#aaron hotchner reader insert

[kiwriteswords]

Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways. 

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong? 

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard. 

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news. 

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically. 

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides. 

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now. 

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him. 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[moonlightspencie]

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Check out my other fandoms here!

drabble masterlist

Aaron Hotchner

one shots:

Things I Can’t Say: “Aaron Hotchner has a lot of things on his mind. Most of which he can never bring himself to say. Until one slip unravels everything” (4.3k words: FLUFF)(fem!reader)

Sleepover: “Hotch wants the reader, but doesn’t know how to tell her. Maybe a night in will be of some assistance” (4.9k words: FLUFF)(fem!reader)

Solace: “Finding comfort in one another. Repeatedly.” (4.4k words: FLUFF)(fem!reader)

self-assured: “There are many things Aaron Hotchner is sure about in his life. One thing evades this sureness: you” (2.4k words: FLUFF)(gn!reader)

tolerate it: based on the song of the same title by taylor swift (2.0k words: ANGST)(fem!reader)

Everything Goes Wrong: “A few bouts of bad luck aren’t all that bad” (2.4k words: FLUFF)(gn!reader)

Meet-Cute: it’s all in the title (1k words: FLUFF)(gn!reader)

series:

the sweetest con: “Aaron Hotchner is dealing with the aftermath of his divorce, and the new feelings that spring up for someone he shouldn’t feel anything for. It’s a mess to say the least, but it’s a mess he’s more than willing to involve himself in.” (fem!reader)

Spencer Reid

one shots:

Next to You: “Trying to ignore the feelings you have for your best friend can cause complications. Especially when you find out what they’d risk for you” (3.8k words: FLUFF)(gn!reader)

The Fulton Project: “The knowledge of an FBI operation gone wrong has the world as the BAU knows it turning on it’s head. How does something like this end after months of civil unrest?” (4k words: ANGST)(fem!reader)

champagne problems/the beginning and end: based on ‘champagne problems’ by taylor swift, PLUS the prequel (2.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)(fem!reader)

Devils Roll the Dice… / …Angels Roll Their Eyes “A new recruit to the BAU catches Reid’s eye. Unfortunately for the both of them, she has a past with someone very close to him. Are they willing to keep secrets just to keep one another?” (TWO-PART MINISERIES)(8.2k words for both parts: FLUFF)(fem!reader)

lost in it: “The aftermath of falling down a rabbit hole!” (1.9k words: ANGST AND FLUFF)(gn!reader)

[whereireid]

˚ · . 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

୭ 🧷 ✧ 𝟑,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship. nsfw content: smut, face sitting, oral sex [f receiving]

Despite all that people may say about Aaron Hotchner — that he is grimly solemn, grotesquely pessimistic, and always stern, you have discovered he is, in fact, the mere opposite of that.

A hopeless romantic, who indulges in strawberries, tipped with chocolate, circles of white and dark and milk enveloping the fruity flesh wonderfully. Champagne flutes, trickled with bubbly, the cliché of being a gentleman, paying for your meal. Offering you his jacket when the cold air nips at your skin, and then offering his face as a seat once you’ve returned home from your Friday night dinner, which had been swathed in sensuality, doused with seduction and charm.

“Aaron," you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it. Ride my face, honey.”

Words spoken as quickly as a breath; quiet, almost indiscernible. Soft lips pepper kisses against your slick folds, the nub of Aaron’s tongue sliding through skilfully. He makes way towards your delicate pearl, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your plump, curvy ass. He’s so sensual in his motions, humming beneath you, his lips suckling at your sensitive bud, his tongue lapping around your bundle of nerves like a man starved.

You know he is not, as he’s just had a full course meal.

Aaron’s fingers dig into your flesh. He groans against your cunt, his grip on your damp lace underwear loosening. Again, he parts it quickly, pressing a hot, wet kiss to your core in apology. 

Your knees, positioned either side of his head, shake. They tremble as he coaxes you forward, his tongue rolling through your folds, the lewd sounds of his moans of appreciation flooding your ears.

“Aaron—”

Large palms cup your ass, rising and falling with a sting. You squeak, your hands finding his hair, falling forward slightly. His strong arms hold you in place. “Just ride my face,” he grunts out, his cheeks warm, your cunt warmer, his face glistening with your slick as he continues to lap, and suckle, and kiss at your core.

Nodding your head, you slide your hand through his hair. Teeth graze against your folds slightly, and you whine, and he blushes profusely, kissing and suckling, his mouth wrapping around your bud. 

Your hips instinctively buck down, and desperation rolls through you as you rock down on his face. Aaron slides his tongue up and down your slits, before rolling his tongue softly on your swollen, puffy clit.

This must be why he skipped dessert, you muse, but all forms of glee trickle away as Aaron sucks harshly, the heat simmering in your belly. Aaron smacks your ass again, this time a little softer, as this time it does not sting, and your walls flutter, your hands curling in his hair, and he sucks harder, and —

— And you’re cumming. It’s an insatiable feeling, the humming of Aaron’s voice as filthy words spill from his lips, his commanding voice coaxing you through your orgasm. “That’s it, honey,” he practically moans from beneath you, his eyes so blackened and blown you can see yourself in them, “cum for me. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

The pleasure you feel is one that you feel every Friday night. The game you are playing is one that you play every Friday night. Every nerve inside of your body is alight, burning like an inferno, and Aaron worships you through your orgasm. You come down around him, trembling, your walls clenching around nothing as slick, hot cum seeps from your cunt, painting your core wetter with slick, and tainting Aaron’s face.

[cavillsbitch]

Hi my fellow Hotch fangirl :D

May I please request a Hotch x Fem!Reader scenario where the reader is a firefighter and ends up hospitalized due to a severe emergency which causes him to admit his love for her?

ooooo this is a good one…

aaron hotchner x firefighter!reader

cw/tw: descriptions of injury/trauma, hospitals

-

It wasn’t really supposed to happen like this.

Of course, as timing would have it, you were getting ready for a date with your extremely attractive and smooth talking FBI agent… “boyfriend” named Aaron Hotchner when you get an emergency call for a car accident. Normally you would hope that they would get enough help and you wouldn’t have to go since tonight was your night off, but it seemed to be intense enough to warrant most if not all hands.

Since you pretty much lived at the fire house, which is partially why you were unlucky enough to be expected to go on the call, you were already there getting ready when the call came in. You shot a quick text to Aaron that you’d have to reschedule and started gearing up to leave the fire house on the truck with everyone else.

You weren’t quite sure what to make of your relationship with Aaron. He had never asked to make your relationship official, but the two of you acted like a couple. You’d been seeing him for about three months when you can, given that the two of you had very demanding jobs. You definitely loved him, but you wouldn’t dare be the first to admit that between the two of you given Aaron’s past. The last thing you’d want is to overwhelm him or scare him away. However, you feared that your feelings were stronger and that you’d end up hurting yourself in the end. You hoped that Aaron would reschedule the date and maybe… just maybe you’d grow a pair and open up a conversation about your relationship. Maybe.

“Y/N, quit daydreaming and let’s go!”

The loud booming voice of your captain shook you from your thoughts as you strapped on the last bit of your gear and ran to the trucks.

-

Aaron never saw himself getting back out there after Haley died. He’d given Rossi the benefit of the doubt (he just needed him to shut up) and gone on a few dates, but nothing had ever come of any of it. However, a case of two ago had brought him a beautiful young (too young, he’d though and worried about) woman that just so happened to be a firefighter on the scene. He knew it would be completely inappropriate to ask for her number on the case, so he implored Garcia to track her down and call her, giving her his personal number. As luck would have it, she called him and he asked her out.

She really was lovely, he thought. He admired the way she loved her job, her passion, her work ethic, and the way that she listened to him and was interest in what he had to say. He never thought he would find someone after Haley died, but he was falling fast and afraid he would bring it up too soon.

Tonight was supposed to be perfect, which he’d let Dave help plan. He was going to take her to a very very nice dinner downtown, take her for a walk on the river afterward, and maybe… he would take her back to his place, if she wanted. He still couldn’t believe that she was interested in him being older and widowed and being a single father, but he hoped that she was in it for the long haul like he could already tell he was. He was ready for her to meet Jack, he was ready for all of it. He loved her.

Then, he felt extremely disappointed when her text came through that she would have to reschedule.

Obviously he understood more than most people that work was unpredictable, and he responded that way. However… he couldn’t help the intense feeling that he felt thinking that maybe she was having second thoughts. He tried to shake that, already looking ahead at when he could reschedule, and decided to call the restaurant to cancel the reservation.

Shortly after he received the text, Rossi knocked on his office door, “Shouldn’t you already be home getting ready to go pick up your hot date?”

Aaron chuckled pathetically to himself, “If there were a hot date, I’m sure I would. She got called in for a pretty bad accident, so she can’t make it.”

Rossi nodded, “More time for you to think about how you’re gonna ask her to be in your life more permanently?”

Aaron kept his eyes down at his desk, mindlessly making a note on a file. “It’s complicated, Dave. I have a lot of baggage. She’s young, she’s got her whole life. I don’t want to make her feel like she needs to be ready for that kind of commitment.”

Rossi shook his head, “If she wasn’t ready to be with you, she would tell you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Aaron mumbled, closing a case file and looking at his friend.

