a brat.” Hotch growls out, his gaze dark and heavy as his chest heaves up and down in frustration. Your gaze drops to his chest, your mouth growing parched as you shake yourself out of your stupor.
“I’m a brat?” You say incredulously, “I’m a brat when you’re the one who nearly got us into an accident because you were too busy having a temper tantrum over what the fuck ever?”
Hotch’s jaw clicks from how hard he’s clenching it, his glare focused on you, “Well I wouldn’t have been so on edge if you weren’t distracted while on the job.”
If it’s even possible, your scowl deepens, as you unbuckle your seatbelt thrusting your pointer finger into Hotch’s chest with vehemence, “Don’t you dare insinuate that I can’t do my job, I told you I could’ve gotten a ride with a different officer. Hell, even Robby offered—”
“Don’t fucking say him name.” Hotch threatens.
You falter, expression turning into bewilderment, “You’ve got a problem with Robby? You just met him how—”
“Because he was hitting on you!” Hotch bursts out, running his hand over his jaw as he blows out a frustrated breath as he chuckles without humor.
“Huh? Robby? He wouldn’t—”
“Oh, trust me,” Hotch taunts, “He would and he did. I had a front row seat to that entire segment.”
You frown looking as puzzled as ever, “That’s why you were angry? Why does it matter what Robby thinks, it doesn’t impact the case—”
“Fuck, you’re irritating.” Hotch grounds out, launching himself over the counsel and swallowing your annoyed sound with his lips. He kisses you fiercely, his chapped lips borderline bruising your own as he prods at your lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.
He muffles your whimpers with his drawn out groan as he licks into your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face, angling you to deepen the kiss as he threads his fingers through your hair.
Your hands come up shakily to clench around his t-shirt as you whine into his mouth, lazily licking into his mouth like you’re trying to play catch up with him.
When he draws himself away, you follow his lips unconsciously—your own puckered with a whine as he takes in your dazed expression. He licks his lips watching you, already half hard in his pants from the taste of you.
“I was jealous.” He admits, his voice low. He’s still looking at you, watching for any change in your expression.
Your eyes widen, “Why?” you mumble aloud.
Hotch scoffs a laugh, “Because I like you? Because I wished that I had worked up the nerve to ask you out before that hotshot doctor did? Because I was too much of a wuss because I was scared you’d say no? you take your pick.” He says, smiling without humour.
You frown, your hand hesitantly lifting to cup Hotch’s cheek. You nibble on your bottom lip, drawing a groan from Hotch’s chest.
“I—I like you too.” You admit shyly, your expression growing abashed as you avoid eye contact with him.
“Look at me.” He demands firmly, his hand cupping your chin to force you to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry I lashed out at you, that was unfair of me.” He says softly. You shrug, rubbing your thumb up and down his cheek.
“S’okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You mumble.
Hotch shakes his head, “No.” he states firmly, “I didn’t mean it but that doesn’t make it right, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry.” He insists.
You smile softly, “Forgiven, you can be so emotional sometimes.” You tease softly.
Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes, “You mean it though? you—you like me?” he asks hoarsely.
You grow shy, nodding softly. “Say it again.” He demands petulantly.
You snort, “What will I get if I do?” you taunt.
Hotch’s expression grows devilish, “Anything you want.” He mutters darkly, gazing at you with heat in his eyes. His dick twitches inside of his pants as he has to fight the urge to thrust up into empty space.
Your pupils dilate, “I like you.” You say breathily and Aaron’s smirk grows wider.
“That right?” He taunts softly, his hand dropping to your thigh and slowly moving upwards.
You shudder softly, your thighs slipping open as you gaze grows heavier. “Is this okay?” Aaron checks in with you.
You nod softly, your own hand coming to rest of his shoulder as you feel him run his index finger over the inseam of your tailored pants.
A sharp gasp escapes you, “Fuck.” Aaron mutters as he watches you squirm.
“Take off your pants.” He orders and you scramble to pull your pants and underwear off in quick succession.
Aaron’s breathing grows heavier as he catches sight of your wet cunt, glistening from its moisture as you spread your legs shyly.
His groan is loud in the car as he runs his thumb over your sticky entrance, pausing to press indecently over your hole softly before running it back up and down through your wetness.
You whimper, grabbing hold of his bicep as you make half-hearted thrusts against his thumb, clenching down emptily on the tip of his thumb each time he teasingly enters your cunt.
“I—oh.” You gasp, feeling Hotch’s thumb start to rub circles on your clit mixed with your wetness. You feel yourself start to leak between your thighs, grinding your hips up into Hotch’s thumb.
“Does that feel good?” he grunts, using his other hand to circle your entrance with his index finger, slipping it in as he rubs your clit and watching in fascination as your pussy swallows his finger whole, clenching down so tightly on him that he can’t help but imagine how tight you’d be on his dick.
“Hotch, I—" you whine as he thrusts his finger in and out, curling it slowly to brush against that soft spongy area inside of you that turns your legs into jelly.
“Aaron,” he orders you. “You call me Aaron while I make you feel good.”
You nod nonsensically, barely even listening as your focus is on the feeling of Hotch’s fingers in you. “Another—want, oh my god, another.” You beg him, leaking all over his fingers as you thrust harder, seeking more friction.
Hotch adds his middle finger easily enough, drawing out a guttural moan from you as you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge. You can feel every callous and groove on Hotch’s fingers and it makes you even wetter.
God you want his fingers inside of you forever, stretching you out and making you cum. “I can’t, close—” you mumble softly, throwing your head back as you clench your hand down on Aaron’s shoulder—you expression scrunching in pleasure.
“Yeah?” Aaron coos, “Cum on my fingers baby—that’s a good girl, cum for me.” He growls, fucking his fingers into your harder as you hurtle towards the finish line.
Your cunt clenching down harshly as you walls spasm around his fingers, your vision whiting out from pure pleasure as Hotch milks you for your orgasm until you’re left twitching and spent on the seat.
“Good girl.” He mumbles softly, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before taking his fingers out of you, bringing them to his own mouth, and sucking as his own eyes roll back into his head.
You’re about to offer to suck him off when you’ve recovered when you notice the wet patch that blooms over his crotch.
tw: light cm violence, reader gets hurt, hurt/comfort & fluff
a/n: just a little something cuz who doesn't like to being taken care of
KEEP YOU WARM
Everyone in the BAU knew you and Hotch had crushes on one another. It was clear as day to everyone with eyes — everyone except the two of you.
Every morning, you brought him coffee from the nearby coffee shop on your way to the office, and he repaid you with a bottle of water left on your desk during the day. You claimed it was nothing special. You tried to be nice to your friends, but nothing was as regular as this. You brought donuts once a month, baked cookies occasionally, and made coffee runs for the others during exhausting cases. So, to you, the morning coffee was simply a kind gesture.
For Hotch, it was not just something nice. It was the reason he got out of bed every morning, wanting to arrive a few minutes early just to see you and personally thank you for the cup. Occasionally, your fingers brushed, and the contact made his skin prickle even hours later.
A new case: three murders, one kidnapping. You were in Minnesota for four days already, and you really hoped to be back home by the end of the week. Your go-to travel bag was catastrophically unprepared for the cold November weather, and you were beginning to wonder when your last warm sweater would start to smell.
You busied yourself with a copy of the latest victim’s diary, trying to find something — literally anything — that could help you identify the unsub.
Someone cleared their throat right in front of your desk, making you look up. There he stood in front of you, wearing a navy blue sweater and dark slacks, handsome as ever. However, his face was now set in a frown.
“Have you been eating?”
You looked at him in confusion, trying to remember the last time you had eaten.
“Yeah, I think so? I had a donut for breakfast and coffee later. I was just finishing reading the victim’s diaries and—”
“Breakfast was at 7:30 a.m. It’s 3 p.m. Have you eaten since then?”
You looked around, shrugging as you tried to dismiss the problem.
“I’ll eat lunch when I’m done,” you said eventually.
Hotch just looked at you before gently closing the file, sliding it farther away, and placing a takeout container in front of you along with a bottle of water.
“Eat. I need you focused, not starving,” he announced before leaving you with Chinese takeout. You glanced at his back dumbfoundedly as he approached Rossi to discuss the case.
The breakthrough came the next day. Someone recognized the unsub, and Garcia found their location in record time.
You jumped into the SUV with JJ and Morgan, with Rossi, Hotch, and Reid hot on your tail. The drive was short and frantic when every second counted.
You arrived at the place in record time, running around the house with guns in hand and Kevlar vests strapped on.
The sudden movement at your side caught your attention, but it was too late. A fist connected with your jaw, knocking you out for a moment, making you lose your balance and fall right into the small pond you had been checking moments before.
“Y/N!” JJ called at the same moment Morgan tackled the unsub, cuffing him and throwing him to the ground harder than necessary.
Hotch didn’t wait. He jumped in after you immediately, not allowing fear to paralyze him. He pulled you out of the water, soaking wet but slowly regaining consciousness.
“Hey, honey, wake up,” he mumbled before he could even process the words that had slipped out.
“Aaron,” you smiled weakly, calling him by his first name out loud for the first time.
“It’s me. Let’s get you warm and checked out, okay?”
You nodded weakly, eyes fixed on his face as he carried you to the EMTs. A paramedic wrapped a towel around you and checked your head for injuries. You were cleared after fifteen minutes.
“I need to change,” you said, shivering as the cold wind cut through your wet clothes.
“Yes, let’s go. You can change at the precinct, and then we’ll go home.”
You sat in your usual spot on the jet, wearing black leggings you normally used as pajamas and a long-sleeved shirt, since it was the last clean thing in your bag. You were still cold, curled up with a cup of tea in your hands, damp hair loosely braided so it wouldn’t cling to your face or clothes.
“Here. Wear this. It’ll keep you warm.”
You looked up at Hotch as he handed you his sweater. Hesitantly, you took the navy fabric and pulled it on, instantly wrapped in the scent of his cologne.
“Thank you,” you smiled as he took the seat next to yours.
“Don’t mention it. Are you feeling better?” A soft smile danced on his lips as he looked down at you.
“Yes. Now I am.”
And if your head dropped onto his shoulder as exhaustion took over and you fell asleep, no one dared to comment on the gentle smile on Aaron’s face or the hand resting protectively over yours.
Just to keep them warm, he justified to himself.
“Five bucks says he asks her out by the end of the year,” Morgan whispered to Rossi as they watched the two of you from the other side of the plane.
“Ten bucks says he does it by the end of the month.”
“Come on, they’ve been dancing around each other for months now. He won’t speed things up that fast,” Derek laughed quietly.
“But nothing pushes a man to take action like keeping his woman safe.”
And if Derek had to hand Dave the money by the end of the next week, after the two of you left the office hand in hand... well, no one else needed to know.
Summary: It was well known within the team that there was one other person back in the day that had captured their team leader's heart. You knew Aaron back when he and Haley took a break from their relationship and he went to the academy and met you. What the team doesn’t know is that you have been with the FBI ever since, working the west coast mainly until you get requested to join the BAU.
an// the timeline is a little different in this from the show, Aaron spent longer as a prosecutor before going to the academy and joining the FBI for this to work and to make the reader younger than Aaron. This is also a world where Foyet never happened and Haley is still alive.
[Aaron Hotchner x Reader] [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]
It’s supposed to be the last carefree night before your new job begins - just a drink, maybe two, and a chance to forget the nerves waiting for you in the morning.
Instead, you meet him. Aaron Hotchner. Calm, controlled, and devastatingly handsome, intense in a way that makes your skin itch to find out what’s hiding behind that commanding shell.
And before the night is over, you do find out exactly what happens when he lets go of all that careful control.
OR:
Aaron puts the hot in Hotchner and makes you obey
A/N: This has been in my drafts embarrassingly long...so I figured it's time to finally finish it. I may have gotten completely carried away lol
To be honest, you are not sure why you are here - here, of all places, in a bar thick with low murmurs and the clink of glass.
Tomorrow is your first day with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI. A fresh start. A career people would kill for. And yet tonight, instead of preparing or sleeping or doing anything remotely sensible, you’re sitting beneath warm amber light with a drink in your hand.
Maybe it’s nerves. Maybe it’s the uncertainty curling in your stomach every time you think about tomorrow. Maybe you just needed one last night of being no one important yet.
At least you chose well.
The bar has the kind of charm that can’t be fabricated. Age settled into the dark wood panels and worn floorboards, into the brass fixtures dulled by time, into every nick and scratch left behind by years of strangers passing through. It feels lived in, familiar, like a place that has seen a thousand stories and kept every one of them.
The lighting is low and golden, casting everything in softness. It catches on framed photographs lining the walls, on polished bottles behind the counter, on the edges of glasses raised in quiet toasts.
And the varied crowd reflects just that. A few play darts with quiet intensity, while others linger at the bar, absorbed in conversation that hums rather than roars.
Behind the counter, the bartender moves, pouring drinks with careful precision. Ice knocks softly against glass, laughter rises and fades, and the room vibrates with the easy comfort of a place suspended somewhere between celebration and escape.
A quiet sigh slips from your lips as you study the depths of your glass, where the scotch rests in a pool of amber fire, gathering and releasing the low light of the room. It was a good choice. It’s something warm, expensive enough to feel indulgent, strong enough to quiet the edges of your thoughts.
The tumbler sits heavy in your hand, its weight oddly reassuring, as though anchoring you in the sea of uncertainty that you’re afloat in.
When you tilt the glass, the liquid clings for a moment to the crystal walls before slipping downwards in thin golden rivulets. You watch them with more attention than they deserve, grateful for the distraction, however brief, from the shape of tomorrow waiting just beyond midnight.
“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be here alone.”
The voice arrives like a stone through still water, disturbing the fragile calm you had so carefully constructed around yourself.
You lift your gaze to find a man standing beside you, perhaps near your own age. His eyes are a washed and uncertain blue, curious in a manner that feels less charming than practised. Angular features are softened by an uneven stubble, and brown hair falls untidily to his ears.
He is not unattractive…only uninteresting. Too young, too eager, and possessed of that particular energy, you have no patience to entertain tonight.
You offer him the kind of smile civility demands and nothing more.
“Sometimes being alone is rather nice,” you reply evenly. “Besides, I’m not alone.”
Demonstratively, you lift your glass a bit - the whiskey is your company.
He grins, entirely untroubled by your refusal, “Fair enough. Mind if I join you? The night’s still young, and good company is hard to find.”
For a moment, you let the silence linger between you, hoping it might accomplish what politeness had not.
“I appreciate the offer,” you say at last, measured and clear, “but I was rather enjoying some time to myself.”
You hate men who just don’t get it. How broad should the hint be, you ask yourself.
His expression does not so much as flicker. With the confidence of a man long accustomed to mistaking persistence for charm, he draws the empty stool beside you and settles onto it as though invited.
“No harm in a little company, is there? Name’s Sean, by the way.”
You give your own name with a restrained inclination of the head, the sort of courtesy you extend to strangers and endures.
“Nice to meet you, Sean.”
It is, in fact, not.
Jesus, you’re not in the mood to deal with someone like him today.
Sean continues on, filling the air with the easy, thoughtless chatter of someone entirely content to occupy more space than he has been given. You scarcely hear the words. Your attention has already turned elsewhere, your gaze moving over the room in quiet calculation, searching the dim corners and crowded tables for some means of escape from the tedious siege of unwanted conversation.
And then you see him. Dark, serious, and older.
He takes a seat at the counter with the quiet assurance of a man who never needs to announce himself. One hand settles around a glass of amber liquor, the other resting loose beside it, every movement economical, precise. There is nothing ostentatious about him, and yet the room seems to bend, almost imperceptibly, around his presence. He is magnetic, drawing you in and captivating you.
Dark eyes, brown, you think, though the light keeps their true colour half-concealed, view the room from beneath a stern, thoughtful brow. There is intelligence there, sharp and watchful, the kind that misses very little and forgives even less.
His hair is black, neatly kept, touched by the faintest suggestion of silver at the temples. It frames a face cut in decisive lines: strong jaw, straight nose, a mouth made severe by habit rather than nature.
His dress shirt is charcoal, sleeves rolled once at the forearm, collar open just enough to suggest the night has coaxed some small concession from discipline. Broad shoulders strain the fabric in a way almost indecently distracting. Everything about him speaks of control - careful, practised, absolute.
He is all sharp lines and silent strength.
His gaze rests now on you and Sean with calm, unblinking attention. Not intrusive. Not idle. Merely observant. But there is a flicker in those unreadable eyes. Interest, perhaps, or disapproval, or the private consideration of a man already deciding what to do next.
You decide to use a subtle diversion tactic, seizing the opportunity, offering Sean a polite smile, “I appreciate the conversation, Sean, but I’ve just spotted someone I need to catch up with. Perhaps another time?”
Before Sean can gather himself enough to object, you slip from the stool, leaving him in a brief and well-earned silence.
You cross the short distance to the stranger and offer him a small smile.
“Mind if I join you?”
The mysterious stranger glances towards the empty stool beside him and gestures to it with a quiet inclination of his hand.
As you settle onto the chair your initial impression is confirmed: He is, indeed, remarkably handsome.
The dark dress shirt fits almost too well, stretching lightly across broad shoulders.
Your gaze lingers on his hands; large, capable hands. The fingers are long and precise, the nails neatly kept, each detail suggesting a man who values order, control, and competence. Yet there is nothing delicate about them. They look built for command.
Your eyes trail upwards, and you can’t help but notice the soft shadow that graces his cheeks and chin. You wonder whether you would feel the gentle prickle of stubble if your fingers were to trace the contours of his face?
And then there are his eyes.
Exactly as you suspected: dark brown, deep-set and observant. Yet up close, they are warmer than expected, touched by an intelligence that feels almost tangible. They hold yours with calm steadiness, and in their depths a warmth that draws you in.
You’re interrupted when Sean returns a moment later, his expression sharpened by annoyance, as though your leaving had been less a choice than a personal affront.
“It’s not very nice to just walk away, you know,” he remarks, his tone laced with irritation. A cringe creeps over you at the edge in his voice, but before you can respond, the man beside you speaks first.
“Walk away, Sean.”
His voice is deep and level, not raised in the slightest, yet it cuts cleanly through the room and through Sean’s indignation with equal ease.
Sean lets out a humourless laugh. “Oh, fuck off, Aaron. Stay out of it. I wasn’t talking to you.”
Wait, they know each other? They seem so different: Sean all noise and entitlement, this man all restraint and consequence.
Aaron.
The name suits him. You turn it over once in your mind and find you like the sound of it far too much.
Sean, determined to prove himself a fool in every possible manner, places a hand upon your shoulder as though to reclaim the conversation. Irritation flares hot and immediate. You knock his hand away without hesitation.
Before he can speak again, Aaron repeats himself.
“Walk away, Sean.”
This time, the words arrive colder. A warning stripped to its essentials. His expression scarcely changes, yet the faint furrow between his brows deepens, and the air about him seems suddenly sharper, charged by something carefully leashed.
Sean scoffs, though less convincingly than before.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Aaron? She doesn’t need you fighting her battles.”
Aaron turns his gaze fully upon him then, and it is remarkable how much force can exist in stillness.
“She doesn’t need anyone harassing her either.” He pauses only a beat. “Walk away.”
Aaron’s words, a silent warning, hang in the air.
You feel both discomfort and an undeniable relief, as though someone has finally spoken aloud what should have been obvious from the start.
“I’m not taking orders from you,” Sean says, but the bravado has thinned. Uncertainty frays the edges of his voice.
Aaron’s reply is calm, almost courteous, which somehow makes it more threatening.
“You should. It would be in your best interest.”
Silence stretches between them. Then, with the sulky resentment of a man who knows he has lost but cannot bear to admit it, Sean steps back.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
He casts you one final bitter glance before disappearing into the shifting dimness of the bar.
Aaron’s gaze turns back to you once Sean has vanished into the crowd, and with the shift comes a subtle but unmistakable change. The severity that had sharpened his features moments ago eases; the hard line of his mouth softens, the tension at his brow loosens. It is as though some private switch has been thrown; the man who had stood like a blade now becoming something quieter, steadier.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
The question is simple, but there is nothing careless in it. His attention settles on you fully, deliberate and searching, as though he intends to make certain of the answer rather than merely hear it.
You nod, still feeling the remnants of adrenaline fluttering beneath your ribs.
“Yes,” you say, then with greater sincerity, “Thanks to you.”
For a moment, he only inclines his head, accepting the gratitude without ceremony.
“No problem.” His glance flicks briefly towards the direction Sean disappeared. “Some people require a clearer message.” A pause, almost dryly amused. “My brother especially.”
You blink. “Your brother?”
Something like resignation passes over his face before he sighs, “Unfortunately, yes. Younger brother.”
The revelation rearranges the scene in your mind: The hostility, the familiarity, the confidence with which he had intervened.
“Well,” you say slowly, “family dynamics can be... complicated.”
A low sound escapes him, half breath, half laugh. He leans back against the counter then, one elbow resting on the polished wood, glass turning idly between long fingers.
“Complicated is one word for it,” he says. “Sean has a talent for finding trouble wherever he goes.” His eyes lift to yours. “And I have a talent for getting him out of it.”
You laugh despite yourself, the image too fitting not to.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
The answer comes at once, dry and honest enough to surprise another laugh from you. A faint smile touches his mouth in response, brief as light on water.
“But I’d rather not spend the evening discussing my family’s flaws.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you now with that same measured attentiveness. “What brings you here tonight?”
The question turns the light back onto you, and under his gaze, you find yourself answering more openly than you intended. You tell him about tomorrow: Your first day at your new job, the weight of beginnings and expectations pressing against your thoughts. You speak of wanting one quiet evening before life becomes something faster, louder, and more demanding.
Aaron listens without interruption. His eyes remain on you, dark and steady, reflecting understanding without pity, interest without intrusion.
When you finish, he glances around the room - the clatter of glasses, the murmuring crowd, the dartboard thudding softly in the distance.
“Well,” he says at last, voice touched with dry humour, “you chose an interesting space for peace and quiet.”
You laugh aloud, genuinely this time, and the sound appears to please him more than he lets on.
Then he smiles.
It changes him.
Until now, you had admired the stern architecture. But a smile dismantles all of it in an instant. Warmth spills suddenly through features once guarded. The lines of tension vanish from his brow; his eyes brighten, revealing a softness you would not have thought possible in them.
There are dimples, faint but unmistakable, appearing at the corners of a mouth that seems built more for command than delight. They lend him an almost dangerous charm, because they humanise what was already striking.
You stare a moment longer than politeness allows.
He notices, surely. A man like this notices everything. Yet he says nothing. And somewhere, with startling clarity, a thought forms.
