crying-ang3l

[crying-ang3l]

My own hazel eye-land (LMAO)

× Princess Treatment ×

A/n: Heelloouu!! Here's a cute fic, enjoy! × no chocolate mentioned, it's clickbait. ×

×××××××× Genre: Fluff Warnings: suggestive scene Tags: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader (2nd person, no y/n) × established relationship × age gap × a whole bunch of playfulness × fyi: paso doble, rhumba and jive are dance styles × He calls you: honey, baby. You call him a princess. And you both call each other perverts × Summary: Aaron agreed to undergo your skincare treatment and ends up being called—a pretty princess? W/c: 1.6k ××××××××

×Masterlist×

It was one of those days when you wanted to spoil him a little. Ease any worries out of his overworked mind, and preferably shut it down for an hour or two. Give him a nice rest while he’s still home.

So…

What should you and Mr. Frown Face do?

Let’s start with the where!

Spin the wheel! Win a prize!

×

×

×

It's a date at home!

Cozy!

What about the main attraction?

Give it another go!

×

×

×

Skincare!

Sweet!

Aaron’s skincare didn't expand beyond washing his face with a grey, unscented bar of soap and applying sunscreen, which wasn’t much, but it was a great start.

He would never follow a 10-step skincare routine anyway. That would immediately get flagged by his brain as an unproductive use of time—a scandalous activity in his lexicon. But with you caressing his skin (with multiple layers of liquids and creams)? There was no way he could reject such an offer.

Now to sum up, we have romantic quality time with a glass or two of wine, vintage—not to say old—music ('respect the elders' they say), tender touches without taking your, or his, or the both of your clothes off—

“Let's see how long that'll last,” he chuckled and took a sip of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Rude?!

“You can deny it, but we both know how it usually ends.”

Excuse him? Maybe he wasn't wrong, maybe it was how some of the nights ended… or began—especially after, god forbid, a two-week-long–case—but that wasn't the point.

You tried to convince him of the innocence of your plan, but when you blurted out from pure excitement that you bought lotion that smells like cocoa, it only became an opposing argument.

“Evidence is speaking for itself,” he replied devoid of any surprise, placing the cup aside with a quiet thud and closing the distance between you.

You caught a glimpse of mischief dancing like a paso doble on his face before he turned you around, pressing his chest to your back.

“You're going to entice me with your delicious smell and blame it on me.” His whispered words caught you off guard, clouding your mind in a second. 

He didn’t know yet. 

That lotion was actually a moisturizer.

Nothing enticing here.

“That's not—you're a pervert. We're just going to… relax and enjoy each other's company.” Great choice of words, very convincing.

“Mhm, there it is,” he laughed, “See? You're already doing it.” He pressed his lips to your ear. “Blaming me like you're not a pervert yourself. Should I remind you how you asked me to—”

Wow!!! 

TMI!

Let’s just uh… get started with the night.

A very well behaved night—just like you promised!

×××

Surrounded by the low hum of music and the softest crackling of candles, he was sitting politely on the couch, leaned back, loosely holding you by your hips. You—straddled on his lap, dipped your fingers into a translucent container.

“I'm gonna put it on now,” you warned and smeared a grainy substance all over his face.

“Ah! It's cold!” He winced, tightening his grip.

“Shh, don't move. It's gonna get better in a moment,” you reassured him under your breath.

With precise movements, your fingertips massaged the soft tissue, circling his cheeks, tracing along the bridge of his nose up to the forehead, sliding through the wrinkles down to the temples and gliding further across his jaw and chin—closing the cycle and repeating it again.

“How is it now?” Your lips curled up, noticing his muscles relax.

“Coarse,” he stated blankly, but the smug glimmer of his gaze sold out his dry humor. Ha. Ha. You rolled your eyes.

“It's a face scrub. It's supposed to be a little rough,” you snorted with amusement and lightly shook your head.

“Is it supposed to scrub my face off?” This guy…

“Something like that,” you chuckled, “It's helping remove dead skin cells, but don’t worry about it, just relax. You can close your eyes, you know?”

“I prefer watching you work.” His arms flexed, pulling you closer so gingerly you didn't even realize it, too preoccupied with smoothing out his skin.

“You look so pretty, sweetheart.” His warm tone kissed your ears, spreading warmth through your chest. That's when you decided to look into his eyes— 

Two dilated black holes, enveloped with intertwined shades of brown and green—islands—washed by milky sea with red contorted seaweeds climbing out of its depth, were already staring into your soul.

You could tell all of his attention was on you, but you didn't know how truly gone he was.

How his temporary tunnel vision blurred everything exceeding the outline of your figure and deafened the surrounding world.

Mere five minutes was enough time to deconstruct him with nothing but your fingertips.

“Don't stop. It's actually very pleasant,” he murmured so softly it was almost a whisper, and when you didn't answer or move, his lips grew into an affectionate smile.

He knew he infected you.

Captured you in a singular frame of liquid time, stretching it through each beat of your heart, which subconsciously danced in the rhythm of jive with his own.

Now your own eyes reflected how equally intoxicated with adoration you were.

“Right….” Your mouth barely moved, chasing the shadow of the sound. Stilled hands slowly resumed its movement, lazily dragging across the tissue and awakening you from the hypnotized state.

“You're pretty too, Aaron.” The sweetness of your words dripped straight onto his face.

“Huh—?” He grinned, taken by surprise, momentarily straying his gaze, and shyly returning it back to you.

If it weren't for the exfoliant hiding his skin tone and reddening it in the process, you'd be able to spot a natural blush replying to your compliment. Instead, it was the ears that gave him away.

“I thought you were the pretty one in our relationship.” He accentuated his words with a squeeze of your hips.

“Well….” Your hands left his face, dropping to your thighs wrists up, not to stain your clothes. “Can't we both be pretty?” You smirked and added teasingly,

“My pretty princess?”

“What—did you just—?!” His laughter built up so quickly it cut him off with a loud cackle erupting from his diaphragm. 

His whole body started shaking, almost making you headbutt him in the process. Quickly, you grabbed his shoulders, holding on tightly while his eyes started to tear up from the sudden, intense abs workout.

Laughing along with him, you tried to take this opportunity to get up and grab a towel, when his hands swiftly outran you, clenching around your body and caging you under his grip.

“Oh, you're not going anywhere, honey. Not after calling me a princess! What was that? Are you feeling alright?” He pressed his palm to your forehead.

“Too much wine? I think you've had enough for the night.” 

“I'm not drunk. I'm spoiling you tonight, so you are my princess now.” A smug expression decorated your face only to be ruined by his next question.

“Is that right? In that case, you're going to fulfill my every whim just like I do for you, baby?” He raised an eyebrow

“Hm… uh… the options are… limited at this hour. I can offer you some moisturizer after we get this off your face.”

“Alright, moisturizer it is. Come here.” He grabbed your chin, pulling you to his lips like he wasn't coated in a mixture of chemicals with unreadable names.

“Wait! You can't kiss me now!”

He stopped, puzzled.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not going to be spitting out the funny taste of whatever's inside this scrub. I'm not even sure if your t-shirt will survive it, so I'm not going to try.” You lifted your hands, revealing dark shapes of your fingers imprinted on the fabric.

“Don't worry about it. What happened to spoiling me tonight? Didn't you want me to be your princess?” His lips twisted through the last word.

