ssa-aaron-hotchnerr

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐞 (𝟏𝟖+)

⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑

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𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!!!

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𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐜

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𝐓𝐖! 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑!!

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⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑⋆❅*❄️🌷✧🌹💐✮<𝟑

You hated men.

You had a long past of abusive exes, plus an abusive father, who made your every waking moment a living hell.

So, you finally... found a way to channel all that rage. All that pain.

At first it was all about the money, than it was revenge. But whenever you got on that pole and you felt all the eyes, of all those men, on you, you felt your rage boiling, but not enough to boil over.

You couldn't handle watching all those sleazeballs ogling you, but you knew that, this was the whole point of being a stripper.

Sure, the money is good but the satisfaction you get, when those men pay a bit extra, just to have you for a whole night, all to themselves, in a cheap motel room, or an expensive, extravagant hotel room, only to end up with their genitals cut off and thrown in the toilet, while having barbed wire wrapped around their heads and necks.

You've never actually slept with any of those men. They didn't interest you. You just wanted them to be the object... the target of all the rage from all the sexual, emotional and physical abuse you've endured since you were a kid.

.

The team has been trying to track your movements, for the past two years. But, without any valid leads to capture you, the trail to you kept going cold, time and time again.

That was until today.

It was supposed to be a regular night. You were dancing on the pole for your first round of the night, with a few private dances already booked for later.

Under normal circumstances, you're less tense. But the second you walk into the club, you feel a few pairs of eyes on you.

It's weird...

You feel like you're being watched but differently... more ominously... as if you're being scrutinized... as if you're under a microscope...

You brush the feeling off and go on about your night, like you normally would.

The second you get on the stage and wrap your hands around the pole, you see a new face in the crowd, and a pair of hazel, almost honey-colored eyes staring at you.

For a fragment of a second, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of that man. He's clearly older than you, at least by a decade.

His eyes followed your every move as you moved with a mastery and grace and sensuality, you've practiced, honed and perfected after four years on the job.

Even while your dancing and grinding your body on the pole, your mind was constantly going back to the mysterious, new guy you saw in the crowd.

.

You walk into the room, for your first private dance, only to see that very same guy that has been making your body feel hot this entire time.

"Hey there," he greets. His voice smooth and low as he speaks to you.

He's sitting back against the black leather seats of the room, legs spread and a obvious erection, straining against his slacks. The red led lights on the ceiling above him, highlight his jaw and his soft lashes.

God, you wanna jump his bones. You feel the heat between your thighs getting worse the longer you stand there and observe the man in front of you.

"I'm Spencer. What's yours, darling?" he asks, motioning for you to get closer and straddle his lap.

"I'm Y/n, handsome," you whisper in his ear, while you let your hands run all over his torso, feeling his muscles and the slight softness of his stomach and arms, beneath his neat clothes.

Ever since you got in this line of work, you've learnt to observe the little details about your clients. The brand of their clothes, shoes and jewelry (if they're wearing any). This way, you're able to tell what their job and status might be and how much money they are probably making.

You can tell, that his suit is not tailored, which means that his wage is probably not within the "six-figures-and-above" spectrum. You notice his watch, making a mental note about how old and worn out it is, yet you know that it was expensive when it was first bought, probably passed down to him by a family member or a gift.

"You were gorgeous up there," he whispers, with his hands traveling from your waist, to your hips and finally your thighs, pulling you closer to his body, until you can feel his heart beat against you.

"Why, thank you, baby~" you purr.

"How do you want this to go?" you ask him.

"How do these normally go?" he asks with a gentle smile, which has butterflies going crazy in your stomach, with his fingers brushing a strand of loose hair out of your face.

His touch is so light, so soft, as if it's barely even there.

This is the first time you've felt a touch so serene and gentle.

And it feels amazing.

"Normally it's just a lap dance... But it can go to something more, for a higher price," you genuinely answer his question.

"How much more?"

"It depends on each guy. Prices are debatable with me," you reply with a wink.

"So if i were to take you to a hotel room... would I have to pay for the lap dance too?"

"No. You just paid for the hour, you've rented this room for."

.

The room he paid for, is far more expensive that you thought it would be. You take your coat off and place it in the back of one of the armchairs in the room.

Now that you are alone with him, you feel more exposed under his gaze and you have to fight the urge to wrap your arms around your body to cover up, whatever you can.

You take your heels off, finally freeing your sore feet, as you neatly put them next to the bed, before you stand in front of it, thinking of what the night might bring, and what your next move it's going to be.

Spencer walks behind you and places his large, veiny hands on your hips; the feeling of his warm palms on your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine, while you can feel the arousal beginning to pool between your thighs.

His touch was so soft and gentle, you could feel your body getting hotter.

Usually whenever a man put his hands on you, you felt dirty, defiled, shameful.

But he... he is different. He's soft and kind and gentle, handling you like a fragile porcelain doll.

You feel free. You feel... happy.

"Is everything okay?" he softly asked, with his breath hitting your neck.

You give him a small nod, with your heart thumping against your ribcage. It's been so long since a guy made you feel like this.

His lips are feather light on the skin of your neck. You find your head falling back on his shoulder, while your thighs clench with the uncomfortable wetness pooling between them.

"May I?" he gently asks, with his fingers tightening their grip on your hips, ever so slightly.

With a small nod, he turns you around in his arms and captures your lips in a passionate, yet gentle, kiss. Your mind is going into an overdrive. You had to fight a losing battle, against the urge to push him on the bed and do what you would normally do for other clients.

But you can't. Not with him. Not when he's the first considerate man you've met in your life.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your body, feeling his cock hardening, in his pants, against your stomach, as you press yourself harder against him.

With ease, he sweeps you off your feet, wrapping your legs around his hips as he carries you to the bed.

His body is firmly pressed against yours. Feeling his weight and the raging hard on in his pants, is something you never thought you'd enjoy but now you do. And God knows, you're a slut for him.

You crave him. You're desperate and he can feel it, when your arousal seeps through the thin material of your flimsy panties and goes on his pants, exactly where his cock is.

You quickly work on his jacket, tie and shirt, discarding them on the floor and revealing his toned body underneath. He's not very muscular. On the contrary, he's plenty thin, but you can tell he's strong and has muscle mass underneath his soft skin.

You feel your breath hitch in your throat, when he starts trailing kisses from your lips, to your neck; biting and sucking, but not enough to leave marks.

His hands move to your shoulders, pushing down the straps of your bra, before he cups the back of your head and holds you up to unclasp and discard it, with the rest of his clothes.

The way his tongue glides on your body, until it finds your hardened nipples, makes your body feel like it's on fire. You want everything. You want him in every way possible and you sure as hell, want this to last, even after the night is over.

His hands move down your body, reaching the waistband of your thong and tugging on it. You take the hint and lift your hips, letting him pull, the last piece of fabric, down your body.

"May I touch you?" he asks. His voice hoarse with lust and impatience. You give him a small nod and gasp, when his fingers push past your folds, feeling the wetness of your cunt and spreading it around.

He focuses a lot on your swollen clit, paying attention to it, while his middle finger, easily slides inside you. You feel the muscles of your walls, clamping down around his finger as he works you, pumping it in and out and a steady pace, with his thumb circling your clit.

You want to beg for more, but the words won't come out. The only thing you are able to o right now, is moan and writhe under him, while he fingers you.

When a second finger slides in and he starts to scissor them to stretch you out further, you feel your pussy flutter around them. The second he hits your g-spot and starts aiming for it with every curled thrust of his fingers, you feel your orgasm approaching you rapidly.

Your back arches off the bed and against his chest, when you reach your climax. Waves of pleasure and ecstasy hitting you like a tsunami, rocking your body and make it shake. He keeps fingering you hard and fast, prolonging your release as much as possible, before he grabs a tissue from the box on the nightstand and clean his hand up.

You watch closely as he gets off the bed and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, grabbing his wallet and pulling out a row of condoms from it.

His eyes are glued on your panting and disheveled form on the bed, while he removes his pants and boxers, before getting on the bed and putting his hands on your knees, to push your legs apart.

He grabs the condoms, taking one from the row, opening it and rolling it on. His hands move to settle on each side of your head, with one of them, move to align his aching cock with your entrance.

A small gasp comes out of your lips, when the thick head of his dick pushes inside you. Your nails slightly dig into his shoulders, while your legs tense around his hips.

Your whole body is one, singular erogenous zone that's quickly catching on fire, with his every touch.

His pace starts off slow, giving you both time to adjust to the delicious sensation of your warm cunt wrapped around him.

His eyes are boring into yours, watching every movement and studying your body language like an open book.

The more time goes by, the more he increases the pace, getting desperate. Desperate for a release... but not before you cum first.

With a grin he pulls away just enough to grab the underside of your thighs and throw your legs over his shoulders, giving him better access to reach that deep, perfect spot that has fireworks exploding behind your eyes.

God, how you love this feeling.

It's unlike anything you've ever felt before in your life and you don't want it to end. So, you desperately try to hold off your orgasm just to enjoy this moment longer, but it becomes increasingly difficult, with the way he keeps drilling into you, so perfectly.

"Spence~ Oh fuck~" you moan, when your orgasm finally hits you like a tsunami; bliss washing over you, making your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, while your pussy clenches tightly around his cock, throwing him over the edge with you.