You want to see that smile again.
Even want to be the cause of it. You want to peel back every careful layer of restraint he wears so elegantly and discover what lies beneath the discipline, beneath the severity, beneath the immaculate control.
All in all you want, quite suddenly and quite seriously, to be the making of his undoing.
You chat a little longer, conversation flowing with surprising ease over the slow passage of drinks and borrowed glances. There is something effortless in it now, the earlier reserve worn away until words pass between you as naturally as breath.
After a while, you excuse yourself to the restroom.
As you slip from the stool, your phone happens to fall from your hand, striking the floor with a sharp little sound. You bend to retrieve it, slowly, deliberately, so that the hem of your skirt rises just enough to flash more of your thigh and ass than appropriate. You linger there longer than necessary, arching your back a touch more.
From above comes the low, rough sound of a man losing patience with restraint.
You glance back only briefly, catching the dark heat in Aaron’s eyes, and give your hips the faintest sway as you straighten. Then, with a look of playful innocence that fools neither of you, you turn and make your way towards the corridor.
Footsteps follow behind you - swift, purposeful, leaving no doubt as to their owner. Then strong hands find your waist, firm and certain, turning you in one smooth motion until your back meets the wall and Aaron stands before you.
He is close enough now to feel rather than simply see. The breadth of him blocks the narrow hall, his body a wall of warmth and solid strength, every line of him commanding space with effortless authority. His chest rises beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, close enough that you feel the heat of it through your own clothes. His thighs, thick and unyielding, bracket yours, making escape impossible even if you wanted it.
His eyes hold yours, dark and intent, searching your face for something deeper than permission.
“I’ll stop,” he says quietly, voice lowered to a gravelled murmur, his breath warm on your lips, “if you don’t want this.”
But you just smile, tilting your head up in invitation.
It is all he needs.
He crashes his mouth to yours, hard and demanding, his full lips claiming you with a force that steals your breath. His tongue pushes past your teeth, stroking deep, tasting you like he’s starved.
One massive hand cups the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair to angle you just right, while the other slides down to grip your hip, pulling your body flush against his.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, tracing the broad expanse, and he responds by pressing his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he’s getting. His hand dips lower, cupping your ass and lifting you slightly against the wall, his thigh wedging more between your legs to rub against your aching pussy.
The friction makes you moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, kissing you like he never wants to stop, his stoic mask shattered by the raw need in his eyes.
You tease him by grinding your hips forward, feeling the thick length of his cock strain harder against his jeans, rubbing right along your thigh. He groans low into the kiss, his big hand squeezing your ass tighter, fingers digging in to pull you closer, while his other palm slides up to cup your breast fully, thumb circling your nipple through the thin fabric until it peaks stiff and sensitive.
He breaks the kiss just enough to nip at your jaw, whispering hot against your skin, “You like that, don’t you? Getting all worked up in a hallway where anyone could walk by.”
You whimper in response when he captures your lips once more. His touch turns bolder, hand slipping under your skirt to trace the edge of your panties, fingertips brushing your damp pussy, making you whine and buck against him.
But then it hits you- the distant hum of voices from the bar, the risk of someone rounding the corner. You’re in public, exposed in this dimly lit hallway of a busy bar, and the thrill mixes with a sharp jolt of reality. You pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling from his assault.
“Not here,” you murmur, eyes locking on his darkened gaze. You’re almost surprised how strongly you’re reacting to him, but can’t find it in yourself to care, so the next words tumble our breathlessly, “My place.”
For a moment, he says nothing. Then Aaron gives a single nod, sharp and decisive. Desire has coloured the stern planes of his face, though discipline still holds him in check by sheer force of habit. A fleeting smile touches his mouth, rare enough to feel like a private reward, before he reaches to smooth the hem of your skirt back into place with a touch that is both practical and unmistakably possessive.
He grabs your hand, enveloping it completely and leads you back through the crowd.
When you near the counter to settle your tab, Sean notices at once.
He is leaning against the bar with the sullen posture of a man still nursing his humiliation, and the sight of you beside Aaron sharpens something ugly in his expression.
“Well, look at that,” he drawls. “Guess playing hero worked out for you after all.”
A few nearby heads turn, sensing conflict with the vulgar instinct of crowds everywhere.
Aaron does not so much as glance at him at first. He sets payment on the bar, calm and precise, as though Sean were no more than background noise. Yet the line of his jaw tightens.
Sean mistakes silence for permission once again.
“What was it this time, huh?” he continues, bitterness creeping into each word. “Flash the badge, give the big speech, scare everyone into line?”
Aaron turns then. Slowly.
“You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night,” he says, voice low and controlled. “Don’t continue.”
Sean scoffs, but there is uncertainty beneath it now. “You always think you know best.”
“No,” Aaron replies evenly. “I usually just happen to be right.”
You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you. Sean hears it, flushes, and glares.
Aaron merely offers him one final look. Cold, steady, final enough to end the matter without another word. Then he takes your hand again and guides you toward the door.
Outside, the night air cools your heated skin as you hail a cab. It pulls up quickly, and you both slide into the back seat, Aaron’s massive frame taking up half the space, his arm immediately draping around your shoulders to tug you close.
The driver glances in the rearview, muttering about the address as you rattle it off, but you barely register. The second the cab lurches forward, Aaron’s mouth is on yours again, kissing you fierce and unyielding, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with yours.
You tease him relentlessly, straddling his lap despite the cramped space, your skirt bunching up as you rock against the hard bulge tenting his jeans. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, while you suck on his lower lip, then trail bites down his neck, feeling his pulse thunder under your teeth.
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he rasps, voice rough, one hand shoving up your top to palm your bare breast, pinching the nipple until you gasp.
You grind down harder, the friction against your soaked pussy making you slicker through your panties, and he thrusts up to meet you, the cab’s motion adding to the rhythm.
The driver clears his throat loudly, eyes flicking to the mirror with clear irritation. “Hey, folks, keep it PG back there! This ain’t a motel on wheels.”
But you ignore him, moaning softly as Aaron’s fingers dip between your legs, rubbing your clit in firm circles over the fabric. He kisses you deeper, swallowing your sounds, his free hand fisting your hair to tilt your head back for better access.
The cab swerves a bit, driver’s dismay obvious in his grumbled curses, but neither of you cares, lost in the building heat, Aaron’s cock throbbing insistently against you as the city lights blur past.
It screeches to a halt outside your building, the driver’s final grumble fading as the door swings open. Aaron’s hand is already fumbling for his wallet, tossing bills onto the front seat without breaking eye contact with you. His gaze is dark and predatory, promising everything you’ve been building toward.
“Keep the change,” he mutters to the driver, who shakes his head in disbelief but doesn’t say anything anymore.
Before you can slide out on your own, Aaron’s grip clamps around your wrist, strong fingers wrapping like a vice as he hauls you from the back seat. He almost drags you across the sidewalk, your heels scraping the pavement, his other arm snaking around your waist to steady you or maybe just to claim you outright.
The cool night breeze does nothing to temper the fire raging between you; your thighs are slick with arousal, panties soaked from the ride, and his cock presses insistently against your hip as he pulls you close to his side.
“Inside. Now,” he growls low, voice gravelly with restraint barely holding. You don’t even register the cab driving off with screeching tyres.
You fumble with your keys at the front door, fingers trembling from the adrenaline and his proximity. His massive frame looming behind you, chest brushing your back, one hand splayed possessively over your stomach while the other cages you against the doorframe.
He teases you mercilessly, lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “Look at you, shaking already. Bet that pussy’s dripping for me, isn’t it? Been thinking about how tight you’ll feel clenching around my cock since that hallway.”
His free hand dips lower, thumb pressing just above your cunt through your skirt, circling slow and firm enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, keys jingling as you finally slot the right one in, twisting the lock with a click that echoes like permission.
The door swings open, and you barely cross the threshold before Aaron kicks it shut behind you, the sound sharp and final. He spins you around in one fluid motion, his shoulders blocking out the dim hallway light as he shoves you back against the door.
Solid wood meets your spine with a thud. His body crashes into yours, pinning you there, those muscular arms bracketing your head, biceps flexing under his shirt sleeves. Up close, his stoic mask is shattered; sweat beads along his jaw, dimples flashing in a wicked half-smile as his hips grind forward, letting you feel every inch of his thick erection straining against his zipper, right up against your belly
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this since you bent over in that skirt,” he rasps, voice dropping to a dangerous timbre, his breath hot on your neck as he nuzzles in, teeth scraping your pulse point.
One hand fists your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat, while the other yanks your top up in a rough tug, exposing your tits to the cool air. His mouth descends immediately, latching onto one nipple, sucking hard and wet, tongue flicking the peak until it throbs.
You arch into him, moaning, but he doesn’t let up. His free hand shoves your skirt higher, fingers hooking into your panties teasingly.
He straightens just enough to meet your eyes, his own burning with raw intent, that captivating smile twisting into something feral.
“I’m gonna take you apart, piece by fucking piece,” he promises, voice thick and commanding, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing inside your mouth for you to suck.
His hand slides between your thighs now, two fingers plunging into your slick cunt without warning, curling to hit that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He pumps them slowly and deliberately, thumb grinding your clit, while his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss, tongue fucking in rhythm.
“You’ll cum on my fingers first, then my mouth, then my dick…over and over until your voice is hoarse and your body’s shaking. I won’t stop until you’re ruined for anyone else, dripping with my cum, marked everywhere.”
He adds a third finger, stretching you wider, his palm slapping lightly against your pussy with each thrust, the wet sounds filling the entryway. His cock twitches against you, desperate for release, but he holds back, eyes locked on yours, watching every gasp and shudder as he edges you closer. “Say it. Tell me you want it. Want me to fuck you senseless right now…”
Your moans spill out uncontrollably, body arching into his touch as his fingers drive you wild, that relentless rhythm building the pressure inside you until you’re teetering on the edge. But his words hang there, demanding a response, and in the haze of pleasure, you can’t form the words fast enough. Just more whimpers, your lips parting around his thumb earlier, now gasping against his mouth.
He pulls his fingers free with a slick pop, the sudden emptiness making you whine in protest. Before you can catch your breath, his hand comes down in a sharp, light slap against your soaked pussy, the sting sending a jolt straight to your core.
You yelp, thighs clenching, but it only makes you wetter, heat flooding your cheeks as his eyes darken with approval. “Already speechless, huh?” he growls, voice low and mocking, his free hand gripping your jaw to force your gaze to his. “That’s fine for now, but listen up: When I ask you something, you answer. Clear and quick, or I’ll make you wait even longer for what you need. Understand?”
You nod frantically, biting your lip, the lesson sinking in amid the throbbing ache between your legs. He smirks, satisfied, and without another word, he yanks you away from the door by your wrist, his grip iron-tight as he drags you down the hall.
He doesn’t hesitate, kicking open the first door he finds. Your bedroom, like he already knows the layout of your life, and hauls you inside, slamming it shut behind him.
The room spins for a second before his mouth crashes back onto yours, rough and demanding, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he backs you towards the bed. His tongue invades, while his hands roam possessively, squeezing your ass, pinning your arms when you reach for him. He’s in complete control, growling into the kiss when you try to touch him too freely, batting your hands away.
“Not yet,” he murmurs against your lips, voice gravelly. “This is about you learning to take what I give.”
He breaks the kiss just long enough to shove you down onto the mattress, your body bouncing once before he follows, caging you beneath his weight. His hands are everywhere now, rough and impatient as he tears at your clothes. Yanking your top over your head in one swift motion. He doesn’t waste time, palming one roughly while his mouth descends on the other, sucking hard enough to make you cry out.
“Fuck, these tits are mine now,” he rasps, biting down just enough to leave a faint mark, his tongue soothing the sting before he switches sides. “Gonna suck bruises into them, bite you until everyone knows you belong to me.”
Your skirt gets hiked up and ripped away next, his fingers hooking into the fabric and tearing it with a sharp rip that echoes in the room. He doesn’t bother with finesse, shoving your panties aside before stripping them off completely, leaving you exposed under his hungry stare.
“Look at you, all spread out and dripping for me,” he says, voice thick with lust as he kneels between your thighs, forcing your legs wider with his knees. His hands grip your hips, thumbs digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. “I’m gonna mark every inch. Hickeys on your neck, handprints on this ass, my cum leaking out of your pussy so you feel me for days.”
He leans down, capturing your mouth again in a bruising kiss, his cock, still confined in his pants, grinding against your thigh, hard and insistent. You buck up instinctively, but he pins you harder, breaking away to trail bites down your neck, sucking dark spots into the sensitive skin.
“Say it now,” he demands between nips, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of his dominance. “Tell me you want me to mark you, to fuck you until you’re covered in me.”
“Yes, Aaron, mark me, fuck me…please, make me yours,” you gasp out, your voice trembling with raw need as his hand tightens just enough around your throat, his eyes burning into yours with that feral intensity.
A low growl rumbles from his chest, satisfaction flashing across his face. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, releasing your throat to shove himself up from the bed.
He stands there for a moment, towering over you, his shirt already half-unbuttoned from the frenzy at the door. With quick, impatient yanks, he strips it off, revealing his body. Lean and powerful, the kind of trained dad bod that’s all honed muscle under a layer of soft give, his arms thick and corded from years of lifting and holding control. His chest rises and falls heavily, a light sheen of sweat already glistening on his skin.
He kicks off his boots, then shoves his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, his cock springing free. Hard and thick, veins bulging along its length, the head already slick with pre-cum.
You can’t tear your eyes away, your breath hitching at the sight of him, so ready to claim you. He steps closer, grabbing his discarded belt from the floor with a deliberate snap that makes you flinch in anticipation.
“Hands up,” he orders, his voice like gravel. You obey instantly, lifting your arms towards the headboard, wrists together. He loops the belt around them, threading it through the sturdy wooden post and pulling it tight. Not enough to cut circulation, but firm, unyielding, pinning you in place.
The leather bites into your skin just right, a constant reminder that you’re his to use, spread out and helpless on the bed.
“There,” he says, testing the bind with a tug that jerks your arms higher. “Now you take every fucking inch of what I give you. No escaping, no hiding.”
He climbs back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs, his strong hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. His cock brushes against your inner thigh, hot and heavy, but he doesn’t enter you yet. Instead, he slides one hand down, his fingers finding your soaked pussy without hesitation.
He pushes two fingers inside you roughly, no teasing warmup, just a deep thrust that stretches your walls and hits that spot that makes your back arch.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he grunts, curling his fingers to drag against your inner walls, pumping in and out with a brutal rhythm. His thumb circles your clit, pressing hard, building the pressure fast and relentlessly.
You moan, your bound hands straining against the belt as pleasure coils tight in you. He watches your face, his expression dark and focused, adding a third finger to scissor inside you, stretching you wider, his pace unyielding.
But just as the edge rushes up, your body tensing and breaths coming in sharp pants, he pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing.
“Not yet,” he says, smirking at your whine of protest.
He slaps your pussy lightly once again, the sting sending a jolt through you, mixing pain with the ache of denial. Then he’s back in, fingers plunging deeper, faster, his free hand pinning your thigh down to keep you from bucking too wildly. He edges you again and again. Thrusting hard until you’re right there, sobbing with need, then withdrawing, spanking your slick cunt to heighten the torment.
“Please, Aaron,” you beg finally, your voice breaking as he works you towards that peak once more, his fingers relentless inside you. “I need to cum…please, let me cum on your fingers. I’ll be good, I swear, just... fuck, please!” The words tumble out desperate and raw, your hips grinding against his hand.
He chuckles darkly, leaning down to bite at your collarbone. “Cum for me, then. Soak my hand like the needy slut you are.” His fingers slam home one last time, thumb grinding your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clamps down hard around him, waves of heat pulsing through you as you cry out, body shaking against the restraints
As the aftershocks ripple, he doesn’t let up.
Instead, he yanks his fingers free and brings his hand down in a sharp spank right on your throbbing cunt. The slap echoes, fresh sting blooming across your sensitive skin, making you yelp and twitch.
“That’s for making such a mess,” he says, his voice laced with approval, already positioning himself closer, his thick cock nudging at your entrance. “But we’re just getting started.”
He drags the thick head of his dick along your slick pussy, pressing just inside your entrance before pulling back out, repeating the torment a few more times. Each shallow thrust leaves you aching, your hips bucking up desperately to chase the fullness you crave. A pathetic whimper escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt looped around the bedposts.
Aaron tsks, his dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement as he withdraws completely, his cock bobbing heavy and glistening with your arousal. “Not desperate enough yet, huh? I can see it in those pretty eyes…you need to beg like the filthy little whore you are before I’ll fuck this greedy pussy.”
He shifts up your body, his rough palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples before pinching them hard enough to make you gasp. He leans in, sucking one into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his stubble scrapes against your skin, sending sharp tingles racing down your spine. His other hand kneads your flesh roughly, twisting and tugging until your back arches off the bed.
“Remember what I promised?” he murmurs against your tit, his hot breath fanning over the wet skin. “An orgasm with my mouth. Time to deliver.”
He releases your nipple with a pop and trails his lips downwards, nipping at your ribs, your stomach, until he settles between your spread thighs. His strong hands grip your hips, pinning you in place as his mouth descends on your soaked pussy.
His tongue lashes out flat and broad, lapping up your juices in long, firm strokes that make your clit throb. He doesn’t hold back. Sucking it into his mouth, nibbling the swollen lips with just enough edge to sting, his stubble rasping against your inner thighs and the tender skin around your cunt like coarse sandpaper, heightening every sensation.
You moan, the roughness of his face grinding into you as he devours your pussy, his tongue plunging deep to fuck you with wet, insistent thrusts.
“You taste like sin,” he growls against your flesh, the vibrations humming through your core. “Dripping all over my face…such a perfect, needy hole for me to ruin.” He slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot again, pumping in and out with brutal precision while his mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard.
The pressure builds fast, your body coiling tight as his fingers stretch and stroke your walls. You’re teetering on the edge when he presses his thumb against your asshole, circling the tight ring before pushing in knuckle-deep.
The sudden intrusion overwhelms you. Fullness in both holes, his stubble scraping, tongue flicking relentlessly. “Come on, cum for me now,” he demands, voice muffled but commanding. “Milk my fingers with that tight ass and pussy. Show me how much you love being my dirty fucktoy.”
It hits you like a freight train, somehow more intense than the first. Your orgasm rips through, pussy clenching around his fingers, ass fluttering against his thumb as waves of ecstasy crash over you. You scream, body convulsing, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, every nerve alight as you gush against his mouth. He doesn’t stop, lapping up your release greedily, drawing out the shudders until you’re a trembling mess.
Finally, he pulls back, lips shiny with your cum, a smug grin splitting his face. “That’s my girl. So fucking responsive. But don’t think we’re done. Your ass is next, and I’m gonna make you scream even louder.”
Your body is still quaking from the orgasm, every muscle twitching uncontrollably as overstimulation sets in, your nerves raw and firing on edge.
Aaron’s fingers remain buried deep in your pussy, and he starts scissoring them wide, stretching your slick walls with deliberate, ruthless pulls and twists that make your hips jerk involuntarily. At the same time, his thumb rotates inside your ass, circling the tight ring with firm pressure, grinding against the sensitive inner walls and sending jolts of electric pleasure-pain shooting up your spine.
You thrash against the belt that’s binding your wrists to the bedposts, the leather biting into your skin as you yank desperately, your back arching off the mattress in a futile bid to escape the overwhelming sensations.
Whimpers spill from your lips. High-pitched, broken sounds that mix with your shaking breaths. Your thighs are trembling around his hand, pussy is fluttering erratically around his invading fingers.
“Look at you, thrashing like a wild thing,” Aaron growls, his voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on your face as he watches every twitch and gasp. “Already overstimulated and shaking like a leaf, but your holes are sucking me in deeper. You love this, don’t you? Having both your pussy and ass filled up, clenching so greedily around my fingers and thumb,” He scissors harder, spreading you open wider, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room, while his thumb twists deeper into your ass, rotating with unyielding insistence.
You whimper louder, tears streaking down your cheeks from the intensity, your body a live wire of too much, too soon. But he shows no mercy, his free hand pinning your hip down to keep you from bucking away.
“Oh no, baby, I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long shot. You’re gonna take everything I give until you’re begging for my cock in every hole. See how your body’s betraying you? Fuck, it’s a shame I don’t have two cocks to pound this pussy and ass at the same time…stretch you out proper, make you scream until you can’t think straight. But don’t worry, I’ll fill you up anyway. Gonna wreck you with what I’ve got until you’re ruined for anyone else.”
Aaron’s eyes gleam with wicked intent as he pauses his relentless assault on your holes, his gaze flicking towards the bedside table. On a hunch, he reaches over and yanks open the drawer, rummaging briefly until his fingers close around the smooth length of your vibrator. He pulls it out, holding it up with a slow, predatory smile curling his lips, the toy’s silicone shaft glinting under the dim bedroom light.
He withdraws his fingers from your pussy and thumb from your ass in one slick motion, the sudden emptiness making your holes flutter desperately, clenching around nothing as a fresh wave of need cramps through your core. A soft whimper escapes your throat, your body still trembling from the overstimulation, hips twitching in protest at the loss.
He wraps his hand around the vibrator’s base, stroking it slowly from tip to hilt as if it were his own throbbing cock, the motion deliberate and teasing. His real dick twitches visibly against his thigh, hardening further at the sight, pre-cum beading at the slit as he watches you squirm.
“Open your mouth, slut,” he commands, his voice rough and unyielding, leaning in close enough that his stubble scrapes your cheek. “Get this ready for your greedy little cunt. I want it dripping before I fuck you with it.’
You part your lips obediently, and he pushes the vibrator past them, sliding the thick head over your tongue and deep into your mouth. You whimper around the intrusion, the silicone filling your mouth with its unyielding girth, your saliva coating it as he rocks it gently in and out.
All the while, his free hand roams your body. Fingers tracing your hardened nipples, pinching them sharply to draw out more muffled cries, then dipping lower to stroke your inner thighs, brushing feather-light over your fluttering pussy lips without giving you the pressure you crave.
“That’s it, suck on it like you wish it was my cock,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a filthy girl, aren’t you? Tied up and whimpering for more, even after I’ve already made you cum so hard. Bet you’ve used this toy thinking about a man like me ruining you.”
After a few teasing thrusts that make your jaw ache, and your whimpers vibrate along the shaft, he pulls the vibrator free with a wet pop, strings of your spit trailing from your lips. He drags the slick toy down your body deliberately.
Over your chin, between your breasts, circling each nipple until they pebble tighter, then lower across your quivering stomach, teasing the sensitive skin just above your pussy.