“Oh…! I see what you're doing! You're not going to fool me, you cunning old man. Wash this off, and I will give you that kiss.”

He squeezed your hips again, distracting you from the way his mouth hung open for a split second, making sure not to spill out more than he intended.

“Kiss me now and… I might agree to another session of this.”

Your eyes lit up, muscles evacuated humor.

Was Aaron, the man who 'can deal with everything by himself and never needs anything from anyone,' the man you called your lover, asking you for more in his own struggling-to-admit-it–way?

It didn't matter if this was the wine speaking or if you were going to have to rinse your throat out for the next ten minutes. You were going to do it. You were going to give him what he wanted if only to reward him for taking one of his first any-kind-of-display-of-emotional-vulnerability–steps.

He deserved love and care, and you needed to let him know that.

Your lips, without any hesitation, met his, softly welcoming their familiar texture and tangling them with yours in the intimate rhumba. One of his hands traveled to the back of your head, playing with your hair and eliciting a sweet low hum from your mouth. A pleasant, grounding warmth filled your body, lingering even after you pulled away.

“I believe this counts as an attempted murder.” You wiped off tiny grains transferred from his skin.

“Honey, that would be suicide.” Deadpan as ever.

“Thanks, princess.”

“Don't overdo it.” He rolled his eyes like the corners of his lips didn't twitch upwards.

“Whatever you say… your highness.”

('respect the elders' they say... or don't)

𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭! 𝐈'𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤! ♡♡ ×𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭× ♡♡

[crying-ang3l]

[crying-ang3l]

× Princess Treatment ×

A/n: Heelloouu!! Here's a cute fic, enjoy! × no chocolate mentioned, it's clickbait. ×

×××××××× Genre: Fluff Warnings: suggestive scene Tags: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader (2nd person, no y/n) × established relationship × age gap × a whole bunch of playfulness × fyi: paso doble, rhumba and jive are dance styles × He calls you: honey, baby. You call him a princess. And you both call each other perverts × Summary: Aaron agreed to undergo your skincare treatment and ends up being called—a pretty princess? W/c: 1.6k ××××××××

×Masterlist×

It was one of those days when you wanted to spoil him a little. Ease any worries out of his overworked mind, and preferably shut it down for an hour or two. Give him a nice rest while he’s still home.

So…

What should you and Mr. Frown Face do?

Let’s start with the where!

Spin the wheel! Win a prize!

×

×

×

It's a date at home!

Cozy!

What about the main attraction?

Give it another go!

×

×

×

Skincare!

Sweet!

Aaron’s skincare didn't expand beyond washing his face with a grey, unscented bar of soap and applying sunscreen, which wasn’t much, but it was a great start.

He would never follow a 10-step skincare routine anyway. That would immediately get flagged by his brain as an unproductive use of time—a scandalous activity in his lexicon. But with you caressing his skin (with multiple layers of liquids and creams)? There was no way he could reject such an offer.

Now to sum up, we have romantic quality time with a glass or two of wine, vintage—not to say old—music ('respect the elders' they say), tender touches without taking your, or his, or the both of your clothes off—

“Let's see how long that'll last,” he chuckled and took a sip of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Rude?!

“You can deny it, but we both know how it usually ends.”

Excuse him? Maybe he wasn't wrong, maybe it was how some of the nights ended… or began—especially after, god forbid, a two-week-long–case—but that wasn't the point.

You tried to convince him of the innocence of your plan, but when you blurted out from pure excitement that you bought lotion that smells like cocoa, it only became an opposing argument.

“Evidence is speaking for itself,” he replied devoid of any surprise, placing the cup aside with a quiet thud and closing the distance between you.

You caught a glimpse of mischief dancing like a paso doble on his face before he turned you around, pressing his chest to your back.

“You're going to entice me with your delicious smell and blame it on me.” His whispered words caught you off guard, clouding your mind in a second. 

He didn’t know yet. 

That lotion was actually a moisturizer.

Nothing enticing here.

“That's not—you're a pervert. We're just going to… relax and enjoy each other's company.” Great choice of words, very convincing.

“Mhm, there it is,” he laughed, “See? You're already doing it.” He pressed his lips to your ear. “Blaming me like you're not a pervert yourself. Should I remind you how you asked me to—”

Wow!!! 

TMI!

Let’s just uh… get started with the night.

A very well behaved night—just like you promised!

×××

Surrounded by the low hum of music and the softest crackling of candles, he was sitting politely on the couch, leaned back, loosely holding you by your hips. You—straddled on his lap, dipped your fingers into a translucent container.

“I'm gonna put it on now,” you warned and smeared a grainy substance all over his face.

“Ah! It's cold!” He winced, tightening his grip.

“Shh, don't move. It's gonna get better in a moment,” you reassured him under your breath.

With precise movements, your fingertips massaged the soft tissue, circling his cheeks, tracing along the bridge of his nose up to the forehead, sliding through the wrinkles down to the temples and gliding further across his jaw and chin—closing the cycle and repeating it again.

“How is it now?” Your lips curled up, noticing his muscles relax.

“Coarse,” he stated blankly, but the smug glimmer of his gaze sold out his dry humor. Ha. Ha. You rolled your eyes.

“It's a face scrub. It's supposed to be a little rough,” you snorted with amusement and lightly shook your head.

“Is it supposed to scrub my face off?” This guy…

“Something like that,” you chuckled, “It's helping remove dead skin cells, but don’t worry about it, just relax. You can close your eyes, you know?”

“I prefer watching you work.” His arms flexed, pulling you closer so gingerly you didn't even realize it, too preoccupied with smoothing out his skin.

“You look so pretty, sweetheart.” His warm tone kissed your ears, spreading warmth through your chest. That's when you decided to look into his eyes— 

Two dilated black holes, enveloped with intertwined shades of brown and green—islands—washed by milky sea with red contorted seaweeds climbing out of its depth, were already staring into your soul.

You could tell all of his attention was on you, but you didn't know how truly gone he was.

How his temporary tunnel vision blurred everything exceeding the outline of your figure and deafened the surrounding world.

Mere five minutes was enough time to deconstruct him with nothing but your fingertips.

“Don't stop. It's actually very pleasant,” he murmured so softly it was almost a whisper, and when you didn't answer or move, his lips grew into an affectionate smile.

He knew he infected you.

Captured you in a singular frame of liquid time, stretching it through each beat of your heart, which subconsciously danced in the rhythm of jive with his own.

Now your own eyes reflected how equally intoxicated with adoration you were.

“Right….” Your mouth barely moved, chasing the shadow of the sound. Stilled hands slowly resumed its movement, lazily dragging across the tissue and awakening you from the hypnotized state.

“You're pretty too, Aaron.” The sweetness of your words dripped straight onto his face.

“Huh—?” He grinned, taken by surprise, momentarily straying his gaze, and shyly returning it back to you.

If it weren't for the exfoliant hiding his skin tone and reddening it in the process, you'd be able to spot a natural blush replying to your compliment. Instead, it was the ears that gave him away.

“I thought you were the pretty one in our relationship.” He accentuated his words with a squeeze of your hips.

“Well….” Your hands left his face, dropping to your thighs wrists up, not to stain your clothes. “Can't we both be pretty?” You smirked and added teasingly,

“My pretty princess?”

“What—did you just—?!” His laughter built up so quickly it cut him off with a loud cackle erupting from his diaphragm. 