His whole body shakes and trembles as he finishes inside the condom; his grip on your hips getting tight enough to leave marks behind.

Spencer stays like that for a while long, staring at you, while holding himself up, with his hands on each side of your head.

Your eyes stay locked on his for a few moments, before you interlock your lips with his, in a soft, yet passionate, kiss.

.

Your reign at the bar you "worked" at, was officially over. Your hands are cuffed on your lap, as you sit in the bus, heading to your new home, Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility.

You weren't surprised, sad or angry. Just... empty. You look outside of the barred windows, watching the trees pass by, while your freedom is now nonexistent.

A shame...

But, as much as you want to be angry... you can't help but smile, as you remember Spencer and the night you spent with him. The way his large hands felt on your body, his lips on your skin, the trails of pure pleasure left behind after every orgasm.

You close your eyes and lean against the seat, a small smile on your face, as you let yourself accept the new order of things, but with this happy memory, being the only thing to keep you grounded.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

CRIMINAL MINDS 3.09 | Penelope

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

no bark, all bite | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni 

summary: you can’t help but bite Aaron when he wears a short sleeve shirt. 

word count: 1.8k

cw: smut, biting (all aaron receiving), unprotected sex, f!reader, holy moly his arms in that gif

based on this post by @l1v1ngz0mb1e

It had been difficult to get used to seeing Aaron out of his suits. Not in a bad way, not at all. But it was difficult to behave yourself when he wore those polo shirts that revealed just enough of his biceps to make your mouth water. 

That’s not to say his suits didn’t reveal a lot. You’d noticed recently his button ups clung to him tighter than usual. A good girlfriend would buy him a size up, but you wouldn’t dream of it. You enjoyed it too much when he’d take off his suit jacket and you could see the seams practically bursting as his muscles flexed beneath his shirts. 

But it was even better when you could see the skin, the veins, the hair on his arms. It was the complete picture, all that you imagined when his long sleeves were covering him. And somehow, it felt even more erotic to get a glimpse of him from beneath a short sleeve shirt than to actually see him shirtless. 

He truly was very distracting. Every day, you wondered how any of his coworkers were able to get anything done while he was around. 

And here you are again, trying to focus on the task at hand while all you can think about is his arms. It was a Friday night, Jack was at a sleepover, and Aaron had invited you over. You’d had dinner at his house, simply enjoying the company, and forcing yourself to not stare at his biceps. 

Your dinners at home are always casual, as Aaron wants to get out of his suits as much as he can and wear something more comfortable. 

(You can relate to wanting to get him out of his suits, although in a different way.) 

Tonight, he answered the door in track pants and a t-shirt. When he opened it, you instantly knew you’d have trouble keeping your eyes off of him. But you smile as normally as possible, setting the wine down on the counter. 

Once your hands are free, he wraps you in a hug, and you can’t help but focus on the strength of his arms around you. You can feel his muscles squeezing your sides, and you almost feel bad that you’re objectifying so hard. You know the tight hug is simply his way of comforting himself, releasing the stress of his job, but it almost makes your eyes roll back as you feel how tight his grip is.

He pulls back, his hands on your shoulders, leaving his biceps right in your sight line. He says something you don’t even hear, and when you nod mindlessly, he leads you to the table. 

You eat dinner, listening to him talk about work. And every time he takes a sip of his water, the sleeve of his shirt pulls up, giving you an even better view. You manage to focus on his stories, even though half your brain power is being used to keep your eyes from drifting. 

After dinner, you end up on the couch, sitting side by side. You might have eaten already, but the sight of him in that shirt is making you want something else to chew on.  His arm wraps around you as he nuzzles into your neck. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, kissing your pulse point gently. 

“Missed you, too,” you say, your hands moving to squeeze his arm. Your grip tightens as he continues to trail kisses along your neck, until he pulls back. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but you lean forward, taking his bicep in between your teeth and biting down before he can speak. 

“Hey!”

You pull back, a grin on your face. “Got you.”

“What was that for?”

Your index finger rubs circles onto the area with the small indents that are slowly disappearing. “You just looked… biteable.”

He raises an eyebrow in fake indignation. “Biteable?” 

You nod, pushing his sleeve up more to bite him again, this time probably harder than you should. 

He hisses softly, staring down at the way his arm turns red in the shape of your teeth as you pull away. 

You almost tell him he’s asking for it with the shirt he’s got on, dressed like an absolute whore in that gray t-shirt, but get distracted by the skin he’s showing. 

You take his wrists, pulling his arm up to your mouth. You bite his upper arm again, then move down, biting from his bicep to his forearms. Each time, you nip a bit harder, slowly getting addicted to the feeling of his skin pulling between your jaws. 

You take extra care when you reach that vein on his forearm, tracing it with your tongue before taking it in your mouth, gnawing on him like a puppy with its favorite chew toy. 

“Stop that,” he says with no real fire behind his words. It’s what he always says when he wants something but is too embarrassed to admit it’s turning him on— as if you can’t feel the hardness forming beneath his pants. 

“No,” you say, eliciting a small laugh from Aaron. 

You nip at his neck, getting him right in that spot you know he likes, so he doesn’t argue when you slip his shirt off and push him down on the couch. 

You graze your teeth from his collarbone to his chest, biting on the flesh of his peck. He gives a groan in response as you lick the spot to soothe it. 

He nearly whines your name as you slide off his pants, then take his underwear off. When you gaze down at him, it becomes clear he’s enjoying it more than he lets on. 

“I just want to nibble on you,” you say as you nip at his hip bone.

“I thought you said you were full after dinner,” Aaron says breathlessly, a hand tangling in your hair. 

“You’re my dessert.”

You bite his thigh, hard enough that you know it’ll leave a mark tomorrow. The supple flesh of his thighs squeeze between your teeth, and you feel the dampness pooling in your underwear as you taste his skin. 

“Baby,” he says, gently tugging on your hair to get you to look at him. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re being a tease.”

You giggle, taking your shirt off. His large hands immediately go to your back, unhooking your bra. He pulls you into a deep kiss, and you unzip your jeans as he tongue slips into your mouth. When he pulls back, you capture his bottom lip between your teeth, letting it pull before you release him. 

You hurriedly slip your pants off, straddling him. “You just look delicious. I could eat you up.”

He gives a chuckle, hands going to your hips. “My little vampire.”

You smile in response, shifting above his length, grasping the base of it and guiding yourself down. 

You both tilt your heads back as you slowly sink onto him, breaths becoming more rapid. 

Once he bottoms out, you lean down, giving his neck a love bite. When you pull back, it’s clear that you’ve bitten him hard enough that he’ll have to hope there’s no case over the weekend to give the bruise time to heal before he has to face his coworkers again. 

He gives your hip two gentle taps, signaling you to start moving before he does it himself. You take the cue, slowly riding him. It’s not lost on you that his muscles flex every time your walls flutter. In fact, you make a point to deliberately squeeze him, just like your teeth were squeezing him earlier. 

Usually, you’re watching his face, focused on the way his eyelids flutter. But tonight, you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his biceps flex as he grips your hips, the movement of the muscles emphasizing the bite marks you’ve littered along his body. 

You place a hand on his chest for leverage, bouncing faster as his groans spur you on. You will always be grateful that he’s let loose with you, giving himself permission to be vocal beneath your touch. You reward his sounds with your own moans, desperate as you feel every inch of him filling you up. 

You get carried away as you gaze at his build, losing rhythm in your distracted state of mind. You don’t even notice his whimpers go from pleasured to depreciate until he can’t resist any longer and starts to buck up into you. 

“So good,” you whimper out. 

“I know,” he says, fingers digging into your hips. You know it’ll leave an imprint, but it’s only fair after what you've done to mark him up. 

He’s pressing into you deep enough that it reaches your brain, thoughts going blank as you mindlessly meet his thrusts. 

As he starts to lose control of his hips, your walls clamp around him, coaxing him into filling you up. 

You’re back arches as you fall over the edge, the wetness of your release dripping down your thighs and onto his. 

The feeling of you coming around him has Aaron quickly following, his eyes glued to your chest as your back arches. His hips stutter as he gives one last deep thrust, painting your insides white. 

He gently pulls you down to rest on his chest, hugging you tightly to help you come down for your high. As he wraps his arms around you, your eyes are drawn to his muscles again, your hazy mind still having enough power to seek out his arms. 

You wrap your arms around his forearm, nuzzling into his upper arm. 

“You’re really obsessed with me tonight, aren’t you?” He says it teasingly, flexing as a half-joke. 

You take the opportunity to bite him again, not releasing him for a good few seconds. 

“Are you staying like that all night?”

You hum around him, opening your jaws even further to take more of him in your mouth. 

He laughs softly, patting your back. “You’ve gotta let me go eventually.”

You sigh around him, eventually releasing him and laying your cheek down on your chest, his peck right in view for you to admire the teeth marks you’d left. You trace it gently, proud of your work. 

“You know, it’s not nice to act like a teething puppy while your boyfriend is at your mercy.”

You giggle. “Then you shouldn’t be so biteable. I could chew on you all night.”

“You’re so cute I might let you.”

You snuggle even closer to him. “Besides, what’s so wrong about appreciating my big, strong man?”

Aaron rolls his eyes, even though he can’t help but blush at your words.