Finally, he positions the tip at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your soaked cunt to coat it further in your arousal. “Time to fill that needy pussy,” he growls, and with a firm push, he drives the vibrator deep into your cunt, the vibrations coming to life on a low setting as it stretches you wide, buzzing against your overstimulated walls and sending shockwaves through your bound body.
The vibrator hums steadily inside you, its girth splitting your slick walls as Aaron grips the base and starts thrusting it in and out with deliberate, shallow pumps.
You’re already so overwhelmed. The orgasms have left your pussy raw and throbbing, every nerve ending screaming from the overload, but he doesn’t stop. He leans over you, his free hand pinning your thigh wide open, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
“Fuck, look at how that toy stretches your greedy little cunt,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on where the vibrator disappears into you. “Gonna fuck you with it slow, make sure it’s soaked through. Can’t have my second cock going in dry…needs to be dripping with your slutty juices so it glides right in later.”
He twists the base slightly on one thrust, angling it to grind against that swollen spot deep inside, and a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain shoots up your spine, your back arching off the bed as you gasp and clench around it.
He pulls it back almost all the way out, the tip catching on your entrance before plunging in again, deeper this time, the hum intensifying the stretch as it bottoms out. Your walls flutter helplessly, trying to adjust, but the overstimulation has you trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the relentless buzz against your clit indirectly through the pressure.
“That’s it, squeeze it like you mean it,” Aaron growls, pumping it faster now in short, teasing strokes that keep you hovering on the edge without mercy. “Feel how it’s buzzing right up against those overworked nerves? You’re gonna beg for it to stop, but I know you won’t. Not when it’s prepping that tight hole for more.”
Sweat beads on your skin, your breath coming in ragged whimpers as the toy fucks into you rhythmically, coating itself thoroughly in your arousal with each wet slide. He reaches down with his thumb, pressing it firmly against your clit in slow circles that sync with the thrusts, amplifying the vibrations until your thighs quake and your bound hands yank at the belt. The build-up coils tight in your belly, heat flooding your limbs, but just as you’re teetering on the brink, he yanks the vibrator free with a slick sound, leaving your pussy clenching around nothing, aching and denied.
“Nope,” he chuckles darkly, holding the glistening toy up so you can see how it’s drenched, strings of your cream clinging to its length. “We’re just getting started. Your ass is next, and I want it ready to take us both.” He trails the buzzing tip along your inner thigh, teasing the puckered ring of your asshole without entering, watching you squirm and whine from the denied release, your body a quivering mess of need.
Aaron’s cock throbs heavily between his legs, bobbing with each shift of his hips as he kneels between your spread thighs, the thick shaft veined and leaking pre-cum from the tip.
He circles the tight ring of your asshole with the rounded head again, pressing just enough to make the sensitive pucker twitch and flutter under the teasing pressure. Your body jerks from the overstimulation, pussy clenching emptily after the denial, every nerve fried and begging for relief that he won’t grant.
“Has this virgin ass ever had anything shoved inside it?” he demands, his voice a rough command laced with hunger, eyes flicking up to meet yours while he rubs the vibrating tip insistently against your hole, coating it in the remnants of your pussy juices for lubrication. The vibrations send unwelcome sparks through the untouched entrance, making your hips twitch away instinctively, but his free hand clamps down on your hip, holding you steady.
You're too far gone to form words right away. Your mind is a haze of buzzing need, breaths heaving as the toy’s hum echoes in your core, your clit pulsing from the earlier denial.
The question hangs, unanswered, and Aaron’s jaw tightens. Without warning, his hand cracks down on your soaked pussy with a sharp smack, the wet slap echoing in the room as pain blooms hot and sharp across your swollen folds, jolting you back to focus with a cry, reminding you that you are to answer his questions.
“Speak up, slut,” he growls, rubbing the sting in roughly with his palm before pulling back. “Answer me: Has anyone ever fucked this tight little backdoor?”
“N-no,” you gasp out finally, voice breaking on a whimper, the smack leaving your cunt throbbing anew, heat flooding the abused flesh. “I’ve never... never had anything back there.”
A wicked grin splits his face, dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he notches the vibrator’s tip right at your resistant entrance.
“Good girl. Means I get to break it in first.” He pushes forward steadily, the buzzing length breaching your asshole with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes the ring stretch and burn around the invading girth. Inch by inch, it sinks in, the vibrations rattling deep into your untouched ass, forcing your walls to yield as they clamp down in protest.
You whine high and desperate, the fullness overwhelming. Your ass is so tight and unaccustomed, every buzz amplifying the stretch until tears spill down your cheeks. Aaron pulls it back out halfway with a slick drag, your hole gaping slightly before he thrusts it in again, deeper this time, twisting to work it around and loosen the clenching muscles.
“Fuck, feel that? Your poor neglected hole’s gripping it like a vice,” he rasps, pumping the toy in shallow strokes now, in and out, the wet sounds mixing with the hum as he coats your inner walls with the lube from your pussy. “Gotta prepare you right…stretch this virgin ass wide so it can take my cock later. Can’t have you tearing when I split you open.”
His free hand wraps around his bobbing cock, stroking himself lazily as he watches the vibrator fuck into your ass, the sight making his length twitch and harden further.
The dual sensations, the toy’s relentless buzz stretches you from behind while your overstimulated pussy aches, untouched, have you thrashing against the belt restraints, body a trembling wreck of denied pleasure and building intensity. He doesn’t let up, driving the vibrator deeper with each pass, rotating it slightly to widen you, his dirty words pouring out like gravel. “That’s it, take it deeper for me. Your ass is gonna be ruined for anyone else after tonight…gaping and hungry for cock, just like your sloppy cunt.”
Aaron eases the vibrator out of your ass with a deliberate slowness, the buzzing toy dragging against your clenching walls until it pops free, leaving your hole stretched and gaping slightly in its wake. A raw, puckered ring that twitches and winks open, exposed and vulnerable under his hungry gaze.
The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, your body shuddering from the lingering vibrations that echo through your core, your ass muscles fluttering helplessly as cool air kisses the abused entrance.
“Fuck, look at that,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust, his eyes locked on the way your hole refuses to close fully, quivering from the preparation. “Can’t wait any longer. Gonna bury my cock in that dripping cunt now. Been teasing you long enough.”
He sets the slick vibrator aside on the bed, the toy still humming faintly, and grips his throbbing shaft at the base, the thick length heavy and flushed, veins pulsing as he lines it up with your soaked folds. The broad head nudges your entrance, parting the swollen lips with a teasing rub, smearing your arousal along the underside before he presses forward.
He doesn’t rush it. Oh no, Aaron savours the stretch, inching his bare cock inside you with controlled pressure that makes your pussy walls yield around the invading girth. You’re so wet from the earlier torment, but the fullness hits like a shock, his thickness splitting you open as he sinks deeper, the bare skin of his shaft gliding against your sensitive inner flesh without any barrier.
“Feel how you’re sucking me in? This greedy little pussy’s been begging for it,” he growls, hips rolling in a shallow grind to work himself further, the head bumping your cervix with a jolt that has you arching off the bed.
He teases you, pulling back just enough to let the ridge of his dick catch on your entrance before thrusting in again, stretching you wider with each pass, your body trembling as it adjusts to the raw, unyielding intrusion.
Once he’s fully seated, balls-deep and grinding against your clit, he starts thrusting. Hard, deliberate strokes that punch into you, his hips snapping forward to fill you completely. The rhythm builds quickly, his cock pistoning in and out with wet, obscene slaps, your pussy clenching around him in desperate pulls.
It doesn’t take long; the overstimulation from before has you teetering on the edge, and after just a few deep, punishing thrusts, the coil snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, walls spasming wildly around his buried length, milking him as waves of heat rip through your core, a broken cry tearing from your throat.
“Tsk, tsk,” Aaron chides, his voice a low rumble even as he doesn’t stop, pounding through your climax with unrelenting force. “Cumming already? I didn’t give you permission, did I?”
But there’s a dark thrill in his tone, and as your body convulses around him, mind fracturing into a haze of white-hot bliss, thoughts scattering like ash, he reaches down with one hand, snatching up the abandoned vibrator. You’re still lost in the throes, barely registering the world beyond the pounding in your pussy, when he angles it back toward your ass.
The tip presses against your gaping hole without mercy, and he shoves it in deep in one firm push, the buzzing girth reclaiming the stretched passage while his cock continues to fuck your cunt.
The dual penetration hits like lightning: the immense stretch overwhelming, your ass walls clamping down on the invading toy even as they burn from the renewed fullness, vibrations rattling through the thin barrier separating it from his thrusting shaft.
It feels impossible, too much, your body locked in a vice of sensation as he holds the vibrator buried to the hilt, twisting it slightly to amplify the buzz against your most sensitive spots. You gasp incoherently, hips bucking wildly against the restraints, the combined assault dragging out your orgasm into something endless and shattering, every nerve screaming from the intensity while Aaron’s grin widens.
He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you back onto his shaft with every thrust, the dual invasion making your walls flutter and spasm around both the thick toy and his bare length.
“That’s it, take it all,” he snarls, voice rough and commanding, leaning over you to pin you down further against the mattress, his weight pressing you into the sheets as he rutted like an animal. The vibrator stays lodged deep, its base flush against your skin, and he twists it occasionally with his free hand, grinding it against your inner walls to heighten the vibrations that rattle your core, making your ass burn and pulse around the intrusion.
He teases you through the haze of your shattered mind, slowing his pace just enough to drag his cock out to the tip before ramming back in, the head battering your cervix with each punishing stroke.
“Look at you, so fucking wrecked already. Pussy squeezing me like it never wants me to stop, even with your ass stuffed full.” His words drip with dominance, a low chuckle escaping as he feels you tremble beneath him, your bound wrists straining against the belt, body arching involuntarily into the relentless pounding.
Sweat slicks his chest, dripping onto your skin as he picks up speed again, thrusts turning erratic and savage, balls slapping against your ass with wet smacks that echo the obscene squelch of your soaked cunt gripping him.
The pressure builds unbearably, the vibrator’s merciless hum amplifying every slide of his cock along your sensitive nerves, pushing you toward the edge once more despite the exhaustion ripping through your limbs.
You’re a mess of gasps and whimpers, mind blank and floating in a sea of sensation, every nerve ending raw from the onslaught. Aaron senses it, growls low in his throat, and redoubles his efforts: fucking you harder, deeper, the friction between the toy and his shaft creating a friction that has you seeing stars.
“Cum for me again, slut. Milk my cock while I fill you up.” His command shatters the last of your control, and your fifth orgasm rips through you like fire, pussy convulsing violently around him, walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that drag a guttural moan from his lips.
He doesn’t stop, pounding through your climax with savage grunts, the way your body seizes around him tipping him over.
His cock swells inside you, thrusts stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt one final time, hips grinding against your clit. Hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, thick ropes painting your inner walls as he roars his release, holding the vibrator steady to prolong the torment. You feel every pulse, the warmth spreading deep as he empties himself, your wrecked body quaking from the aftershocks, ass still clenching around the buzzing toy while his seed leaks out around his softening shaft.
Finally, he stills, breathing ragged, but doesn’t pull out yet, but rather lets you lie there utterly spent, limbs limp and trembling, mind fractured into pieces from the endless pleasure. Your pussy throbs around his cock, ass stretched and vibrating faintly, every inch of you marked and claimed, completely wrecked.
Aaron’s breaths slow from ragged pants to steady draws, his body finally easing off the frantic rhythm as the haze of his orgasm clears. He shifts his weight carefully, one hand still resting on your hip, thumb brushing lightly over the red marks he’s left there.
“Shh, easy now,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a low, soothing rumble, all traces of the snarling dominance gone, replaced by a gentle tenderness that surprises even in the afterglow.
He reaches back first, fingers wrapping around the base of the vibrator still humming faintly in your ass. With deliberate slowness, he eases it out inch by inch, the toy slick with your arousal, popping free with a wet, obscene squelch that makes your oversensitive nerves twitch.
Your ass clenches instinctively at the sudden emptiness, the ring of muscle gaping slightly, raw and fluttering from the prolonged stretch, a dull ache throbbing in its wake. You whimper high and broken, body jerking faintly against the restraints, the overstimulation hitting like a wave now that the relentless buzz is gone.
Aaron hushes you softly, “I’ve got you, just breathe,” as he sets the vibrator aside on the nightstand with a quiet click.
Then, he grips the base of his cock, still half-hard and slick with your combined fluids, and pulls out gradually, dragging along your swollen walls until the head slips free. The withdrawal drags a lewd, sucking sound from your pussy, followed by a thick gush of his cum spilling out, warm and viscous, dripping down your folds and over your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you.
Your pussy gapes too, stretched wide and pulsing, the inner lips puffy and red from the rough fucking, every tiny movement sending sparks of sharp pleasure-pain through your core.
You’re a trembling mess, whimpers turning to soft whines as the dual emptiness leaves you feeling exposed and achingly hollow, your body too wrecked to do more than quiver under his gaze. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity, limbs heavy and boneless, mind foggy with the overload of sensations that won’t quite fade.
He unties the belt from your wrists with careful fingers, gently rubbing circulation back into them, then gathers you against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady. “There you go, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your temple and forehead, his free hand stroking down your back in slow, reassuring circles.
He shifts you both slightly, pulling a blanket over your cooling skin, his touch light and protective now, letting you sink into the warmth of his body as the whines quiet to shaky breaths.
Your breaths even out gradually, the whines fading into soft sighs as Aaron’s steady presence anchors you, his hand still tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The overstimulation lingers like a low hum in your veins, every nerve ending raw and tingling, but the exhaustion creeps in heavier now, pulling your eyelids down despite the ache between your thighs. You’re drifting, words too far away to grasp, body limp and heavy in his arms.
After a few quiet minutes, Aaron presses one last kiss to your hair and carefully disentangles himself, easing your head back onto the pillow with a murmured, “Stay right there, I’ll be quick.” The bed dips as he rises, his footsteps soft on the floor as he pads to the bathroom.
The sound of running water filtering through the door. Moments later, he returns carrying a small ceramic bowl steaming faintly with warm water and a soft white washcloth draped over his arm. His expression is calm, attentive, all sharp edges softened in the dim light.
Kneeling beside the bed, he dips the cloth into the water, wringing it out with careful squeezes until droplets cease falling. Starting at your face, he dabs lightly over your cheeks and forehead, wiping away the streaks of dried tears and sweat with feather-light strokes that make you sigh. “Good girl, just relax,” he says softly, his voice a low anchor.
You manage a faint hum, too sleepy to form anything more, your eyes fluttering half-closed as the cloth moves down your neck, tracing the curve of your collarbone with feather-light pressure. He avoids the tender spots at first, dipping the cloth back into the water to refresh it, then works lower, cleaning the sweat and spit from your breasts, circling each nipple with careful swipes that make you twitch faintly from the sensitivity.
He works methodically lower, parting your thighs with gentle hands to access the mess between your legs. The cloth presses tenderly against your inner thighs first, cleaning the sticky trails of arousal and cum that have cooled there.
You flinch slightly at the initial contact, your nerves still raw and buzzing, but he pauses, blowing a cool breath over the area before resuming, the warmth seeping in to ease the hypersensitivity. He folds the cloth to a fresh side and wipes along your swollen folds, careful not to press too hard on your puffy clit, though the mere brush sends a faint echo of pleasure sparking through you.
He dips it just inside to scoop out the thick globs that linger, each pass drawing a soft whimper from your lips. Your pussy twitches under the attention, gaping slightly as he works, but his touch remains patient, thorough, without overwhelming. He shifts to your ass next, lifting your hips with one steady hand while the other guides the cloth over the tender ring, washing away the slickness with slow circles that make your muscles flutter in response.
You squirm a little, too worn out to protest, just a soft whine escaping as sleep tugs harder at you.
Once satisfied, he rinses the cloth in the bowl and repeats the process, ensuring every inch is tended to until your skin feels clean and refreshed.
“All done, sweetheart,” he whispers once you’re fresh and the bowl’s water is murky, setting everything aside and drying you off with a soft towel from the bathroom. He tucks the blanket back around you, pulling it up to your chin, and brushes a strand of hair from your face. You barely register him standing, your mind already slipping into that fuzzy space between wakefulness and dreams.
The shower starts up in the bathroom, a quick rush of water that lasts only a few minutes. Enough for him to rinse off the sweat and scents of your encounter. When it shuts off, he emerges, skin damp and towel slung low around his hips, the air carrying a faint clean scent.
He dries off swiftly, then slides into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you back against his warm chest, his breath steady and even against your neck. “Sleep now,” he murmurs, lips brushing your shoulder, and you do, sinking into the safety of his hold as darkness claims you.
You sleep dreamlessly and utterly exhausted when morning comes softly.
At first it’s just light slipping through the curtains and stretching across the bed in quiet lines. It brushes over your closed eyelids, warm and insistent, until you stir.
You’re aware of him before you even open your eyes.
The weight of his arm is still draped over your waist, heavier now in sleep. His chest is solid against your back, rising and falling in a slow rhythm that feels almost grounding. One of his legs is hooked loosely over yours, keeping you there without effort, like even unconscious he hasn’t quite let you go.
You shift the smallest amount.
Behind you, he makes a low sound, half breath, half murmur, still lost to sleep, merely reacting to the disturbance. His arm tightens instinctively, drawing you nearer by an inch.
The movement sends a dull ache through your body.
Right. Last night.
Your muscles protest in tender places. Your skin feels strangely sensitive, as though it remembers every touch with greater clarity than your mind yet does. There is a lingering heaviness low in your body that sends embarrassment and something softer, deeper, curling together through your stomach.
You open your eyes fully and lie still for a moment.
The room is quiet, washed in the pale morning light that slips through the curtains in narrow bands. Dust drifts lazily in it. Somewhere outside, traffic murmurs at a distance, softened by glass and height. Inside the room, there is only the warmth of tangled sheets, the faint scent of sleep and skin, and the steady presence of the man behind you.
It is almost strange how peaceful it feels.
Not awkward. Not hurried. Not like a mistake waiting to be regretted or an encounter from which one ought to make a graceful escape before daylight can expose it. Merely quiet. Merely still.
Carefully, you tilt your head enough to glance back at him.
His face is relaxed in sleep, all sharp edges softened. Hair messy, a little damp at the ends. There’s something unexpectedly gentle about him like this, nothing like the version of him from last night.
Your chest tightens, just a little.
Then you glance toward the bedside table and your eyes lock onto the clock. Your eyes widen at once. Panic strikes so suddenly it feels physical. You jerk upright too fast, a sharp breath catching in your throat as every part of your body objects to the abrupt movement.
“Fuck,” you whisper to no one in particular, already clawing your way out of sheets that seem determined to hold you hostage.
Behind you, he stirs properly this time.
“…what?” His voice is roughened by sleep, deep and disoriented, dragged reluctantly into consciousness.
“I’m late,” you blurt, pushing hair from your face as you scan the room in mounting horror. “I’m…I have my first day today, I..”
Words abandon you. You reach for your shirt from the floor, snatching it up with frantic hands.
There is a brief pause behind you. Then the mattress shifts with his weight. A hand closes gently around your wrist. Not hard. Not restraining. Simply enough to stop the frantic motion for a moment.
“Hey.”
You turn, breath still uneven. Aaron is sitting up now, sheets low around his waist, eyes half-lidded with sleep yet already focused, already gathering himself into alertness with that unnerving speed some people possess.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice quieter now, steadier. “What time do you start?”
“Nine,” you answer, the word coming out thinner than you intended.
Aaron shifts slightly beside you, leaning toward the bedside clock with the lingering heaviness of someone only recently dragged from sleep. He narrows his eyes at the display for a moment before speaking, voice still roughened by sleep and entirely too calm for the crisis you had just convinced yourself was unfolding.
“It’s eight ten.”
You stare at him.
For a second, your mind refuses the information outright, as though it has already committed itself so thoroughly to catastrophe that reason can no longer gain entry. Then, slowly, reality catches up. You are not late. You had never been late. You had simply panicked yourself into believing it.
The realisation moves through you all at once. The rigid tension in your shoulders collapses, leaving behind a dizzy mixture of relief, embarrassment, and the near-hysterical urge to laugh at your own foolishness.
“Oh my God,” you breathe, dragging a hand down over your face. “I thought - I genuinely thought it was nearly nine.”
“Clearly,” he murmurs.
There is amusement in his voice now, though it is subtle, restrained by the same natural control that seems stitched into every part of him.
You sink back onto the edge of the bed, your heart still pounding from the rush of alarm, clutching your shirt in one hand as though it were evidence in some private case against your dignity. Morning light spills across the sheets, across the floor scattered with clothing, across the broad line of Aaron’s shoulders where he sits half-turned toward you.
Then you feel it.
His hand, warm and fully awake now, settling lightly at the small of your back. The touch is gentle enough to surprise you.
“You okay?” he asks.
It is such a simple question, asked without teasing, without smugness, without any attempt to make light of your brief unraveling. He is not laughing at you. He is only checking.
You glance at him, momentarily thrown by the sincerity of it.
“Yes,” you say after a pause, softer now. “Just… first day nerves, apparently mixed with temporary insanity.”
He gives a small nod, as though that explanation accounts for everything. Perhaps, to him, it does.
“Come here.”
The words are quiet, lacking any of the command they might have carried the night before. There is no force in them now, only invitation.
You hesitate for scarcely a heartbeat before shifting back toward him.
His arm slips around you once more, slower this time, deliberate in a way that feels almost careful. He draws you against him - not tightly, not with the consuming urgency of last night, but just enough that you settle easily beside him, your shoulder against his chest, your temple brushing the warm line of him.
“You’ve got time,” he murmurs near your hair.
Your body still aches in small, lingering ways, every muscle aware of the night behind you, yet held like this the soreness feels less sharp, less startling. It becomes something softer. Something grounded.
You allow yourself to remain there for longer than you probably should, listening to the measured rhythm of his breathing, feeling the quiet steadiness of him beneath your cheek.
Eventually, reality returns in the practical form of needing to get ready, and the two of you move around one another in that peculiar space shared by strangers who are no longer strangers, but not yet anything clearly defined either. There is a slight awkwardness to it, though not an unpleasant one. Something intimate and uncertain at once.
The bathroom mirror fogs as you wash your face, and when you glance at your reflection, you scarcely recognise the woman looking back. Your hair is unruly, your mouth still faintly swollen, your cheeks touched with leftover colour. There is a softness to you that had not been there yesterday.
When you step back into the bedroom, Aaron is pulling on his shirt. He does so with easy, efficient movements, fastening buttons as though mornings after unexpected nights are either common enough not to trouble him, or rare enough that he has learned not to show it.