His whole body started shaking, almost making you headbutt him in the process. Quickly, you grabbed his shoulders, holding on tightly while his eyes started to tear up from the sudden, intense abs workout.

Laughing along with him, you tried to take this opportunity to get up and grab a towel, when his hands swiftly outran you, clenching around your body and caging you under his grip.

“Oh, you're not going anywhere, honey. Not after calling me a princess! What was that? Are you feeling alright?” He pressed his palm to your forehead.

“Too much wine? I think you've had enough for the night.” 

“I'm not drunk. I'm spoiling you tonight, so you are my princess now.” A smug expression decorated your face only to be ruined by his next question.

“Is that right? In that case, you're going to fulfill my every whim just like I do for you, baby?” He raised an eyebrow

“Hm… uh… the options are… limited at this hour. I can offer you some moisturizer after we get this off your face.”

“Alright, moisturizer it is. Come here.” He grabbed your chin, pulling you to his lips like he wasn't coated in a mixture of chemicals with unreadable names.

“Wait! You can't kiss me now!”

He stopped, puzzled.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not going to be spitting out the funny taste of whatever's inside this scrub. I'm not even sure if your t-shirt will survive it, so I'm not going to try.” You lifted your hands, revealing dark shapes of your fingers imprinted on the fabric.

“Don't worry about it. What happened to spoiling me tonight? Didn't you want me to be your princess?” His lips twisted through the last word.

“Oh…! I see what you're doing! You're not going to fool me, you cunning old man. Wash this off, and I will give you that kiss.”

He squeezed your hips again, distracting you from the way his mouth hung open for a split second, making sure not to spill out more than he intended.

“Kiss me now and… I might agree to another session of this.”

Your eyes lit up, muscles evacuated humor.

Was Aaron, the man who 'can deal with everything by himself and never needs anything from anyone,' the man you called your lover, asking you for more in his own struggling-to-admit-it–way?

It didn't matter if this was the wine speaking or if you were going to have to rinse your throat out for the next ten minutes. You were going to do it. You were going to give him what he wanted if only to reward him for taking one of his first any-kind-of-display-of-emotional-vulnerability–steps.

He deserved love and care, and you needed to let him know that.

Your lips, without any hesitation, met his, softly welcoming their familiar texture and tangling them with yours in the intimate rhumba. One of his hands traveled to the back of your head, playing with your hair and eliciting a sweet low hum from your mouth. A pleasant, grounding warmth filled your body, lingering even after you pulled away.

“I believe this counts as an attempted murder.” You wiped off tiny grains transferred from his skin.

“Honey, that would be suicide.” Deadpan as ever.

“Thanks, princess.”

“Don't overdo it.” He rolled his eyes like the corners of his lips didn't twitch upwards.

“Whatever you say… your highness.”

('respect the elders' they say... or don't)

𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭! 𝐈'𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤! ♡♡ ×𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭× ♡♡

[crying-ang3l]

No, I didn't just accidentally post a fic while editing it…

How the hell did that even happen?

[crying-ang3l]

Licking the screen 😋😋

Why does he gotta look this damn good …..

[crying-ang3l]

Aaron Hotchner in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 7, Episode 18, ‘Foundation’

Masterlist ✰

[crying-ang3l]

[crying-ang3l]

11x09 - Internal Affairs

[crying-ang3l]

(gif from this incredible forever favorite post by ropoto)

just sayin'.

[crying-ang3l]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

THE BAU AT A PRIDE PARADE

SPENCER: Wearing a shirt labelled ‘Twink.’ He doesn’t know what it means, but a nice lady at a merch stand just handed it to him and it matches his purple scarf, so he thought ‘why not?’

PENELOPE & LUKE: Made friends with a group of fly drag queens and followed them to a karaoke bar. Both wearing multiple feather boas and… somehow covered in glitter? Both get up on the bar and start dancing the Second Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ starts playing.

EMILY: Is hungover from last night’s exploits at D.C.’s answer to the Pink Pony Club. A pair of cunty sunglasses protect her eyes from the white hot sun, and she holds her pounding head as she follows JJ through the crowd.

JJ: Five strawberry daiquiris deep and is not looking back. Thinking about how nice Emily’s hand feels in hers, and is too drunk to hide it. May have agreed to join some sort of coalition or movement? Who can remember, she can barely see.

ELLE & TARA: Have had way too many shots of tequila rose and have devolved into a fit of hysterical laughter. Taking turns hyping each other up as they twerk to Chappell Roan. Tara constantly sends drunken, sappy voice notes to Rebecca.

MORGAN: Wearing a shirt that says ‘Ally’ and dirty dancing in the middle of the parade.

HOTCH: Wearing a pair of sunglasses and a neon green ‘BRAT’ shirt. Penelope bought it for him, and after she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on him he had no choice but to change. Externally, he is stoic and serious. Internally? Rocking the fuck out to Madonna.

ROSSI: Has signed each and every petition offered to him. Just following the team around in his dad shirt and soaking up the vibes.

GIDEON: Sat on top of a pride float with his binoculars just watching birds.

BONUS

EMILY: Bought a planner diary labelled ���the gay agenda.’

TARA: Didn’t know whether to be offended or delighted by the prospect of an ‘LGBTini’ cocktail, but it tasted incredibly good.

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios!

Taglist: @yorkle @emilyprentisswife @ajsbau @besofrrightnow @grapes-are-kinda-weird-ngl @prentissa @jemilyssecretlover (you’re all so babygirl 😘)

I’m starting a taglist! To be added to the taglist for the ‘bau scenarios’ series comment ‘scenarios taglist’ under either this post or (preferably) under my Masterlist post.

[crying-ang3l]

UGH SO YUMMY 🤤🤤

summer lovin'

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader genre: smut w.c.: 6.7k a/n: shoutout to summer aka prime dbf season. this could technically be seen in the same universe as either of my other dbf!hotch fics but could also be a standalone, whatever you want <3 as always feedback fuels me ily

summary: After your dad thwarts your plan to have a not-date with Aaron at the drive-in movie theatre, you improvise.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, dbf!hotch, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, fingering, finger sucking, interrupted blowjob so hotch gets blue balls <3, one (1) hint of sir kink at the very end, praise kink, dirty talk, kinda fwb kinda dating hotch just needs to DTR already, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re at least 99% sure that summer was your favorite time of the year.

You loved that you were only a short ten-minute drive to the beach and could spend the whole day in your new bikini out by the water. You loved the cookouts that your dad always threw in your backyard, the smoke of the burgers on the grill and fresh chlorine from the pool swirling in the air. You loved staying out too late with your friends, drunk and attempting to quietly stumble through your front door as if you were a high schooler again.

But your favorite part about summer? Coming home and spending time with your dad’s best friend.

You and Hotch have been having a summer fling every time you visited for the past two years. Though, you wonder if it could still be considered a fling anymore if it lasted for more than one summer and the two of you would meet if he had a case in your state, no matter the season.

This summer was no exception. Your dad had been promoted last month, which meant that he was called into the office at least every day, thus leaving the house empty for your lonesome self.

“It’s fine,” you had said, waving him off. He had been worried that you felt like he wasn’t spending enough time together as you were only really able to see each other once a year due to your busy schedule. “If I’m bored, I’ll just drive over to Aaron’s place to bother him.”