As he holds you tighter, you feel content, not even tempted to bite him as you watch his arms. At least, for now. And as Aaron falls asleep with you on top of him, he has a looming suspicion that his wake up call (and your breakfast) tomorrow will be the pressure of your teeth around his bare arm. 

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

reader sucking early seasons spencer during a library date and hes trying his best to stay quiet but hes just whimpering between the aisles

content warning: Public semi-risky oral, reader giving, Spencer being so quiet but so not, early-season stuttering, whimpers, and desperate gratitude.

a/n: give me a breathy desperate man NOW jk i already have one

word count ~ 2k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The library was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the soft whirr of the central air. Rows and rows of tall, dust-scented shelves towered around you like watchful sentinels, muffling footsteps and muffling voices—and it was perfect.

You had never seen Spencer quite so at home.

He walked the aisles like they were familiar streets. Fingers trailing the faded spines, soft smiles blooming whenever he stumbled across something interesting. You followed behind him with a fond, amused gaze, watching his eyes light up like he was in a candy store.

“Did you know,” he said, pulling a volume halfway from the shelf before pushing it gently back, “that Carnegie funded over 2,500 libraries worldwide? Most were built with specific architectural guidelines—large windows, symmetrical layout, community meeting spaces—he believed the aesthetic was part of the intellectual experience.”

“I believe it,” you murmured, stepping close behind him. “Feels sacred in here.”

Spencer smiled, glancing down at you. “It is to me.”

You tugged gently on his sleeve, steering him into a narrower, dimmer section of the stacks. The library was nearly empty at this hour—midday, midweek, and the summer sun outside seemed to have lured everyone else away.

Spencer looked back at you with a little curious tilt of his head.

“What’re you doing?” he asked softly, though he followed you without hesitation.

“Finding a little privacy,” you said, pretending to study the shelf beside you. “You’ve been so patient, talking about books for an hour…”

Spencer blinked. “I—I like talking about books.”

“I know,” you said, turning to face him fully. “I like watching you do it.”

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took a slow step closer, backing him up until his back brushed the shelf. The spines trembled lightly behind his shoulders.

“You’re really pretty when you talk,” you said, fingers ghosting up the center of his button-down. “But I think you’d be even prettier quiet.”

His breath hitched.

“W-What do you mean?”

You smiled.

And then you sank to your knees.

His eyes widened.

“Wha—what are you—oh—God—wait—”

“Shh,” you murmured, fingers already toying with the waistband of his slacks. “You can keep talking after. For now, let me.”

“W-we’re in a library,” he hissed, glancing wildly over your shoulder toward the aisle entrance.

“I know,” you said, popping the button and dragging his zipper down slow. “So you’ll have to be very, very quiet for me, won’t you, Dr. Reid?”

He whimpered.

He actually whimpered.

It was so soft, so desperate, it made heat bloom between your thighs. His hand grabbed the edge of the shelf behind him like he needed something to cling to.

You reached into his boxers and drew him out slowly, his cock already half-hard from the tension of your teasing. He was flushed and twitching, the head sensitive even before your tongue had touched it.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

“No swearing in the library,” you teased. “Tsk, tsk.”

You kissed the tip.

He gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth immediately.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled behind it, voice barely audible.

You laughed softly and took him into your mouth fully.

It was dizzying how fast his knees buckled. He grabbed for a shelf bracket with one hand, his other still clamped over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if that would help him survive it.

You worked him slowly at first, letting your tongue drag along the underside of his shaft, tasting the salt of him, the nervousness, the need. He was already trembling.

You moaned low around him, and he choked on his own breath.

“Mm—uh—please—” he whispered.

“Please what?” you pulled back to murmur, stroking him slow with one hand, watching how his thighs quivered.

“I—I don’t know, I just—oh God—”

You took him back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and Spencer's hips jerked forward despite himself. He immediately blushed, wide eyes panicked like he’d crossed a line.

But you moaned in approval and wrapped your hands around his hips, encouraging him to do it again.

And he did. Carefully. Slowly. Like he was still shocked this was even happening.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered against his knuckles.

You bobbed your head, deeper now, and his knees buckled. You let him fuck your mouth, slow and sweet, muffled by the scent of old paper and the cool, sterile quiet of a library. Every breathy sound he made felt like a sin.

His soft, high-pitched whimpers were barely audible, but you caught every one.

The way he whispered your name. The way he stammered, “I—I’m not gonna last, I c-can’t—God, you feel so good—” The way he pleaded, in that wrecked, frantic tone that only Spencer ever used, “Please don’t stop, please—”

You pulled off him once more and pumped him slowly, loving the way his eyes fluttered as he tried not to moan. “You’re being so good for me,” you whispered. “But you’re shaking, baby.”

He nodded helplessly, sweat beading at his temple.

“Think you can stay quiet for me just a little longer?”

“I—I’ll try—”

“That’s my boy.”

You took him back in, deep and warm, until the tip of him hit the back of your throat. He squeaked. There was no other word for it.

And then he snapped.

His hand flew to your hair, his hips stuttered forward, and his mouth dropped open in a silent moan.

You kept going. Faster now. Wet, messy, filthy sounds filling the tight little aisle. You could hear the faint creak of a cart being pushed somewhere at the far end of the library—but it only added to the rush.

Spencer came with a strangled, gasping breath, biting into the sleeve of his own cardigan. His whole body went taut, then shuddered violently as he spilled into your mouth, whimpering like he was falling apart.

You swallowed everything he gave you. Held him through every twitch.

When he sagged back against the shelf, boneless and blinking, you licked your lips and looked up at him.

“Still want to tell me about Carnegie?” you whispered.

Spencer looked down at you, completely dazed.

“...I can’t feel my legs.”

You grinned and stood slowly, smoothing down his shirt and helping him tuck himself back in.

“You were so good, Spence.”

“I was loud,” he murmured, cheeks redder than the hardbound volumes beside him.

“Barely,” you said. “No one heard.”

He still looked scandalized.

You kissed his flushed cheek and patted his ass gently as he stood shakily. “You’ll recover.”

He nodded, eyes glassy.

You linked your fingers with his and started walking him back out of the stacks.

“…Wanna go back to my place?” you asked, casual.

Spencer looked at you like you’d just offered to solve every equation in the world.

“Please,” he said, voice still hoarse.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

HANDS WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: it was supposed to be sangrias in the shade, but somehow you ended up wet....in rossi's bathroom....with your ex….based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, tension relief via hands.... aka fingering, mutual pining, mirror kink making an appearance AGAIN!! use of the iconic ‘it’s nothing you haven’t seen before’ line🙂‍↕️ word count: 1.4k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

You hadn’t planned on actually getting in the water. When Rossi sent out a group invite for a ‘pool party,’ you assumed it was code for day drinking in expensive shade, not full submersion. You wore sunscreen, not swimwear, which, really, was poor planning on your end. And on Morgan’s, who elbowed you mid-sip, accidentally sending you plunging into the deep end of Rossi’s pool.

To be fair, you probably needed the cool-down. Rossi’s extra-strong sangria had been heating your body and face at an alarming rate, your skin prickling with that telltale flush of warmth that showed up whenever you were too hot or thought too hard about your ex-slash-boss in a navy polo (both of which were happening currently, all at once.)

Still, you could’ve done without the saturated walk to the bathroom, waterlogged, dripping, and tasting chlorine behind your teeth, your flip flops letting out a series of humiliating squelches that echoed like applause for your misfortune. 

Rossi’s guest bathroom was absurdly nice. Bigger than your first apartment and, if you were being honest, not miles off from beating your current one which you considered an upgrade. Though now, standing in the gleaming expanse of marble and mood lighting, your so-called upgrade felt more akin to the BAUs printer room.

Your reflection was…questionable. Your hair clung to every piece of skin it could claim and your eyeliner left faint bruises beneath your eyes. You grabbed a cotton pad from one of those silly little acrylic containers, and began undoing the damage to your makeup which stood no chance against Morgan’s clumsiness. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted your ministrations. 

“Better be a bottle of wine from Rossi’s cellar in your hand,” you called out, “because that’s the only form of apology I’m accepting from you.”

There was a pause.

“I can offer a towel.”

Definitely not Morgan.

“Hotch?”

“Are you decent?” he asked, tone infuriatingly polite. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you blurted out, way too quickly.  “Sure.”

You reached for the door handle and opened it a few inches. He stood there, holding a neatly folded towel with both hands like the six perfectly rolled ones already stacked on the shelf somehow weren’t up to par. 

He handed the fluffy thing over wordlessly, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange.

“Thanks,” you murmured, using it to blot the water beading at your neck.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He took a step closer. “Did you hit your head?”

You shook your head, showing him that it was still attached and mobile. “No. Just slipped in gracelessly, that’s all.”

He nodded, his eyes cataloguing you. You dabbed the towel along your collarbone, suddenly aware of the movements you could control and use to deceive him. Control the hands, control the nerves. Keep your eyes low, keep your breathing even. Pretend you’re not trying to remember what it felt like to have his mouth on your shoulder instead of cotton. 

“Could you, um…” You cleared your throat, setting the towel aside. “Undo the back of my dress? The knot’s too tight.”

He looked like he was considering your request with caution. His eyes dropped briefly to the damp straps clinging to your collarbones, trailing upward in dainty lines to the knot at your nape, fabric embedded gently in skin.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” The phrase tumbled out carelessly, making you cringe a little.