“Coffee?” he asks, glancing over.
You nod at once. “Please.”
The kitchen is small, the sort of space that was never meant for two people moving through it, and yet the quiet between you remains strangely comfortable. He moves with competence there too, finding mugs, measuring grounds, setting water to boil with the calm assurance of a man who prefers order wherever he can create it.
A minute later he hands you a mug. Your fingers brush as you take it, and a faint spark passes between skin and skin, something of last night returning in gentler form.
You lean against opposite counters, sipping in companionable silence for a while. It is not awkward. It is merely new.
“So,” you say at last, blowing lightly across the surface of your coffee, “is this how your mornings after usually go?”
He lets out a low breath that might almost be called a laugh and shakes his head.
“No.”
You look up.
He is already looking at you.
“This isn’t really my thing,” he adds after a moment, voice quieter now. Then, as if unwilling to let the confession grow too serious, he reaches into his pocket. “But.”
He steps closer and sets his mug aside. From his pocket, he produces a receipt and a pen, scribbling something quickly before taking your hand and pressing the folded paper into your palm.
You unfold it. His number.
When you look back up, he is wearing the faintest crooked smile. It transforms him again, softening the severe lines of his face into something unexpectedly warm.
“I’d like to take you out properly,” he says. “Somewhere that isn’t your bedroom.”
Your lips curve despite yourself.
“Properly?”
“Yes,” he says, and there is something in the steadiness of the word that makes your chest tighten. “Properly.”
A pause settles between you, though this one feels different from the earlier uncertainties. It is not tense or awkward. It feels open, as though something has quietly begun without either of you naming it.
He glances toward the door, then back to you.
“I should head back. Need to change before work.”
“Okay,” you reply.
Neither of you moves immediately.
Then he steps nearer one final time, lifting a hand to brush an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so small, so ordinary, and yet it lands with surprising force.
“Good luck today,” he says softly.
“Thank you.”
He leans in then, pressing a brief kiss to your lips, gentle, warm, and far more affecting than the fiercer ones that came before it.
And then he is gone.
The door closes with a quiet click, leaving the apartment still once more.
You remain where you are for a moment, coffee warm between your hands, his number folded in your fingers. Outside waits your first day, your new life, the sharp unknown of everything ahead.
After a long breath, you set the mug down and begin to move. The day, after all, is waiting.
You arrive at the building with a curious mixture of anticipation and unease, around ten minutes later.
The structure itself rises with an austere authority, all clean lines and guarded entrances, as though it were less a place of work and more a vessel for serious, unspoken things.
Inside, the air is cool, almost clinical. Your footsteps echo faintly against polished floors as you are directed forward, deeper into the heart of it.
You find her soon enough.
Erin Strauss stands waiting her posture impeccable, her gaze sharp but not unkind. She greets you briskly, her words precise, and without delay begins to guide you through the corridors. As you walk, she speaks of procedures, of expectations, of names that pass you by too quickly to properly anchor themselves in your mind.
You try to listen. You truly do. But there is something about the place, a quiet tension beneath its order, that unsettles your focus.
At last, she leads you into a wide, open office.
Desks stand arranged with a peculiar neatness, papers stacked, screens dark or idling. Yet the room feels… absent. As though its occupants have only just departed, leaving behind the faint impression of movement and thought.
“There you go,” Strauss says, gesturing with a measured hand. “This is the BAU.”
Her voice carries easily in the stillness.
She turns slightly, indicating a door at the far end of the room - closed, yet not entirely concealed. The blinds are open, and through them, a figure may be glimpsed.
“And this,” she continues, “is where your Unit Chief, SSA Hotchner’s office is. I’ll get him for you.”
Your attention, already drifting, settles fully upon that door. There is something almost involuntary in the way your gaze lingers.
Inside, you see him.
A man, tall even in repose, seated behind his desk, his form bent slightly forward in concentration. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. The quiet intensity of someone wholly absorbed in his work. Papers are spread before him, and though you cannot hear him, you can almost imagine the faint scratch of pen against page, the steady rhythm of thought made visible.
There is something strikingly familiar about him. In the stillness he seems to command, as though the room itself conforms to his presence.
Strauss moves away from you, her heels marking a deliberate path across the floor. She knocks. The man looks up and rises.
You look away then, perhaps too quickly, your attention shifting across the empty desks, searching for signs of the rest of the team Strauss had mentioned. It is a small, instinctive act, an attempt to steady yourself, though you cannot quite say why.
Fragments of the morning return unbidden: tangled sheets warmed by sunlight, the pressure of an arm around your waist, the low roughness of a sleep-heavy voice, the brush of fingers against yours over a mug of coffee. The softness that had followed the storm of the night before.
You push the memories aside with some effort.Not quickly enough.
You do not hear the office door open. You do not notice footsteps crossing the floor. But you are aware only of a subtle change in the air beside you. A presence close enough to alter the space itself.
You turn.
And in that instant, the world seems to contract violently around a single, impossible fact.
Your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.
Your mouth goes dry.
Because you know him.
Not as a superior waiting to be introduced. Not as a stranger glimpsed through office glass.
But as the man whose hands had been on you only hours ago. The man who had kissed you goodbye this morning. The man who had fucked you within an inch of your life, who had stood half-dressed in your kitchen making coffee as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The man who had pressed his number into your palm and said, with quiet certainty, that he wished to see you again.
Aaron.
Only now -
Aaron Hotchner.
He stands before you immaculate in a dark suit, every trace of the night before hidden beneath the severe authority of his position. The shirt is crisp, the tie exact, his expression composed to the point of austerity. He looks every inch the unit chief people speak of in lowered voices.
If he feels even a fraction of the shock that you have just gone through, he does not show it.
Only the faintest tightening at the corner of his gaze betrays that he, too, is affected.
He extends his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The words are smooth, measured, impeccably professional.
As though nothing at all has passed between you.
And yet, standing there with your pulse hammering and the memory of his mouth still far too vivid, you know with sudden certainty that everything has.
summary: your boss hates you. i mean is it partly your fault, yes. do you still hate him with an untameable fire in your heart, yes. what happens when the only room on the small town hotel is the unused honeymoon suite?
warnings: MDNI, PIV (unprotected), boss x employee, bau!reader, reader has long hair, hair pulling, slight rough play, oral (F!rec), slight dom! hotch.
wc: 5k
There were many mysteries in the world. Some of those universal truths that could be debated over and over. And did philosophers try. But there was one thing you were absolutely sure of, your boss, Aaron Hotchner HATED you.
Partly, it was your fault. Pulling the Strauss card to force his hand into giving you the job at the BAU. The way his jaw ticked as you stood in his office that day, his fists curled by his side tight, the last thing he wanted was you on his team.
Also not to mention, the night you’d spent together before you knew he’d be your boss. That’s how you found yourself under a mountain of paperwork on a Friday night, the rest of your colleagues long gone.
You can barely peek over the top, the bullpen a ghost town. The only noises being the scratching of your pen, occasional typing and the cheap kitchen fridges whirring. They keep you company.
The closed blinds in his window kept you company too. You wouldn’t know there was anyone in there if it wasn’t for the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk peeking through the slits of the blinds. Sometimes, you could see him stand at the window, in a shadow.
Another file done, by this point you had a system. Five files done meant a trip to the storage room to add them to the cabinets. The file room was where you could breathe, he couldn’t stare down at your every move from here.
The file room was your sanctuary. Just you, the rolling wheels of the drawers and your humming. The cabinets were alphabetically arranged, slotting each file into their respective letter.
Suddenly, the door clunks open. You jump out of your skin, dropping a file and the papers inside splay out all over the floor.
“For fuck-.” You start, looking up and the sentence dies in your throat. “You scared me.” Your teeth clenched, he looked down at you unimpressed. “What are you a ballerina Hotch?”
“You should pick those up.” He states, his face stony. “And file these.” The thump of the files hit the top of the cabinet and the door slams again but this time with his departure.
You sigh, roughly picking up each piece of paper and shoving it back into the manilla folder and each of Hotch’s slot into their spots. “Oh I’m Agent Hotchner and I can tell you to do whatever I want because we fucked before we knew you’d be my subordinate.” You mutter under your breath as you put each folder away. Shutting the file cabinet with a thud.
—
Another day, another case. A call had taken you to bum fuck no where in Kansas. The flight had taken three hours, then a three hour drive after that. The town, Green Village, had a population of only 1000 people. The police had your office in one of two interrogation rooms they had, not an office to spare.
“Well someone has to know the Unsub.” JJ sighs, “You can’t hide in a town like this. Anyone new would stir things up and would immediately be suspicious, but I haven’t heard any whispers.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot, frustrated.
“We have to consider they might protect each other.” Emily says, looking over her shoulder and pushing the door closed, “And that includes the PD.”
“We’ve got no connection between the victims - yet.” Derek runs a hand over his face. “No gender or sexuality correlation. So maybe it’s just pure rage.”
“But with a community this small, everyone is connected. There’s just got to be something we haven’t found yet.” You say, tipping back in the metal interrogation chair.
“Garcia’s looking for it.” Hotch snaps, turning his back to you sharply and leans against the evidence board.
You roll your eyes at his back, flipping open a file and scanning the words on the page. The silence hangs in air and Emily awkwardly clears her throat.
“Right.” Hotch says, “Prentiss and L/N go and interview the locals, see if they’re suspicious of anyone. Morgan and Reid go to the coroners and see if you can find anything on the bodies. JJ you’re with me.”
You couldn’t get out of there faster, snatching the car keys off of the desk and nodding to Emily striding out of the room.
“He hates me. It’s been three months and he still hates me.” Gripping the wheel you grind your teeth together.
“He wasn’t sweet on me when I joined.” Emily sighs.
“It has been three months.” You scoff. “You know the other day he almost scared me to death in the file room, made me drop mine all over the floor and then made me file HIS work. The cheek of it.”
“Hmm.” She hums. “Left here.”
“What do you mean? Hmm?” You ask, turning left. The streets were quiet, no kids playing on the streets and the Christmas lights on each house flickering in windows. A blown up Santa waving, plastic cheeks rosy red.
"Nothing." She shrugs. "Another left."
"I know what you're implying and I don't like it." You follow her instructions, another empty street and ominous Christmas decorations. "It's supposed to be a happy time, but now there's someone killing their neighbours." Sighing you pull up to the curb.
"Let's go." She clicks the car door shut and the SUV beeps as you lock it.
The house you walk up to is filled to the brim with decorations. Inflatables stick down to the lawn with tent pegs, fairy lights in every window with coordinated flashing patterns.
"Someone loves the season." Emily snorts as she rattles her knuckles on the door.
You hear shuffling behind the door and a woman wearing a Santa outfit pulls open the door.
"Hi Ma'am we're from the FBI." Both of you flash your credentials in her direction. "We just have some questions about your neighbour, Ava Right."
"Oh." Her shoulders slump and she removes the red and white hat from her head, smoothing down her hair. "Come in."
She sits on the opposite couch to you, the bobble on her hat dragging along the floor.
“What can you tell us about Ava, what she did every day, how well people knew her.” Emily asks, clasping her hands together.
“She was lovely. She worked at the local grocery store, always helped the elderly take their groceries to their car.” She wipes a tear away from the corner of her eye.
“Do you know if there was anyone in the community, that maybe didn’t like Ava. A grievance of sorts. Absolutely anything minor could be of use to us.” You ask, leaning towards her.
“No!” She exclaims. “Everyone loved her.” More tears leak from her, a steady stream down her cheeks.
“Alright. Thank you for your help, if you think of anything, anything at all. Give me a call.” You hand her your card, pressing your hands on hers.
On the way back to your car, you pause. Eyes gazing over the yellow police tape across the street. It feels different, just not something you can put your finger on.
Emily drives to the next street, only a stone throw away.
“This place really is small. We didn’t even need the car.” You joke. “I wonder if we’ll get back for Christmas.” You say absentmindedly, admiring all of the glowing lights.
“There’s like five suspects, we will.” Emily pulls up, roughly pressing the brake. “Sorry! I thought it was further along.”
"I'm not letting you drive again." Hand shooting up to your neck, "You almost gave me whiplash." The seatbelt zips up to the side of you, the metal buckle flailing.
The heels of your boots clack on the pavement and the both of you rattle on the door again, the circular wreath shaking as you do. A man opens the door this time, donning a Christmas sweater with an obnoxiously large reindeer on it, the pompom nose shaking as he let you in.
"What can you tell us about your neighbour, John Clemmons. What he did day to day, how the community felt about him." You start, hands clasped on your knees.
"He was a dick." The man scoffs. "I mean RIP and everything but all he did was sit on his porch, drink beer and hurl abuse at everyone who drove past." He squeezes the red bobble for comfort.
"Did anyone have any grievances with him, someone who he would target more than others?" Emily asks, leaning in.
"Uh, no. He was quite fair with his insults, everyone got it." He explains.
You hand him your card. "Give me a call if you think of anything. Anything at all, can be helpful so please don't hesitate to call."
Before you get back into the SUV again, keys firmly in your hand. You lean on the door, gazing over the hood.
"Did they take his decorations down." You point to the bare house, a stark contrast to the rest of the street, the rest of the town even. "Did Ava Right's house have decorations up?"
"I don't think so." Emily shrugs and pops open the door.
"This is going to sound Christmas romcom meets slasher." You swallow. "But what if, they're being killed because they don't like Christmas. Look at this town, they're obsessed." You drag your hands down your face.
You see the thought cross her mind. "Get in."
You drive to the next street, another house covered in yellow tape. Plain white paint, empty windows and an empty plant pot. Surrounded by houses covered in festive decorations.
"You're calling Hotch." You put your foot on the pedal, cruising back to the station. "Imagine if I told he we think they're being killed because they didn't like Christmas. I'd be out of a job!" You snort.
--
The metal interrogation door creaks loudly, the rusty hinges grinding against each other.
"Are you guys insane?" Derek throws his hands up as you and Emily close the door behind you. "What is this a Hallmark movie?"
"You should have seen it. Every single house is covered. Inflatables, animatronics, lights everywhere. It's cultish!" You exclaim. "The only houses' with nothing on and you said there was nothing in evidence. Ava Right, was loved by everyone. John Clemmons was definitely not. The only thing we have been able to find in common between the three is they didn't decorate."
They look at you as if you've grown a second head, files hanging at their sides. Then they spring into action, combing through files with the new information. JJ dials on her phone and puts it in speaker in the middle of the small silver table.
“Is there anyone in the town who really, really loves Christmas?” JJ asks, eyebrows creasing slightly.
“Uhh.” Penelope pauses. “I’ll look through some social media and blogs and I will get back to you.” You hear her furiously type on the other end of the phone before ending it with a click.
“That’s not even the weirdest thing we’ve asked her to look up.” Rossi jokes, licking his finger and turning a page.
You can feel his eyes on your back as you grab a file, anyone with a past was in this pile. You pretend to not notice, feeling the paper between your hands, scanning over the file and discarding it when the prior was stealing a bag of chips. You can’t help it, you look over your shoulder.
Stifling a gasp, hiding it behind a cough you whip your head back around. He was closer than you thought, if you took a step back you’d smack into his chest. Now you swear you can feel the heat radiating off of him, or maybe it was the bright red flush covering your cheeks. Grabbing another file and casually walking to the other side of the room, you look over the edge of the file. He’s already looking at you.
JJ’s phone rattles on the table as it vibrates, snatching you out of the moment. Everyone listening in as Penelope starts.
“I have something. It’s a lot of angry facebook rants from a James Harris.” She says, “I’ve sent some of them to your phones and he has a prior of breaking and entering from a year ago where he broke into someone’s house and assaulted them. He was fined and picked up trash for 6 weeks.”
“This guy, is really serious about Christmas.” Reid states. “Saying things like bad things will happen if you don’t take part in the town tradition and not being in the spirit is cursed.”
“Oh!” Penelope squeaks. “And a year ago, his mom died, right before Christmas.”
“We’ve got a stressor, a motive and a plethora of people that could be at risk. We gotta find him now Hotch.” Derek says, already stood up.
Hotch nods, clearing his throat. “I’ll prep the PD, vest up and meet at the SUV’s.” He barks, the back of his blazer flaying out as he stalks away into the main office.
—
“James Harris!” Derek calls as he knocks on the door roughly. Peering through the window until his living room. “He’s running!” He shouts, booting down the door, cracking the lock. JJ, Rossi and Spencer run down the back lane, gaining entry to the back of the house.
You filter in after Derek, pushing open the kitchen door and scanning. “Clear!” You shout.
Emily clears the living room where he ran from, and Derek the downstairs bathroom. You make your way up the stairs and you clear the upstairs bathroom.
“He’s here!” Hotch calls from the room next to you and you come in, gun drawn.
Harris has a knife in his hand, it glints in the light as he jabs it towards the two of you. He only has one sock on, it hangs off the edge of his foot, the brown t shirt he dons is full of holes and random stains.
“Put the knife down.” Hotch commands taking a small step towards him, barely shuffling. You can hear the rest of the team filing up the stairs. Harris lunges forward, stabbing the knife towards Hotch. You jump foreword, grabbing his forearm, jutting it upwards and the knife clatters to the floor and leaning over to kick it away, it dings against the base board. You slide your gun back in your holster. You kick the back of his leg and it buckles and he falls to his knees and handcuffs are swiftly clinks around his wrists.
Hotch takes over and stands over Harris. He seems to move in slow motion as he yanks Harris up from the floor, reading him his rights and flicking his hair from his forehead, a single curled strand stays stuck down.
He hauls Harris into the back of a cruiser, slamming the door behind him, the glass in the window wobbling.
“Are you ok?” Hotch asks, the velcro on his vest ripping apart.
You try to not look taken aback. Failing miserably, you stumble back. “Uhh, yeah.” You pause, swallowing thickly. “Are you?”
“Yes, Agent.” He’s curt and short. Nodding at you, he turns away from you and starts to debrief with the local police.
Just then, snow begins to fall around you in sheets. A snowflake lands on the tip of your nose, melting and running down your lip.
“Do you think we’ll be able to fly back?” Emily asks, coming to a halt next to you and looking up at the sky.
“Depending on the next hour, if it keeps falling at this rate and if it covers the runway, which it will. So most likely not.” Spencer says, looking up himself. “Did you know that every single snowflake is different, not a single one with the same formation.”
“I don’t even want to think of the hotel in this place.” Rossi sighs.
--
"I'm so sorry but as we weren't expecting guests and it being the holidays and everything we only have four rooms left." The clerk says, pulling the keys off of the board and sliding them over. "It's three singles and one double room."
Before you could even debate Rossi snatches the key for the double room, the metal jingling as he stalks away. "Goodnight suckers!"
"He's lucky he's old." Derek scoffs.
"I heard that!"
"I call JJ!" Emily links arms with JJ, grabbing a set of keys,.
"I guess it's you and me pretty boy." Derek laughs, "I will kick you out if you snore."
"I don't snore!" Spencer exclaims, head whipping over to Derek.
Staring at the singular key left on the desk you feel your stomach drop to your feet. "No no no no." You point at them, "This is not happening absolutely not." You glance over your shoulder to make sure he's not behind you, after making that mistake one to many times. "I'll watch a Russian film with you, in the original" You move your way to Derek, "I'll set you up with one of my girlfriends."
"No woman is making me spend a night rooming with Hotch." Derek laughs, already taking steps towards the lift.
"Emily, JJ please!" You plead, pulling your eyebrows together.
"Too late, we're already leaving." They follow Spencer and Derek to the lift and you watch the door close and seal your fate.
You and your go bag thump down on the small couch in the foyer, staring at the door just waiting for Hotch to walk through the door. The toe of your leather black boot digs into the carpet, and you hear the sliding door creak open.
"C'mon roomie." Your smile is tight and not really a smile, you shake the keys in his face and walk towards the lift, hearing him trail behind you. The button to the third floor lights up as the elevator lurches to a stop. “It’s a double room.” You huff, following the signs to the room and sliding the key into the door.
“Fuck.”
You drop your bag. The room is covered in Christmas decorations, a small tree in the corner lights and all. Small confetti is trailed all around the room and a bucket with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. Not to mention, the large double bed in the centre of the room. Not two singles.
Striding across the room you pick up the card next to the chilled champagne. “Congratulations Mr and Mrs Reiner.” You read out loud, huffing and dialling the front desk. Hotch had only just crossed the threshold, holding the door open.
“Hi.” You hum, “Me and my colleague from the FBI are here, I think you’ve given us the wrong room.” You pause for her answer. “Oh. Can we drink the wine? Thank you, Merry Christmas!”
He furrows his eyebrows at you.
“She said no.” You cringe, clicking the phone back into place. “And they have no spare rooms.”
“Ahh, I’ll sleep on the couch.” He says, putting his go bag down and kicking his shoes off.
“No!” You exclaim, probably too loudly. “It’s not like it would be the first time we shared a bed - sorry.” You look down at your feet and he clears his throat. It’s awkward.
“I’m going to shower.”
You can hear the water running through the thin wall. You perch on the edge of the double bed, running your hands down your face and pulling your pyjamas out of the go bag and quickly changing. Just a pair of cotton shorts and a vest top, wishing you'd picked something less leggy. The shower squeaks as the water stops.
He steps out of the bathroom. He's wet, water droplets running down his bare chest, some getting caught in his chest hair. The white towel hangs around his hips, stopping just below his knees. His hair is stuck every which way, obviously just towelled. A single curled strand falling down again. hanging on his forehead.
You clear your throat and advert your eyes, staring at the carpet. The Christmas confetti sprinkled all over it. Your Christmas socks digging into said carpet, Santa's face staring back at you.
"Sorry, I forgot my-." He digs around in his go bag.
"Oh no, it's fine." You cant help but gaze back to him. Muscle's tensing as he contorts, still glistening in the light. The gasp you swallow feels like cement and he disappears back into the bathroom to change.
He steps back out. "Agent." He starts, tone back to full professionalism. "What you did today was reckless and outrageously stupid. I have no choice but to suspend you for a week."
"What!" You exclaim, jumping up from the edge of the bed. Running a frustrated hand through your hair.
"There was no need to physically apprehend him. You have a perfectly good gun that you had pointed at him." He's cold again, eyebrows furrowed heavily as he looks down at you.
You cock your head sideways and take a step towards him, a long exhale escaping from your nose. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest.
You scoff. "As if you and the rest of the team have never done similar. All of this is just because I came from Strauss' recommendation. And you're so insecure about the status of your job that you refuse to see me for what I am: a good agent."
He takes a stride towards you. "You are a rebellious, crude and idiotic agent, someone who takes absolutely no thought before acting and frankly you shouldn't even be allowed in the field. And that comment makes your suspension two weeks."