Dave shared a sympathetic look with him, “Look, Aaron, if that’s the case then so be it and move on. She’s a great woman, but there are other great women out there.”

Aaron knew that he wasn’t ready to put the time in to find other women as great as you were. He figured that if this didn’t work out, he might give up all together on finding love again.

Rossi’s eye wandered to the bullpen, where Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan were crowded around Reid’s desktop. His eyebrows furrowed, “What are they doing?”

Hotch stood, walking past Rossi to stand outside of his office, “What are you all doing?”

Morgan popped his head above the crouched group, “Bridge collapsed, fire and EMS crew were already responding to an accident on the bridge when a semi hit the support beam underneath, lot of casualties.”

The color drained from Aaron’s face as Morgan gave details. He could hear the reporters continuing to talk on the screen. Rossi looked at him and realized, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Aaron…”

Quickly without realizing, he bumped Rossi out of the way to grab his keys and briefcase before practically running down the stairs and out of the BAU.

-

Pain.

All you could feel in pain in your body.

But, you were alive… and in a hospital?

The beeping of whatever machine you were on was making your head surge with pain as you came to slowly. You had on a neck brace, your right leg was in a full cast, and you were in pain. Lots of pain.

As you woke up, a nurse entered to check on you. She asked you what today’s date was, who the president is, and other questions. She pushed more pain meds for you when you complained before asking, “What happened?”

She checked and noted your vitals from the machine, “The north bridge collapsed, you were responding to an accident on the bridge when it happened. You’re lucky to be alive.”

You nodded, remembering some things then. You’d fallen, but you weren’t sure how far or where you landed. The memory scared you, and you shook it away. “My leg is broken?”

She nodded, “The doctors had to repair it in surgery, but with lots of physical therapy you should be just fine. You had trauma to your neck, which we may have to keep an eye on. You were very close to being paralyzed. Again, you’re very lucky.”

She said she would grab you some food and water before exiting your room, leaving you alone.

You suddenly felt very emotional, trying not to cry. You knew many of your friends probably died, you weren’t sure exactly what happened, and you were alone in a hospital, broken and sad.

Turning to find a tissue, the nurse came back in with a tray of food with water, and a visitor.

Aaron Hotchner was in your hospital room.

“We told him he had to wait until you were awake to come in, he gave us quite the hard time about that…” she set your tray down and helped you wipe your eyes and nose with a tissue.

“I’m not sure what husband wouldn’t want to see his wife immediately.”

Maybe you’d forgotten more than you realized. Did he just say…

“Sorry, sir. Policy. Call me if you need anything,” she said to you before leaving again.

You suddenly became very aware of how awful you probably looked at the moment in front of this man who absolutely was not your husband… and absolutely had no obligation to you.

“Husband, huh?” you reached for your water and tried to sip it, not seeing the straw on the tray. Aaron stood up and grabbed the straw, helping you take a drink.

“It was the only way they’d let me come in here at all.”

You nodded as you finished the cup of water completely, allowing Aaron to take it from you and set it on the tray. He sat in the chair right next to you and you sighed.

“I’m… sorry about this. Did they call you? They might have went through my phone contacts and tried to find someone to call.”

Aaron furrowed his brow as he usually did, shaking his head, “What? No, Y/N… I saw the collapse on the news at Quantico and came right here. I was here before you were, I think.”

You turned as much as you could to look at him, “Really?”

He chuckled in disbelief, “Yes, really. I thought I’d lost you. I can’t believe you’re alive, from what they told me.”

You looked at him, noting the sincerity in his eyes. You knew that he lost his ex wife, and you couldn’t imagine what he felt now having… whatever you were to him in life threatening danger.

“I’m really sorry, Aaron. I’m happy to be alive. I still… don’t really know what happened but I am glad I’m alive.”

He nodded, lightly grabbing your hand, “I am, too.”

You looked at the time, it was almost 4 in the afternoon, the day after the accident. “How long have you been here?”

He looked at the clock then, too, “Since about 8 last night.”

“What? Aaron, you’ve seen me now, I’m alive. Go home. I’ll call when I’m sent home.” You almost laughed in disbelief thinking about how long he’d been waiting for you to wake up.

He shook his head immediately, “I’ll stay, besides, we didn’t get to have our date, and I’ve missed you.”

You sighed, again, “You don’t have any obligation to be here…”

He sat up straight, “Of course I do… I… I love you.”

Your eyes widened as his confession sunk in, a mix of excited and happy and scared and anxiety swirling through you, “Really?”

He smiled as he reflected, “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

You smiled back, squeezing the hand that was still in yours, “Well I’ll be damned, I love you too, Aaron Hotchner.”

He smiled bigger and laughed as tears welled in his eyes, “I’m so relieved to hear you say that.”

You smiled as he leaned in to kiss you gently, a kiss more meaningful than any of the ones you’d shared before.

“So,” you started, “About that date… might have to be rescheduled even later than anticipated.”

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[chuulyssa]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald

[op1umeyes]

from the club

Derek’s wolf whistle made you roll your eyes and try to slip into your seat without drawing too much attention. “Damn, mama,” he sang teasingly, eyeing you up and down.

“Derek Morgan! I ought to-“

“Whoa!”

You glared at Spencer, trying to ifnore the way his eyes trailed over your cleavage. “It’s like you guys have never even been in the presence of a female before,” you snark sarcastically. Secretly, though, you feel complimented that such aesthetically pleasing people thought you looked good.

Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, and Rossi were later than Hotch surprisingly. Aaron strode in next, laying a stack of files on the table. He sat down at his regular spot and turned to make conversation until the other arrived when he turned and saw you. His lips drew thinly over his face as he watched you reach over the table to grab a file. He swallowed and averted his eyes from you when you sat back in your seat. Hotch felt like a pervert and averted his mind to the more pressing matter. Dead bodies, knives, murder, he repeated to himself- trying to draw blood away from his crotch.

J.J., Penelope, and Emily arrived next. “Coffee for you all, my precious gems!” Penny sang, placing the team’s favorite brews in front of them. After she placed yours down her eyes gleamed and she raised her eyebrows. “Did you call-“

“Penelope!” You hollered, turning away from the red-head with a laugh. 

She just giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. As Emily took her place beside you, she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’m no better than the men here, y/n. You look hot.” 

You swatted her away and waited for J.J. to start the briefing. Emily snickered beside you.

There was really nothing professional about being called into work wearing low-rise jeans and a lacey tank top. But it wasn’t your fault- some of your college friends had stopped in the city and wanted to go to the club and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

Rossi showed up right before Hotch said his favorite phrase (read: “wheels up in 30”). You collected your file and started out of the room.

“Good lo- y/n!”

You whipped around to see Penelope rushinf towards you. “Wh-What?”

“You’ve surprised me more times today than I thought possible, darling girl. Turn around! I didn’t know you had ink!” 

You breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the feeling of her cold fingers tracing over the black ink just above your jeans. “I have some on the mid back too,” you said quietly.

“Impressive,” Rossi- of all people- hummed. “One of my ex wives roped me into getting a matching tattoo with her. The pain was somethinf else and the aftercare was hell. Rookie, here has a high pain tolerance.” He patted your practically bare shoulder and walked by without another word.

Emily purred lowly as she walked by, laughing at the way you flipped her off in return.

“You know, Jeffery Dahmer didn’t consume people that had tattoos… He said that the ‘tattoos made the meat taste like… shit’,” Reid spouted.

The way Spencer paused before saying shit was endearing. Maybe it was your attraction to nerds, but you felt particularly flattered at the weight of his gaze on you. “That’s interesting, Spencer,” you replied quietly. “Did you know the oldest recorded tattoo ink recipe required insect eggs?”

Spencer just hummed.

“I- uh,” Aaron cleared his throat. You stepped back from Penelope’s hands. “I imagine you have more professional attire?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, Hotch. I’m really sorry, my friends convinced me to go out with them, you know, and I-“

Hotch chuckled and held his hands up. “It’s okay, y/n. What you do on your own time is your business,” he said.

You wrung your hands. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“No problem, y/n.” Hotch started to walk away and you felt Derek’s arm wrap around your shoulder. “Nice ink,” he called back to you. 

“I’ll see you on the plane, y/n,” Spencer told you with a wave. You smiled back at him and watched him run a hand through his hair as he walked away.

“Lover boy’s gotta thing for you, y/n,” Derek told you, a shit eating grin on his face. “And Hotch too, if I took a guess. I think you made the old man pop a bo-“

“Derek Morgan!”

You shoved him off of you and tried to ignore his gleeful laughter.

[luffyssa]

when the fic is good but uses first person pov

[corinthianism]

corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

[kiwriteswords]

Delayed Gratification [Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader]**

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 7k|| AN: I've been watching Dharma and Greg and the episode where Dharma suggests to Greg they try to be celibate inspired me. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, male masturbation, talks of mutual masturbation, oral sex, no talk about protecting (just assume they’ve got this established!), celibacy, teasing, hotch and reader poke each other's buttons, wet dreams, teasing bau team Summary: You and Hotch try a month without sex to see how long the other can last.

The faint aroma of garlic and basil lingered in the kitchen as you finished wiping down the counters, the quiet hum of the dishwasher providing a gentle backdrop.

Aaron was standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, methodically rinsing the last of the wine glasses. Your eyes traced the curve of his back, the broad set of his shoulders straining slightly against his shirt as he moved.