He didn’t know that you already had your keys tucked into your purse and nothing underneath your dress, so he rolled his eyes and laughed, telling you to not to bother him too much.

Aaron’s schedule often didn’t allow time for you to spend as much time with him as you wanted, so it wasn’t entirely your fault that you had to jump at any opportunity that presented itself. It’s not like you were able to drop down to your knees and scoot in between his thighs underneath your kitchen table when he was over for dinner like you often did at his apartment, his expensive belt unbuckled and his large hand pushing down at the crown of your head.

You would almost feel bad at occupying all of Aaron’s free time if he didn’t clearly express that he didn’t mind, often accompanied with a half-smile he would try to hide and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

Now, it was the first week of August and you were starting to panic.

Your entire summer flew by you, now nothing but a blur of warm days by the pool and Aaron’s head in between your legs. You seriously don’t think you’ve had this many orgasms since you were a teenager and you went to a Spencer’s to buy a vibrator for the first time.

You’ve been trying to ignore that nagging anxiety that’s been slowly forming since the middle of the summer, but now it was a full-fledged nuisance. Now, you were just that desperate enough to spend as much time with Aaron as possible before you had to go back home to your lonely little apartment to work your lonely little job.

You try to ignore the fact that you were even willing to forgo the mind-blowing orgasms that often followed being in his company. Or the fact that you had started to think about him in non-sexual ways, such as wondering whether he had eaten that day or whether he was able to ask Jack about his science fair project that he wasn’t able to help with.

You’re laying out by the pool and scrolling on your phone, skin warm from the afternoon sun and clad in your cutest bikini, when you get the idea. Or, rather, Instagram gives you the idea in the form of multiple typos and an oversaturated picture.

It’s an ad for a local drive-in movie theatre that you didn’t know even existed announcing what they were featuring for the end of summer. Their last movie was allegedly tonight, a late showing of Grease, and claimed they still had several tickets available.

As if on cue, you hear the telltale crunching of gravel of Aaron pulling up into the driveway. A wicked smile splits your face. It was like a sign from God, or gods, or whatever the hell was out there as they served the perfect date night idea to you in the form of a badly photoshopped ad on your phone.

Your dad was still home, working at the kitchen island, but you knew that Aaron had timed it perfectly where only ten minutes after he showed up, your dad was going to get a call asking for him to come into the office. You’re going to wave him off, saying that you were fine with learning how to occupy yourself, and Aaron would claim to head out a couple minutes after him after dropping something off in his office down the hall. Most times, your dad’s car would have just barely disappeared down the street before Aaron’s spinning you around by the hips to bend over that same kitchen island and shucking your denim cutoffs down your legs.

It was the same routine that you’ve had all summer. It was nearly foolproof.

When you step through the doorway and into the kitchen, you act surprised when you spot Aaron already leaning with his hip against the stove, deliciously toned arms crossed over his sturdy chest as he was already deep in conversation with your dad about something or another.

Your dad looks away to type something painstaking slow on his laptop and Aaron takes the opportunity to raise his eyebrow at you, lazy gaze taking in your and your bright pink bikini. You bite back a smirk when his eyes get stuck on your chest, your nipples undoubtedly stiff and poking through the damp fabric at the superior air conditioning of the house.

“Hey you,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You come to stand by your dad and lean forwards on the kitchen island, inadvertently pushing your breasts up. You smile when you notice Aaron’s jaw clenching as he tries not to let his eyes stray lower than your face. “What are you doing here?”

He clears his throat and your smile grows wider when you spot the vein in his neck pulsing. “Just came to drop some files off for your dad.”

Aaron’s always coming over with papers and files that you know nothing about the contents of. You wonder if they must actually be important since he’s been using that same excuse nearly every single day for the past two months.

“Yeah, yeah,” your dad mutters, still focused on the fluorescent blue screen with his reading glasses precariously hanging on the tip of his nose.

You were nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement; any second now, your dad’s phone was going to ring and he’s going to be swept away to the office. Now was your perfect chance to bring up the movie with him where only a couple of minutes later, he’ll give you an apologetic look and ruffle your hair, telling you next time with a regretful tinge to his voice. He would have no idea that you had plans to drag his best friend with you instead.

“Dad, what are your thoughts on going to this drive-in movie a couple blocks away here in a little bit?” you ask, biting at your bottom lip to prevent breaking out in giggles. “I’ve never been to one.”

Aaron’s shuffling through the files, seemingly lost in thought, but you knew he was watching you out of the corner of his eye, interest piqued. He’s grown familiar with your antics and the way you seemingly always had a plan to appear busy when you knew your dad was going to be out. To not raise suspicion, you had said.

“Never been?” your dad finally raises his head up from that, eyes wide as he glances at you, and then Aaron. “Can you believe that?”

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Somehow, I can.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if the movie’s soon, we should probably get ready and head out,” your dad says, completely ignoring you. You elbow him in the side and he elbows you right back.

He slams his laptop closed and groans when he gets off the bar stool, knees popping in the process. When he’s making his way to his bedroom to get ready, you frown and glance repeatedly at the clock. They should’ve called him about ten minutes ago.

“Hey dad,” you call out. “Are you working today?”

He’s in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he turns around, confusion written all over his face. “No, sweetie, I thought I told you that I decided to call out today,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Good thing you brought up that drive-in thing because I had nothing planned. Let me change and we can go.”

You may be a bit dramatic but you swear you thought the walls were caving in, anxiety causing your heartbeat to spike in rhythm as you tried to subtly pick your jaw off the floor and be casual. “Oh? You didn’t have to do that, dad.”

He doesn’t even bother looking back at you. “Of course I had to, we’ve barely seen each other all summer! Now come on, let’s get going.”

And then he’s disappearing into his bedroom with the click of a door and you’re stuck with the realization that not only are you going to be spending the next two and a half hours in the back of a car with Aaron, but also with your father sitting right next to you.

You’re still staring at the polished wood of your dad’s bedroom door, the heavy weight of Aaron’s eyes on the back of your head. You could already see the amused twist of his mouth, the slight worried furrow in his forehead that would ultimately give him away.

This wasn’t the first time your plans were thwarted by your dad and your inability to plan accordingly, such as when you had to spend the afternoon by the pool in your bikini and not nude like you had initially wanted, but you still felt a bit lousy.

When you finally face him, you were surprised to find him wearing a fond, yet exasperated expression. It melts his usual hardened appearance, making him appear younger and like the man you’ve been messing around with all summer.

He pushes himself off the kitchen counter and approaches you. Your heart thumps erratically in your sternum, something that’s been occurring a lot recently, but you chalk it up to the way Aaron’s sleeves stretch over his biceps or the way the dark red shade of his shirt makes his stomach appear softer.

He quickly leans into you and your heart skips, impossibly thinking he was actually going to kiss you with your father in the same room.

You’re not sure whether you were disappointed or relieved when he’s kissing the crown of your head, brief enough for you to get a taste of his cologne before it’s immediately ripped away from you.

“Go get ready,” he mutters, voice low and soft so there wasn’t any chance for your father to hear him. “We’ll make it work.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, you’re strapped into the backseat of Aaron’s Range Rover, since he has more trunk room than either of your cars, a pile of blankets and snacks on the seat next to you, and watching out the window at the bright lights of the streetlamps as you pull into the parking lot of the theatre.