"Oh gag me!" You glare at him, the tips of your feet touching. Jaw firm as you both breathe heavily.
"Fuck you." He says, stepping back.
You don't even realise he'd surged foreword until his hands are wrapped around the sides of your face and pulling your lips to his, big hands sliding to the back of your head and holding you there as he pulls your bottom lip between his.
Your nails dig into his shoulders as he backs you to the nearest wall pushing you against it roughly, you hear some of the bulbuls on the tree rattle and fall off, hitting the floor.
His hand draws down your ribs, the gentle contrast sending a chill down your spine. Trailing down your hip and scooping under your ass and pulling your leg over his hip.
You gasp as his growing bulge pushes into you, throwing your head back. He grinds into you and you drag your nails down his back and he groans into your mouth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You pant, chest heaving up and down, looking up at him in shock.
“I do remember you saying gag me.” He’s also breathing heavily, head dipping down to your neck. His teeth scraping your neck before coming to suck into the crook of your neck.
And it does when you take a sharp inhale and grinding back into you again and yanking you closer by the inside of your leg.
You’re sure you’ve soaked through the flimsy shorts of your pyjamas. You snake a hand down, fingers trailing down his chest, walking downwards. Stroking the patch of hair peeking out through the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his cotton pyjama bottoms. You travel further down south and cup his now fully hard dick in your hand.
“No underwear?” You ask, wide toothy smile on your face.
“Shut up.” He’s kissing you again, fully scooping you up and throwing you to the bed. You bounce as you hit it, looking up at him from your elbows.
He pulls your shorts off, leaving you bare to his eyes. The way he crawls up the bed with an undeniable hunger in his eyes makes you shiver. His hands slide up the back of your thighs and yank them apart, the cool air hitting your centre.
He licks a long, thick stripe up yo, entrance to clit. Your arms dart out, hands pulling up the crisp white sheets in your fists. The tip of his tongue circles your clit and you gasp out, thighs trying to clasp around his head but you’re thwarted by his strong hold holding them open.
“Fuck!” You cry out, toes curled into the mattress.
His assault to your clit makes you take a deep breath, your eyebrows pulling to and a particularly rough suck lifts your back off of the bed as you moan out.
His mouth moves downwards and his tongue stiffly enters you. Fucking in and out of you with it, your soaked pussy making an echoing squelch. His nose nudges at your clit, and your hand darts to his still damp dark hair. Holding it like reigns as your eyes roll back.
“Aaron!” You whimper, without even thinking about it. “Fuck!” Your hips jump upwards, trying to get as close to his mouth as possible.
He wraps his arms around your legs like a snake does before swallowing its prey, holding you still as your thighs tremble for mercy.
Your breathing quickens, chest rising and falling as the tight string in your pelvis gets close to snapping. He takes another long lick up you before sucking harshly on your clit again and this sends you tumbling over the edge as that tight string snaps.
“Aaron!” You cry again, your abs tensing as you cum on his face, head flying back and your hand still grasped in his hair.
He pulls back, bottom half of his face glistening and he pulls off his shirt, bottoms following quickly after.
It was just as big as you remembered.
You pull off your shirt, both of you bare and just taking a moment to appreciate the sight in front of you.
“Jesus.” He sighs, wiping your wetness from his face with the back of his neck and crawling towards you. “Turn over.”
You snort as you do, rolling over under him and popping up on all fours. “So you don’t want to look at my face?” You joke, pushing back on him.
“Oh I can see your face just fine.” His hand pulls your hair into a ponytail and wrapping it around his wrist and pulling your head backwards and facing the ceiling.
He cages you in, as he finally slides inside of you with a stretch that makes your jaw drop and him smile above you. His thighs hit the back of yours and you cry out again.
Pulling all the way out and slams back in, jerking you forward and knocking the air out of your lungs.
He groans into your ear, teeth grazing the shell of your ear and licking up your neck. “Fuck you’re warm.” He hums as he starts to set a steady pace of fucking into you roughly.
The head of his cock brushes that spot inside of you that makes you cry out so loud you’re sure it echoes off the wall and fills you with deep pity for whoever was in the room next to you.
He bucks into you particularly roughly, pulling you backwards with your hair and pushing you forward with his thrusts. He’s also struggling to keep quiet, moaning himself and a hand coming down to palm your ass.
You can feel every inch of him as he pumps in and out, squeezing tight around him. He drops your hair and it fans out, tickling your back and he lowers his grip to underneath you. He’s heavy on top of you as he fucks you, and you fist the sheets in your hand. No longer pristine and now all creased and roughed up.
You’re close again, and you can tell he his too. His erratic breathing and uneven rhythm, the rasp in each one of his groans.
He pulls your head to the side and capturing you in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and this sends you hurling over the edge.
“Aaron, fuck fuck fuck!” You cry as your legs shake under you. Pussy clenched around him, squeezing his cock tight and drawing in shaky breaths.
He quickly pulls out, pumping himself in his fist as you collapse flat on the bed. Limbs giving out on you in a post cum bliss.
He whispers your name as he cums over your ass, long, sticky ropes coating you.
“I could look at that all day.” His hands travel up your back and you look over your shoulder rolling your eyes.
“Shut up.” You can’t help the smile on your face.
“Fine fine, I’ll go and get a towel.” He can’t help but slap your ass lightly before disappearing to the bathroom.
The rag is warm as it slides over you, some of the water dripping down the sides.
“I didn’t mean anything I said. You’re a great agent.” His tone is gentle now, so is his wiping. “I should have appreciated you for apprehending him.” He smiles.
“I didn’t mean it either, I don’t think you’re insecure and I always give Strauss good reviews for you.” You smile, as he climbs over into the bed and slides under the covers. However, you get out of the bed and pull the bottle of champagne and pop the cork. “Thank you Mr and not Mrs Reiner.” You take a swig and climb into bed with him, handing him the bottle.
“I just feel sorry for whoever is in the room next to us. You weren’t exactly quiet.” He nudges you.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. That was Mrs Reiner.” You smirk.
--
a/n: This was great fun to write and I'm sorry it didn't come before christmas, but i hope youre all still in the festive spirit!!! Thanks for the request anon!!
summary: you both know you really, really shouldn’t. the wedding bands were enough proof of that. but god he was hot when he was panting in the back of his expensive sports car.
warnings: MDNI, CHEATING!!!, PIV (unprotected! DONT DO THIS), semi public, car sex, lowkey sub! hotch.
wc: 1.1k
a/n: based on this request!! i hope you enjoyed, it’s a bit different to anything i’ve written before.
Anyone who looked for a second too long at the sleek black Ferrari Roma would know what was happening by the steamy window with a handprint dragged down the window.
He picked you up from work, the cases you were working on keeping you in the office until the moon was hung in the sky. Now, you’d found yourself pulled over into a lane, bushes surrounded the two of you there wasn’t another car in sight.
“Aaron shit.” You sigh, long climbed into the backseat. And had long started to straddle his lap. Your pencil skirt had pulled tight, shifting up as his hands palm your ass, lips firmly planted on your neck.
Your hands wander down his chest, fingering each button of his dress shirt as you go but only undoing the top few. His chest hair peeking out. They go further, coming to cup his bulge and squeezing. His teeth stab into your neck and he lets out a groan, it vibrates your chest pressed to his.
His hands snake down slightly, fingers catching on your tights, ripping them open and leaving the black fabric in tatters.
You gasp. Hands grasping his shirt. He yanks your skirt up and it clings around your wait. “Careful.” You whisper in his ear, nipping on his earlobe. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
The car only gets hotter, cotton sticking to skin with the humidity from your breath circling the small space.
His slacks are tight over his bulge, he sighs in relief at you popping open the button, each tooth of the zip clicking.
“Hurry up.” He grits his teeth, thumping against the headrest, one hand pushing your underwear to the side.
You grab his cock, hovering right above him. The tip slides against your wetness and you feel your jaw clench, losing patience.
“Please.” He whimpers. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, anchoring you. Black strands of hair stuck to his forehead as a bead of sweat trickles down to his strong brow.
You give in to his delicious sigh, lowering yourself down on him slowly. His breath stutters and his grip on his hips with it. Letting out a slight laugh you slam back down on him.
“Mmm.” You hum as you set a steady rhythm bouncing on him, each come down making a wet, raunchy slap.
He cries out your name, it makes you clench around him. The head of his cock brushes over that spot inside you that makes your head spin, now it’s your turn to whimper and you curl over slightly, damp forehead coming to lean on his shoulder. Pace unrelenting.
“Jesus.” You pant, pulling yourself back up and steadying yourself with a hand on the car window. It’s cold with condensation, leaving your hand chilled and you creeping closer and closer to the edge with every bounce.
His desperate fingers creep under your shirt, fanning over your back. Tips of his thick fingers aiding you with each slam downwards, the back of the car filling with sweat, moans and overwhelming pleasure.
Then you feel it, another cool thing. It’s not the condensation dripping down your wrist. It’s his wedding band. The gold pressing into your spine, the metal a cold, shameful juxtaposition from the hot sweat box you’re both hiding in.
Your mind ticks with guilt for a second, a fleeting thought of his wife at home. It falls from your consciousness the moment his tongue licks up your neck, from the crook of your shoulder to your jawline.
“Fuck!” You cry, gripping into his shoulders as he starts to thrust up into you, matching your own pace.
It’s brutal, his feet planted firmly on the floor, toes surely curling in his shoes. Arms enveloping your waist, keeping you in place as he fucks you hard, your eyes rolling back.
He’s grunting into your ear, strong nose nudging into the side of your face. “God you’re addicting.”
Your thighs start to shake, eyebrows scrunched and lip clasped between your teeth so hard you think you draw blood.
“Shit shit shit.” You gasp as you cum on his cock, muscles tense and soaking with sweat. The secret makes it more thrilling, pulsing around him as he grunts.
“Shit.” He echos your words, but pulls you off of his cock, and you grasp onto the front seats. He spills on to the side of his slacks. It drips down to the leather seats.
The both of you stare at eachother for a beat, it’s thick. Like you can swallow it and it would choke you a bit on the way down. You reach over and roll down a window, the cold air rushing in and sticking to your skin.
“We are so in trouble.” You sigh, climbing back into the front seat, nodding at him to hurry up.
He does, zipping himself up and gracefully going out of the backseat and in through the doors.
“We are.” He coughs, turning the key in the ignition and the car roars to life. It’s quiet again, just the two of you and the hum of the engine. A bird tweets outside and you smooth down your hair, trying to look like you hadn’t just been fucked.
He starts to drive then, speeding through the DC suburbs in the night, it was quiet. You stare out of the window, elbow resting on the window ledge. Your tattered tights get put into the glovebox and your heels slip back on with. squeak. Pulling up outside of your house, the car slows.
“I want you.” He says. It’s simple, a statement as he looks over at you.
“You have a wife.” You respond, the moonlight making the diamond on your ring twinkle in the night.
“And you have a finance. So I guess we’re both bad people.” He sighs. “Consider it?”
You snort. “You couldn’t handle me at all boy, you don’t even know the half of it.”
The door clicks closed behind you and you make it halfway up the pathway to your door before you run back to the window, still wound down.
“Next Tuesday?”
He nods. You retreat with a smile on your face and locking your front door. His car is silent as it drives off.
a/n: thanks for the request anon!! i enjoyed writing this!! please send some more <3 PLEASE REBLOG!!!
summary: DBF! hotch and you are finally official. He finally takes you out, unfortunately, you run into more ‘friends’ at the bar. hotch cannot hide his, burning, seething jealousy. Suddenly, your back is pressed against his front door and your brain is being fucked out. WE REALLY SHOULDNT PT2. PLEASE REBLOG!!!
You got the text at midday. Not expecting much, just the usual spam email, or selling you something, last week one about a broom and another about all of your money being taken.. But it wasn't.
Wear something black. 8pm. -АН.
You roll your eyes at the initials, he didn't have to be so formal, you did have his number saved as Aaron.
I know who you are, you don't have to sign off.
And short.
You flush at that, heat climbing to your cheeks and mind racing of everything you had in your wardrobe. Five hours, five hours too little to get ready.
You'd turned your entire wardrobe inside out, trying on the insane amount of LBD's you had. How short was too short? Mid thigh, you weren't a nun.
You'd decided on the one that settled right under your ass, and would definitely ride up throughout the night.
Perched on the edge of your couch, nibbing on the ends of your nails. Eyes darting to every notification that lit up the screen of your phone. Finally, it came.
I'm outside.
Trying to not be too eager, you take your sweet time grabbing your bag and putting your ID, card and way too many lip glosses in to the pocket. He was waiting where he always did, right near the door to the parking lot, stood at the passenger door, one of his feet crossed over the other.
"Good Evening." He pops open the car door, motioning for you to get in.
"Hello," You lean into his side, before climbing in and him clicking the door shut behind you, "So what's the occasion?" You ask as he twists the key and the engine roars to life.
"You actually being able to use your real ID." You don't miss the smirk on his face and snicker slightly.
"Ah, a belated birthday outing." Your head hits the rest behind you, watching the city whiz by. "Feeling sorry for missing my actual birthday?"
"I was called away on a case." He states, hands clasping the wheel. "But yes I am sorry, I missed your birthday."
Your hand strokes up his thigh and he clears his throat, eyes darting down to to it. "I don't care that you missed my birthday, you're a very important man. Now spill, where are you taking me."
Your hand was unabashedly stroking his bulge, fingers trailing the seam of his trousers. A deep groan erupting from his chest, shoulders tensing making the veins on his forearms appear.
"You'll find out when we get there." He rolls his eyes at your impatience, head turning to peer out of the window and you swiftly remove your hand from him, leaving it to rest on your own thigh. "You're cruel."
"And you won't tell me where we're going." Your voice ticks up, teasing him and keeping your hands far far away from his dick.
"Stop your whining, we're here."
Unbuckling and stepping out, heels clicking on to the concrete. Arm wrapping around yours and leading you not too far down the street to a bar. The sign on front was lit up neon blue, casting a sheen over the two of you.
"Oh so you're getting me drunk?" You giggle. "I hope you're not planning to take advantage of me."
"I would never do such a thing." His arm wraps around your neck pulling you into the crook of his arm. The both of you flash your ID's to the bouncer, him not even glancing at Aarons but taking a second longer to glance at yours.
"Have a good evening guys." The bouncer is flippant as he waves you in, the heat from the bar hitting immediately same with the wave of loud music enveloping you.
You scan the room, it's very busy. It's packed like sardines, Aaron makes a path up to the bar. "What do you want to drink?" He leans down, hands winding down to your hips, the ghost of his breath fanning over your ear.
"Just a beer." You lean back into him, back pressed into his front, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his shirt.
He motions to the bartender and two cold, crisp pints slide across the bar and into your hand. The two of you make your way to a corner, its less rammed there, you can hear him speak. Your back hits the wall and its cool on your exposed skin, sticking to the sweat and sending a shiver down your back.
"When I said short." A finger drags up from the crook of your knee to the swell of your ass, meeting the fabric that clung there tightly. "I didn't mean show the whole world your ass." He pinches the fabric in between his fingers and pulling it down slightly.
"I was just following your instructions, maybe you should have been more clear." A mischievous smile creeps up your cheeks. "God knows how you run a team of FBI agents." You take a long, cool sip from your drink.
"Careful."
He pinches your ass this time, it stings and you yelp quietly. The smile never leaving your face.
You finish the rest of your drink, handing him the empty glass. "I'm going for a cigarette. You're welcome to come." You push off of the wall, and snake through the small gap that he'd left between the two of you. You don't miss his disapproving stare.
"I'll get us another drink." He sighs, dropping your hand as you make your way to the side entrance, out to the benches where the smoking area resided.
You'd just lit the thing and put it in your mouth, barely even taking a drag before you heard it, someone calling your name and walking towards you, shrouded in the darkness,
"John." You smile up at him, blowing the smoke away from him. "How are you?"
"I'm doing good, what are you doing in a place like this?" He looks around, sitting down next to you.
"Ah. I'm with someone." You bite your lip.
"So you finally settled down?" He laughs. "Never thought you would, you were very wild."
"Eh, not exactly."
Always with the perfect timing, Aaron steps out with another two pints in hand, almost slipping put of his grip at the sight of you with someone else.
"Aaron!" You call, beckoning him over with a wave of your hand.
You take the drink and motion for him to sit down next to you. He doesn't.
"Who's this?" He asks, glaring daggers at John, eyes darting between the pair of you.
"John. He is- was my friend." You give him a thin lipped smile, sipping from your drink just wanting the ground to swallow you up whole.
"Wild one isn't she?" John snorts, "Can't tie her down, don't let her out of your sight or she might jump ship."
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes so hard you’re sure you see the front of your brain and your shoulder jabs into his ribs.
“What?” He scoffs, “You were having great fun to me, and then someone else caught your fancy.”
You start to chug your pint, the cool liquid sitting heavy in your stomach. Aaron just simply raises an eyebrow, the muscles in his jaw jumping.
“What was his name? Rob, that was it. The accountant.” He wags his finger and your cheeks burn hot. With that his friends call him over and he disappears back into the darkness.
You’d finished your drink quickly, the glass clinking on the bench. He stares at you in silence and you take a long drag of your cigarette, blowing it away from him this time.
“How many… friends, do you have?” His hand his on his hip, his pinky and ring finger dipping into his pocket.
“It sounds worse than it is.” You bite your lip. “I left because he had whiskey dick.”
He doesn’t find that funny, still staring down at you.
“Put that out, we’re leaving.” His statement is one and done, pouring the rest of his pint down the drain, barely sipped the foam from being poured still sitting on the top.
“What! We just got here.” You pout, grasping your knees, the ash falling to the toe of your boot.
“It seems like everyone here knows you.”
“It’s one guy!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up dramatically. Then someone else calls your name from behind again, and you hide behind your hair.
“We are leaving.” He repeats.
You put out your cigarette, stamping it out under your boot and leaving your half drank pint on the bench.
His hand grasps yours, leading you away from the bar and down the street. Heels clicking on the pavement, echoing around the empty streets.
His silence makes you nervous, you squeeze his hand, feeling his knuckles on your fingers. The glint of his car in the night finally appears, he still opens the door. Your brain tries to reason with you, that means he can’t be THAT mad.
“Buckle yourself in.”
The tone, that cool, unbending tone told you that you were dealing with Unit chief Hotchner, not Aaron.
You do as your told and the seatbelt clicks into place. The ride back is so quiet that you can hear the tires rolling across the gravel. You don’t even think about reaching across the console and stroking his cock, well it does cross your mind but you shake it out. Refusing to sit still, squirming in the leather seat and flipping down the small mirror. Reapplying your lipgloss.
The buildings that pass aren’t familiar, this wasn’t the way to your apartment. It was more suburb than city, the tall apartment buildings and the hustle and bustle turned into a quieter, sleepier town houses.
You were going to his place.
He pulled into the driveway, the car screeching to a halt. He throws out the door, not opening yours this time. Marching straight to the front door and you trail behind him, following hot on his heels.
You get in, he kicks off his shoes and so do you.
"Look." You sigh.
You barely get a word out, the rest of the upcoming sentence knocked out of you. Your back hits the door. He cages you in, thick forearms on either side of your head and his lips suck on your neck. Teeth scraping over the sensitive skin making your toes curl into the hardwood floor.
“Aaron!” You cry, your hands grasping the front of his shirt desperately. The fabric wrinkles in between your fingers, ruining the ironing he’d definitely ran over it earlier.
“Shh.” He whispers, his hands fingering the straps of your dress and letting them fall to the sides. “I don’t want to hear it.” The bottom of it gets hiked up, making your ass shake as it clings above your hips.
“But-.” You try, he silences you with a searing kiss, rolling down the top part of the dress and exposing your tits to the cool air of his house.
His foot nudges between yours, spreading your legs and pinning you to the door with the sheer size of him.
Hand shaking down, between the valley of your tits, lightly stroking your stomach and coming to rest on your pelvis. His fingers peek inside the waistband of your thong, sliding in and hovering right above where you so desperately wanted him to stroke.
“Mmph.” You groan into his mouth. Your hips buck upwards to his hand. He smiles into your kiss, teeth reaching out and nipping at your bottom lip.
Then he does it, hands curve all the way down. Two thick fingers press into you, filling you. Simultaneously, his thumb hits your clit with soft, smooth circles as his fingers pump mercilessly.
He pulls away from your mouth with a wet pop, just in time to hear the loud, borderline pornographic moan that pulls from your throat. It echoes in the small space of the entry way as your head leans against his front door. “Aaron fuck!”
The laugh that hits your ears is teasing, your eyes half lidded as you gaze up at him. His fingers make an erotic squelch come from you every time he fucks them deep inside you. You’re pretty sure the only way you’re still upright on your feet is his fingers keeping you in place.
His thumb speeds presses harder into your clit. “Oh my God!” You almost scream, his thumbs precision on your clit and the pads of his fingers has you running to the edge at lightening speed.
“Are you close baby?” He whispers into your ear.
That’s all you needed, his voice vibrating in your ear and sending an ice cold chill down your spine. The muscles in your thighs tremble, toes curled and back so slick with sweat that you’re suctioned to the door. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing his fingers tightly as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm.
You’re still panting when he’s leading you somewhere else, you don’t catch much of the living room before you’re pushed over the back of the couch. It was blue, and soft, the fabric under your hands.
“You’re so wet.” The head of his cock hits your clit as he shuffles forward and the clink of his belt buckle on the hardwood floor has your stomach turn in anticipation.
It hits the outside of your entrance, barely pushing in. You try to push back, he grabs your hips and pushes you flush with the couch. He clicks his tongue and his fingers tap against your skin.
“Should I fuck you? Hmm?” He presses forward slightly, then stops, then presses forward again just barely sinking into you.
You feel your hair slip to the side as you look back over your shoulder. “Please!” You whine, hips stuttering and pulling your lip into your mouth.
“I’m not sure.”
He slips his cock down and slaps it against your clit, your arms give out slightly. They buckle at the elbows.
“Please fuck me! Aaron.” Your dress is still clinging to your midriff, wet with sweat.
He doesn’t give you an answer with words, he just sinks right in and bottoming out. This time your elbows do buckle and your cheek comes to rest on the blue fabric. Feet tipping off the floor.
Again, he has no mercy. Using you roughly, each pump lurching you - and probably the couch, forward.
Your moans are muffled by the cushion pressing into your cheek, the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth leaving a dark spot on the fabric.
His strong arm wraps around your middle, pulling you back up to your hands and caging you in again. He’s heavy on top of you as he fucks you, his back, still in his shirt, pressing into you.
Puffs of air escape from your lips at each thrust, still so sensitive from your last orgasm, walls fluttering around him.