"Do you ever actually relax?" you teased lightly, stepping closer and leaning against the counter beside him. "We have a dishwasher for a reason, you know."

He shot you a soft glance over his shoulder, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. "Old habits," he murmured, the rich timbre of his voice vibrating through your chest.

"Mmm," you hummed softly, fingertips reaching out to brush gently along his forearm, tracing the veins beneath his warm skin. "Some habits are worth keeping."

Aaron paused, his movements slowing as your fingers lingered. You felt him tense, his muscles tightening beneath your touch. 

He cleared his throat softly, his voice just a shade rougher as he asked, "Are we still talking about the dishes?"

You laughed quietly, the sound easy and comfortable, yet tinged with a subtle, electric tension. "What else would we be talking about?"

He set the glass down slowly, turning fully toward you. The space between you was barely there, a mere breath apart, and his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. His voice dropped lower, quieter, and you felt it brush over your skin. 

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"I like a little danger," you whispered playfully, tilting your head up to better hold his gaze. "Keeps things interesting."

Aaron chuckled softly, leaning in until you could feel his breath warming your cheek. Just when you thought he'd close the distance, he paused, lips grazing your ear as he murmured, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

Heat curled low in your belly, and you had to fight to keep your voice steady. "Actually, yes."

"Mmm?" He pulled back just enoughto meet your eyes again; curiosity etched clearly on his face.

"So, you know my friend Taylor, right?” Aaron nodded,”Well, she told me about something she and her husband tried." You hesitated, savoring the confusion now mingling with intrigue in his expression.

"Go on," he encouraged, gently tracing his fingertips along your jaw.

You swallowed, momentarily distracted by the intensity of his gaze, before continuing. "They decided to be celibate for a month."

He stared at you blankly--

Almost looking like his brain was…was malfunctioning. 

Those were not the words he was expecting to come out of your mouth. 

The slightest crease appearing between his brows. "Celibate?"

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your hand flattening against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "They swore off sex completely, and apparently--"

"Why?" His voice was genuinely baffled, eyebrows lifting slightly as if the concept was utterly foreign.

You grinned at the mild alarm in his eyes. "They said it made everything better. Heightened anticipation, deeper connection, mind-blowing--"

"Our sex life is already fantastic," Aaron interrupted, sounding mildly defensive, his thumb brushing gently across your lower lip.

He was right. It was fantastic. Best sex of your life. Ten-out-of-ten sex--

It could go on a world record list of best. Sex. Ever.

But when your friend Taylor went on and on about how things went on and on…and on between her and her husband, Joey…you were..intrigued.  

"It is," you conceded, leaning subtly into his touch. "But imagine how incredible it could be after a month of waiting."

Aaron let out a slow breath--

Visibly skeptical. 

Yet his eyes darkened slightly at the thought. "You seriously want to do this?"

"It could be fun," you said, voice softening, tone suggestive. "Unless you don’t think you could last…"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing the challenge in your voice. "You really think I lack self-control?"

"Prove me wrong," you whispered, boldly stepping back from him, the sudden distance leaving him reaching subtly toward you. "Unless you're afraid you'll miss me too much."

A slow, competitive smile spread across his lips, even as his eyes simmered with restrained heat. "Fine. One month."

"One month," you echoed, feeling a delicious shiver race through you at the sheer audacity of your plan.

Aaron moved closer, stopping just short of touching you, his gaze locked firmly onto yours. His voice dropped to a teasing growl, filling the charged silence. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

You smiled knowingly, heart pounding in your chest. "Neither do you."

The first few days of the challenge passed by in a confusing blur of routine and restraint. 

Nights that normally ended tangled together beneath the sheets became filled with quiet--

Slightly strained goodnights…with both of you carefully maintaining space between your bodies. 

The comfortable ease of falling asleep curled into Aaron’s warmth was replaced by cool sheets and a palpable yearning lingering between you.

In the mornings, the casual intimacy of getting ready together was fraught with subtle tension. 

You found yourself deliberately looking away as Aaron buttoned his shirt, though catching glimpses of his bare skin left your pulse quickened and your resolve shaking.

At work, brief moments alone became fraught. A quick brush past each other in the bullpen, a lingering glance across the conference table, and even the simple act of Aaron placing a file on your desk seemed charged with unspoken longing.

One evening, after a particularly taxing case, you found yourself nearly forgetting the rules--

Instinctively reaching out to pull Aaron into an embrace. 

The warmth of his body pressed briefly against yours sent a rush through your veins, but you quickly stepped back--

Eyes wide. 

Breath catching.

Aaron’s gaze burned into yours, a frustrated smile quirking his lips. "Almost forgot yourself, didn’t you?"

"Shut up," you murmured softly, laughing despite the ache building in your chest. "It’s harder than I thought."

His eyes darkened with quiet agreement, voice low as he replied, "You have no idea."

Each passing day tested your limits further, yet neither of you were willing to concede defeat just yet.

About a week later, it was a later afternoon at the BAU, the office buzzing quietly with end-of-the-week energy. 

You sat at your desk, skimming through the paperwork from your last case, distractedly sipping the lukewarm coffee at your side. Your mind drifted--

Attention captured more by thoughts of Aaron than by the bureaucratic jargon in front of you.

You glanced up instinctively toward Aaron’s office. Through the slightly ajar blinds, you saw him sitting at his desk; brow furrowed, his tie loosened just enough to hint at the end of a long week. 

Your heart quickened at the simple sight of him--

Strong fingers flipping through a report, the familiar crease in his forehead deepening slightly.

You missed his touch. Missed feeling his hands on your waist, his lips tracing slowly along your collarbone--

Stop it, you chided yourself silently, turning your attention back to the forms. It’s barely been a few days. Get it together.

You'd been doing well, really. 

Sort of. 

Since starting this little challenge--your self-imposed celibacy experiment--both of you had stuck to the rules. 

Despite the usual pattern of coming home and relieving the day's stress tangled together, you'd both restrained yourselves. 

Each night had become increasingly difficult, awkward glances and lingering touches feeling far more significant than they should have.

You sighed, pressing your forehead into your palm, willing yourself to focus.

A gentle voice interrupted your thoughts. "Rough day?"

You jolted, looking up sharply. Aaron stood beside your desk, arms crossed comfortably over his chest, a half-smile playing at his lips. His dark eyes held yours, humor softening his usually serious gaze.

"Jesus, Aaron, warn a girl," you muttered, recovering your composure as he chuckled softly.

"Sorry." His tone indicated he wasn't particularly sorry at all. He shifted slightly, leaning down so he could lower his voice. "I was thinking--it's Friday. Let's grab dinner later. Just us."

You eyed him warily, sensing an edge beneath the casual suggestion. "Dinner?" You echoed, your lips quirking up. "Is that code for something else?"

"No," he replied innocently, but his eyes darkened slightly, pupils dilating as they settled steadily on you. "Just dinner. Why--are you afraid you can’t handle it?"

Your pulse stuttered at the deliberate challenge. You straightened in your seat, tilting your chin up in defiance. "I think you're projecting. Maybe you're worried you won't behave yourself."

Aaron leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, intended only for you. "Oh, believe me. I know exactly how to behave. Even though I know that you prefer it when I don't."

Your breath caught sharply, heat flooding your cheeks as his words slid smoothly beneath your skin, igniting every nerve ending.

"You know," he continued quietly, utterly composed as he watched your reaction closely, "I keep thinking about last weekend. The way you sounded when my mouth was right--"

You cleared your throat quickly, desperately, cutting him off before anyone could overhear. "Aaron," you warned under your breath, your pulse hammering, the flush blooming redder across your cheeks.

He tilted his head, eyes amused but dark with a challenge. "What? Isn't this your little game?" His voice dripped with restrained heat. "I thought you'd enjoy a little competition."

Your fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the desk, your breathing shallow. "Careful," you muttered, voice strained, "or I might call your bluff."

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, utterly confident and maddeningly attractive. "It wouldn't be bluffing. But if you decide to break your own rules, I'm going to remind you that you're the one who couldn't take it."

Your gaze flashed back to his, bristling with defiance. "You're awfully cocky, Agent Hotchner."

His smile widened faintly, predatory and controlled. "I prefer the word confident."

The air between you was electric-- 

Practically crackling. 

Tension pulsing thickly through each shared breath. 

His eyes roamed over your face, lingering deliberately at your mouth before meeting your gaze again.

He leaned in one last time, whispering low against your ear, breath hot against your neck. "I'll pick you up at eight. We'll see how long your little rules last tonight."

You swallowed hard, shivers cascading down your spine, warmth pooling dangerously low. "Maybe I should reconsider dinner."

He chuckled softly as he straightened, clearly pleased with the effect he'd had. "Too late. I'm not backing out now. I'm not a quitter--especially when I'm enjoying your game so much."

He strode away, perfectly composed, leaving you utterly flustered--

Heart pounding…desire simmering fiercely beneath your carefully held-together composure.

You exhaled shakily, watching him walk back toward his office, knowing perfectly well he’d done that on purpose.

Days later, you leaned against the kitchen counter, idly scrolling through your phone. 

It had taken the entire afternoon--and part of the evening--to regain your composure after Aaron’s little performance at work. But now, days later and comfortably settled at home, you finally had a plan to tip the scales back in your favor.