“Turn around,” he said softly. 

You turned like he asked, gathering your hair to one side and exposed the knot at the back of your neck. In the mirror, you caught him stepping closer, his warmth already bleeding into your skin, a feeling that pulled you straight back to all the times he’d sneak up behind you mid–morning coffee, or in the evenings when you were taking off your makeup.

Your hands dropped to the counter, trying to keep the memories at bay. His fingers touched your shoulders first. Almost tracing the straps of your dress, as if remembering where they used to lead.

You held your breath. 

He worked on the knot with the same precision you’d watched him exude in everything he did, a reminder of how deeply it lived in him, spilling into even the most simple tasks. The fabric loosened quickly under his fingers, the damp straps slipping free from the bow. You felt the front of your dress begin to slide—not all at once—peeling away in the more precarious places, clinging stubbornly to the rest.

Your hand shot up to your chest, clutching the fabric against you. 

Hotch stilled. 

His hand hovered near your shoulder, caught between choices with vastly different outcomes. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush the curve of your arm. His touch traced up, settling at your shoulder. 

He stepped closer, and then his lips were on your skin, just below your neck.

A kiss. Then another, lower.

It might’ve seemed unlike him, if you hadn’t already seen every side of him. Words could’ve been cleaner than this, less complicated, but they’d never come easy to either of you. So you chose to believe that this was his way of speaking, of saying I missed you, without letting it tremble in his throat. 

You let your hand fall, the dress slipping completely. The air got to your skin before he did, a cool breath across your chest, followed by the warmth of his palms as he cupped one of your breasts, the other sliding around your waist and pulling you to him until there was no space left. 

Your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder. You reached one hand behind you, finding his cheek, holding him there as his mouth worked its way down your neck. He leaned into the touch, into you, his hips pressing forward.

The hand at your waist shifted, gathering damp fabric in his fist, and then he was lower. Sliding between your thighs like he’d never unlearned you. His fingers found your clit and began to move in circles. You pressed your palms flat against the counter while the rest of you burned. Your eyes fluttered shut, not from modesty, but from the overwhelming feeling of being touched like this again. 

“Look,” he murmured against your ear, his breath brushing your neck. “Open your eyes.”

You obeyed just as your other hand reached for his thigh, gripping him as he began to pick up the pace. 

“Still know what you like.”

“Yeah,” you managed, tilting your head to the side, giving him more of your neck, your shoulder, whatever he wanted. “You never forgot.”

“Not once.”

Your eyes flicked back to the mirror, to the image of yourself, the image of him working you over and through. “You always did like watching.” 

“Only when it’s you.”

You would’ve scolded him for that comment, because he wasn’t allowed to say things like that anymore. But clearly neither of you were great at following boundaries, your current predicament becoming your prime example. You felt his fingers grab your waist a little tighter, like he couldn't believe you were his again, even if it was only for now. 

Then your balance wavered as he slid his fingers inside you, one, then another, your mouth conjuring a moan before you had the chance to stop it. You could feel yourself getting close, the release edging up fast after months without anything that didn’t start and end with your own hands. 

“Right there, isn’t it?” he asked, fingers curling in a way that made it impossible to answer. All you could do was nod, over and over again until his name tore from your lips as you came. 

His palm braced against your stomach, keeping you upright as your body bowed forward. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a minute to collect your bearings. And when your breathing started to even out, you felt him reach around you, gathering the straps of your dress that had fallen before he retied the knot at your neck. The same one you’d asked him to undo. Go figure.

A knock at the door brought the two of you back to reality, causing you both to stiffen.

“Everything okay in there?” Emily’s voice called.

“Yeah,” you answered, mid cough. “All good. Be out in a sec!”

There was a pause, just long enough to think she’d walked away, before you heard her add, “Will that be both of you?”

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[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

🥥. , “Omg omg I’m in love Drop dead gorgeous handsome man ever I’m gone

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

If he keeps looking at me like that

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

If he keeps looking at me like that

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

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

I NEEDHERINEEDHER 😭😭😭😭😭😭🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

headcanons about perv!emily ? 🤭

oml i have many 🤥 this woman makes me crazy!!!! these headcanons can be applied to any sort of established relationship with emily (dating, friends, roommate) all depends how you wanna interpret each one :)

she humps your pillow when she's horny : the idea of getting off on the space you lay your head every night makes her feel so dirty and she loves it. she'd hump the pillow so eagerly, her clit dragging on it just right as her face is buried in the sheets, inhaling your sweet scent as her moans are muffled.

very much enjoys watching you undress or shower or masturbate : if the door is slightly ajar while you change she'll peek through the gap to watch you. when she hears you showering with your music on she sneaks into the bathroom remaining out of sight, yet in a spot where she can admire your body through the glass door of the shower. she'd grope her tits or grind against whatever surface is nearby to satiate her needs as she watches you soap yourself up and the water cascade over your curves. and when she comes home unexpectedly and hears your soft moans she stares and analyzes the way you finger yourself and rub your clit, taking note of every movement as she soaks her own panties.

looks through the hidden album in your photos : if you leave your phone unattended near her for more than 2 minutes she's scrolling through your hidden photo album to see all the naughty photos and videos you take of yourself (shouldn't have given her your phone passcode). she airdrops them to her phone to avoid any evidence and she uses them whenever she masturbates. she'd cum so quickly from watching the videos of you playing with yourself and moaning beautifully and cumming everywhere.

ogling any chance she gets : no matter what you're wearing she will stare at your tits and your ass and almost drool every time. she'd never turn down a beach day or trip to the gym with you so she can make sure she sees how your close your pussy is to becoming visible in your bathing suit bottoms and watch your ass stretch the material of your shorts as you do squats.

having a collection of your panties : whenever she was home from work on a sunday she'd offer to do the laundry purely so she could snag a pair of your panties. she'd find the prettiest pair in your laundry hamper and keep them tucked away in her bedside table, having a bit of a collection after a few months. she'd sniff them, lick them, or wear them and rub her pretty clit through them.

feeling you against her is like sin : she's excessively touchy and affectionate with you just so she can feel you against her. she'd especially love to hug you, relishing in the feeling of your tits pressing against her own as she resists the urge to grind against you. it would be even better if neither of you had a bra on, your nipples hard and brushing over hers.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

Hi, I love your writing, please could you do Spencer x best friend roommate reader, lots of tension, one bed trope 🙏🏼, maybe some somno? Perv!spence pls

Thankyouuuuu 🫶

content warning: Perv!Spencer, somno-inspired sex (consensual), one bed trope, masturbation (f. and m.), mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, tension, dom-ish Spencer.

a/n: this took a couple days but was soooooooo worth it, its so cute and disgusting ugh enjoy sluts

word count ~ 1.5k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The storm knocks the power out just after midnight.

You’re already curled on the couch in one of Spencer’s old FBI sweatshirts, legs bare, popcorn forgotten on your lap, when the TV screen flickers to black. The hum of the heater dies, leaving only the sound of pouring rain and the occasional crack of thunder outside the windows.

“Shit,” you mutter, and your roommate rounds the corner into the living room, book in hand, hair disheveled, eyes wide.

“You okay?” he asks. “The whole block went dark.”

You nod, shrugging. “Guess it’s one of those nights.”

He leans in the doorway, barefoot in sleep pants and a thin grey t-shirt that hugs the outline of his chest. You’ve seen Spencer Reid in every possible state — post-case, post-shower, half-asleep and half-catatonic — but something about him now, blinking into the lowlight with messy hair and no glasses, makes your stomach tighten.

Then the wind howls outside, and you both flinch.

“…You can sleep in my room,” he offers after a beat. “The couch isn’t gonna be warm long, and it’s freezing in here without the heat.”

You eye him. “Spence. There’s one bed.”

“So?” His ears flush. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

Yeah. Like three years ago. On a work trip. In a hotel room. When you were definitely not in love with your best friend-slash-roommate who now looks at you like he’s trying not to.

You huff and grab the blanket off the couch. “Fine. But if you get handsy in your sleep again—”

“I didn’t mean to that one time!” he protests, voice pitching.

You laugh. But something tells you he remembers that night as vividly as you do — his hand accidentally between your thighs under the blanket, the sharp intake of your breath, the way he jolted back like he’d been burned.

You’d both pretended to forget it. But you hadn’t.

And now you’re walking toward his room, heart thumping, knowing damn well the bed is small and your legs tend to tangle.

The room is cold. Spencer pulls the covers up around your shoulders, careful not to let his hand linger too long. You roll onto your side, back to him.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

And then—he does.

Tiny shifts. One inch closer. Then another. You’re not asleep yet, but your breath is slow. Quiet.

You wonder if he knows you're awake. If he’s listening to the sound of your breathing and using it to justify the way his palm brushes your hip, feather-light under the blanket. Just enough to test.

You don’t stop him.

His hand lingers. Rests. Then glides down, fingertips brushing the hem of your sweatshirt — his sweatshirt — until he’s ghosting along bare skin.

You shift — just a little — and he freezes.

“Spence?” Your voice is soft. Sleepy. But laced with something else.

He doesn’t answer.

Your eyes flutter open. You keep your breathing slow. He thinks you’re asleep. And he’s touching you.

A low, throaty sound leaves him — almost a sigh — and then you feel it. His cock, hard against your ass.