“Who do you belong to?” His voice is deep and guttural almost a growl.
“You.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, and another loud, high pitched moan comes when his middle finger reaches for your clit again.
“That’s right. This pussy is mine.”
“Fuck! Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You say his name like a prayer as you cum again, squeezing his thick cock in a vice like grip.
He whispers your name as his own hips stutter and with one deep thrust he releases inside of you. The two of you stay like that for a moment, his hands holding you to his chest and panting like you’d just ran a marathon.
Pulling you up, cock still inside, he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
“I couldn’t stand him talking to you like that.” Aaron was back, his fingers now brushing your hair from your shoulder. “Sorry if I was too rough.”
“No no, I loved it.” You smile, “I think that was the hardest I came, like ever.”
“I’ll run you a bath.” His fingers stroke your spine and he finally pulls out, his cum running down your legs.
“Be quick, wouldn’t want to stain your newly waxed hardwood floor.” You give him a knowing look.
“Oh shut up.” He rolls his eyes and disappears up the stairs. A couple of seconds later you hear the water run.
a/n: Thanks for this request i had such a good time writing it!!!! also sorry i disappeared. I was supposed to post this but i got spiked and then had like a 4 day hangover.. whoops.
summary: you're forced to share a hotel room with your boss, gasp! based on this request!
warnings: smut!!! unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), lots of sex jokes, at least 4k words of build up and sexual tension because i was #ovulating, strip poker, hotch almost jizzes in his pants at the sight of your boobs, this fic is baso me spreading the pathetic!hotch agenda, like he’s so desperate and touch starved in this it’s not even funnyyy, overstimulation, creampie, alcohol consumption, r has hair long enough to tug
wc: 8.7k
✰ masterlist
You taste metal before you realise you’ve bitten too far. A stinging telegram from skin you’ve been gnawing at since you got into the car. It’s a habit you never quite managed to break, surrendering crescents of yourself to restless teeth.
“Quit that,” Hotch says, cutting you a quick sideways glance. It’s meant to be a reprimand, but there’s no real bite in it, only the bite of your own teeth on your nails.
You drop your hands into your lap like a guilty child.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, making a turn onto the main road.
“You think I’m biting my nails because I’m hungry?”
“No. I know you only bite your nails when you’re overthinking. And I know you’re more inclined to talk when you’re not running on an empty stomach.”
You glance out the passenger window, taking notice of the rain that has thickened since you bolted to the car. The prison is already a smear in the rear-view mirror, tucked so far into nowhere it feels less like an institution and more like a secret earth is ashamed of. You imagine its architects deciding it should be placed where even guilt would have trouble finding it.
“There’s a diner about half an hour up the road,” he tries again. “Good coffee. Bad pie.”
You consider it, and on any other night you’d say yes without thinking, like you’ve done countless times before. But you remember that tonight, you’re not heading home. You’re heading back to the hotel room you’re sharing with your boss. The same four beige walls that felt far too small last night.
You hadn’t realised that sharing a bed would also mean sharing melatonin. Though clearly Hotch got the better end of the deal, sleeping like a man immune to proximity-induced panic while you lay still, every muscle tense, your heart hammering as if trying to pound thoughts into words you had no business thinking.
“Can’t we make the drive back home tonight?” you ask, shifting to look at him. “I can drive most of the way if you want to doze off.”
“I think given the weather and your driving skills, that wouldn’t be a wise choice.”
“What’s wrong with my driving skills?”
“You once reversed into a mailbox.”
You scoff. “You weren’t even in the car when that happened.”
“No,” he says, unbothered, “but I did have to file the vehicle incident report explaining why the Bureau SUV suddenly had a dent in the rear bumper.”
You glance out again and he’s right. Sheets of rain blur the road, the wipers swiping furiously just to keep a sliver of the world in view. You’d sooner chew down a mouthful of nails than attempt to drive in this, and considering Hotch handled the entire drive here and carried most of the interview, it hardly seems fair to pester him to slog through another four hours just so you can sleep in your own bed.
“You did well,” he offers obligingly, and you know he’s trying to patch up your bruised ego.
You hadn’t imagined your last few days with the BAU would involve revisiting what was meant to be a closed case. But new evidence had surfaced, linking back to one of your consults which, after this week, wouldn’t even be yours anymore. It would probably be passed on to JJ or Morgan, but you’d insisted on coming, unwilling to leave loose ends behind.
That insistence had landed you on a two-day trip with Hotch accompanied by a night in a cheap, overbooked hotel, one bed, a sleepless night yesterday, and the creeping dread of repeating it again tonight.
“You’re lying. I barely got him to talk.”
“You did more than you realise. We managed to get a name.”
We. You turn your head and catch the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “You managed to get a name,” you correct.
His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, eyes still on the road. “It was a team effort.”
“Well, I suppose it's not really going to be my problem anymore after this week.” You exhale, resting your temple against the cold glass.
“Do you need me to stop anywhere before the hotel?”
“Yes, actually.” You turn towards him with a half-smile, because if you’re going to be forced to share the covers with Hotch again, you’re not doing it sober. “Pretty sure there’s a gas station off the next exit, if you wouldn’t mind?”
He nods, and you go back to overthinking the bane of your existence until Hotch finally pulls into the saddest-looking gas station you’ve ever seen.
“Do you need anything?” you ask, unclipping your seatbelt and letting it snap back harder than necessary, purely because you know it irritates him.
His jaw tics. “You can take it off without assaulting the mechanism, you know.”
“So nothing, then?”
“Coffee. If they have it.”
“Sure.” You pause, then grin at him. “I’ll get you a drink.”
You’re out of the car before he can clarify that he meant just coffee. The cold air immediately slides under your coat, no matter how tightly you pull it around yourself. The rain’s turned into that annoying misty kind—so light it shouldn’t count, but somehow it still sticks to your hair and makes you feel damp and miserable. You jog the last few steps to the door.
Inside, it smells vaguely of lemon cleaning wipes, which is funny, because absolutely nothing in here looks like it’s been cleaned. You don’t bother searching for the coffee machine since technically, you’re not taking orders from your Unit Chief anymore.
You make a beeline for the back fridges instead.
Rows of cheap wine stare back at you—the kind that would give Rossi a heart attack. You pick the worst looking bottle out of pure spite, already planning on texting him a picture just to ruin his evening. Then, for insurance, you grab a few miniature bottles of whiskey. On your way to the till, you snatch a bag of popcorn. The sweet kind.
Once you’ve paid, you head back to the car. Hotch reaches across to push the door open for you, and you slide in. The bag clinks in your hands, immediately giving away your intentions—something he’s clearly clocked, judging by the look he gives you.
“Sorry. The coffee machine was broken, so I got wine instead. Or whisky. Whatever floats your boat on this fine night.”
“Please tell me there's at least water in there.”
You reach into the bag and pull out a bottle, dropping it into the cup holder between you. “Have a little faith.”
He shakes his head in that disappointed-dad way he’s perfected over the years and shifts the car back into drive. The wipers groan across the windshield, and you take the moment to pull the questionable wine out of the bag to send a picture to Rossi.
You get a reply just as Hotch is turning into the hotel’s car park.
Rossi: Is this a cry for help? Tell me that’s not going in your body. 💀🍷
You leave him on read, taking your clinking bottles with you as you follow Hotch out of the car and into the building. The two of you are quiet as you watch him fumble with the key to your room. Yes—key, not card, because it’s that ancient. Yet, for a man who can dismantle a Glock blindfolded, he still manages to miss the hole twice.
“Any time today would be nice.”
He exhales through his nose, slotting the key in on the third try. “You could always help.”
“Sure. Usually you just line it up and get it in the hole. Works for me most of the time.”
He goes still for half a second. Then, without looking at you, “You know there are moments I genuinely regret encouraging you to speak.”
The lock finally clicks and he pushes the door open for you.
“Would you look at that,” you say as you brush past him, “you can find the spot.”
The room is exactly as small as you remember, and somehow the freshly made bed almost makes it look worse. Hotch had made it this morning while you were brushing your teeth, tighter and straighter than housekeeping ever could. Pillows fluffed and aligned, corners tucked. True military craftsmanship from a meticulous dork.
A meticulous dork who is now taking off his jacket and folding it neatly over his go-bag and suddenly—though not suprisignlty—your eyes are glued to the way his white shirt pulls across his shoulders.
You rip your gaze away and begin unpacking your haul.
“You want the shower first?” he asks, and you glance at him, pretending it’s the first time you’ve looked at him since walking in.
“Nope. I want alcohol.”
He shakes his head, grabs his toiletry bag, and disappears into the tiny bathroom.
You’re about to enjoy the way this glorified paint thinner will probably strip your taste buds, when you realise there’s a slight problem. It’s a corked bottle and not a twist-off. You try using your nails to get it open, and then your sheer willpower.
Unfortunately it does not respond to either.
You give it one more useless tug before raising your voice.
“Hotch?”
Water is running. He does not answer.
You try again, louder. “Hotch!”
“What?” he calls through the door, voice muffled.
“Are you decent?”
There’s the faintest pause—long enough for you to smile to yourself because you can’t help but imagine him…not decent.
“Yes,” he says cautiously. “Why?”
“I need help.”
“With what?”
“Alcohol-related emergency.”
You hear him sigh, followed by the water shutting off. A few seconds later, the bathroom door opens and he steps out, with only his belt missing. Interesting. He’s a belt off first kind of guy.
He looks at the bottle, then at you. “You bought wine without a corkscrew.”
You hold it out to him. “Let me take this as a moment to remind you that I never handed paperwork in late, never took a sick day, never complained about overtime. I was, arguably, the model team member. This is the least you can do to show appreciation.”
He doesn’t argue. Just takes the bottle from your hands and sits on the edge of the bed with it.
Legs spread. Grey slacks pulling just slightly at the seams. Broad thighs taking up most of the mattress. He settles the bottle between them, and you do your absolute best to focus on the glass instead of the fabric creasing over muscle and the very distracting proximity of…everything else.
He braces the bottle with one hand around the base and you forget how to form actual sentences. With his other hand, he uses his thumb to push the cork down into the bottle, veins flexing with each movement.
The cork gives a soft, breathy sound as it starts to sink into the neck of the bottle, and you’re just standing there—useless, wine thirsty, and uncomfortably aware of the fact that this should not be as attractive as it is.
He pulls his hand back as soon as the cork pops and sinks into the bottle, wiping his thumb absently against his thigh and you’re pretty much drooling at the sight, while he looks up at you, unfazed.
“Happy now?”
“Mhm. Ecstatic. Guess you’ve got just as much trouble pulling out as you do finding the hole.”
“You know I can request to have you transferred earlier than Friday.”
“Go ahead,” you say, scanning the room for glasses. “Knock yourself out.” There are none. No glasses. No mugs. Not even a questionable plastic cup.
“You want to take your wine so I can go shower?” he asks flatly.
“You’re not joining me?”
His eyes shift between you and the bottle. “How much was this?”
“Four ninety-nine.” You scrunch your nose as he brings it to his face and smells it. “Come on, you have to toast me. Rossi denied me a leaving party because apparently switching departments doesn't count as officially leaving.”
He lets out a slow breath. “You want a toast?”
“Yes.” You nod. “Or you could list your top five things about working with me. Or both. I have time.”
“Fine,” he resigns, moving along the edge of the bed to make space for you. “One toast.”
You grin as you drop down beside him, your knees touching. You watch as he brings the bottle closer to his lips and mulls over what to say.
“To the fact you never did anything halfway,” he says earnestly and it catches you off guard. You were fully expecting something sarcastic like to the number of sex jokes you made on federal payroll. “Cases, paperwork, people,” he continues. “You were all in. Always.”
And then he tilts the bottle back. You shouldn’t stare, but you do. The way his mouth wraps around the glass, the slow swallow, the faint scrunch of his brows as the taste hits. He pulls it away with a barely-supressed grimace.
“That’s awful,” he scoffs, handing it to you.
Your fingers brush when you take it, and you can’t help but wonder if his thumb still tastes like wine. You lift the bottle, deliberately pressing your mouth to the exact spot his lips just were, and you catch the way his eyes flick down to follow the movement before meeting yours again.
You take a swig, more than you should because it burns. “God—that’s fucking vile.”
He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “Told you.”
“Now you have to help me finish it. Otherwise I’ll die, and you’ll have to do the paperwork.”
“That’s manipulative.”
You shrug. “Is it? Thought extra paperwork would be your kind of foreplay.”
His lips twitch, and you almost catch the smile he’s trying so hard to suppress it’s making him look constipated. “You have a foul mouth,” he mutters, taking the bottle back and bringing it to his lips.
“Is that the first of the five things you like about me?”
He pauses mid-sip, lowers the bottle just enough to give you that painfully patient stare. “We are not making a list.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He takes another swig, getting him out of answering. When he hands the bottle back, you notice his fingers linger a second longer than necessary, despite you having a firm hold on it.
“Fine. No list. I’ll just assume it’s implied.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It really isn’t.”
You roll your eyes, taking two big gulps that almost make your eyes water.
The back and forth continues until the bottle is completely empty, along with the mini bottles of whiskey you picked up. The popcorn is gone too, aside from the sad trail of it now crushed into the hotel carpet from your failed attempt to open the bag like a normal person.
At some point, sitting upright stopped being doable. Your backs protested, your vision began to blur at the edges, and now the two of you were lying on top of the covers, side by side, legs still hanging off the edge of the bed.
“Are you still beating yourself up about earlier?” he asks, voice softer than it was before the cheap alcohol.
“A little,” you admit with a sigh. “I wanted to do one last thing before leaving. Not hand it back to you unfinished.”
“You softened him up. Made him think he was in control. It might not seem like much, but it helped.”
You huff and push yourself up onto your elbow, turning to face him. His eyes are a little glassy, and for once he looks relaxed. “Bet you’re going to miss using me as bait.”
He shifts his head to glance at you. “You’re only moving two floors down.”
“And what if my new boss doesn’t like to share?”
“You were always mine first,” he says it so casually, you’re not entirely sure he’s processed his own wording.
“Yours?” you let out a laugh, eyebrows lifting.
“Ours,” he corrects, a vague flick of his hand. “The BAUs”
You’re fairly certain you like the sound of mine more. You look at him again, the alcohol throwing all discreetness out your system. He smiles back up at you in a way you don’t see often. His hair is all mussed, a thin layer of sweat making his skin glow.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, pushing up onto his elbow to mirror you.
You grin at him and he immediately regrets asking because he knows that look. He sighs and drops back onto the bed. “Never mind.”
“I think you need a shower.” You spare him your real thoughts.
“Thanks,” he mutters. “I don’t think I could even get my tie off right now.”
“Do you need a hand?”
He laughs quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I might.”
Sitting up takes more effort than it should. The room tilts a little when you move, but you manage to get onto your knees, wobbling and swaying, before Hotch reaches out and catches your wrist, stopping you from diving face first into his chest.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, just as you swing a knee over his hips and ungracefully settle in his lap.
“Helping you get your tie off because you need to shower.”
He goes rigid beneath you, hands hovering near your waist like he’s unsure if he has permission to rest them on you. “You’re on top of me.”
“We can do this standing if you prefer?”
His eyes close for half a second, like he’s silently begging for patience. “No. Just—”
You catch the speed of that no and can’t help but smile, settling yourself against him. “Okay,” you breathe, leaning in. “Hold still.”
You’ve never actually taken a tie off someone before. Definitely not while tipsy. Which is probably why it’s going so badly. You yank at the knot once… twice… and somehow make it worse. “Why is this thing so tight? Are you into autoerotic asphyxiation or something?”
His hands finally come to rest on your waist. “Please don’t ever say that sentence again.”
“Have we just unlocked a secret turn-on category? It’s fine, I’m very accepting.”
He lets out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “It’s called a Windsor knot.”
“Well no wonder you’re so grumpy all the time—this Windsor knot is cutting off circulation to your brain.”
“You’re making it tighter,” he points out, voice sounding strained. He shifts, probably a poor attempt at comfort because all his movement does is press you directly against his groin.
Your fingers fumble with the fabric, because you’re too busy fighting the urge to move. To roll your hips. To test just how good the friction would feel. “Because you’re moving.”
“You’re on top of me.”
You tug at the fabric again. “I gave you the option to do this standing, didn’t I?”
His eyes shift to your lips, then slowly, he removes one hand from your waist. “Slide the narrow end through the loop,” he says, showing you.
Fuck. He’s talking you through it. And you’re pretty sure you could get off on his voice alone, but you will yourself to focus.
“No—other side.”
You follow his direction, fingers brushing his throat.
“Now loosen it,” he murmurs. His thumb presses lightly at the knot, guiding your hand. “Pull there.”
You do as you’re told, giving a gentle tug and the knot slides loosely apart. “Would you look at that! You’re tie-free.”
You give it another tug, slipping it from his collar so you can inspect it. What you thought was just a diamond print now, up close, looks suspiciously like two Gs. You gasp. “Oh my god. You really spent two hundred dollars on a Gucci tie just to choke yourself?”
His hands are back on your waist again. “It was on sale.”
“You could’ve asked me,” you say, looping it clumsily around your neck. “I would’ve done it for free.”
“You’re wearing it backwards.”
“Well,” you breathe, setting your hands on his chest, the warmth of him not doing you any favours, “you’re the expert in expensive silk strangulation. Fix it for me.”
He looks at you intently. His pupils are blown wide, dark as ink, and you can feel exactly how hard he is beneath you. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are. Probably not—not through those overpriced, perfectly tailored slacks clearly designed to prevent situations like this from becoming obvious.
He reaches for the tie, fingers brushing your ribs as he takes each end. The back of his knuckles grazes the thin fabric of your blouse as he lifts the silk to straighten it.
“You want it to lie like this,” he says softly. “Otherwise it twists.”
You don’t breathe. “Mhm.”
“Now it goes over and under…” His hands do exactly that, looping the fabric while all you can feel is the insistent throb between your thighs. The silk slides against you, his hands settling the knot at the top of your sternum, right between your breasts.
“You can pull the longer end through here,” he murmurs and takes a hold of your hands, guiding them with his. His thumb presses to the knot to adjust it, dragging it higher. “See? Not that hard.”
You tilt your hips forward. “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” you whisper, fingers moving to the top button of his shirt, undoing it. You watch his Adam's apple bob around a swallow. “Do you want to know what I was really thinking about earlier?” you ask, working the second button loose, his white undershirt peeking through.
You glance up at him, and his eyes are fixed on the point where you’re straddling the hard line of his cock. “You’re going to tell me either way, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” you hum, dragging your thumb down the column of his throat, just to feel the way he swallows again. “I don’t have to.”
“But you want to.” His hands are back on your hips, fingertips pressing into your skin through your blouse.
You shrug, wetting your bottom lip. “I was thinking…whether you’ve ever actually thought about sleeping with me.”
He stills briefly, like he remembers all the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing any of this, but also realises the two of you crossed that line half a bottle of wine ago. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Tonight doesn’t count. I mean before this. Have you thought about it?” There’s no shame in your voice, just curiosity.
His thumb slips beneath your blouse, making you roll your hips into him again. “Yes,” he grunts out.
“That’s it?”
“You asked a yes or no question.”
Your hand drifts lower, undoing another button on his shirt. “You could elaborate.”
“You really want me to do that right now?”
“Absolutely.” Your fingers pause, leaving his shirt half-open, and slide to the buttons of your own shirt. You toy with one absentmindedly. “Would it help if I took this off?”
His jaw flexes. He looks at your blouse. Then your mouth. Then your blouse again. “That’s not—” He cuts himself off, exhaling through his nose.
“How about this,” you offer with a smile, “every time you tell me when you’ve thought about it, I take off a piece of clothing. Seems fair, don’t you think?”
“And if I don’t want to partake in this game?”
“Then I get off your lap, put on my most conservative pyjamas, go to sleep, you shower, and we never speak of this again.” You really, really hope that’s not the option he picks. “The choice is yours. You tell me what you want to do.”
He goes quiet, thinking—though with how hard his cock is pressing against you, practically straining in those slacks, you’re not convinced he’s capable of coherent thought. You’re hardly better. You’re fucking soaked, and technically the two of you haven’t even done anything remotely obscene. But apparently sitting on your boss’s lap counts as the world’s most effective form of foreplay.
“Rossi’s birthday last year,” he reveals.
“I remember,” you nod and begin working your buttons down. “We stayed behind to help him clean up.”
“And you insisted on putting away the wine glasses—” He stops when your bra comes into view and swallows thickly before dragging his eyes to your face. “You climbed up onto the counter, almost fell and nearly shattered every glass in your hands.”
You laugh, shrugging your blouse off and tossing it on the floor so it can make friends with the popcorn crumbs. “I recall you having a pretty good view of my ass in the process.”
His eyes drop to the breasts spilling out your bra. “Not as good as the view I have now.”
“That’s one.” You toy with the strap of your bra. “Next.”
“The jet.”
You light up instantly. “This’ll be good.”
“We were coming back from Georgia and shared the sofa. You were lying on one end, I was sitting on the other.”
“Do continue.”
“You move a lot in your sleep,” he goes on, eyes fixed on your face, though you can feel the tension in his hands at your hips. “Kept shifting… sighing… dragging the blanket up and then kicking it off again. And with every move, your skirt rode a little higher. I stopped looking when I realised I wasn’t just making sure you were covered. I was… staring.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo sweetly, before attempting to climb off his lap without falling off the bed. His brows pull together as he watches you stand at the edge of the mattress, propped up on his elbows.
There’s a dark patch on his groin, and you don’t know if it’s from you, or him, or both, but it makes your stomach twist, makes you want to end this game so you could finally feel him inside you.
But apparently you enjoy suffering—or making him suffer—especially when he’s looking up at you with his legs completely spread, those wide, helpless eyes and a face tinged pink. So you only smile, fingers sliding to the zipper of your trousers as you prompt innocently, “Did you like the tights I wore?”
“With the seam at the back,” he confirms just as you push the slacks down your thighs.
You hadn’t planned on playing strip—or confessional—poker with your Unit Chief, which is exactly why your underwear is nothing special. Plain grey cotton and embarrassingly damp. You freeze for only a second, then lift your chin like you meant for it to be this way.
“I don’t think I can keep going,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“You can’t last two more rounds?” you tease, kicking out of the fabric pooling at your ankles. “I won’t count the tie as clothing.”
His eyes drag over you like he’s in pain. “I mean if you keep this up for any longer, I’m going to finish in my pants like a teenager.”
You try very hard not to preen. “I’ll do you a deal,” you say, taking a slow step forward until you’re standing between his legs. “Make this one really good…” You lean in slightly, just enough for the tips of your fingers to brush his knee. “…and I’ll take everything off.”