Aaron sat on the living room couch, legs comfortably crossed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed yet another set of files. 

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated him gently, shadows accentuating his defined jawline. You nearly lost your resolve right there--

But then you remembered the cocky smirk on his face.

No. 

He wasn’t going to win this easily.

With a calculated sigh, you casually pushed yourself off the counter, phone still in hand.

"Aaron," you called sweetly, sauntering over to stand behind him. You slid your arms over his shoulders, leaning forward so your lips brushed softly against his ear. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

He tilted his head slightly, turning enough so your eyes could meet. His expression was cautious but intrigued. "For what?"

"I did some shopping this week," you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly along his chest. "Online. I thought I could use a little pick-me-up after such a stressful week."

He raised an eyebrow, eyes glimmering with curiosity. "Shopping, huh?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed, withdrawing slowly and making your way toward the bedroom. "I’d love your opinion on my new...outfit."

He stared after you for a moment, clearly suspicious, but his interest piqued nonetheless. He finally nodded, setting aside the files and removing his reading glasses.

"Sure," he said cautiously, rising to follow. "Let’s see."

You shot him a dazzling smile. "Give me two minutes," you purred, closing the bathroom door gently behind you.

In reality, it took you closer to five. 

You carefully fastened the delicate clasps of the garter belt, adjusting thigh-high stockings that hugged your legs. The deep, midnight lace of the lingerie contrasted dramatically against your skin, a matching bra accentuating curves you knew Aaron couldn't resist. A pair of sky-high black stilettos completed the ensemble, adding height--and confidence--to your stride.

You glanced in the mirror once more, satisfied with the sight staring back at you, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door.

Aaron stood near the dresser, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. As the sound of your heels clicked against the floor, he glanced up, completely unprepared for what awaited him.

His mouth fell open slightly--

His phone nearly slipping from his fingers. 

You suppressed a triumphant smirk as you slowly moved toward him, deliberately swaying your hips. 

His gaze roamed shamelessly over you…from the intricate detailing on your bra, to the garter belt hugging you waist, down your stockings and finally to the heels that added an entirely new layer of allure.

"Aaron?" you asked softly, voice dripping with innocence, even though your eyes were anything but. "Thoughts?"

He cleared his throat, visibly swallowing hard, the muscles in his jaw tense as his eyes darkened to something nearly…feral.

"You’re…" He took a slow, shaky breath, clearly fighting for composure. "You’re absolutely killing me."

You stepped closer, fully aware of the power you held at this moment. Your fingers lightly traced along his tie, tugging it playfully.

"That's kind of the idea," you teased gently, lips curving into a satisfied smirk. "I thought it might help your memory. You seemed to have forgotten earlier how easily I can distract you."

Aaron’s breathing was shallow--

Strained. 

He visibly struggled, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, clearly battling an internal war.

"You look…amazing," he admitted finally, voice thick and husky, his eyes darkening even further. "But--"

He paused abruptly, shoulders tensing as he stepped quickly around you, brushing past without another word toward the bathroom.

Stunned, you spun around, staring after him with open disbelief.

"What the hell was that?" you demanded, slightly offended and definitely frustrated.

He paused briefly at the door, hand gripping the frame so tightly his knuckles whitened. He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes heated but stubbornly resolved.

"That," he answered slowly, voice tense but firm, "was me desperately needing a cold shower. I’m going to stand under freezing water and think about every goddamn file stacked on my desk at the office until I forget what you just did to me."

You scoffed, incredulous, though secretly impressed by his willpower. "Really?"

Aaron’s mouth twitched, his eyes still smoldering but determined. "I told you--I’m not a quitter."

He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of water immediately drowning out any further protests.

You exhaled sharply, equal parts annoyed and begrudgingly impressed. He was playing tougher than you thought.

Another week (felt like a century) had passed. The team had claimed their usual table at O'Keefe's, a warm, dimly lit pub known for its strong drinks and inviting atmosphere. 

Soft laughter mingled with clinking glasses, blending easily into the background hum of conversation. The evening was supposed to be relaxing--

A time to decompress from another long, difficult week. But for you, relaxation was currently nowhere on the menu.

Not with Aaron’s hand resting firmly--and very intentionally--on your thigh beneath the table.

You glanced sideways at him. Aaron sat perfectly relaxed, chatting casually with Rossi about some old case, his face the picture of composure. 

Anyone else would believe he wasn’t doing a damn thing out of the ordinary. But beneath the wooden table, hidden from the team's view, his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on the fabric of your pants.

What. The. Fuck. 

You shifted subtly, trying to relieve the fiery pressure building between your thighs. Aaron noticed immediately, and a small, barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His hand slid incrementally higher, the heat of his palm practically scorching your skin.

Emily raised an eyebrow at your slight squirming. "You good over there?"

You coughed lightly, shooting Aaron a brief glare as his thumb paused dangerously close to your inner thigh. "Yeah. Just...hot in here," you lied quickly, taking a deep sip from your drink.

Aaron tilted his head toward you, feigning innocent concern. "Need some water?"

You forced a smile through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

Penelope studied the two of you with a thoughtful expression. "You sure? You look kind of…flushed."

JJ, sensing the opportunity for humor, nudged Reid playfully. "Uh-oh. Looks like someone might be in trouble."

Reid glanced up cluelessly from his soda. "What do you mean?"

"She means Hotch is in the doghouse," Derek chimed in, eyes gleaming with playful mischief as he leaned back in his chair. "Look at that guilty face."

Aaron lifted an eyebrow at Morgan, hand never budging from your thigh. He remained perfectly composed, even as his fingertips pressed lightly, sending a jolt of electricity straight through your body.

You swallowed hard, struggling to maintain composure as heat flared in your cheeks.

Rossi chuckled knowingly, swirling his scotch glass. "Ah, Aaron, I take it you’re sleeping on the couch tonight?"

Aaron shrugged calmly, eyes glinting as he gave your thigh a subtle squeeze. "Something like that," he answered cryptically, enjoying your barely suppressed reaction.

Your eyes narrowed, frustration and embarrassment mingling with desire. "That makes two of us," you mumbled under your breath, swirling the straw in your cocktail and regretting everything about this little "experiment."

More like…mistake. 

Unfortunately, JJ heard your comment, her eyes lighting up instantly. "Ooh, trouble in paradise goes both ways, huh?"

Emily smirked, tilting her beer bottle toward you both. "You two having some sort of domestic standoff we should know about?"

Aaron shot you an amused, sideways glance, clearly daring you to respond. "Just a little disagreement about…boundaries," he offered smoothly.

Penelope’s eyes widened behind her sparkly frames. "Oh boy. Do I even wanna know?"

Reid shook his head vigorously. "Probably not."

You sighed deeply, feeling Aaron’s hand finally retreat slightly. Relief--and disappointment--washed through you simultaneously. "Trust me, it's better if you don't."

Morgan snorted, elbowing Emily gently. "If they're both suffering, maybe we shouldn’t push our luck."

Emily raised her glass in agreement. "Fair enough."

Rossi chuckled deeply, casting you both a knowing look. "Ah, young love. So complicated."

Aaron leaned back, arm resting comfortably behind your chair, finally giving you space to breathe. But his eyes remained locked on yours, heavy with unspoken promise.

"Complicated," he echoed Rossi softly, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice low and intoxicating. "You have no idea."

Your heart pounded, heat pooling dangerously low. This challenge was spiraling fast, and the boundaries you'd set seemed flimsier by the minute.

Penelope shook her head with mock severity. "All right, whatever weird game you two are playing, keep it at home. This is supposed to be PG."

Aaron’s lips twitched into a faint smile, eyes never leaving yours. "Understood."

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and the ache of frustration. Whatever was left of your resolve was fraying dangerously…dangerously thin.

As the conversation moved on, Aaron leaned toward you, his breath warm against your ear, voice a low murmur that made your pulse quicken.

"Still think you can handle it?"

You turned slowly, meeting his dark gaze with a defiant smirk. "Bring it on."

You both knew you'd regret it later, but at that moment, pride trumped common sense.

At least, until he gently placed his hand back on your thigh, fingers curling possessively, igniting your skin once more.

Yeah.

You were definitely going to lose this battle--

And frankly? You weren't even sure you'd mind anymore.

The next night, the room was cloaked in darkness--

Quiet and still. 

The steady hum of the air conditioning blending with the gentle rustle of sheets. You slept peacefully beside Aaron, tangled comfortably in the blankets, oblivious to the restless energy building beside you.

Aaron shifted slightly in his sleep, brows knitted together, lips parted with shallow breaths. 

His dreams were vivid--

Too vivid--

Images of you swirling through his subconscious, memories, and fantasies intertwining dangerously. 

He could practically feel the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your breath against his neck, hear the sweet sound of your voice whispering his name.

With a sharp inhale, he startled awake, pulse hammering in his ears. 

He lay motionless for a few long seconds, chest rising and falling heavily as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

God, he needed you. 

This stupid game--

Your little challenge…was becoming ridiculous--

Almost unbearable. 

Every muscle in his body felt taut with frustration, and there was only so much he could take before something had to give.

Glancing carefully at your sleeping form beside him, Aaron let out a slow, measured breath, carefully easing out from beneath the sheets. He shifted gently, positioning himself away from you, back turned just enough that he wouldn't wake you.