And still…you don’t stop him.

His hand slides up your thigh. You’re bare underneath, no panties. You hadn’t thought you’d need them tonight.

You hear his breath hitch when he realizes.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Your heart is pounding now, soaked through with heat.

You arch into him — just a little. Just enough that his hips press flush against you.

And that’s when he really moves.

Spencer leans in, nuzzles your hair, groaning into it. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers.

You’re practically dripping.

His fingers slide between your legs and find you wet. Soaked. He curses again, quietly, and strokes up through your folds.

“Fucking knew it,” he breathes. “Knew you’d be like this in your sleep. Thought about it too many times.”

Your eyes stay closed, but your mouth parts on a breathless gasp as he teases your clit in lazy circles.

“Dreamed about touching you like this,” he murmurs. “Waking up with my fingers inside you. You’d be so warm… so wet…”

One finger dips into you, and your body responds — needy, clenching around the slow, deliberate push.

He groans when he feels it. “God, baby.”

You can’t take it anymore.

You reach back and grab his wrist. His whole body jolts.

“Y-you’re awake?”

You turn your head to look at him — his face flushed, hair wild, pupils blown.

“Keep going,” you whisper.

He stares, chest heaving. “You’re not mad?”

You press your hips back into his hand. “Spence. I’ve wanted this.”

That’s all it takes.

He rolls you onto your back, hovering over you, mouth crashing to yours. His kiss is frantic, desperate — years of want poured into each motion. He’s panting into your mouth as he fucks you with his fingers, thumb circling your clit, pressing until you’re gasping under him.

“Fuck,” you whine. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

He grins, breathless. “To you? Every night.”

You moan, heat flooding your face.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?”

He nods. “All the time. Can’t help it.”

You spread your legs wider. “Then show me.”

He drops between your thighs instantly, lips wrapping around your clit, tongue flicking in soft, firm licks while his fingers stroke inside you.

You’re already so close — the tension has been building for months — and his mouth is too good.

You cum with a strangled cry, thighs trembling, back arching off the mattress.

Spencer groans into your pussy, like he needs to taste all of it.

When you come down, you find him stroking his cock, flushed and leaking.

“Please,” he says. “Let me fuck you.”

You pull him up to you and kiss him again. “Condom?”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “Then be careful.”

He pushes in slow — inch by inch — both of you moaning at the stretch.

He feels huge, every inch thick and pulsing. You’re still soaked, but the drag makes you squirm.

“Oh my god, Spence,” you whimper. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He buries his face in your neck, fucking into you deep and slow.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he groans. “You’d walk around in nothing. Touch yourself in the shower. Moan my name in your sleep…”

Your breath hitches. “You heard that?”

“I waited for it,” he confesses. “Jerked off to it. Every time.”

You tighten around him. He curses, thrusts harder.

His rhythm grows desperate, hips slapping yours, your name falling from his lips over and over.

You cum again with him deep inside you, pulsing hard, gasping his name like a prayer.

And he follows — groaning into your mouth, cock twitching as he spills inside you.

After, he’s still holding you.

“…So,” you say after a while. “You have been perving on me.”

He groans. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You grin. “But if you’re gonna jerk off with the bathroom door open, maybe next time…invite me.”

He flushes, eyes wide.

Then: “Oh. I will.”

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

underrated criminal minds duo

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

IN MY OFFICE.

summary: anther late case, another night of aaron being worn out at the bureau. so your idea of visiting him with a cup of coffee and some good luck kisses doesn't sound that bad... except when he ends up fucking you in his office. bad aaron, bad!

pairing: aaron hotchner x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 4.5k words. pure smut. age gap. praise. semi-public. power imbalance. overstimulation. orgasm denial. fingering. oral sex (reader receiving). piv. slight dumbification. creampie. aftercare.

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @destinedtobegigi, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

The bullpen was almost entirely dark, the overhead fluorescents humming quietly as they flickered over empty desks and untouched case files. Only the soft glow from the corner office cut through the gloom—a lone light burning into the night like a beacon.

You walked toward it, heels muffled on the carpeted floor, holding two paper coffee cups and balancing your purse on your hip. A flicker of nerves tickled your chest—this wasn’t the first time you’d visited Aaron late at the bureau, but tonight he sounded particularly worn on the phone. Something in his voice had made you want to show up instead of just sending well wishes over text.

He didn’t look up when you pushed the door open quietly, his brows furrowed, jaw tense as he scrolled through something on his computer screen. His tie was loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone—just enough to make your mouth go dry.

You tapped softly on the doorframe. “Agent Hotchner?” Aaron finally glanced up, and the second his dark eyes found you, the tension in his shoulders eased—just barely, but enough.

“I thought you could use a break,” you offered, stepping inside. You handed him one of the cups, your fingers brushing his. “Decaf. I didn’t want you up all night.”

He took the drink with a ghost of a smile. “You’re an angel,” he said, voice low, already making your stomach flutter. “You didn’t have to come up all the way here.”

You moved around to perch on the edge of his desk, facing him, shrugging. “What are you still working on?”

He exhaled slowly. “Old case. Reopened it based on a new witness statement. It’s all procedural, but it has to be airtight.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, flexing the muscles under his open collar. “I didn’t want to bring it home.”

You nodded, fingers curling around your own coffee. “You didn’t have to explain. I just... missed you.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as they slid over your face, your body. He looked like he hadn’t taken a breath in hours, and now he could finally exhale. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, baby.” He repeated.

“You sounded tired. And miserable.” You smirked. “And I thought I might be able to cheer you up.”

The look he gave you then was a warning—and a promise. His eyes darkened just a bit, jaw flexing again. You were pushing buttons, and he knew it. But so did you. Because it wasn’t just about cheering him up and he understood the allusion you were making.

“Cheering me up?” he murmured, setting his cup down slowly. “Is that why you wore that?”

You glanced down at your outfit—fitted slacks and a soft blouse, nothing overtly revealing, but the neckline dipped just low enough to invite speculation and the pants were tight on your hips and thighs. You shrugged playfully. “I always dress like this for after-work visits to my boyfriend's government office.”

He stood, stepping in between your parted knees, and the change in proximity made your breath hitch. You could smell his cologne, something subtle and clean, mixed with the faint scent of coffee and stress.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he murmured, one hand bracing beside you on the desk.

“No one’s here.”

“You’re still a distraction.”

“I’m trying to be.”

You tilted your head toward him, eyes soft but full of challenge, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that said he’d been thinking about it all day.

His lips moved over yours gently, savoring every second. One hand slid around to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing against your pulse, and you felt yourself melt against him, the warmth of his body grounding and igniting all at once. The coffee cup in your hand was long forgotten somewhere on your boyfriend’s desk.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. “I shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said, voice raspier now. You smiled, eyes half-lidded. “You say that every time.”

“And every time, you make it harder to stop.”

You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the tight muscle beneath his shirt. “Then don’t stop.”

He watched you for a long beat, like he was weighing the risk versus reward—but his hand was already sliding under your blouse, palm spreading against your waist. “I could lose my job.”

“You won’t,” you whispered, fingers brushing his jaw. “And if you do, I’ll support you. We’ll open a bakery.”

He huffed a soft laugh against your mouth. “You don’t even bake.”

“I’d learn. For you.”

The laugh turned into a groan as he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand moving higher under your shirt, warm against your skin. The age gap between you had never bothered either of you, but you could feel it in how he touched you—deliberate, experienced, worshipful.

His mouth trailed down your throat, lips brushing over your pulse point as he murmured, “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in closer. “Then die happy.”

Aaron’s hand dipped between your thighs, pressing through the fabric in a way that made your breath catch and your hips jerk forward. His fingers rubbed your center just to feel the fabric of your slack dampen. “Already wet?” he murmured against your ear. “For me?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “Been wet since I got here.”

He groaned softly, like it physically pained him to hear that. His fingers slid under the waistband of your slacks and underwear, and you shivered as he found your heat—slick and ready.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, reverently. “You’re perfect.”

His fingers dipped deeper between your folds, slow and unhurried, just barely brushing over your clit—enough to make you squirm, not enough to give you relief. You whimpered against his neck, body instinctively trying to grind into his hand, but Aaron stilled you with the firm pressure of his other hand on your hip.

“Patience,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “You came here to distract me, didn’t you, angel? So let me take my time with you.”

His voice was a low purr, gravel-soft and authoritative in the way that always made you melt. You loved when he slipped into that tone—just shy of commanding, laced with the kind of gentle control that came from years of leading people under pressure.

You swallowed thickly. “Aaron…”

“I know, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re so worked up already.”

He dragged his fingers lower, circling your entrance but not pressing in yet, making you tremble with anticipation. He loved to tease you like this—loved watching you fall apart little by little, every breathy noise you made spurring him on like a reward. “Look at you,” he said softly. “Coming into my office in these tight little pants, acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

“I just wanted to see you,” you breathed, hips bucking slightly. “You’ve been gone all week.”

“And now you’re here.” His voice dipped lower. “And I’m going to make it worth your while.”

You moaned when he finally pushed one thick finger inside you—slow, deliberate, stretching you gently as your body welcomed him. He didn’t rush. He never did. Every movement was measured, made to draw out your pleasure, to keep you just on the edge of despair.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, watching your face intently. “Always so warm. So perfect for me.”