He swallows.
“The last Christmas party.” His words come easily, like this specific memory had been on the edge of his mind for a while.
You nod. “You were my ride.”
“You had on that black dress with the slit up your thigh. You went upstairs to fix your lipstick and asked me to show you the bathroom.” He sits up, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your thighs. “And then your zipper conveniently decided to undo itself halfway down your spine.”
“That zip was very flimsy.”
“I put my hand on your back and you arched into it. Maybe you didn’t even realise you did it. But I did.” His thumb strokes idly against your skin, eyes half-lidded. “All I could think about was how easy it would’ve been to push that dress the rest of the way down… bend you over the sink and make you watch in the mirror.”
Heat pools low in your stomach. “And you didn’t.”
“You were tipsy and said you’d had too much champagne. So I zipped it back up and walked you downstairs.”
“Such a gentleman.” Your hands are already moving. You reach behind you, fingers brushing the clasp of your bra. “Well…a deal's a deal.” You take your time—partly on purpose, partly because your fingers are shaking the tiniest bit. The clasp gives, and you roll the straps lazily off your shoulders before letting fabric fall.
Hotch has gone completely still, the hands on your thighs frozen like he’s afraid to blink and miss something. The only thing moving are his eyes, dragging over your body so slowly it makes your skin burn. “You okay?”
His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip before he answers. “You know I’m not.”
“Will it make you feel better to do the honours?” Your hands cover his, guiding them up from your thighs to the waistband of your panties.
He looks up at you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. Wrecked and glassy-eyed. He looks like someone who’d do anything you told him to. If they handed out awards for driving tightly wound, hyper-controlled men right to the edge of composure, you’re certain you’d win.
“Go on,” you whisper softly. “You’ve earned it.”
His fingers slip beneath the waistband and his touch is gentle as he starts easing the fabric down your hips. You glance down as he drags them lower, the inside of your underwear looking far worse than the outside. When you look back up, Hotch is already watching you, mouth curved into a crooked, boyish grin, validated that he’s not the only one soaking his undergarments.
You step out of them the moment they hit the floor.
Hotch’s hands are on you right away, sliding up the backs of your thighs until they settle at the curve of your ass, pulling you closer. He presses a wet kiss followed by a bite to your hip, your hands finding his shoulders to steady yourself.
“I want you on my tongue.”
“Yeah?”
He nods, laying back down and the room is tilting again. Whether from the cheap wine or the intoxication of him, you’re not sure. All you can do is follow, crawling up his body until your knees bracket his head. You don’t lower yourself down just yet.
He doesn’t touch you right away. Just…looks.
“You need instructions?” you tease, threading your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face.
The bastard only laughs, the warm puff of air against your inner thigh making your breath catch. Then he’s lifting his head, and all you can do is watch—lips parted, hand still tangled in his hair—as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy, dragging a slow stripe up your centre that makes your hips twitch.
He pulls back with obscene patience, and you know exactly why, because a thin, pearly string of your wetness stretches from his mouth to you, and he has the audacity to look proud of it.
He watches the strand break and you barely have time to process what’s happening before he’s hauling you down until you’re sitting on his face. His mouth opens wider to taste more of you, his tongue flattening and dragging through you, like he’s been dying for this. He absolutely has.
“Fuck!” you choke out, yanking at his hair, only for him to groan in response. Your hips stumble forward and for a second, you fear for the man’s airway with the way you’re practically smothering him between your thighs, but you realise he’s the one that’s pulling you down against him.
“So sweet for me,” he thrums, voice buried. You feel more than hear it, a vibration of sound right where you’re most sensitive. Your thighs tremble around his ears as he licks a messy path up you, then dips lower, tongue slipping inside, the bridge of his nose nudging your clit perfectly.
A whimper spills out before you can bite it back. You rock into him without meaning to, pulse skittering like it’s trying to outrun your body, that familiar feeling already building too fast.
And that’s when he slows. Doesn’t completely stop, just changes the pace in a way that has you letting out a strangled noise.
“Really?” you pant, trying to catch your breath. “Is this your first time?” You lift yourself enough to look down at him.
“Ask me nicely.”
“What?”
His chin glistens and he looks infuriatingly pleased with himself. “You’re used to demanding things.” His hands squeeze the sides of your thighs. “I think it’s time you learnt to be polite.”
Asshole.
You let out a sharp breath, giving his hair a tug. “Please,” you bite out.
He smiles smugly, and then he’s lifting his head to suck your clit into his mouth. A whole parade of curses spill out of you—creative ones too, the kind you don’t even usually say out loud—tripping over each other so fast you barely recognise your own voice.
And then he pulls back. Again.
“Please what?”
Correction: he’s a vindictive asshole.
You see exactly what he’s doing. You recognise his pettiness exactly for what it is. You tormented him first, made him spell it out for you, and now he’s returning the favour. He’s a desperate, competitive perfectionist who insists on winning everything, even the art of sexual torture.
“Sadist,” you hiss.
“Mm.” He turns his head and sinks his teeth gently into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “Now be specific.”
You give him a dry humourless smile. “Please make me come. First with your mouth and then with your cock.” You drag a thumb along his jaw tauntingly. “Is that specific enough for you?”
His mouth is back on you again in seconds. No easing in this time.
“Jesus—” you gasp, hands bracing on the mattress above his head for balance. The sheets bunch beneath your fingers, the material scratching against your palms.
You feel his tongue circle and suck, like he’s trying to gauge every possible sound out of you, catalogue every single nerve you possess. Your thighs tighten around his temples, the drag of his stubble scraping lightly against your skin.
He pulls you even lower, thumbs digging into your hips, like he wants to disappear into you entirely. The movement forces you down onto his tongue, and the wet, needy sounds he’s making against your cunt are so lewd, you swear you feel them echo behind your ribs.
“Hotch—fuck!”
He hums at the sound, and then his hands shift, big palms sliding up your back, adjusting your angle to give him better access.
“Okay—okay—slow down—” you whimper, even though your hips are doing the exact opposite.
“You asked nicely,” he mumbles into you.
Your laugh comes out breathless and shaky, your whole body tensing under the intensity of his tongue. “I didn’t think—ah—nicely would get me this.”
He answers without words, drawing a slow circle around your clit, and another moan tumbles out of you. You’re close. You can feel it in every part of you, in your thighs trembling around his ears, in the tight pull at the base of your spine.
You gasp, head tipping back. “I—I’m—”
“You can come,” he says headily, tugging you closer. “Go on.”
You tense and wither against him. “Say it,” you pant. “Say you want me to.”
“I want you to.”
Your body caves forward, thighs clamping his head as your orgasm pulls you under so fast you forget to breathe, forget to think, forget everything except the feeling of coming apart on his mouth, wishing you could bottle it forever.
It takes you a few minutes to come back to Earth. Earth being a cheap hotel room in the middle of nowhere.
The first thing you register is the way Hotch’s thumb strokes your hip, then the press of his mouth to the inside of your thigh, another kiss, then another. You manage to lift yourself, and he immediately helps you, guiding your waist tenderly, letting you settle over him in your dazed state.
“Hi,” you croak.
He raises a brow, amused. “Hi.”
“Your face is shiny.”
A slow smile stretches across his mouth. “That would be your fault.”
“I can help with that,” you murmur, leaning down and running your tongue along the line of his jaw, tasting yourself on his skin. Your mouth then grazes the corner of his lips, and that’s when you realise—this man has had his tongue inside you, yet…you don’t know what he tastes like. The two of you haven't actually kissed.
He must sense something is wrong, because his brows lift slightly, like he’s puzzled by the sudden stillness in your body. “What is it?”
You huff a tiny laugh, breath ghosting his cheek. “We haven’t even kissed.” You pull back, cupping his face in both hands, thumbs sweeping across his chin to clean the shine you left there.
“You want to?” he asks like it’s a reasonable question, like he didn’t just have his mouth on the most intimate part of your body minutes ago.
“Aaron, you just had me sitting on your face. What do you think?”
“Aaron,” he repeats.
“That’s your name isn’t it?”
“Mm.” His hands tighten at your waist. “Say it again.”
“Are you going to kiss me, Aaron?”
For a second, he just stares up at you, like you’ve asked him something sacrilegious, something he's wanted for so long he’s almost afraid it's not real. His hands slide up your bare waist, settling at your ribs, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“Come here.”
You meet him halfway.
His lips brush yours delicately, soft enough to make your stomach lurch in anticipation.
You pull back a fraction, just to see his face, and then you’re kissing him again, deeper, tasting something you’ve both been orbiting for years. His tongue slides against yours, the kiss swallowing the moan that slips out of you.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you breathe against his mouth, the words almost a whine.
“Which ones are bothering you?”
“All of them,” you answer, fingers blindly racing to undo the rest of his shirt. “Sit up.”
He obeys with little afterthought, pushing up on his elbows so you can shove the fabric off his shoulders. You don’t bother folding it neatly, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and you catch the tiny wince he tries (and fails) to hide.
“Arms up.” You grab the hem of his undershirt, tugging, and he sits up properly this time—bringing your bare, aching centre directly against the hard line of his cock.
The sound he lets out is a half-breath, half-groan at the contact. You don’t get the chance to tease him for it. You’re too busy hauling the undershirt over his head, and he has no choice but to help you strip it off. When it joins the rest of the discarded clothes, you press your hands to his shoulders, giving him a gentle push. He falls back without resistance, molten under your touch.
You lean down, placing a kiss under his jaw, then another just below it, relishing in the way his breath stutters each time your mouth lands on new skin. His chest is warm under your lips, rising and falling in a rhythm that’s embarrassingly close to a pant.
“Christ,” he mutters, and you grin against him, continuing to kiss your way down.
You press another kiss just above the waistband of his trousers, moving down to nudge the bulge beneath the fabric with the bridge of your nose. His reaction is instant. His hips twitch, hands shooting to your hair.
“Want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, glancing up at him through your lashes.
He shakes his head far too quickly. “Keep going.”
So you do. You kiss along the outline of him through the slacks, the damp patch dragging faintly across your lips with each pass. His thighs flex beneath your hands, his breathing falling out in tight, rigid bursts, the fabric getting warmer and wetter under your mouth. You drag your lips along the length of him once more, slow enough to be cruel, and his whole body jolts.
That’s when you take pity.
Your fingers finally move to his zipper, and you feel Hotch’s eyes on you as you ease it down. He lifts his hips immediately, allowing you to roll the slacks off him. The second they hit the floor, you’re already hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips again—quicker and needier—as you drag the last piece of clothing down his thighs.
And then he’s bare beneath you.
You sit back for a second, just to drink him in, mouth salivating at the flushed skin of his stomach, the tense lines of his abdomen, the way his cock rests hard and heavy on his stomach, precum sliding down the curve of him. You reach out without thinking, placing both hands on his thighs for balance as you crawl back up his body. Hovering over him, you lower your hips, feeling the head of his length nudge your inner thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like the words slip from him before he can decide whether he’s allowed to say them. His hands trace up your sides, thumbs brushing under your breasts.
That sentence almost makes you coy. Almost. But your body apparently didn’t get the memo, because your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, and Hotch hisses through his teeth. He’s painfully hard in your palm, every throb pulsing against your grip.
You press him back against his stomach and grind down on him.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, voice shaking when the slick tip knocks directly against your clit. His hands grab your hips, fingers digging in. “I’m close, and I want to feel you. All of you. I don’t think I’ll be able to last if you keep doing that.”
You roll your hips again, a trembling little slide that makes your breath catch. “You will,” you whimper, leaning forward until your lips brush his. “For me.”
His jaw goes disastrously tight, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before they find yours again, throat constricting around a swallow—and you can’t help the grin that curls up in response. You almost regret leaving the unit, because Monday’s briefing would’ve been something, watching him give orders with a straight face while knowing he couldn’t even wait until he was inside you to come.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he rasps. His hand leaves your hip, slides up your spine, and gathers a fistful of your hair. He tugs it, just enough to pull a gasp from your mouth, and then lifts his head to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw.
You laugh, his exhale scorching against your skin. Your hand slips between your bodies, wrapping around his length again, and you pull away from his mouth as you shift upright. You rise onto your knees, finally guiding his head of his cock to your entrance, his precum coating your pussy, your thighs, his own stomach.
“I think you’re enjoying this far more than I am,” you murmur—right before you sink down on him, only a fraction, enough to make you both tense at the contact.
“Slow—” he manages, voice breaking around it. “Go slow.”
You pause there, barely taking the head of him, but it's enough for heat and pressure to spark low in your belly. “Slow?” you echo, tilting your head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know… you weren’t exactly slow with me.”
His hands clamp down on your hips. “That was different.”
You give a faint roll of your hips, just enough for him to feel how wet you still are, how easy it would be to slide all the way down. His breath stumbles out of him, all of his authority stripped.
“Different how?” you tease, tracing a finger down his chest, stopping right where his stomach flexes under your touch.
His eyes flutter shut and when they open again, his pupils are blown, jaw clenching like he’s fighting the urge to thrust into you. “Different,” he repeats, “because I’ve been wanting this a long time.”
“How long?” you probe, sinking down onto him further, the stretch of him intoxicating. His head thunks back against the mattress, a groan lurching out of him.
“Two—years,” he gets out, voice splintering as you take more of him.
You still for a second. “Two years?”
“You’re surprised?”
“I mean… yeah? You don’t exactly flirt. You scowl. And file paperwork. And tell me I have a foul mouth.” You lower yourself another inch, slow enough to make him choke on a sound he’d absolutely murder himself for making in any other circumstance. You feel the stretch deep in your belly.
“Aaron,” you whisper, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Look at me.”
He does instantly.
“You’ve been wanting this for two years?”
He nods, and you sink down onto him, all the way, until the dark curls at the base of him brush your clit. He’s deep—too deep—in a way you’ve never felt before, his cock throbbing inside you as you bite down on a moan.
“Don’t move yet. Just…give me a second,” he whispers, hands kneading the flesh of your ass.
Your fingers splay across his torso as you adjust to him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or do anything about it?”
“Because I was your superior. Still am. For another thirty-six hours.”
“You’re telling me you waited two years because of HR?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
You shake your head, lift your hips, and take him again. He fills you up completely, the tip nudging deep enough to pull a choked sound from your throat. You’d imagined him like this—God, probably longer than two years—but it still doesn’t compare.
“You feel so fucking perfect,” he pants, his right hand guiding your roll against him. “So, so perfect,” he mutters, voice fraying as you rise off him and then sink back down.
His spare hand comes up to palm your breast, this thumb brushing the underside before his fingers catch your nipple and pinch. Your head tips back immediately, a moan spilling from you as the pleasure arcs up your spine.
“That’s it,” he grits. “Just like that.”
Every time you sink back down, he stretches you just a little more, hits that spot just a little harder. Your thighs start to tremble with the effort. His right hand only tightens at your hip, guiding your pace, manipulating your angle because of course he knows what feels better. But it’s his other hand, the one that’s still on your chest, that begins to slide lower, drifting over your ribs, over your stomach, the curve of your pelvis.
You don’t even realise what he’s reaching for until his thumb finds your clit.
A helpless cry breaks out of you.
“There she is…” he coaxes, thumb moving in a circle motion. “So pretty and vocal for me.”
You pick up the pace at the praise naturally. His breath falters, hips stuttering every time you grind down and meet his thumb at the same time.
“Aaron—”
His head tips back, a vein standing out at his neck, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumps beneath his skin. His thumb slips against your clit with every shake of his body, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he presses harder, circles tighter, chasing you towards the edge even as he’s sliding towards his own.
“Sweetheart, slow—slow down—”
You don’t. You do the opposite, rocking into him, burying him inside of you. You feel yourself clench around him.
“Fuck!” he groans, your name following. His hands fly back to your hips, trying to hold you still, but your body squeezes around him and his own hips jerk helplessly. The sound he makes next is loud enough you’re almost certain the entire floor hears it. Every muscle in his stomach goes taut as he throbs inside you, warmth spilling in hot waves as he comes harder than you’ve ever heard him breathe.
One of his hands drags back down to your clit, despite the fact that his whole body seems to shake and twitch. He tries to keep his eyes open—tries to keep watching you on top of him—but his lashes flutter shut as you ride out the aftershocks pulsing through him.
You feel the warmth of his release seep out of you, ropes catching your inner thigh, clinging around the base of his still-sensitive cock. He finally forces his eyes open, his thumb still on your clit.
“Are you close?” he rasps.
You nod, legs shaking around him, barely able to hold yourself upright.
“Okay, baby… okay.” His breath stumbles, his whole body jolting each time you move, but his thumb keeps working you.
“Aaron—” Your voice cracks, head falling forward as a wave of heat curls deep in your stomach.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Come on.”
You grind down again, chasing the high, and he groans at the contact, but pulls you flush against his hips so you can keep moving. Your hands slide across his chest, clutching his shoulders, needing something to hold as the pressure tightens like a fist around your spine.
Your thighs clamp around his hips, your body clenching so fiercely around him that his head falls back with a quiet whimper. He tries to thrust instinctively, but he’s too sensitive. He trembles through the shock of it anyway, jaw flexing, teeth gritted as he tries to stay still for you.
“Sweetheart—” he gasps, “I need—you have to—please—”
And that does it. The please. Hearing him say it.
Your release slams into you like a freight train.
Your whole body seizes around him, your nails dragging down his chest as your vision whites out, a sharp sob catching in your throat. The orgasm tears through you in violent waves, blinding and completely overwhelming.
Your body finally goes limp, folding over him, your hands bracing on either side of his head as you lean forward. A thin string of drool slips past your lips as you gasp for air, your pussy still pulsing around his cock in tight, involuntary aftershocks.
Hotch’s arms come up your back immediately, palms splayed, rubbing slow strokes along your spine.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Easy…I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
You manage a shuddering inhale against his throat, your forehead pressed to the warm curve of his shoulder. You can hear and feel his heartbeat beneath you, syncing with your own like your bodies haven’t quite figured out how to separate yet.
His hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “There you go,” he whispers. “That’s it.”
Your lips brush the base of his throat when you exhale. “Don’t pull out just yet,” you mumble against him, wanting to keep him inside as long as you possibly can, unsure when—if—you’ll ever get this close to him again.
“I’m not going anywhere. You can have as long as you want.”
You both go quiet for a moment, appreciating the soft ache of being filled and held at the same time. His chest rises beneath you with each slow breath, your body melting deeper into the lines of his.
You lift your head up after a while, meeting his eyes. “Two years, huh?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Two years.”
“What’s the right thing to do now?” you ask, brushing the back of your knuckles along his jaw.
“You need to go pee so I can get you cleaned up.”
You groan into his neck. “Gee, way to ruin a moment.”
“And then,” he adds, kissing your temple, “when your transfer is official… I can take you out to dinner…If you’d like that?”
“A date?” you ask quietly.
“If you want it to be.”
You pull back to look at him properly. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he says with a smile, voice warm. “That’s what I was hoping.”
i love your blog, the aesthetics, what you write, everything seems perfect to me, a little piece of heaven from where i see it!🥹
could you write something for hotch's birthday where every time he has a birthday he gets a little depressed because he's getting older and his girlfriend is...considerably younger than him🫥 and he's feeling insecure because he's taking on his dad's body (which i love) but she just finds him sexier year after year, and at some point he's like, 'why are you still with me?' And she LOVES his body and it's kind of like, 'i've never seen you sexier,' and i never had to say that I like and how to treat me"
you know, basically her gift to him is her, lmao, the more i write this, the less sense it makes.
(and maybe just maybe if you want, she gives her such a sloppy blowjob [for his birthday] that hotch is like "we should get married")
please only take this if you feel comfortable; otherwise, please ignore me!💗💗🫂
Birthday boy
hiii thanks smmm for this request! i lived writing it and pls request more things!!
warnings: MDNI, blowjob, hotch is sad about being old, age gap, reader is a great gf, established relationship.
wc: 1.8k
Cutting out stars individually was a mistake. You’d been sat at the dining table for hours upon hours donning scissors and chopping up all different coloured paper. They were shoddy, some of the points rounded instead of pointy and not at all even. Small burns litter the pads of your fingers from the hot glue pulling thin transparent strings as you glue the wonky stars onto string.
They hang from the ceiling, dangling down throughout the living room of his apartment. Luckily, you had pre bought coloured strips of paper to hang along side the stars, and you twist them into spirals, framing the ceiling.
You hum to yourself softly as you potter around the apartment and periodically glancing down at your silver watch on your left wrist. It was getting closer to six, you knew the team wouldn’t let him stay late on his birthday, so you had approximately twenty minutes until his key slid into the door.
Speeding around you check off your mental list, streamers and stars, check. Cake on the table, check. Bed made, check. Whole apartment cleaned top to bottom, check. Cute outfit, check.
You stand tapping your foot, glancing at your watch and lip knowing at your lip, staring at the door. Waiting for the door to swing open.
And it does.
His shiny black shoes step through the threshold, briefcase in hand. Black pinstripe suit that was earlier pressed by the dry cleaner, now wrinkled at the hips from him sitting down at his desk all day.
“Happy Birthday!” You exclaim, throwing your arms out enthusiastically, a huge, beaming smile on your face.
“Thank you baby.” He gives a half smile, the tiredness evident on his face. He drops the briefcase on the floor and it makes a loud thud.
He scoots off his shoes and puts them on the shoe rack. Making his way around to the side of the dining table you were standing. He wraps an arm around you tentatively, pulling you into a hug.
“You ok?” You ask, titling your head upwards. His face tightens in a grimace.
“Yeah, I just pulled something coming out of the office.” He waves it off, but brings a hand to massage his shoulder anyway.
Nodding at him, you slide your fingers into his. “Sooo,” You rock back on your heels, “I was thinking, we get your favourite Chinese takeout, drink some expensive wine, eat some lovely cake and have an incredibly fun night.” You give him an over exaggerated wink, smiling widely.
He actually smiles this time, sliding his hand to the back of your neck and tilting your head upwards, making it easier to bend down and kiss you. “That sounds great.” He kisses you again and slides a hand down to your hip and gives it a hearty squeeze.
You wriggle out of his grasp and run to the opposite side of the table giggling madly. “Not yet. Now give me your order.” Phone in hand you waggle it towards him.
He lets out a light laugh, shaking his head. Listing off the noodles and sides he wanted and you the same. You pull the cash out ready, and place it on the table.
Your feet slip on the hardwood floor as you make your way across the living room. Opening the top of the record player you unsheathe The Beatles Yellow Album. Pulling down the needle, you hold your hand out dramatically and giving him a bow. “May I have this dance?”