He shut his eyes tightly, feeling slightly ridiculous--

Like a teenage boy again--

But the ache between his thighs was relentless. 

He took himself in hand, moving quietly, carefully…desperately trying to find relief without disturbing you.

But a soft, teasing voice quickly shattered his plans.

"Agent Hotchner," you whispered playfully, voice thick with sleep yet undeniably amused, "I do believe that's cheating."

Aaron froze instantly, mortification mixed with frustration creeping along his skin. He turned slightly to face you, flushed and breathing unevenly. You were propped up on one elbow, watching him with a sly grin, eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds.

"That’s not--" He cleared his throat, voice low and husky. "It's not cheating. It's…a careful work-around."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "Oh, is that what we're calling it now?"

He huffed softly, eyes narrowing at your amused expression, but the embarrassment was fading quickly. "Exactly. No rules broken."

You tilted your head thoughtfully, feigning consideration. "Hmm, I’m not sure about that. This feels suspiciously like cheating."

"Cheating implies two people," he argued, struggling to keep his voice even. "This is purely solo."

"Ah, a loophole." You nodded mock-seriously. "Should've thought of that myself."

Aaron’s eyes darkened at your teasing tone, his embarrassment giving way to renewed confidence. He turned fully toward you now, unabashed despite the vulnerability of the moment, and moved slightly closer.

"You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to ensure fair play," he challenged softly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

Heat instantly rushed through you, your pulse quickening as you fought to maintain composure. You hesitated, eyes locked onto his, tempted beyond belief--

But pride held firm.

You could so jump on this train. You’re sure it would take less than five minutes to finish. The sheer thought of Aaron’s temptation alone could bring you to orgasm. The sight of him carefully…slowly stroking himself a whole other layer to things that…that honestly was making your throat dry.

But…but you were determined. 

The reward…it would be pure bliss.

"Nope," you replied stubbornly, sinking back into the pillows, fighting the urge to touch him. "Your loophole, your rules."

He stared at you incredulously, clearly not expecting that response. He paused his movements. "You're serious?"

You shrugged lightly, eyes sparkling mischievously in the darkness. "Rules are rules, Aaron."

He exhaled sharply, frustration mounting. "This was your idea."

"Exactly," you said sweetly, snuggling deeper into the covers. "You were just bragging about your self-control yesterday, remember?"

Aaron glowered playfully, finally surrendering with a quiet, reluctant sigh. He collapsed dramatically back against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling, clearly resigned. "This is torture."

You chuckled softly, secretly sympathizing--

It was torture. 

Though you'd never admit it now. 

"That's the idea."

He turned his head, eyes lingering warmly on your face, frustration melting slightly into tenderness. He frustratedly tucked himself back into his boxer shorts begrudgingly.

"You’re lucky I love you."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to gently brush your lips across his cheek. "Very lucky."

Aaron wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and sighing deeply into your hair. "Can we at least agree that dreaming doesn't count as cheating?"

You laughed softly, tracing your fingertips over his chest. "Dream away, Agent Hotchner. Just keep your hands to yourself."

He groaned quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reluctantly settling back against the pillows, pulling you close again. "Remind me never to let you choose our challenges again."

You smiled against his chest, your eyes slipping shut, exhaustion blending with the sweet ache of temptation. "Noted."

Aaron sighed softly, eyes closing in surrender. Tomorrow would be another battle entirely--

But for now, he simply tightened his hold around you, determined to endure.

You both were about two weeks away from the challenge being over. It had felt like years…absolute hell on earth. 

The entire day had been an exercise in patience, one thin thread after another snapping beneath the weight of tension between you and Aaron. 

The case had been exhausting, draining you physically--

Mentally, and--worst of all--emotionally. 

Each moment felt charged, every interaction thick with a palpable intensity neither of you could shake.

And everyone had noticed.

It started that morning. 

You'd slipped into a pencil skirt, one that hugged your curves in all the right ways. You knew exactly what you were doing--

Aaron loved that skirt.

Loved the way it emphasized every subtle movement of your hips. 

He’d practically growled when he saw you at the crime scene, eyes trailing slowly over your figure with barely concealed frustration.

As the day progressed, you found yourself subtly but deliberately pushing his buttons. 

You challenged his orders just enough to make him grit his teeth, raising an eyebrow in quiet defiance whenever his eyes narrowed at you across the precinct.

He'd retaliated by maintaining impossibly strict control over the investigation, projecting authority in a way that made your knees wweak.

It had all boiled over when Aaron interrogated the unsub. 

Watching him from behind the glass had been both thrilling and torturous. His voice had been sharp--

Commanding.

The tension in his shoulders evident as he'd leaned forward, eyes burning with intensity. 

Something primal stirred within you at the sight--

Anger radiating off him. 

Powerful and dominating…

Turning you on more than you'd ever admit.

Afterward, the team exchanged bewildered glances as Aaron strode past you with barely a nod, his jaw clenched tightly. Morgan’s eyes had followed Aaron carefully, a slow smirk spreading over his face.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Morgan whispered, incredulous.

You’d shrugged nonchalantly, heart racing beneath your calm exterior. "What makes you think it was me?"

Emily scoffed, shaking her head. "Please. You two have been off all day."

JJ nodded, smirking knowingly. "Whatever game you're playing, you're clearly both losing."

Now, hours later, you stood frozen outside your hotel room, staring at the closed door, adrenaline racing through your veins. 

You knew Aaron was inside, waiting. 

It was late; the rest of the team had retreated to their own rooms, leaving you both alone to face the inevitable.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped the keycard and stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

Aaron stood near the window, staring silently at the darkness outside, tie loosened, jacket already draped over a nearby chair. He didn’t turn around immediately, but the rigid line of his shoulders told you everything you needed to know. His patience had worn razor-thin.

"Aaron--" you started softly, hesitant yet desperate.

He turned sharply, dark eyes flashing dangerously. His gaze swept over you, igniting fires beneath your skin.

"Enough," he said hoarsely, voice low and commanding, eyes blazing with barely contained desire. "This ends now."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in three quick strides, capturing your mouth in a heated, possessive kiss. 

Any hesitation vanished instantly, replaced by an overwhelming, urgent need.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you surrendered fully, completely. 

All rational thought evaporated, drowned beneath the intensity of his kiss, the hard press of his body against yours. 

His strong hands moved urgently over your hips, pressing into the curves he'd been deprived of for far too long.

"You drove me insane today," he murmured roughly against your lips, voice dark with hunger. His teeth grazed along your jawline, sending chills cascading down your spine. "That skirt...that mouth of yours..."

You gasped softly as his hands firmly pushed the fabric of your skirt upward, fingers gripping your hips with bruising urgency. 

You arched into him, breathless. "You weren't exactly innocent either," you whispered back defiantly, pulling his tie free with shaky fingers, swiftly undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Watching you yell at that unsub nearly made me lose my mind."

Aaron groaned, mouth tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, his breath warm against your skin. "God, I’ve missed touching you."

His hands slid beneath your shirt, pulling it swiftly over your head and discarding it without a second thought. Clothing hit the floor piece by piece--

Urgency growing with every passing moment. 

It was frantic. 

Desperate.

Each touch igniting sparks hotter than you'd imagined possible.

When he finally lifted you, effortlessly guiding your legs around his waist, you whimpered against his lips, completely and utterly lost.

Aaron paused for a brief second, breathing harshly against your mouth, eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "You win," he admitted roughly, his voice thick with desire. "I'm done holding back."

You smiled breathlessly, heart racing as you whispered back, fingers threading through his hair, "It's about damn time."

All pretense vanished then, surrendering to the overwhelming need you'd both denied for far too long. Everything else faded away--

Rules, games, even the lingering thoughts of your teammates’ confusion.

Tonight was only about you and Aaron, tangled together in passionate relief, finally letting go.

Because as far as you both were concerned, this was one competition worth losing.

Practically tossing you on the bed, it felt like he was all over you at once. His mouth moving from your jawline to your lips to that spot behind your ear--

The one he knew made you weak in the knees. 

Wet between your legs. 

The effect this man had on you. 

“Are you going to drag this out,” You asked, “Make me beg for you?” 

Your hands tangled with his tie, quickly trying to work his clothing off before he replaced your hands with his own. Taking off the tie swiftly and then working each button, a smirk of mischief fell across his face.

“I could,” Aaron hummed, tossing the shirt and tie on the floor before reaching for his belt. Your eyes darted to them, seeing the tent in his dress pants...waiting--

Asking for you. 

He contemplated for a moment longer, “But it’s been too long, sweetheart,” He saidalmost tenderly. You smiled at him sweetly, “Too long and I’ve missed you.” 

“God,” you sighed, “I’ve missed you too.” 

It was then, the remainder of your clothes were removed. Aaron’s lips were back on you in a moment’s notice. 

Kissing. Licking. Full on attacking your body with his mouth in the best way. 

Kissing his way down your bare skin, he found himself settling between your thighs. He pushed them open without and argument from you. The cool exposure contrasted against your arousal. 

“After my silly game, you’re rewarding me?” You held yourself up on your elbows to look at him seated between your thighs. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aaron tisked, “This is a reward for me.” He moved closer, licking gently…almost teasingly, at your core, “I said I missed you.” 

Like a parched man, Aaron drank you up. His tongue worked you, bringing you to orgasm within no time. Your back arching off the bed and your hand fisted with his hair. His name like a prayer off of your lips. 