With the sun setting over the horizon, painting the sky in a picturesque orange and purple hue, came the cooler summer breeze blowing through your rolled down window. The tempting aroma of buttery popcorn and fried dough filled the car as Aaron drove between the numerous rows of cars to find the perfect spot.

You felt on edge. You’ve been nearly silent for the entire duration of the ten-minute drive as they continued to talk about work, as if the entire point of this outing was to definitively not talk about work, yet you didn’t mind.

You found Aaron entirely too distracting today. Every time your father was preoccupied, he was meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, silently raising an eyebrow whenever you would smile innocently at him.

He knew you were up to something—he was able to read you as soon as you bounded downstairs in that strappy plain white sundress, the lace hem barely brushing your thighs, and smelling like his favorite perfume. You had smiled him just as innocently then too, ignoring the rush of heat that flooded your veins when his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened.

The spot he had pulled the car into was towards the back, close enough where you got a good view of the screen, but secluded enough where you wouldn’t be bothered by the loud concession stand or the group of teenagers laughing several cars over.

You immediately bounced out of the car as soon as it was set in park, arms filled with the numerous blankets you found laying around the house to set up in the backseat. You let Aaron push the backseats down and watch with a grin as he steps away. As smart as they were, neither your dad or Aaron would have the forethought to set the ugly blankets on the bottom and the fluffy and more comfortable blankets on top.

You clamber up into the trunk, sitting right in the middle with your legs splayed out and your sandaled feet hanging over the edge. Although you were secretly glad that Aaron convinced the two of you to take his car for the extra wiggle room, you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

Aaron climbs in next to you, groaning at the way his knees pop and the way his back isn’t fully supported as much as he would like. Even with how roomy the car’s trunk was, his jean-clad thigh still brushes against your bare one where the hem of your dress has ridden up.

You expect your dad to follow, with similar old man groaning and bones popping, probably even knocking against your shoulder with his hip, yet an exhilarated thrill runs through you when he says, “I’m going to get some popcorn, did you guys want anything?”

You clear your throat and make yourself appear busy by grabbing a spare throw blanket to throw over your bare legs, ducking your head to hide the devilish smile that threatens to form. “Nope, I brought all the salty and sugary snacks I could ever need.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Aaron says, polite as ever, as if he couldn’t sense your desire to jump his bones at that very second.

Your father shrugs before leaving you two, just as the lights in the parking lot cut off and the only way you were even able to see your hand in front of you was from the giant screen and the glow of the bustling concession stands behind you.

You’re tempted to scold him, remind him what his doctor had said about cutting back on butter, but you honestly couldn’t pass up this opportunity to spend a couple minutes alone with Aaron. It didn’t help your case when you saw how long the concession line was, nearly wrapping around the entire carnival-esque building, so you knew you had more than enough time.

You really were initially planning on actually watching the movie, maybe grabbing his hand to hold underneath a blanket, but he just looked so good in a casual setting and not wearing those unfairly tight suits he often wore whenever he would pick you up outside the house, smelling like dried ink and lukewarm coffee.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hotch scoots down a bit in his seat, actually relaxing for once, as the movie starts. You wince at the way the music blares, a bit louder than you were comfortable with, and shuffle a bit closer to the furnace that is Aaron, pressing the length of your body against his.

He stiffens. His breath catches when you throw your blanket over his legs, now concealing both of your laps, and your chest brushes against his arm. He can probably tell by now that you decided to forgo a bra.

“Just making sure I don’t hog the blanket,” you say with a smile when he glances at you.

He seems to believe you, not expecting you to pull any funny business when you were surrounded by so many people, as well as your father in the near vicinity.

Which is absolutely silly on his part, considering how often the two of you had hooked up in his car on the side of the road.

You take a deep breath, the smell of butter and the faintest whiff of Aaron’s cologne filling your lungs, before you pull the corner of the throw blanket over your shoulders and place your right hand onto the meat of Aaron’s thigh.

You have to stifle a giggle when he nearly jumps out of the car, head nearly bumping against the roof. You can sense the stern words threatening to come out when he turns to you, something about how you’re in public and how now wasn’t the time on the very tip of his tongue.

Yet you keep your eyes trained on the screen, pretending to be completely enraptured as the opening credits end and transitions to the front of the high school and definitely not being distracted at how perfectly firm his thigh was even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, maybe assuming that you were just feeling a bit extra touchy-feely like you do when you haven’t seen each other in a couple of days. He would call you needy, but you considered yourself grateful with what you got.

He decidedly does not say anything and turns back to face the screen.

Your heart is racing, blood in your ears nearly drowning out the noises of the people in the parking lot annoyingly reciting each line of the movie one after the other. You shift in your seat, thighs brushing against each other underneath your dress, and you try not to think about why this whole scenario was actually getting you riled up.

You wait a couple more minutes, enough to where you felt Aaron’s thigh slowly relax underneath your palm, before you begin to slowly trail it upwards.

The rough fabric of his jeans against your hand was strangely soothing, warm from the heat of his skin seeping through. The pads of your fingers slide along the inner seam and you allow a manicured nail to scratch against it before gently squeezing your hand around his entire thigh.

You keep your eyes fixed straight ahead; however you’re no longer taking in the movie as you’re too aware of the way Aaron’s breath deepens or the way he imperceptible spreads his thighs apart underneath the blanket.

When your hand reaches his crotch and you feel the very sizable bulge of his half-hard cock straining against his jeans, heat crackles down your spine, adamantly pooling in between your legs. You felt a strange surge of power and experimentally squeeze your hand around the length of him, coaxing a groan that Aaron tries to bite back. Your mouth waters.

He leans down until his lips were barely brushing against the shell of your ear, the low timbre of his velvet voice causing another flare of desire to burst in your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you say, giving him one final squeeze, your thumb briefly brushing against the very tip of his cock. You lay your palm flat against the bulge and wonder if precum has stared leaking through his boxers yet.

“Nothing?” And then it’s his turn to snake his arm underneath the protective guise of the blanket, over your chest, and away from prying eyes to place his own hand on your bare thigh.

Your heart rate kicks up, face suddenly feeling heated in a way you couldn’t blame the summer heat for. Aaron’s hands have always been ridiculously large, with thick fingers and rough skin mottled with endearing age spots. They were one of your favorite things about him, especially when he put them to good use.

Like he is now.

He’s squeezing the flesh of your thigh, causing you to grip the fabric of his jeans at the inseam, breath growing heavier. He doesn’t bother teasing, completely aware of the time restraint and the fact that you were surrounded by a third of the town, and when his fingertips brush against your pussy, he expects to find your favorite pair of light blue lace panties.

When he brushes against your skin instead, he pauses. You inadvertently hold your breath, not so subtly spreading your thighs apart underneath the blanket. Your left knee pokes out from the edge.

“It doesn’t look like nothing since you’re not wearing anything underneath that dress of yours.” And then he’s yanking your thighs further apart and dragging his fingertips along the seam of your pussy. He avoids your throbbing clit and takes his time to barely dip into your dripping entrance before he’s spreading your wetness in between your folds.

You have to bite back a gasp, your grip tightening where you still have a handful of denim. You resist the urge to arch your back into his touch, instead scooting down in your seat so Aaron would be able to effortlessly thrust one of those deliciously thick fingers inside of you. Your sandal dangles precariously off your foot as it hangs over the edge of the trunk.