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as he pumped his finger in and out, curling it just right. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him closer, grounding yourself against the thick line of his thigh between yours.

Aaron added a second finger slowly, the stretch making your walls flutter around him.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe for me.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time—less teasing, more possessive. His tongue swept into your mouth, his free hand sliding up under your blouse to cup your breast through your bra. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you moaned into his mouth, everything in you winding tighter.

“Aaron, please…” you whispered.

“Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” you breathed, aching and unsure which craving to give voice to first. “I just need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he said gently, fingers pumping a little faster, curling a little deeper. “You always have me, sweetheart.” Your hips rocked against his hand, chasing friction now, but Aaron slowed again, pulling back just enough to leave you trembling, breathless.

He smirked slightly against your jaw. “Easy,” he whispered. “You’re not going to come yet.”

You let out a soft whine, frustration mixing with arousal. He pressed a kiss to your cheek in silent apology, though his fingers kept up their maddening pace—deep but controlled, hitting just the right spot to keep you teetering.

“I love how sensitive you get,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear. “How you clench around me when I talk to you.”

You gasped when he pressed his thumb lightly over your clit—not rubbing, just resting there, enough to make you shake. “Too much?” he asked quietly. You shook your head immediately. “No—just… more. Please, Aaron.”

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “So polite even when you’re desperate.” The praise made you clench again, and he felt it, lips curling into something smug. He leaned in, kissing just below your ear.

“You like hearing how good you are for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper.

“You’re my angel,” he said, moving his thumb in slow circles now. “So sweet. So good. Always take my fingers so well.” You were practically panting now, every muscle coiled tight. Still, he didn’t let up—didn’t speed up or push harder. He kept you right there, humming on the edge of too much and not enough.

Your thighs shook where they wrapped around his waist, body trembling with the effort to stay still under his slow, steady rhythm.

“I can feel how close you are,” he whispered, fingers still working deep inside you. “But you’re not going to come yet. Not until I say.”

You whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard, trying to stay grounded even as your body begged to come undone. “Good girl,” he said softly, brushing his nose against yours. “Just like that. Take it for me.”

You were soaked, clenching around his fingers rhythmically now, your slick making it easier for him to move even deeper. He kept up that maddening pace—no harder, no faster—just enough to keep you pulsing around him, your arousal steadily building without release.

And when your hips twitched and bucked again, he slowed down even more—pulling you back from the edge with almost cruel precision.

“Fuck,” you whispered, tears prickling behind your eyes, the need in you turning sharp.

Aaron kissed your cheek again, gentle, soothing. “I know, baby. I know. But I want you wrecked when you finally come. I want you to fall apart so completely you forget where we are.”

You whined again, hips lifting to chase his touch. “Then don’t tease me anymore,” you whispered. “Please.” He smiled, hand slipping out of your pants for just a moment—long enough to tug them down over your hips, panties following and off of your legs.

“Lay back, baby,” he murmured, pushing some case files aside to make space on the desk. “I want to see all of you.”

You obeyed, trembling slightly as you reclined across the wood surface, baring yourself to him. His eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of you—flushed, panting, soaked and trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing down your body, starting at your ribs above your blouse and working lower. “So fucking beautiful.” He knelt between your legs, one hand pressing to your stomach to keep you still as his mouth lowered to your inner thigh, just barely skimming the skin there.

And then he paused, lips just inches from your heat, breath warm against your soaked folds.

“I want to taste you,” he said softly. “But if I do… you might come.”

You swallowed thickly. “I won’t… I promise I won’t.” His head snapped up, eyes locking with yours—and something in him changed. “Baby…” he murmured, voice full of reverence.

Aaron didn’t speak again. He just held your gaze as he lowered his head, his lips brushing over your inner thigh—soft, reverent. One kiss. Then another. He took his time, mapping your skin with his mouth like you were a prayer he hadn’t yet learned by heart.

You gasped softly when his tongue finally grazed the crease between your thigh and your center, but he moved away again, teasing you with the promise of contact. His hand, still pressed to your lower stomach, kept you steady, grounded. The weight of it alone was enough to make you shiver.

“I could do this all night,” he murmured. “Just take my time with you.”

You whimpered, hips shifting, but he gently pushed you back down. “Let me enjoy you, baby.” Then his mouth was on you—at last.

He started with a soft lick, one slow drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, and your breath caught hard in your throat. His tongue was hot, smooth, the perfect pressure. He didn’t dive in right away—he savored, tasting you in slow, measured strokes like he was memorizing you all over again.

You let your eyes flutter shut, one hand reaching down to card through his thick hair. The second you tugged—just slightly—he groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your core.

“You like that?” you breathed.

Aaron didn’t answer, but he licked deeper, swirling his tongue in slow circles around your clit, teasing it just shy of overwhelming. He alternated pressure—sometimes barely grazing, sometimes flattening his tongue against you until your thighs trembled.

It was too good. You were soaked, panting, every nerve humming. And still, he kept it slow. Intentional. Controlled.

“Aaron, please…” He looked up at you briefly, his mouth glistening with your arousal, and your breath hitched. The sight alone nearly pushed you over the edge.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he said, voice thick with heat. “So sweet. So sensitive.”

He dipped his head again, this time sucking gently on your clit, pulling a long moan from your lips. Your hips arched off the desk involuntarily, but Aaron pressed his hand down firmly to still you. “Easy, angel. You’re so close—I can feel it.” His tongue flicked over your clit in tiny, maddening motions. “But not yet.”

You whimpered, fingers twisting in his hair. “You’re driving me insane.”

“I know,” he murmured against you. “You taste so good like this. I want to keep you on the edge forever.”

He sucked again—deeper this time—and then softened the pressure immediately, keeping you suspended in that unbearable, glorious limbo. Your whole body pulsed with need. You were soaked, your thighs shaking, your core aching for release.

“Aaron—God—it’s too much—”

“No, baby,” he whispered, licking you slowly again. “It’s just enough.”

You writhed on the desk, torn between begging him to keep going and pleading for mercy. He moaned again as he licked into you, nose brushing against your clit just enough to keep the heat simmering, never boiling over.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said softly. “Tell me what I’m doing to you.”

“You’re—fuck—you’re teasing me,” you gasped. “Making me crazy.” He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your thigh. “That’s not what I asked.”

You shuddered as his fingers traced lightly over your slick folds, spreading you gently again.

“It feels…” you tried, but your voice broke into a moan as his tongue flicked again. “It feels so good, Aaron. You’re so good with your mouth.”

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“You’re so good at this. I—fuck—I love when you eat me out. You make me feel—like I’m gonna lose my mind.” Aaron groaned against you, licking deeper in response, and you felt the vibration all the way to your spine.

“Such a good girl,” he praised. “You’re so sweet for me. So responsive.”

His tongue moved in tighter circles now, and he slipped one finger back inside you, slow and shallow, just enough to make you clench. “Been thinking about this all week,” he murmured. “Tasting you. Watching you come apart for me.”

“You haven’t even let me come,” you whined, desperate.

“I will,” he promised. “But not until you’re begging for it.”

You were already close. Again. And he knew it—he could feel it in the way your walls fluttered around his finger, the way your thighs tried to close around his head. But then he slowed again, tongue softening its rhythm, pulling you back from the edge for the second—third?—time.

You sobbed, almost laughing from the frustration. “You’re such an asshole.”

Aaron laughed into your heat. “You love it.”

You hated how true that was. How much you craved this kind of attention—this kind of control. You trusted him completely, even when your body was begging for something he kept just out of reach. And when his lips sealed around your clit again, sucking with that same deep, aching tenderness, you arched off the desk with a cry.

But still—he didn’t let you go over the edge. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Almost, angel. You’re so close. I can feel you.”

He slipped in a second finger again, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside you that made you jerk against his grip. “Fuck!” you cried. “Aaron, please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed the inside of your thigh again. “You’re doing so good. Just a little longer.”

You were sobbing softly now, not from pain—but from sheer, overwhelming pleasure. He was ruining you, and he knew it.

“I need to come,” you whispered.

“I know.” He kissed your clit, so soft it was almost sweet. “And I’ll let you. Just not with my mouth.”

You blinked down at him, dazed, trembling. “What?”

“I want to come inside you,” he said, standing slowly, towering over you again, voice low and reverent. “I want to fill you up while you fall apart.” Your breath caught hard at the thought, eyes wide as he kissed you—deep and messy, his mouth still tasting of you.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” he murmured against your lips. “Can you wait just a little longer?”

You nodded, desperate and breathless. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait. Please just fuck me, Aaron.”

You barely registered the sound of Aaron unbuckling his belt, the clink of metal drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the aching need between your legs. Your thighs were still trembling, wet and wanting, every part of you stretched tight with anticipation.

He leaned over you, one hand braced on the desk, the other gently stroking your cheek. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered. “All needy. All mine.”

You nodded, dazed. “Yours. I’m yours.”

“I know you are,” he said softly, almost reverently. “My sweet girl.” You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he freed himself, and then the head of his cock was nudging at your entrance—hot, heavy, perfect. You whined, legs falling open even wider for him.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, lining himself up. “Just let me in. Let me take care of you.”