Oh. 

Oh, how you missed this. 

Within no time, his mouth was back on yours. Tongue swiping yours as you breathed into the kiss. You were soft against him, melting into each kiss. You reached between your bodys and stroked him once. Twice. Three times. Before he stopped you. 

“I’m like a revirginized teenager, sweetheart,” He said slightly embarrassed, “You keep that up and I will not last. It’s been almost a month.” 

You kissed him softly, “I’m sorry,” to which he kissed you again, combing his hands through the hair framing your face. “This was a stupid idea.” 

He chuckled, “It…it was.” Kissing you once more on the nose, “But distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?” 

“And the couple grow hornier,” You nodded, causing him to laugh a little before kissing you deeper this time. 

He rolled onto his back and took you with him. You straddled his legs and ran your hands up the planes of his chest, feeling the softness beneath you. 

You grinded your wet center against him, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from Aaron. He hissed your name under his breath, “You’re not playing fair.” 

“You should know that by now,” You lifted your hips and reached for him, positioning him at your entrance. 

Slowly--achingly slow.

You lowered yourself onto him. He hissed between his teeth. You could have sworn he said your name along with a curse, but your ears were buzzing. Too overwhelmed from the fill. 

It had been too long.

Way. Too. Long.

Oh.

Oh, how you missed this. 

Missed him.

With each movement, you realize how much you took your sex life with Aaron for granted. With each thrust, he met you--

Each time,you heard your name fall from his lips like it was the only name he knew. 

You realized you would never take this man or your connection for granted again. 

Had it ever been this way with anyone else? 

Never. 

Not even close. 

The way your bodies felt like they were made for each other. Like there were divots in your hips made for his hands to hold you there and rock you against him. Guiding your hips front and back as you moved on top of him. 

You never had to fake it with Aaron either. With others, you had to pretend you’d cum. Or just simply say you didn’t and pretend like it was okay. 

With Aaron? It was second nature. You couldn’t stop yourself from coming even if you tried. It would hit you like a freight train sometimes. 

Out of nowhere. 

Sometimes it was fast and heavy and overwhelming. 

Other times, it was soft waves that enveloped you for moments upon moments. 

But today…

Oh, today?

It hit you. 

Like a ton of bricks. 

Aaron’s hand found the bundle of nerves between your thighs, rubbing circles against your clit. You felt from the way his thrusts began to stutter. 

Began to become less rhythmic. 

He was close.

You were closer.

You were there.

Your orgasm washed over you. You felt yourself clench around him, milking him of all he had. Like a domino effect, Aaron followed behind you. The noises he made were something you missed--

And again…would never take it for granted again. 

The bruising grip on your hip moved to your back as you fell against his chest. You felt his heavy breathing against you. You peppered lazy kisses along his collarbone.

Your breathing slowly steadied, matching Aaron's rhythmic heartbeat beneath your cheek. The dim glow of the bedside lamp washed warmly over your tangled bodies, casting gentle shadows across the hotel walls. For several minutes neither of you spoke, content to simply exist together, skin pressed to skin, savoring the quiet aftermath.

Eventually, Aaron shifted slightly, his fingers brushing soothing circles against your bare back. You felt his chest vibrate softly as he chuckled beneath his breath.

You lifted your head, glancing up at him, curiosity and amusement sparkling in your eyes. "What's so funny?"

He tilted his head, looking down at you fondly, a rare, relaxed smile lighting up his usually serious features. "I'm just relieved we can finally stop torturing ourselves."

You laughed softly, tracing slow, idle circles on his chest. "Hmm, was it really torture?"

"Absolute torture," he insisted, voice low but playful. His fingertips skimmed gently along your spine, sending pleasant chills through your exhausted limbs. "Though I'll admit, seeing how long you'd last was oddly satisfying."

You propped yourself up on an elbow, raising an eyebrow challengingly. "Funny, because I distinctly recall you being the one who caved first."

Aaron’s eyes glimmered with humor, his lips curving upward just slightly. "Maybe. But as I recall, you didn’t exactly put up much of a fight."

You scoffed lightly, but your eyes softened. "Fair enough."

He reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, expression turning more serious as his gaze softened further. "Honestly, this whole thing was ridiculous. Remind me never to agree to one of your ideas again."

"Oh, please," you teased softly, leaning down to kiss his lips tenderly. "You loved every second of it."

Aaron hummed softly against your mouth, pulling you closer again. "I’ll admit, the payoff was definitely worth it."

You smiled contentedly, resting your forehead against his, feeling completely at ease now that the tension had finally broken. Your fingers traced absent patterns against his skin, the warmth and comfort of the moment soothing your still-sensitive nerves.

"Besides," you murmured quietly, your voice teasing yet tender, "I learned something valuable from all this."

He raised an eyebrow curiously, voice gentle. "What’s that?"

You kissed him once more, a lingering touch filled with affection. "You’re stubborn as hell, Aaron Hotchner—but you're also irresistible when you finally give in."

He laughed softly, a rare, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. "I'll keep that in mind."

You shifted slightly, settling comfortably back into his side, head resting easily against his chest again. The hotel room returned to comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by your synchronized breathing and the faint sounds of the night beyond the window.

After a moment, you heard Aaron exhale deeply, tension fully releasing from his body. "You realize the team’s going to have questions tomorrow."

You smiled lazily against his chest. "Let them. I’m too happy to care."

Aaron’s arms tightened around you, holding you protectively, possessively close. "Good," he murmured softly. "Me too."

Sleep slowly began to pull at both of you, exhaustion settling over your bodies. Just before drifting off, Aaron pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his voice gentle, filled with quiet sincerity.

"But next time," he murmured quietly, lips curving into a teasing smile against your skin, "let’s just skip straight to this part."

You laughed sleepily, closing your eyes and melting against him, finally at peace.

"Deal."

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy

[moonlightspencie]

locked it down

part 12 of ‘the sweetest con’

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: the last part before the epilogue!

Six months.

Six months of being together. Laughing together. Being happy together.

Six months that signified something: I had to report our relationship to the bureau.

It was a terrifying ordeal, to put it lightly. I didn’t get fired, which had me thankful beyond belief, but I did get a scolding and a temporary suspension for not notifying them of such sooner. And a threat that she might have to move to a new unit. But, after much convincing from her, we decided that anything was worth it if we were together.

And it was so worth it.

Half a year doesn’t feel like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like everything with her. Plus, we finally got to officially tell the entire team, and of course, they were thrilled beyond belief.

Dave insisted that we all go to his house for dinner to celebrate our milestone, and despite my protests, she gave an emphatic ‘yes’ for both of us. We sat around the dining room table, talking about anything and everything that didn’t have to do with work. It felt like one of those times I knew I was in trouble with her in the beginning. But this time, I didn’t have to pretend that I wasn’t hopelessly head-over-heels for her. Cheers erupted from the team anytime we showed any affection towards each other, much to her delight. She adored the sweet attention we were getting from our friends, and part of me couldn’t help but smile along with her every time she brightened up at their comments.

“Told you this would work out fine,” she whispered to me at the table, glancing around at everyone.

They were currently preoccupied with the news of Reid taking somebody on a date, taking the pressure and attention off of the two of us. I smiled down at her, not bothering to hide it.

“You’ve proved me wrong once again,” I say, huffing a dramatic sigh playfully. “You’ve got to stop being right about everything. It’s not fair.”

“I was born to be a genius, what can I say?” she said with a cheeky smile. “You love it anyways.”

“Mm. I don’t know about that,” I start with a quirked brow. “But I do love you.”

“Even better,” she whispered, leaning into me.

I couldn’t help but smile as she kissed me softly, letting it linger a bit longer than she had the rest of the night considering nobody was looking at us. Or so we thought.

“You two are so sweet,” Penelope gushed, trying to keep her voice down as she grinned at us. “I’m so happy you’re together. I’ve never seen either of you look so happy.”

I saw her smile at Garcia’s words, leaning her head against my shoulder.

I hummed. “I got very lucky.”

We finished dinner a couple of hours later, and of course, Dave had to make a point to pull out some expensive bottle of wine as we sat in the living room.

He held up his glass. “To our two favorite lovebirds. Now, we don’t all have to pretend we don’t see them staring at each other like they want rip one another's clothes off.”

She snorted a laugh next to me. “Oh, please. At work? I’d never.”

We all laughed at her comment, my cheeks flushing a little, and then drank to our apparent good fortune. I listened in as the team chatted for another couple of hours, content to only sprinkle in a comment here or there.

She leaned into me eventually. “Did you ever think we’d be here a few years ago?”

I laughed. “No. I didn’t think we’d be here this time last year. I’m still trying to figure out why you fell for me, of all people.”

She fell quiet, merely smiling at me for a few moments, staring at me with those pretty, sparkling eyes of hers. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said at last, voice quiet. “I couldn’t imagine not falling for you. I’m just happy you felt the same way.”

I hummed another small laugh, kissing her. I couldn’t hold back anymore. We only broke apart when she started laughing at the cheers that once again erupted from the group.

We went back to my apartment that night, hand in hand as we walked up the stairs together.

“I’m so happy we finally told them,” she said as I pulled my keys out.

I got the key in the door, opening it for her and disarming the alarm. I tossed down my keys and jacket.