“It’s hot out…” Your voice sounds weak even to you, your breaths coming out ragged as you attempt to cant your hips up in an effort to get Aaron to touch you where you’re nearly throbbing for him.

He hums before he’s sliding his middle finger inside of you, causing your entire body to jolt and your jaw to fall open. You bring your legs up, planting your feet onto the truck and allowing the blanket still on your lap to shield your… activities from anyone if they decided to stroll by. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your head loll onto Aaron’s sturdy shoulder.

If anyone decided to look over at the two of you, they would assume that you were a couple, albeit an odd one, casually cozying up during a date night at the drive-in movies. There were plenty of couples in the parking lot, the singing and lines being repeated back quieting down as the crowd became enthralled with a movie they’ve seen a hundred of times.

The next song in the movie plays, effectively drowning out the filthy sounds of your pussy as Aaron effortlessly slides another finger inside of you, still narrowly avoiding your clit. You let out a low moan under your breath and Aaron has to shush you.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he mutters, as if it was the easiest thing in the world and not like you were living out your horniest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father.

That thought, dirty and sinful, causes you to clench around his fingers and for you to bury your face in Aaron’s neck to quiet the wet gasps that threaten to come out of you.

You think Aaron chuckles at your reaction but you can’t even bother to be mad because his pace increases, and the indecent sound of you somehow getting wetter, his palm slapping against your clit and just barely giving you enough stimulation has your thighs trembling.

You thank every God that ever existed that Aaron was left-handed as he steadily thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers just so to hit that spot that makes you nearly cry out, but it’s not enough.

You have to muffle your noises against the skin of Aaron’s throat, the strong clean smell of his cologne mixing in with sweat had your mind spinning, stoking at the arousal that was building faster and stronger with each second that passed.

“Aaron…” you whimper, abandoning where you were pathetically attempting to rub his cock through his jeans to take a hold of forearm.

He doesn’t stop. In fact, your grip on him seems to make him go faster, deeper. He tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead and then quietly asks “Are you going to come for me, honey? In front of all these people?”

You whine, shaking your head and burying your face further into him, words catching in your throat and desperately hoping he would know exactly what you needed. 

He makes a faux sympathetic noise. “Your pussy needs a little bit more, doesn’t she?”

To your absolute horror, he slowly takes his fingers out of your pussy and you make a pitiful noise, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes at the utter confusion and annoyance swirling in your chest as you lift your head up from his shoulder.

“Wha—”

He brings his free hand up to your face, glowing with an array of flashing colors from the screen. You’re barely able to discern the dark glint in his eyes, pupils wide and his lips parted as he breathes heavily. “Suck.”

Before you could even think, realize that you’re only a couple feet away from strangers and that any of the people walking back from the concession stand could pass by you, one of them possibly even being your own fucking father, you’re meeting his gaze and obediently parting your lips to let him slide two fingers into your mouth.

You can feel the corners of your lips stretch, accommodating the girth of his fingers, his skin tasting clean with a faint hint of your lavender soap he used before you left and his rough callouses brushing against your tongue. You make sure to swirl your tongue over his fingers sloppily despite knowing you wouldn’t need it, have never needed it, because Aaron was able to have you dripping down your thighs with just one word.

You hollow your cheeks, peering up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and your clit throbs painfully when he wordlessly slides his fingers deeper into your mouth.

When he pulls his hand away, a trail of your saliva follows, connecting your spit-slick mouth to him. The vulgar sight causes your face to heat up.

“Good girl.”

The praise nearly lights you from the inside out, your thighs instinctively parting wider as his wet hand dips underneath the blanket to caress your folds again.

You’re completely drenched, your inner thighs sticky with your arousal, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were leaving a wet spot on the blankets underneath you.

You pay that no mind, completely unable to, as Aaron easily slides the two fingers that was just in your mouth into your aching pussy with a wet noise. He immediately starts fucking into you, his thumb circling your throbbing clit at a maddeningly steady pace, now focused on pushing you over the edge as soon as possible.

A strangled moan erupts from you, caught off guard at the onslaught of pleasure running hot through your body, and Aaron is immediately tilting down to capture your lips in a kiss.

You’re distantly aware that he hasn’t kissed you at all today, not even while he’s been fingering you in public underneath a blanket, and the revelation nearly causes a rise in unseated annoyance to spark in your chest if it weren’t for the fact that you felt your muscles tensing and your lower belly coiling with your impending orgasm.

His mouth is hungry against yours, tongue sliding into yours as he easily swallows the steady stream of your moans as he fingers you faster, rubs your clit a bit rougher.

When you pull away, chest feeling tight at the lack of oxygen, you manage to let out a high-pitched whine against his lips that you hope understands as your hips roll up to meet his thrusts, not even caring if the lewd wet noises of your pussy was audible over the movie.

“You better come before your dad gets back.”

The low tone of his voice simmers through you as he’s curling his fingers, nearly grinding them into you, and you’re biting your bottom lip to muffle your moan. Your pussy clenches around him, hips stuttering into his thrusts as you come so hard you swear your vision blurs around the edges.

He continues to fuck into you, letting you ride it out, and you have to push his wrist away while your ears were still ringing as your oversensitive clit begins to throb. You felt sluggish and like you’re one second away from melting through the floor of the car, your entire body limp and sated.

You barely wince when he slides his fingers out of you and discreetly wipes your leftover slick onto the blanket you both were sitting on. You lean your head back onto the headrest, tilting slightly away from the warmth of Aaron’s body as you desperately hoped a cool breeze would pick up and magically blow into the trunk of the car and onto your heated face.

Aaron reaches over your body for the forgotten bag of food, rummaging for the bag of salted pretzels he knows you packed because he knows you’re seconds away from begging for a snack. However, him straightening up and twisting his body into yours reminds you of the very sizeable shape of his hard cock visible through the crotch of his jeans.

Embarrassment floods through you as you remember that, despite your initial plan to pay attention to Aaron and tease him, it had totally backfired and you were the one who still got off. Despite him always assuring you not to worry about him, it just didn’t feel right, and plus, you wanted to.

Just like you expected, when you grab the bag of pretzels to toss aside to place your palm on his crotch where he’s still hard, he puts his hand over yours to stop you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You roll your eyes and knock his hand aside. “I want to.”

And then you tuck your legs primly underneath yourself and duck underneath the blanket, situating yourself until you were essentially kneeling over him and your face was merely inches away from the bulge in his jeans.

Aaron makes a strangled noise that you can barely hear over the sound of the movie still playing, but he doesn’t stop you as you’re expertly popping the button of his jeans open and dragging the zipper down. With some shuffling and maneuvering, his jeans and boxers are bunched around his thick thighs and his cock is out, curving against his stomach and flushed an angry red.

The heat of him is palpable, his heady musk stronger now thanks to the blanket over his lap, and you lick your lips, your cunt pulsing from arousal again. When you wrap your hand around him, his cock twitches and you can see Aaron’s hand fisting the edge of the blanket.

You could tell he was on edge, probably surprisingly closer than to he expected from just fingering you until you bit your lip raw and surrounded by a crowd of people. You smile wickedly at the thought that he was getting off to this just as much as you before you’re tilting your chin up and parting your lips over the head of his leaking cock.

You hear a muffled noise, most likely Aaron refraining from groaning out loud, as you open your mouth further to accommodate the girth of him as he slides deeper into you. You squeeze your hand around the base of him as you lower and lower until the head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, your lips meeting your fist.