He pushed in slowly—achingly slow—giving you every inch with deliberate care, letting you feel the stretch, the heat, the way your body molded around him like you were made for it.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh my God—Aaron—”

“I know,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

He bottomed out with a groan, hips flush against yours, and paused there—deep and still, just holding you. His hands cradled your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin. “You okay?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, barely able to form words. “Full… feel so full…”

“That’s right,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. “You’re so good for me. Taking me so well, baby.” Your arms looped around his shoulders instinctively, nails digging into the soft cotton of his shirt. You felt floaty—lightheaded and needy, brain half-fogged from how full he made you feel, how slowly he moved.

And when he started to thrust—long, deep strokes, gentle as a caress—you could barely breathe.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered against your cheek. “Just lying back and letting me fuck you. You don’t have to think, sweetheart. I’ll do it all.”

You moaned, the words sinking in deeper than they should have, making your walls flutter around him. You whimpered, lips parting, brain slipping into softness. “Yeah… yeah…”

“You don’t have to think,” he murmured again, hips rocking into you at the perfect pace. “I’ll take care of everything. You just lie there and look pretty for me.” Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, and he groaned at the way you clenched down on him, his pace stuttering for half a beat.

You whined, hands gripping his arms, your thoughts unraveling like ribbon with every stroke.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Just let me hear those little noises, please. That’s all I want from you.”

You moaned helplessly, high and breathy, brain hazy with pleasure. His praise sank in deep, drugging you with every word. Every thrust was slow and deep and patient, drawing you closer without rushing, like he wanted to savor you forever.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed. “So sweet. So pretty for me.”

You couldn’t respond—not with anything coherent. Your body was responding for you—hips tilting to meet every stroke, walls fluttering wildly around him, tears pricking in your eyes from how overwhelming it all was. “Shh,” he whispered, brushing your hair back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me.”

“A-Aaron,” you finally managed, voice wrecked. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed your lips softly. “You’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re taking it so good. Just a little more.” Your legs shook around him, whole body tightening like a bowstring. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me feel you come around me. Let me feel my sweet girl fall apart.”

And with one more deep, perfect thrust, the tension inside you snapped.

Your orgasm hit like a wave—long, rolling, impossible to escape. You cried out, clinging to him like a lifeline as your body shook through the pleasure. Your walls pulsed around him in waves, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“That’s it, angel,” he said, hips stuttering. “That’s it—fuck—you feel so good—”

He buried himself deep with a low, broken sound, and you felt him come inside you, warm and thick, filling you up just like he’d promised. Your pussy clenched around him greedily, milking every last drop.

He stayed there, deep inside you, forehead pressed to yours, panting softly.

“So perfect,” he whispered. “You’re so perfect, baby.” You blinked up at him, still floating, brain fuzzy and slow.

“Can’t think,” you mumbled with a sleepy smile. “You fucked all the thoughts out of me.” He chuckled softly, brushing your hair back again, tender as ever. “Good. That was the idea.”

You sighed contentedly, and he kissed your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose. “I’ve got you,” he said again, voice all honey and heat. “You’re safe, baby. You did so good for me.” You stayed wrapped around him like that, his warmth inside and all around you, his praises soft against your skin like lullabies. You were stretched, full, dazed, and blissfully used—in the best way.

Aaron didn’t pull out right away. He stayed nestled deep inside you, his weight warm over your body, his breath brushing against your cheek. The only thing that mattered was the rise and fall of his chest against yours and the afterglow curling through your limbs.

Eventually, he kissed your cheek and whispered, “You okay, sweetheart?”

You gave a soft, lazy hum. “Mmm. I’m pretty sure my brain’s still on your desk.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “You were incredible.” He pressed one last kiss to your lips before slowly easing out of you. You whimpered at the loss, hips twitching. He caught it instantly.

“I know,” he said gently. “I’ve got you. Just stay there, baby.”

You let your head fall back with a soft sigh, basking in the tender ache and warm mess between your thighs. A few moments later, you felt the soft sweep of a warm towel—he must’ve grabbed it from the little emergency kit in the corner drawer. Ever prepared, even after fucking you senseless.

He cleaned you carefully, his touch warm and unhurried.

“You’re seriously the only man I know who stocks his office for post-sex cleanup,” you said, lifting your head just enough to catch his smirk. “It’s technically for spills,” he said, dabbing between your thighs like he hadn’t just creamed you full a few minutes ago. “But I adapt.”

You laughed, and he grinned, shaking his head as he tossed the towel into the trash under his desk and grabbed your underwear and slacks to give them back to you.

“I should bring you here more often,” he added, helping you sit up. “I’ve never seen you this quiet.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Ah ah ah. You’re so unfunny.”

He smiled, pulling your shirt gently over your head, helping you dress piece by piece. The tenderness of it—his hands steady and calm, the way he adjusted your hem like you were delicate—made your heart swell.

Once you were fully dressed and upright, you caught your reflection in the darkened window: hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen, eyes glazed with satisfaction. You looked thoroughly ruined. “I look like I’ve been railed in a supply closet,” you muttered. Aaron came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. “You look gorgeous,” he said simply. “Like mine.”

You melted.

He kissed the side of your neck, then reached down and laced your fingers together. “Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

“You mean before a janitor comes to clean and sees my assprint on your desk?” you teased.

He chuckled, hand firm in yours. “Exactly that.”

You walked out together into the quiet hallway, his coat draped over your shoulders, his fingers still linked with yours. And though the building around you was silent and clinical and cold, there was nothing cold about the way he looked at you.

Like you were the softest thing in his world.

Like he was already counting the hours until he could get you home and do it all over again.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

emily being obsessed with her girl who has nipple piercings. she’d already ogle at your tits regardless, but the shiny piercings adorning your nipples would make her brain fuzzy any day of the week. she’d be obsessed with sucking on them; feeling the cool metallic taste on her tongue as she suckles and flicks over them so gracefully. watches your tits as you bounce on her strap, the light catching your pretty piercings just right as you make yourself cum on top of her. her just about dying when she can see the print of them from under your shirt. and the way she’d dirty talk about your tits in general :

“show me those pretty titties, baby– yeah… let me see them while i ruin you”

“look at those nipples, so hard and perfect with those piercings”

“lean down and let me have them– mhmmm, you can still grind that little clit on me, just give me your nipples”

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

having sex with spencer but you're both a little inexperienced and he's big. but neither of you actually realise how big.

you're squirming under him, unbelievably wet from the desperate grinding you'd done on his lap before moving to the bed. he's starry-eyed, looking down at your naked body with his mouth slightly agape.

he's running through every paper, every book and article he's read on penetrative sex. it will hurt a little, but you're wet enough that it should be alright. right?

anyway, you're looking up at him with glassy eyes, and he couldn't hold back even if he tried.

lining himself up with you, he swipes up and down your cunt once, clumsily catching his tip on your entrance.

pushing in slowly, he nearly gets swept up in the feeling, moaning softly.

he doesn't know how to soothe your sharp gasps and whimpers with anything more than bruising kisses, so that's what he does. practically swallowing every sound that spills from your tongue.

parting from you, he sees the way your face screws up in pain when he attempts to push in past the three-quarters mark. he stops instantly, heart breaking when you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

"spencer, what... why'd you stop? please, spence, I need it."

you're whining, voice higher than he's ever heard it. something about the petulant, bratty tone makes him yearn to fulfil your wishes, shove himself further in until you can't tell where you end and he begins, but he knows better.

even if the feeling of you wrapped around the majority of him isn't making his head spin.

"shh, I— I know, sweetheart, but I can't— ah— can't hurt you, we can't do that."

he knows he can't, he knows it, but your face isn't making it any easier for him. neither are your arms, wound tightly around his neck. or your lips, moving intently against the skin of his adam's apple as you plead.

"please, spencer, can't you just do it? I want it so bad, don't you? don't you want me, spencer?"

you're evil. looking up at him with those eyes, with your gummy walls pulsing softly around his cock. you're reduced to a baser version of yourself, appealing to him in every way you know how.

still, he has to stay resolute.

"no, honey. i want you, you know that. but I can't—shit— I'm not going to hurt you. okay? we'll do it like this for now."

he's talking out of his ass, but he's relatively sure this will feel good. he pulls out fully, sure he looks just as lost as you are when the feeling of you is gone.

he's not gone for long though, resting the shaft of his cock over your soaked labia. with one experimental rock against you, you both groan.

you forget about your woes rather quickly, pleasure coursing through your intertwined bodies.

besides, you have more than enough time to work yourself up to taking him fully.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

Can I request a Spencer x reader where he's just masturbating to the thought of her? Like he's a mess for her.

content warning: Masturbation (m), obsessive thoughts, dirty talk (internal monologue style), unprotected fantasy sex, praise kink, slight innocence kink, tension and pining, voyeuristic imagination, soft desperation

a/n: guess whos FINALLY getting through her asks, me me me!

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Spencer had always prided himself on his self-control. His intellect, his rationality, the way he could compartmentalize even the most disturbing crime scenes. But that discipline had crumbled the moment you’d started working at the BAU.

It was your laugh. Your mouth. Your mind. The way you chewed your pen when you were thinking. The way you said his name when you wanted him to explain something, all breathy and curious.

You didn’t know what you were doing to him.