“Yeah. So glad they get to relentlessly make fun of us,” I replied.

She laugh, walking up to me and putting her arms around my neck.

“You love it and you know it,” she said, a soft kiss on my lips between words. “They make fun because they care. And you adore all of them for it. You can’t hide that from me.”

I shook my head with a lovesick smile, leaning in to kiss her once again, then took her hand to lead her to the couch.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She raised her brows, sitting next to me. “Uh oh.”

“Stop it,” I said softly with a smile. “I… Well, we’ve been together for a while. I love you, you know that. And I love spending all my time with you, but sometimes that’s hard when we live so far apart.”

“My apartment is like fifteen minutes away on a busy day,” she laughed.

“Too far,” I deadpanned. “I just— If I asked you to move in with me, would you think I was totally insane?”

Her small grin turned into a full smile. “Yeah?”

I smiled back, nodding. “Yeah. I get more time with you, and… Honestly, I’ve already mentioned it to Jack and he loves the idea of having more sleepovers with you. Don’t want to disappoint him, now, do we?”

“Oh, definitely not,” she shook her head seriously, hiding a smile. “I almost have to now, don’t I? If Jack says I should.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

She smiled again, tackling me onto the couch cushions with a tight hug. I laugh as she started pressing soft kisses all over my face.

“I love you. You know that?” she asked.

I nodded. “I know.”

She stared at me for another moment, then kissed me once more for good measure.

“I’m serious, though, Jack is expected a sleepover every night that he’s home with us.”

She raised a brow. “Guess I should move in pretty fast then, huh?”

“If we don't want to face his wrath, yes. I’d recommend it.”

“It’s a good thing we have the day off tomorrow, then, isn’t it?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Great coincidence.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “What if I had said no?”

“I knew you’d say yes.”

“How?”

I smirked at her, quiet for a moment before I reigned in the smile to look at her seriously.

“I’m a really great profiler.”

[misserabella]

s.r and a.h p links!

pxrn links for these two! (+ mental scenarios that came to my mind with them) minors dni!!

aaron hotchner:

it doesn’t stop dripping! ; aaron’s been pulled away from you from weeks on end due to back to back cases. when he comes home, the first thing he does (can do, cause it’s all he’s been thinking about while being gone) is bury his thick veiny cock into your snug soppy cunt, and when he cums, filling you up with his heavy load, it’s soooo much it doesn’t stop flowing down your ass onto the sheets.

do you deserve it? ; after your silly plan of making aaron jealous by flirting with another agent, he makes sure to remind you just who you belong to. he fucks your cunt open without any prep, letting you feel the sting, your walls taking on his shape as he harshly fucks into you for what seems hours on end, making sure to slow down his pace every time you’re gonna cum and stopping just before you reach your peak as a punishment. you can’t take it anymore, crying and moaning for him to let you cum, and when he does? is heavenly. you’re brain dead on his cock. but he does not give you what you want most: his cum filling your womb. he fucks your mouth and makes you swallow. ‘cause you don’t deserve to be bred after being such a fucking brat. and then, he’s fucking right back into you to start all over again. looooong night.

harder!! ; in which you break aaron’s rules and get yourself punished. sleeves rolled up. ass in the air. drenched panties and cheeks so red you won’t be able to sit tomorrow. and he’s relentless, hitting harder, making you whimper and jerk in pain until tears are springing your eyes. “want me to stop?” you shake your head and bite your lip, your ass pushing back against his warm stinging palm. “harder please. and he smirks. “good girl.” and later on, he fucks you with a dildo, ‘cause he denies you his cock. “this will make you think twice before disobeying next time. you don’t deserve my cock.”

tummy bulge ; just that. aaron being so fucking big stretching your pussy open that you two can see the imprint of his cock fucking in and out of your cunt.

spencer reid:

slurp it up! ; spencer is begging, puppy eyes looking up at you. you’ve got to get to uni. he knows. you have an important test today. he knows. but you’ve been studying so hard this couple of weeks for your finals… completely leaving him hanging and alone, making him stroke his cock every night just to get the relief he needs you to give him (you’re the only one who can make him cum so hard his eyes are rolling back), so he begs and begs and begs. “just one taste. i’ll be quick. i promise!!! please i just can’t cum without you.” and how can you say no? so there you are, leaning on the wall as spencer croons his neck up, tongue hungrily lavishing your pussy as groans and moans of pleasure, pure ecstasy and relief leave his lips as he slurps and drinks up every single drop you give him while he fucks his hand. god. he’s gonna cum so hard…!

shooting blanks! ; poor little thing. you’ve fucked him up for good this time. his glasses are fogged up. his pretty hair a mess. puppy eyes glassy and cheeks so red they resemble cherries. you’ve fucked him so much you’ve completely drained his balls empty, and rubbed his tip raw with your cunt. his hips shake prettily and pathetically as you stroke his long gorgeous cock, sucking at his nipple in hopes to get just one more rope of his creamy yummy cum. his eyes are rolling back, he has lost his voice due to all the moaning and whimpering, and when he comes, just a single drop leaves his tip. you pout. fuck, you’re still hungry.

paint me. ; after realizing just how much your pretty virgin nerdy boyfriend loved your boobs you decided that, to ease him into fucking your pussy (knowing that if he did right now he’d probably blow his load as the tip barely slips inside), you let him use your tits instead. and you’re right. spencer is moaning, whining at the sight, strong hands pushing your pillowy perfect tits together to create the perfect pocket for his cock, and after barely three thrusts he’s painting your neck and chest with ropes of his cum. “so pretty…” he mutters as his tip smooches your perky nipple. of course he cleans you up with his tongue later!!

show me how you move ; your first time riding spencer. you’re chest to chest, mouth to mouth, tongues hungrily pushing into each others mouths as you bounce gently on his cock, he’s not all the way in. you’re still trying to get used to his size, cause spencer was big. halfway in and he’s already kissing your cervix. you can’t stop moaning, cause he’s reaching sooo deep, and his happy trail is scratching your clit just the right way. but spencer can’t take it anymore. he needs more. so his hands cup your ass, he plants the sole of his feet on the bed, and pounds into you in deep hard strokes up your pussy. you scream. and before you know it you’re cumming. he doesn’t stop. not until you’re squirting and begging him to stop, leaving your pussy lips swollen and you, sensitive and sore the day after.

good morning ; it’s still early when you feel it, your boyfriend grunting against your ear, his hard cock thrusting against your ass. you’d probably slept 3 hours, at most, since you two had gone to sleep after fucking for hours on end. but it doesn’t seem like enough for him. it will never be enough. “i’m sorry. fuck. i’m so sorry.” he moans, thrusting harder as he sucks at your neck when you moan, fully awake now. “i need you.” and just like that, that easily, you’re pulling a leg over his and slightly shifting to give him a better access to your dripping pussy. the two of you moan when the tip parts your sticky folds, and when he pushes in, he’s groaning. “fuck. so fucking tight… why are you still so fucking tight? i fucked you open a couple of hours ago…”

you can take it ; spencer with his beautiful virgin girlfriend, who he was to prep with three of his expert long fingers before fucking you cause he’s that fucking big. once inside, having to go slow, only fucking you with half of his cock ‘cause he knows that’s all you can take for now. but don’t worry. he’ll make sure to shape your pussy to his cock. you will take it.

extras (threesome!):

you can take them both ; pussy stretched so open, just having one rearranging your insides will never be the same.

rivals ; “she’ll get pregnant with my baby.” “not if i am the one who comes the most.”

one from the back, the other from the front! ; aaron is smirking as you gag around spencer’s cock, snapping pictures he’ll use to jerk off with his pretty boyfriend when they two of them are away from you on a case. “come on darling. you can take him deeper, can’t you? thaaat’s it. good girl.”

[cavillsbitch]

just drove through quantico

[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading

[mariasont]

DEAD FROM THE WAIST DOWN

you learned to seduce your way into being loved. hotch wants to teach you that you don't have to earn love at all.

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: oh hey where does one start! mentions of past emotional abuse, conditioned sexual behavior, sex as a coping mechanism (discussed), hypersexuality, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, soft!hotch, happy-ish ending wc: 2.8k

How many times can a man be caught off guard by the same kiss before it stops qualifying as a surprise and becomes a cherished inevitability? You would think Aaron would know by now. 

But no, every time your mouth finds his, it feels like the first time all over again.

He isn’t a romantic, he refuses to classify it in such cheesy terms. (You would passionately disagree).

Instead, he experiences it as pure revelation — how did I forget it could feel like this? Always velveteen and warm with whatever chapstick you’ve been nursing that day. Coconut. Mint. Honeyed vanilla.

Honeyed vanilla is your favorite. His too. It stains his mouth and hours later, he can still taste it. 

He knows where you keep it now. Back left pocket. You’re predictable that way. Only that way. Discovered by accident, though nothing with you ever feels accidental, the first time he came home after a week-long case and you collided into him at the door as though you had been counting seconds rather than days. 

His hand, settling on your ass like the gentlemen he is, had landed on it, the cylindrical outline concealed beneath skin-tight denim. Denim that, even in memory alone, manages to be both curse and benediction, fabric and flesh conspiring to remind him that distance was your shared adversary. One that was conquered with every bruising reunion of lips.

These particular kisses always arrive roughly as if anything less fervent wouldn’t be proof enough of his return. Always full-bodied. Always looking for more.