He spins you around the apartment, pulling your arm about your head and making you twirl like a ballerina in a music box. Your laugh echos around the room, as he pulls you into his chest and sways with you. It was the kind of dance that people did at weddings, hands clasped, chests close together. Suddenly, your peaceful moment is halted by your doorbell ringing.
“I’ll grab it.” Aaron says, checking through the peephole to see a delivery guy holding the bag of chinese food.
Grabbing the food and handing the cash over, he gives the delivery guy a nod, and shuts the door, locking it behind himself.
Swapping the bag from one hand to the other, he groans and rushes to put it on the table near the cake. His hand darts up to grab his shoulder. You speed over, taking the bag from his hand and placing it down on the table.
“Let’s rest that shoulder, ok?” You place a hand on it, rubbing light circles around it.
“Alright.” He sighs, letting you take over.
You plate up his and your food, bringing it in and nodding to the couch and carrying them to the living room.
“Do you like the decorations?” You glance up to the colourful steamers and stars.
“I do.” He shoves a mouthful of food into his mouth and looking up at them too. “Jack’s idea?” He asks.
“Yeah, he’s just a bit too small to reach the ceiling. Jess said she’d keep him till tomorrow.” You smirked.
“Did she now?” He shakes his head, “So that means I have you all to myself, all night long.” He can’t hide the smile on his face and leans to put his empty plate on the coffee table.
Pulling you on top on him, straddling him, your hips hovering above his. He grimaces again, gritting his teeth together tightly. “I’m too old for this.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch and dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m too old for you.” He refuses to meet your eyes and the tiredness on his face runs deep through the lines on his face.
“What.” You almost gasp. Your hands reach over to grab his chin and make him look up to you. God, those puppy dog brown eyes made you melt. “Don’t be stupid.” Scoffing, you run your fingers along his jawline.
“I’m 60 today. You’re 35, I’m not exactly a young man.” He says, dejected. “I had to go up a tactical vest size, my hairs going all gray and wirey.” Rubbing a hand along his side burns where the silver melted into the black. “I know what people think when we go out on dates. I see the looks.”
You grip onto his hands at his sides and shake your head. “Who cares what other people think? You’re being too self critical,” A smile creeps onto your face. “You know what I think, that people think?”
He looks at you, the wet puppy look still ever so present. “What? About how I’m paying you to be there.”
“I think they’re jealous of me, that I have an incredibly sexy older man that just gets hotter the grayer he gets.” You press a quick peck on his lips. “And that the more your dad bod comes out, the more I want you to press me into the mattress.” Another peck, then one on the sharp jaw you’d been stroking.
“I’ve never seen you sexier,” You bite your lip as your eyes drink him in hungrily. “And you know what? I’m going to prove it to you.”
Your hands drag down his chest, thighs and a finger drags teasingly down his bulge. Knees hitting the floor, you drag your nails down the material of his slacks and your other hand unbuttons and pulls down the zip, exposing his black boxers.
“You don’t have-.” He starts, holding out a hand to help you up off the floor.
Cutting him off, “Shhh.” You yank the slacks and boxers down together, they pool at his ankles. His cock springs out, half hard already.
Grabbing it by the shaft, you smile up at him as you pump up and down. He sinks deeper into the couch and lets out the quietest groan as his cock grows to full hardness. It’s soft beneath your fingers, the thickness heavy in your hand and each vein visible.
“Mmm.” He hums, head leaning back and an arm gripping on to the edge of the couch.
This spurs you on, using your spare hand to part his deliciously muscular thighs, covered in a layer of little dark hairs. Leaning in, you lick a long stripe up his entire length, the vein on the underside leaving a forever impression on your tongue.
Popping the tip into your mouth, you swirl it around in your mouth like a lollipop, then sucking hard. This causes his hips to buck upwards, shoving the length upwards into your mouth.
“Jesus Christ.” He moans as you start to bob up and down, tip to base. Each time bringing your tongue around the tip, getting more sensitive every time.
His hand shot out to the back of your head, a string of constant praises in between it bashing into the back of your throat and making a whorish noise. Letting him take control and thrust his hips up into your mouth, you look up through your eyelashes and pop your hips backwards. The fabric of your skirt creeping up and resting at your waist . His eyes dart down and see the tiny red thong you had on under your skirt and you feel the grip in your hair tighten.
“You’re far too good to me.” He groans at the sight and you respond by opening your throat and taking him all the way into your throat. Nose hitting his pelvis, you look up at him again as you choke on him, breathing through your nose. You could feel your spit dripping down him, probably leaving a huge wet spot on the couch.
“Mmm fuck.” He moaned, “This is what heaven feels like.”
Pulling up, you pay extra attention to the tip again, it slips to the side of your cheek causing it to bulge out. Your spit starts to drip down your chin and leaving dark patches on your shirt but you didn’t let up.
You could tell he was getting clacked due to the way he was fucking your face, using you for his pleasure. “Swallow?” He asks and you nod with him still in your mouth. “Good.”
His thighs clench under your hands and then you feel the warm release onto your tongue. You pull off of his cock with a pop, opening your mouth to him and holding out your tongue, cum sliding down it. Closing your mouth you swallow it down, then sticking it out again, no cum left.
“Happy birthday.”
He grabs you up from the floor, shoulder be damned and pressed a rough kiss to your lips, licking his tongue into your mouth.
“I’m gunna marry you.” He whispers, forehead to yours.
“That good, huh?” You smirk, proud of yourself for making him forget about his woes.
“I’m about to show you how good, I think I recall you saying how my dad bod makes you want to be pressed into the mattress.” By the time he finished that statement he’d already kicked the bedroom door shut behind him.
-
this was so so fun, thank you sm for the request and im so sorry it took soo long for me to do.
summary: you were having such a great night, your fake id worked, and you had a man lined up for the night. but then, your dads friend who is a fed, and definitely knows you’re not 21 turns up.
warnings: mdni, 18+!!!, AGE GAP! (READER IS OVER 20 and hotch is like 35!!), PIV, oral (f rec), reader has a smart mouth, aarons buttons are pushed, dad’s best friend!
an: sorry i disappeared, i’ve been really ill with covid ! this is really self indulgent #needmeamunch. PLEASE REBLOG!!! likes don’t help the algorithm:( (but also like pls)
wc: 3.8k
Friday night was the best night of the whole week. Friday night meant that class was over, no more nine am classes with drowsy old professors. But most of all, Friday night meant the DC streets were filled to the brim, not just students like on the Wednesday nights, Friday night meant busy. And busy meant getting into anywhere with a dodgy ID.
“Why are we going to this bar?” Your friend whines, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing up and down her triceps.
“Because, I know a bartender who will let Sarah Shipman into the bar.” You roll your eyes and flick your ID back and forth.
The line shuffled forward slowly, your boots scraping against the gravel pavement. It was colder than you’d anticipated, goosebumps pulling up on your thighs under your dress.
“ID’s please ladies.” The bouncer holds his hand out expectantly. Your friend hands hers over and he nods. You do the same with yours, shining his torch on it. His eyes flick from the picture to you, he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off.
“Is James working tonight, James Green?” You sputter out, biting your lip and rocking back on your heels and batting your eyelashes at the bouncer.
“Yeah, you know him?” The bouncer scrunches his brow.
“Mhm.” You hum. “He told us to come along tonight, could you grab him?” You bite your lip, and he nods, spinning on his foot and disappearing into the bar.
The bouncer yanks the door back open, James lingering behind him. “Hi.” Lifting your hand to waist height you give him a small wave.
“They’re all good, I know her.” He nods, and opens the door wider, letting you in under his arm. Coming up behind you he wraps an arm around your shoulder, leaning into your ear. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” He whispers and you can’t help the light giggle that escapes your lips.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” You bite your lip and hop up into the bar stool. “First round on you?”
He closes the hatch on the other side of the bar, and sighs. “First round on me. What can I get you?” He grabs two glasses and places them down.
“Double vodka coke.” Your friend chimes in, flashing him a smile.
“Double vodka orange, please.” Pouring the shots and the mixers into the glasses, he slides them over the bar and you pull the straw into your mouth.
“I’ll find you on my break.” He winks, stepping away to go and serve another customer on the other side of the bar.
Pulling your friend away from the bar and over to the booths, each of you slide into opposite sides and you see her shake her head at you.
“What?” You question, sipping on your drink.
“He’s like… thirty.” She raised her eyebrows at you expectantly.
“Thirty five.” You mutter into your straw, glancing over to the bar where James is there shaking a cocktail.
“Thirty five!” She exclaims, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Girl, you have a problem.” She laughs and slaps your arm across the table.
“A problem that got us free drinks.” You smile widely, leaning back into the booth. “It’s started to get busy now.”
The dance floor had started to fill up, the music thumping and vibrating in your ears and chest. A couple more doubles later, you were feeling the buzz in the tips of your fingers and toes.
“Do you want to go dance!” She shouts from across the table, shuffling out of the booth and holding out of her hand.
“Yeah, let me chug my drink.” You shout back, gulping down the rest of your drink and placing your hand in hers.
Dancing in the bar was one of your favourite pastimes, coupled with the buzz of a hefty amount of alcohol, a great song and good company, it was unbeatable.
The unmissable thump of the beat, the press of strangers all around you as you raise your hands above your head and your friend wraps hers around your neck.
“Can you get us another drink?” She shouts closer into your ear, nodding you snake your way out of the crowd of tightly packed bodies.
Waiting in the line for the bar you tap your foot on the wooden floor impatiently. You scan the rest of the people cramming the bar. The back of a sleek, black suit catches your eye and the broad shoulders that stretches the material. Long legs, expensive shoes, cropped dark hair. Exactly what you liked.
Ordering your drinks, you keep glancing over, his back still turned. “Thank you!” You mouth to the bartender and glance over your shoulder one more time, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, and extra hoping it lived up to his ass.
Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. Fortunately, the face very much did live up to the ass. Unfortunately, it just happened to be your dad’s newest golf buddy, one you were told to not mess around with and, one that was a fed who happened to definitely know you weren’t twenty one.
His eyebrows furrow as the two of you make eye contact, you can almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Giving him a tight lipped smile and a nod, you duck away into the crowd, disappearing from his eyeline.
“We’re fucked.” You shout into your friends ear, her having found a guy from your criminology class.
“What? Why?” She shouts back, her hand gripping onto his bicep.
“My dad’s friend is here, he’s a fed.” You wrap your lips around your straw and chug half of your drink.
“Ok correction. You’re fucked, i’m of age.” She smiles at you and you roll your eyes.
Then, your phone buzzes in your small bag, pulling it out you see a message from James lighting up the screen.
‘I’m in the smoking area.’
“Are you going to go?” She asks, widening her eyes at you and flicking them down to the phone screen.
“Do you want me to go?” You smirk at her and look at the guy from your criminology class, now moving to put an arm around her.
She nods, and you step away. Before your back even turned the pair started to make out, pushing through the packed crowd.
You’re not as cold outside this time, the vodka you had warming you from inside. It was much quieter out there, however you could still hear the music clearly, fading in and out when the doors opened and closed.
“Hey!” James calls from a bench, cigarette in his hands, he waves you over and pats the seat next to him.
Sitting on the top of the table, feet on the seat you smile down at him. “Hey.” You hold out a hand for the cigarette.
“No.” He laughs, shaking his head back and forth, taking a drag for himself and a swig out of a beer bottle. “I’m not giving you another bad habit.”
“Aww, that’s cute.” You patronise, bending down to his eye level, “So you’ll let me into a bar, serve me drinks underage, and fuck me. But you won’t give me a puff of a cig?” You whisper in his ear, and you’re sure you’ve shocked him into silence. Taking it from his fingers, you bring it to your lips and take a drag.
“That’s what I thought.” You flash your teeth at him, leaning back and you feel his hand snake around your ankle.
“You’re going to get me into trouble.” He says with a snort.
“Yes, she is.” You didn’t know where he had come from, but now he was stood over the two of you at the bench. “Especially because she’s underage.”
“Hello Aaron.” You roll your eyes at him, and you feel James’ hand slip off of your ankle and back to his side.
“What are you doing at a bar.” He states, face stone cold, keeping a close eye on the man next to you.
“I’m not in a bar, I’m sat outside of one. That’s not illegal.” You smirk at him and blow some cigarette smoke in his general direction.
“I saw you inside.” He glares at you. Your eyes scan his body, his suit is expertly pressed, you wonder if he put it on especially for the bar. His black shoes have no scuffs, tie in a tight and precise windsor knot.
“I was never inside of the bar, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shrug, leaving an elbow on your knees and then your face in the same hand.
His questioning turns to James, pulling out his badge and flashing it. You groan at his dramatics. “How do you know her?”
“We’re friends.”
“Didn’t look very friendly from where I was standing.” His eyes narrow and you glare with the same intensity back.
“So when a man and a woman love each other very much.” You send a fake pout his way and you can tell you’re starting to push his buttons.
“Does your dad know you’re here?” He asks you, his jaw clenched tight, a hand now coming to rest on his hip.
“What do you think?” The sarcasm drips from your lips and you blow more smoke in his direction, hoping he would clear off.
“Don’t.” His tone is a warning, a warning you were going to ignore.
“My breaks over.” James mutters, clambering out from the bench and giving a nod in your direction before he disappears through the bar door.
“You’re a prick.” You’re sure you growl at him, and blow more smoke in his face, he brings a hand up to waft it away. The grey smoke twists and turns in the air and disperses as his hand cuts through it.
“I said, don’t.” He repeats, his frustration growing, eyebrows pulling together even more.
“Or what?” You do it again. He moves quickly. His hand comes up to your lips and snatches it from your mouth, putting it out under his perfectly shiny shoes. “Hey!”
He takes a swig from the beer bottle in his hand and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s illegal.”
“What are you going to do Agent? Arrest me?” You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, he rolls his eyes.
You lean back on your hands, giving you a great angle to look up to him. You feel the bottom of your dress climb up your bare thighs with you leaning back. You make no effort to pull it down.
“He’s too old for you, he’s what 35?” He scoffs, shaking his head, “Go out with a nice boy your own age.”
“What if I don’t want a nice boy my age? What if I want a man?” You were shamelessly flirting now, your father’s words damned. Aaron Hotchner was a tall glass of cool water that you desperately wanted a sip of.
“That’s enough i’m taking you home.” He grabs the top of your forearm, yanking you upwards. “And before you say anything, i’ve had half a beer.”
His hand grips tightly onto your wrist, pulling you away from the bar and down the street to where his very sleek sports car was parked. “Get in.”
His thick arm holds open the door and you climb into the seat and buckle your seatbelt. You cross your arms across your chest with a huff.
“Take me to my apartment, not my dad’s house.” You instruct him.
“I have every right to take you to your dad and tell you you’re underage drinking and sleeping with men almost twice your age.” He glances over at you and you scoff.
“So what do you think he will think when I turn up to the house with another man double my age?” You smirk, and lean back in the seats, the expensive leather touching your skin.
“I’m his friend, he knows I wouldn’t.” He clenches his jaw so hard you think his teeth might crack.
“So why did he tell me to stay away from you?”
This takes him off guard and he looks at you in light shock, spit catching in the back of his mouth, causing him to clear his throat.
“My apartment it is then.” You smile, happy to have got your way. Crossing one leg over the other, your dress rides up again, exposing the soft skin on the tops of your thighs.
He sits in a glowering silence, glaring at the slate grey road in front of him. Knuckles turning white from his hard grip on the steering wheel. His foot pressing down on the pedal hard, halting the car to a full stop.
“Get out.” He orders, tone rough.
You comply, walking around the front of the car, giving him a full view of you, adjusting the deep v neck of your dress. Waggling your fingers at him, an attempt at a wave, you make your way to the front door to the foyer of your apartment.
A hand pushes the door open from above your head and he lets you walk in before him.
“What are you doing?” You ask, flicking your hair over your shoulder.
“Making sure you get to your apartment ok.” He stands next to you as the elevator doors drag open, the silver box is empty.
“I’m not even drunk anymore, you’re so overprotective.” You scoff, striding into the elevator and pressing the button for floor 5.
Leaning against the wall of the elevator, you absentmindedly look at your nails, scraping at the cuticle and pretending to not feel the firey hot glare that was burning a hole through your head. You swore that the elevator was purposely going at the slowest it could, making the ride as gruelling as possible. There was only so long you could stare at your nails.
Finally, the doors separated and you strode to your apartment door, hearing the shoes thumping along behind you. His silence was deafening. Your keys jangle and it slides into the lock. You could feel the breath on the back of your neck.
Stepping in through your apartment door, you spin on your foot and lean the door against your hip, leaving him with not even a glance into your apartment.
“Thanks for the ride.” Smiling at him, you pull your bottom lip into your mouth, yanking at it with your teeth.
“Go to bed.” He grunts, walking away down the corridor and back to the elevator.
“You know it’s a shame.” You start and you watch his step falter but he keeps walking away. “I was looking forward to being fucked by you.”
Not looking for his reaction you close the front door, and pull your dress over your head. You hoped he liked black lace. Glancing down at your watch, the seconds tick by.
A loud knock echoes through your apartment, you decide to make him wait. Sitting on the arm of your couch, still observing your watch face. Another knock comes, this one faster. Deciding to stop the torture, you pull the door open.
Before you can get another snarky comment from between your lips, large hands wrap around your waist and pull you up around his body. Pushing you against the door, his lips meet yours.
You grasp onto his shoulders and kiss him back with a hot intensity that makes him groan into your mouth, and his teeth to pull on your bottom lip. This pulls a moan from your throat and your head to thump back against the door. This leaves the column of your neck exposed, and his lips attach to them, kissing at the base of your jaw. Then to the middle of your throat, sucking shallowly and nipping at the skin leaving a trail of red marks.
“You’re-Lucky-Your-Dad-Is-A-Dick.” He says in between kisses, making his way back up to your lips and planting a rough kiss to punctuate his last word. “Bedroom?” He asks and you point to the door just past the kitchen.
He doesn’t put you down, and carries you across the apartment and opening your bedroom door and laying you gently on your bed.
“You usually wear things like that underneath your dresses?” He asks, eyes dragging down your body, and shrugging off his blazer and laying it in the chair in your room. A hand pulls up and undoes the knot and throws it with his blazer.
“Yeah, jealous?” You smirk, leaning back on your elbows just as you did at the bench earlier, parting your legs slightly.
The first couple buttons on his shirt are pulled open now, and he crawls up the length of your bed. You can see his chest hair, his fingers drag up the length of your leg, hand coming to rest on your hip. “I could still arrest you for underage drinking you know, don’t get snarky.” His deep voice reverberates in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whine crawl from your chest when he bit down on your earlobe.
“Going to handcuff me, Agent.” You bite your lip and pull the insides of your eyebrows together.
He groans and slides his hands up to your lace bra, the texture soft as anything under his fingers. “Another time.” He mumbles, and kisses down your stomach. Coming to a stop at your hips, he bites into your flesh and slides the matching panties down your legs and throws them with his blazer and tie.
He presses kisses to the inside of your thighs, hands snaking under them and gripping them apart. Again, he bites into your skin, leaving a row of pink teeth marks. “Can I?”
“God, yes.” You nod feverishly, looking down at his floppy deep black hair falling over his forehead as his lips attach to your clit and pulling it into his mouth. “Oh fuck!” You cry out and your back arches off the mattress and your hands dart down to the said floppy hair and gripping on to it to ground yourself.
He licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, flicking his tongue lightly making your toes to curl downwards and the octave of your voice to peak upwards.
“Aaron!” He’s gripping you to his face as he devours you like he might die if he doesn’t get a taste.
Your hands come to grip your floral sheets between your fingers, pulling it up and your thighs clenching around his head. A finger slides up and in between your folds and nudges into your entrance as his mouth still works furiously on your clit and pumps his finger in and out.
“Ah!” A string of moans fly from you, and you’re sure you’re suffocating him in between your legs. You glance down and you see his deep brown eyes looking up at your undoing. And that is enough to push you over the edge and your thighs tremble and you call out his name and your eyes roll back into your head and your head falls back into the pillow.
Opening your eyes, he’s hovering above your head and pops his finger into his mouth, sucking off your juices.
“Take your pants off.” You pant, reaching down and try to fumble with the button, but your arms are still weak from the orgasm that was still clouding your vision.
He pulls them off himself, then his shirt and they join the ever growing pile of clothes on your chair. As he does that, you reach into your bedside table and pull out a condom and pass it over to him.
You almost drool as you see him pull it over his cock, it was big. It looked heavy and like a great time.
“Hurry up and fuck me.” You say in a desperate whisper, pulling him on top of you, tilting your hips upwards.
“Why should I? All you’ve done is be a brat.” He slides the head of his cock along you, resting it at your entrance and leaving it there.
“Please,” You whine, your hands snaking up to his shoulders and digging your nails in gently, “I need it.”
After what feels like an eternity of teasing, the head brushing against your clit making you jolt, his cock slides in and fills you to the brim. “Mmm” You hum as he starts to thrust in and out of you.
“God, you’re tight.” He groans, and you roll him onto his back, attaching your lips to his as you bounce up and down on his length and groaning onto each other’s mouths.
The tip of his cock bucks the spongy part inside of you that makes you cry out so loud you knew your neighbour’s would leave a note on the door in the morning. “Oh, Aaron!”
His hands wrap around your ass for leverage as he plants his feet flat onto the mattress and starts to pound up into you. You swear you can feel your brain melt out of your skull.
You could feel every inch of him as he pumps in and out, driving you crazy and your nails drag down his chest and stroking the soft hair on his chest.
He was letting out moans himself, whispering your name into your ear and groaning deeply into the back of his throat. His thrusts get more frantic as you get closer to the edge again, clamping around him like a vice and kissing him again, slipping your tongue into his mouth.
Your thighs start to shake again, and the short punctual thrusts brush your g-spot just enough to shove you over that delicious edge. Tightening around him you rest your forehead against his as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm small whines pushed out at every thrust, as he releases into the condom himself.
You flop down next to him on the opposite side of your bed. “Jesus.” You sigh, stretching your legs out and arms above your head.
He pulls the condom off, tying it off at the top and placing it in the bin in the corner of the room and he joins you under the sheets, still bare.
“We’re so dead.” You giggle and your head rests on his shoulder, fiddling with his chest hair.
“Worth it.” He smiles at you for the first time, it’s a rare sight that you know you’ll cherish. “Good thing I don’t like your Dad that much.” Now his smile is cheeky and you laugh again.
“Me neither.” You sigh. “So can I say we will be doing this again?” Looking up at him expectantly, you can’t help the nervous feeling in your stomach.
“Oh, I don’t think I can live without this now.”
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an/ hello!! am back! sorry i went missing, but i will be writing a lot more now! please reblog! <3 love ya.
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