Aaron curses quietly, his breathing turning ragged as he tries to keep his hips still so he doesn’t make you gag, letting you take your time despite his own judgements.

You know he was expecting your usual teasing—kitten licks at the head to savor his precum or the flat of your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. But it must have been over 15 minutes already and, as much as you want to leisurely lick and suck him until you were dripping wet again and your jaw got sore, you’re running out of time.

You unfurl your fist around the base of his cock to place on the bare skin of his thigh and begin to bob your head, rivulets of your drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth and coating him.

He seems to understand because he’s sneaking a hand underneath the blanket to cradle the back of your head, keeping you steady, before he’s lifting his hips up to start fucking into your mouth.

Something simmers at the base of your skull, your eyes fluttering shut, as you let him take control in that seamless way he always does. Submitting to him was always exhilarating, making you feel drunk and like you were a second away from floating out of your body with just one look, one large hand wrapped around your throat.

It happens now as you concentrate on making sure you didn’t gag, trying to open your jaw further so he could continue using your mouth whichever way he wants. The sounds of the movie and the audience singing along filters through your brain and out your ears, the only thing you’re aware of being your harsh breaths and the filthy crude noises of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron grunts, barely audible over the movie, and his hips begin to stutter, his fist clenching and unclenching where he still has a grip on the back of your neck. You swallow around him as best as you could, mentally preparing yourself for the first spurt of his come hitting the back of your throat and wondering if you could get away from sitting on his lap and angling his cock inside of your aching pussy for a little bit.

You don’t hear the sound of the car door opening until Aaron’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, essentially stilling you with your lips still wrapped around his cock.

“Shit, can you believe I got to the front of the line and I forgot my wallet?”

Aaron hums in response, though it sounds strained to you. His muscled thighs are tense, as if anticipating this was the moment that your father would discover his daughter was sleeping around with his best friend by his cock in your mouth.

Your ears burn as you slowly lift yourself off of him, making sure you swallow to refrain from any lewd noises from your mouth. You and Aaron seem to have the same idea as you stay hunched over his lap, hiding out of your dad’s eyeline, the thick blanket covering you.

There are sounds of him rummaging around the seats, even checking the middle console, and then he’s making a triumphant noise and closing the console shut. You’re not exactly sure why his wallet was in the console of Aaron’s car, but there were evidently more important matters as you watched his cock, right in front of your face, soften with each passing second.

“Where’d that girl get to now?”

Aaron clears his throat and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile when his cock twitches. “She had to go to the restroom.”

A sigh. “Well, I better go back and get in line. You sure you don’t want anything, Hotch?”

There’s a tinge of frustration when he speaks again “I’m good, thanks.”

You could almost imagine the noncommittal shrug your dad gives before you hear the slam of the car door being shut and his whistling along to the song on the screen that gradually fades away.

Aaron’s hand finally leaves your neck, silently telling you that the coast was clear. You’re not sure if you’re wanting it back or not, but one glance at his cock, nearly completely soft, has you holding back a sigh.

When you finally sit up, you’re sure you look like a mess. The neckline of your dress was probably pulled down a little too low still, your hair frizzy and tangled from his hands, and your lips swollen and puffy.

However, when Aaron glances at you with a soft expression, the start of a smile tugging at his lips and his thumb coming to swipe at the corner of your mouth, you felt like the prettiest woman in the city.

“I guess we’re done for tonight, huh?” you ask, attempting to pass it off as a joke but your voice sounds weak even to you.

“I’m okay with that,” he says, voice gentle and not like he was trying to hold back his moans merely two minutes ago. He tucks himself back into his jeans and you have to lift the edge of the blanket up to make sure that he had gone fully soft. When he’s done, he studies you, an unreadable glint in his eyes that causes your heart to flip in your chest.

Before you could say something idiotic, something that would disrupt the easygoing nature of your undefined relationship, he raises his arm to rest on the back of the seat. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the slight flex of his bicep and the shine of his fancy watch against his wrist, shamelessly admiring the way it glints underneath the light.

When you tear your gaze away from the sudden filthy thoughts revolving that specific watch, he’s raising an eyebrow at you, and then, “Come here.”

A giddy smile erupts on your face before you could help it. You try to suppress a squeal as you shuffle closer into Aaron’s embrace, letting the warmth of him bleed through his shirt as you press your cheek into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his middle to intertwine your fingers with your arm that you have curled around his back.

He’s so soft, with his belly rising and falling with each breath and the way he brings his arm down from the back of the seat to rest around your shoulders, pulling you further into him. You’re not sure if the sense of calmness that overcomes you was from the comforting scent of his cologne or the orgasm his fingers just brought you to.

A girly type of excitement fills your chest at the fact that you were cuddling him so publicly, such a rare event that has only happened when he’s come to visit you when out on a case. You know he can see your smile out of the corner of his eye, the way you try to wiggle further into him as if you’re trying to crawl into his skin, but he stays silent. 

The two of you sit in silence and, surprisingly, watch the movie, with you singing along and Aaron shaking his head at you. You know he’s mouthing along to the lyrics, you just can’t quite prove it.

You hear the distinct off-tune whistling from your dad and scramble to put a respectable distance between you and Aaron.

His hand shoots out to grab at your wrist and you ignore the way arousal licks up your spine at the way his fingers easily dwarf yours and how unbearably attractive he is when he leans in to whisper into your ear.

“Maybe you can come over tonight after the movie to finish what you started.”

You bite back a smile, noticing how it wasn’t exactly a question, but rather a concise demand. You also knew that Aaron can be impatient, especially after he didn’t get a chance to finish in your mouth like he wanted to, and that you were most definitely going to pay for it later.

“Yes, sir.”

taglist <3: @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna @ssa-writerminds 

[crying-ang3l]

pov penelope garcia sends u a mirror selfie in her new bathing suit

I NEEDHERINEEDHER 😭😭😭😭😭😭🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

[crying-ang3l]

DAD BOD AARON HSBDIDKDN

Idc that I’ve prolly posted all these before but Aaron’s dadbod is just so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 I mean it’s all over the screen now. I just know the second he realises you have a thing for his more filled out body he finds excuses to be nearer to you, to go without his jacket even more, to brush against you sometimes accidentally with the soft pudge of his stomach 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[crying-ang3l]

LOLA GLAUDINI as Elle Greenaway in Criminal Minds — Season 1

[crying-ang3l]

OH MY GODDDD!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! THIS IS BRILLIANT!!! I WAS LAUGHING THE WHOLE TIME BUT THE SKIBIDI TOILET PART? THAT FUCKING KILLEDDD MEE 😭 THAT'S THE CURSED GEN ALPHA TERRITORY! LOVE HOW R IS SO PATIENT WITH OUR FAVORITE OLD MAN AND HOW HE TRUSTS THEM ♡♡♡

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Hi! I just read you blurb about Hotch with gen z reader and I absolutely love it, it's hilarious! ♡

Can I please request Hotch struggling with technology/apps and gen z reader helping him?

Thank you so much ♡♡

Terms and conditions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-Z!reader | WC: 1.7k | CW: Fluff. I feel like I might have made hotch into a whump in the second part of the fic (he's a little pathetic)

A/N: Tyyyyyy 💕💕

You could sense it the second you walked into the bullpen, something was wrong.