And now, alone in his apartment with the lights off and the door locked, Spencer lay sprawled on the bed, hand already wrapped tightly around his cock, trying—and failing—not to say your name out loud.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice raw. His hips flexed up into his hand automatically, his mind feeding him another image of you in your tight slacks, the curve of your ass when you leaned over his desk. He had a photographic memory. And that was absolutely ruining him right now.

He squeezed the base of his shaft and bit his bottom lip, exhaling hard through his nose.

It had started so innocently. A casual touch here, a warm smile there. The way you held eye contact just a little too long. You called him "Spence" sometimes, and it made his pulse skyrocket.

And then there was yesterday.

You’d bent over in front of him, trying to grab a folder off a lower shelf. Your blouse had ridden up just enough to expose the smooth skin of your lower back. He'd had to bite the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from groaning right there at his desk.

His brain hadn't let it go since.

“God, you have no idea,” he whispered to the dark, voice shaking. He stroked himself slowly now, almost reverently, thumb brushing over the leaking head. “You’d kill me if you knew I was doing this.”

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t not imagine the way your lips would part if you saw what you were doing to him. Would you act shocked? Embarrassed? Or would you crawl up on the bed, straddle his hips, and take him in hand yourself?

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, like you were in the room with him. “On your knees for me. So eager to make me feel good. God—please…”

He whimpered, hand speeding up, hips stuttering. His thighs trembled.

He was so hard it hurt.

Every nerve in his body was tuned to the idea of you—your scent, your touch, your voice. He imagined you whispering filthy encouragements in his ear, telling him how good he looked stroking himself like that, how much you wanted to taste him.

The rhythm of his hand turned frantic. Slick and tight.

He could practically feel you under him, the phantom weight of your thighs wrapped around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, your lips hot on his throat.

“You’d take me so well,” he whispered, completely gone, eyes shut tight. “So warm… so tight around me, fuck—I’d fill you up so good.”

He was panting now, the muscles in his stomach trembling as his orgasm started to coil low and tight. His hand didn’t stop—couldn’t. He was chasing it, chasing you, chasing the image of your mouth parting in a moan as he slid inside you for the first time.

“Say my name,” he begged the ghost of you in his mind, voice cracking. “Say my name when I fuck you.”

And then it hit.

His entire body bowed off the bed, a strangled cry slipping from his lips as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hand and belly, hot and sudden and so much. It felt like everything he’d been holding in for weeks came rushing out in one desperate, electric wave.

He collapsed back onto the mattress, chest heaving.

The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, the soft rustle of sheets under his twitching thighs.

“Jesus,” he whispered after a moment, wiping his hand with a nearby shirt, still a little dazed. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and release. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

All of it—for you.

Always you.

[ssa-aaron-hotchnerr]

ahhh thank you so much!!! coming from one of my favorite hotch writers it means a lot 🫶

How to Cure Insomnia (Hotchner’s Version)

about: Aaron likes to show up in your hotel room when neither of you can sleep

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, aaron is a sweetheart, nicknames (call reader honey), aftercare, not really proof read

word count: 1462

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment things had changed between you and Hotch.

Perhaps it was the weekend you’d spent cramped in a tiny motel room while doing an interview with a serial killer. There had been one queen bed and a lumpy couch. He was ever the gentleman and offered to take the couch. By night two you’d forced him to join you in the bed, even building a pillow wall to maintain a modicum of decency. 

Maybe it had been the night he’d knocked on your hotel door because he’d had a feeling you’d still be awake. And there you were, hunched over some case files even though you’d be flying home in the morning. He’d ended up staying the whole night as you two raided the hotel minibar and talked. 

It became a routine of sorts. 

When people had to share rooms, you bunked with him. If one of you couldn’t sleep you’d text the other – sometimes he’d even show up at your door unannounced – and keep each other company until one of you at least found some sleep. 

But eventually talking wasn’t part of the routine. Instead he’d press his lips against yours, peel off your clothes with expert precision, before he was pressing you into the mattress. The feel of his body against your own chased your thoughts away. He’d strip you down to your barest form where nothing else mattered – not your job, not the rest of the world, nothing but each other. It put you both to sleep. 

Today was another one of those nights. You’d gotten home from a particularly rough case the night before and you hadn’t slept a minute. Tonight was much of the same. You’d been trying to relax all day, considering you had only a few days off, but you’d been restless. 

You were a glass of wine and half an episode of a trashy reality tv show into your evening, before you finally texted Aaron. 

During cases you didn’t mind dragging him into your room. But when you were home, you felt like there was an invisible line drawn between you two. He had a son and a life outside of work. You didn’t want to interrupt that. But you hadn’t slept in nearly 48 hours. 

You: Hi

You chewed on your bottom lip – a nervous habit – as you waited for a response. 

A text never came but there was a knock on your apartment door. Eyebrows shot up as you clambered off the couch. You weren’t sure who was here considering you didn’t have many friends outside of the BAU. 

You weren’t expecting to see Aaron Hotchner standing in your doorway, holding his phone up. You could see your text message lit up on the screen. “Hey.” 

“Were you seriously already on your way over?” you asked, humor lacing your words. “Before I even texted?"

Aaron shrugged. “Jack’s asleep and Jessica was staying the night anyway. Figured you’d still be awake.” 

You opened your door wider, letting him step inside your apartment. He’d only been here a few times but it felt like he belonged in the space whenever he was inside. He’d slotted himself into your life like the perfect puzzle piece. 

He glanced around, taking in the sight of your wine glass and the faint hum of the tv. “Trying to bore yourself to sleep?” he asked, gesturing to screen. 

You shrugged. “Needed something to stop myself from thinking too much.”

“I think I can take care of that for you.” He moved towards you, gently pressing his lips against yours. 

“That sounds better,” you murmured against his mouth. 

He backed you up, guiding you to your own bedroom. Pieces of clothing were discarded as you stumbled through your house. By the time you made it to the bed, the only thing keeping you separated from him was underwear.

He nudged your thighs apart as he hovered over you. He dipped his fingers between your legs, dragging them through your slick folds.

“You were waiting for me to come over, weren’t you honey?” 

You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathlessly. You were always waiting for him. 

He sunk two of his fingers into your wet heat, curling them. He knew your body well by now. He knew just how to make you cry out for him, back arching off the mattress. As he slowly pumped his fingers, he pressed his thumb to your clit. 

“Aaron,” you keened. 

“Shh,” he hushed you gently. “It’s late. Don’t want to wake your neighbors, hm?” 

“N-no…” 

He pressed his lips against your, muffling any noise that came out of your mouth as he thoroughly fucked you with his fingers. Each pass of his thumb over your clit had you careening towards the edge. The knot in your tummy was close to snapping. And Aaron didn’t stop until your thighs were shaking. 

He slowly worked you through your first orgasm of the night. He never only left you with one. His goal was to tire you out and to make you feel good. 

You watched as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, peeling them down his legs. His cock was already hard and leaking precum. It was a sight you’d never tire of seeing. 

He ran the tip through your folds. “You want my cock?” 

“Yes,” you nodded, voice breaking off into a moan as he pressed his cock into your aching cunt. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he bottomed out. “You always feel so good, honey.” 

Nails dug into his back as he rocked his hips against yours. Each roll of his hips had him hitting depths you didn’t know anyone could, brushing up against your g-spot with each movement. Moans tumbled out of your mouth. 

He hushed you again, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “What did I tell you about being loud, hm?” 

It was late. This was always what happened – he’d have to quiet you one way or another while he pounded you into the mattress. And you didn’t exactly want your neighbors to complain about the noise. So you let him clamp his hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds. 

His free hand moved across your body – raking across your tits, pinching at your nipples until they were hard, before moving down to find your clit. He rubbed tight, quick circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asked as he felt your cunt tighten around his length. You were gripping him like a vice, making him groan softly. His head dropped down and he pulled his hand away from your mouth, to claim your lips in a heated kiss. 

You nodded as best you could as you returned the kiss. 

Aaron was spurred on. He needed to feel you come undone around him. The feel of your perfect, warm cunt, squeezing him was the closest he’d ever get to heaven in this life. 

“Come for me, honey,” he mumbled against your mouth. 

That was all the encouragement you needed before the knot in your stomach was unraveling. Warmth spread through your body – like every nerve was on fire – and your toes curled. He worked you through your second orgasm of the night until he himself was coming undone. 

He buried himself to the hilt, as his body shook. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned. 

He tried not to totally collapse on top of you, but you seemed to have different plans. You tugged him all the way down so his body was completely blanketing your own. 

“You gotta let me clean you up,” he said, trying to untangle his limbs from your own. 

Reluctantly you let him leave your bed. He pulled his boxers up his hips as he headed for the bathroom. He’d been in here enough that he knew where you kept all your things. He grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, wetting it, before returning to your bed. 

His hands were gentle as he cleaned up the mess he’d made between your thighs. 

“Thanks,” you murmured. 

He smiled softly. “Of course.” 

Once your body was cleaned up he pulled an oversized t-shirt from your drawer for you to wear. He settled back in bed next to you, letting you snuggle up against his side. 

While the multiple orgasms always helped you fall asleep, being tucked against him helped you sleep even more. With your head on his chest, you were already getting sleepy, eyes drooping shut. He played with your hair as you drifted off. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you whispered. 

“You know you don’t have to thank me for that, honey.” 

“I know. But still… thank you.” 

He kissed the top of your head. “Just go to sleep, honey. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Aaron.”