Not murder-in-Mississippi wrong, but Hotch-is-glowering-at-his-phone wrong. Which, all things considered, was still code red. You paused by your desk, coffee in hand, watching your unit chief stab at his screen through the open blinds of his office, like it owed him money.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn into a furrow that could’ve doubled as a trench. You’d seen him face down unsubs with less venom.

Rossi sauntered past with a file tucked under his arm. “He’s been at it for ten minutes,” he murmured, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk. “Try not to laugh too loud.”

You snorted softly, already knowing that it was a losing battle. Hotch’s technological struggles were the tales of BAU legends – whispered about in the break room like campfire stories.

The man could profile a psychopath in his sleep but ask him to navigate an app store, and he looked like he was defusing a bomb with a paperclip.

Adjusting your grip on your coffee, you strolled up to his office with the casual confidence of someone who’d grown up with a smartphone practically grafted to their hand.

“Morning, sir,” you said, popping your head through his open door. “Everything okay?”

Hotch didn’t look up. His voice was a low growl, clipped and precise. “No. It’s not.”

That stopped you. Aaron Hotchner didn’t admit weakness, not to unsubs, not to bureaucrats, and certainly not to his team. For him to let that frustration slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade was as rare as a sunny day in Quantico without a murder call.

You tilted your head as you moved closer to his desk, catching a glimpse of his screen, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

“Are you… trying to download an app?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

He finally looked at you, and for one glorious, fleeting moment, Aaron Hotchner – elite profiler, veteran federal agent, and the BAU’s resident stoic leader – looked utterly, hopelessly lost.

His eyes held a mix of exasperation and something that might’ve been embarrassment, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m attempting to install the airline app,” he said, each word measured as if explaining a tactical maneuver. “We have a connecting flight through Dallas next week since the jet is still out of commission, and the travel department suggested I… ‘check in on mobile.’” The air quotes were practically audible, laced with disdain for the very concept.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. “Okay. What’s the issue?”

He turned the phone toward you, revealing the problem in stark white and gray: Your Apple ID password is required to proceed.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to stop the grin now. “You don’t know your Apple password.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed into the patented Hotchner Glare, the one that could make a hardened criminal confess in under ten seconds. “I didn’t realize it required a password just to check into a flight,” he said.

You nodded like you were diagnosing a patient. “Well, technically, it’s for downloading the app. It’s a security thing, two-factor authentication, biometrics, the whole deal.”

He blinked at you, slow and deliberate, like you’d just recited quantum physics in Klingon. “Two-factor… what?”

You couldn’t help it, you beamed. “Don’t worry, sir. I got you.”

Dragging a chair over to his desk, you plopped down with the enthusiasm of a tech support guru about to perform a miracle. You rolled up your sleeves dramatically.

“Alrighty, let’s start from the top. Do you know your email?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of offense, like you’d asked if he knew his own name.

“Great. Baby steps. Do you know the password for it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why would I need that?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. “Oh boy.”

What followed was a twenty-minute odyssey through the labyrinth of modern technology. You guided Hotch through resetting his Apple ID, navigating the recovery process, and answering security questions that seemed designed to torment him (“What was the name of your first pet?” “I don’t remember.” “Okay, what’s the name of your favorite book?” “Why does this matter?”). By the time you’d successfully reset his account, installed the airline app, and added three others he grudgingly admitted might be useful (calendar, notes, and a weather app, because “it’s practical”), you felt like you’d earned a medal.

“Now for the fun part,” you said, leaning closer to show him Face ID. “You just look at the phone, and it unlocks. No typing required.”

He squinted at the screen as it scanned his face, then unlocked with a soft click. “You mean I don’t have to type anything anymore?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief like you’d just revealed the secret to eternal youth.

“Welcome to 2025, sir,” you said, leaning back with a grin.

Hotch stared at the phone for a long moment, then looked at you. His voice softened, just enough to catch you off guard. “That’s… actually impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Careful, Hotch. That almost sounded like praise.”

The barest flicker of a smirk crossed his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You tapped his screen one last time, double-checking the airline app. “Okay, you’re good to go. App’s installed, accounts are logged in, and flight alerts are on. You’re officially a digital native.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, a rare moment of visible relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you all keep up with this.”

You shrugged, deadpanning, “Years of trauma, TikTok, and depression memes. It builds character.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amusement and fond exasperation, the kind of look that made your stomach do a little flip. “I worry about your generation,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.

You smirked. “That’s fair. We worry about you too.”

Two weeks later, the BAU was airborne again, returning from a case in Arizona. The jet was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of conversation between Reid and Prentiss across the aisle. You were seated next to Hotch, who was, predictably, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So if I press this…”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “You trying to check the weather?”

He nodded, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “The app says there’s a storm on the way, but it won’t load the updates.”

With an easy grin, you reached for his phone. “I got it.”

He handed it over without protest, and that small gesture hit you harder than it should’ve. Hotch didn’t trust easily, not with cases, not with people, and definitely not with technology. But here he was, letting you take the reins, watching you in a way that made your heart skip.

You showed him how to refresh the app, toggle the alerts, and even sign up for text notifications so he’d get updates without wrestling the app into submission. “That should cover you,” you said, handing the phone back.

He studied the screen for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. “You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice low.

Your brows lifted. “Tech stuff?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something else in his tone, something heavier. “But… also, you’re patient with me. Most people aren’t.”

You softened, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s because you’re trying,” you said, matching his tone. “That’s all that matters. I mean, yeah, you kind of suck at it–”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in warning.

“–but you’re learning,” you finished, grinning. “You don’t give up. That’s admirable.”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then, quietly, “You remind me of Jack’s babysitter.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Romance me, why don’t you.”

His eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “That wasn’t-”

You laughed, waving him off. “Relax, Hotch. I know what you meant.” You nudged him with your elbow, lightening the mood. “Next lesson: memes. You’re way behind.”

He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuine. “Do I have to?”

You grinned, undeterred. “Terms and conditions, sir. You want my help, you’re gonna have to suffer through at least three ‘Vine’ references a week and the dog of wisdom.”

He sighed, long and suffering. “I have no idea what that means.”

“And that’s how I know we’ll make a great team.”

Later that night, as the team disembarked the plane and shuffled toward the parking lot, Hotch fell into step beside you. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence in the chilly air outside the private terminal the jet had landed at.

The rest of the team was ahead, somehow still bickering about who’d lost the rental car keys back in Arizona (it was definitely Morgan).

“I looked up what Skibidi Toilet was,” Hotch said, his voice low, like he was admitting to a crime.

You gasped, delighted. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. “…I regret everything.”

You cackled, loud enough to earn a glance from Rossi up ahead.

“Welcome to my world, old man.”

But then he turned to you, and his voice softened. “Thank you,” he said, “for not making me feel stupid.”

Your heart tugged, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not stupid, Hotch,” you said quietly. “You’re just… analog in a digital world.”

That earned you a smile, a real smile. “I suppose I could stand to be a little more digital,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “If it means I get to keep up with you.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second, your breath catching. Then you grinned, nudging him again. “Careful, sir. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but think that maybe the gap between analog and digital wasn’t so wide after all. Not when it came to him.

[crying-ang3l]

Love how they're judging us in the 1st gif

CRIMINAL MINDS 4.20 'Conflicted'

[crying-ang3l]