For a while, he reasoned it away. Novelty, perhaps. The combustible early-stage infatuation, still volatile, still prone to overcorrection. He assumed it would fade, mellow out with familiarity. Rossi called it the honeymoon phase. Said it every time Aaron showed up to work looking distinctly worse for wear in a manner wholly unrelated to the strain of work. Grinning like a bastard. And Aaron thought he wasn’t wrong.

But time failed to temper your hunger. If anything, it grew teeth. 

You meet him at the end of each day with hands that demand, with a body that knows exactly how to ask and what to take. And he lets you. Of course he lets you. He would be out of his mind not to. 

You are generous with your affection, in and out of the bedroom. You love him without filter, without edits. Love him even in the versions he hides. There are days he doesn’t know how to hold it. Doesn’t know where to put the parts of himself that still flinch under kindness.

He is a grateful man. He is a lucky man. But he is not yet certain he is a worthy one.

Your thumbs trace his jaw, and he knows, without needing to ask, that you can feel the strain habitually tucked beneath skin and bone.

Your mouth deepens the kiss before he’s ready to accommodate it, breath merging with breath in a single, faithful puff.

Mint today, he decides. The one with the cheap twist-top and that little green label peeling at the corner.

When oxygen reasserts itself as a necessity, he pulls back, lips ghosting yours, “Missed me, did you?”

“Don’t mock me,” you scold, taking advantage of the fractional distance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. “I really did. I think I started missing you before the door even closed.”

Your hands are moving to his belt, fingers tugging, pulling —

Christ.

His hands snap down to catch your wrists.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs,  "not tonight. I just — I can barely keep my eyes open."

You recoil so fast it disorients him, and before he can think, his hands are reaching out, fingers flexing toward the empty space.

“Oh, of course,” you say, eyes flitting away. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You must be exhausted.”

Your apology tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s never wanted you to equate exhaustion with rejection, least of all his. He opens his mouth to reassure you, to banish the needless guilt clouding your eyes, but you hurry forward, words tumbling as nervously as your fluttering hands toward the kitchen.

“I made dinner. It’s in the fridge. I mean, I wasn’t sure when you would be home, but it’s ready. I can heat it up right now. Unless you want to just go to bed — I could bring it to you —”

“Hey.” It’s more a plea than command. You freeze, a microsecond of stillness before your hand begins its descent toward the scrunched cotton of your long sleeve tee. He intercepts it, thumb charting the map of your skin from the blue-lit vein to bone to the center point where your hand opens. “That’s really sweet, honey. Thank you.”

"You're welcome." 

“But all I want right now,” Aaron continues, pulling your hand into the center of his chest, a chaste kiss sticking itself to your knuckles, “is for you to come to bed with me.” Then, because he knows you, he adds, “I’ll take what you made for lunch tomorrow. I don’t want it to waste.”

You nod and offer a smile. 

Usually, he loves that seeing that smile of yours, might even call it his favorite pastime, if he were prone to sentimentality.

It’s something he never tires of watching. The way it starts slow, then takes your whole face with it. It shows up in your crow’s feet first — creases he adores, even if you claim to hate them — and then folds into your cheeks until your skin swells too full to contain.

He especially loves your smile that appears when you’re trying not to show how good it feels when he calls you pretty girl. You always hide it behind his shirt, like fabric’s going to keep him from noticing how you preen under the praise. 

This one isn’t that.

It flickers at the corners of your mouth but never quite lands in your eyes. It’s a smile made for strangers. He knows better than to pretend it’s the same.

You’re already walking toward the bathroom before he can say anything, before he can figure out whether he even should. He watches as you go through the motions with the same grace you always have, but he notices the absence more than anything else. 

The things you don’t do.

Normally, you hover. You lean into him as you tug your shirt over your head, brush a kiss against the slope of his shoulder with that casual intimacy you wield like second nature. Sometimes you complain — half a yawn, half a grumble — about the late hour. And pout. And push for a kiss only to pretend you’re not pleased when he gives in.

Normally, you make noise through the quiet. You ask if he locked the front door, remind him the laundry’s still in the dryer. You hum while brushing your teeth. Curse when toothpaste hits your shirt. 

Normally, you’re all subtle magnetism, clinging in that sweetly unrepentant way of yours. When he sits to unbutton his shirt, you’re usually behind him, knees pressing into the mattress, chin of his shoulder, arms looping lazily around his waist. There’s always touch. A palm to the center of his back as you pass, a hand on his arm as you squeeze by.

Normally, you're unapologetic about needing him. Tonight, you move like a guest in your own home.

It’s intolerable. And when you’re both settled into bed for the night, Aaron reaches for you before he thinks better of it, palm flattening against your waist. He feels the shape of you through pajamas and pulls. He doesn’t stop until your chest curves into his chest, until the edge of your calves nudges his. 

"Come here." Aaron threads careful fingers through your hair, pausing at the tender juncture where your neck meets the base of your skull. "Baby,” he whispers, “tell me what’s wrong.”

His eyes don’t leave yours, watching the brief flickers of vulnerability, the sparks of emotion you try to extinguish before they catch fire.

He notices the hesitant parting of your lips, opening as if to spin a half-hearted lie, only to close again once the truth gets too close to your teeth.

"I just... I wanted to be close to you."

Aaron’s brow knits, confusion and concern braided together in the crease above his eyes, arms tightening despite the fact that you’re already pressed against him like a second skin.

"You are close to me, sweetheart."

But even as he says it, he feels the flaw in his words. The way they miss the mark. He senses it in the way you chew at the inside of your cheek, how your shoulders stiffen beneath his fingertips.

Then softer, "Not like that."

"What —,"

But you're already shaking your head. "No, I — , it's not a big deal."

“Anything that involves you is a big deal to me.”

Your thumb moves, tracing circles into the fabric, slow rotations that quickly speed into tighter spirals, as if spinning faster might somehow organize your thoughts. You’ve always done this, reaching for some small, manageable action when the larger ones feel impossible to name. 

“It’s just… easier that way sometimes. To be close like that. Then I don’t have to wonder if we’re okay.”

The realization trickles into his consciousness slowly at first, then rushes in like water breaking through a dam.

He should’ve noticed sooner, how could he not have? 

Because this isn’t new. It’s not just a one-off need or tonight’s tension talking. You’ve always needed him like this. Skin on skin. Mouth on mouth. Your body pressed against his like you’re starving for confirmation. The way you undress him in the doorway. The way you straddle his lap and roll your hips like closeness could fix everything that feels unsteady. You depend on that closeness.

You come to him with your whole body. After long days. After fights. After even the smallest moments of silence that stretches too long. You find him like a blam, like if you don’t touch him, don’t take him, you’ll come apart at the seams. Kisses are never where you stop. You want all of him. Pinned beneath you. Deep inside you. As if that's the only way to believe he loves you.

He thought, for a long time, that it was just your appetite. A high sex drive. A natural tendency. He chalked it up to love language, to hormones, to heat. And he liked it, loved it, more than he was willing to admit at first. 

But this wasn’t just want. 

This was fear, bleeding out beneath your need, disguised as pleasure.

He’s supposed to be good at this, at reading people, parsing motive from movement. But somehow, he missed this.

Because somewhere along the line, someone taught you that love was transactional. That affection had to be purchased in pieces of yourself, repaid in skin and surrender. That if you didn’t offer yourself fully, you weren’t worth holding onto. And now here you are, still paying for what someone else stole from you.

And fuck, fuck, fuck, he feels sick.

His fists curl before he knows it, nails digging into his palms. His jaw locks tight. Because if the person who planted such a belief were here — if he could see the face of whoever made you believe you had to fuck your way into being loved — he wouldn’t blink. It wouldn’t matter what badge he wore. What oaths he swore. He would make sure they never touched anyone again.

“Is that what it feels like when I say no?” He doesn’t ask it accusingly. “Like we’re not okay?”

“I know it sounds dumb. I just —”

“Hey. It’s not dumb.” He pauses, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It makes more sense.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does. You want something that confirms what words sometimes don’t. I get that. I do.” He swallows hard. “But I don’t want you to feel like we’re only okay when we’re in bed.”

“I know. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” 

There’s something else sitting in your mouth, he can see it. A confession, maybe. Or just a few loose scraps of thought you haven’t stitched together yet.

“It’s okay.” He offers up an open door.

Your eyes flick down, then up again, and finally you nod in concession. He can’t tell if you believe him. That it’s okay to be honest with him.

“I spent a long time thinking touch was the only thing I had to offer. That if I wasn’t beautiful or willing or available I didn’t have value.” You say it slowly, like you’re afraid of saying it aloud. “It’s not something I think about. Not consciously. I just… feel the silence, or the tiredness, or I can’t read you… and suddenly I’m scrambling. Trying to stop it. Trying to keep from being… dismissed, I guess. And I know you’re not… him. I know that. But sometimes my body forgets.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow.

“So I kiss you. I touch you. I try to make myself irresistible so I don’t have to ask if I’m still wanted. Because I don’t know how to ask without feeling pathetic.”

He watches as you hold back the tears fighting to stake claim on your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you love me,” you add. “It’s that I don’t know how to feel safe unless I can see it. And I hate that. I hate that I’m still wired for panic every time you flinch or look away or —”

Your voice catches. Whatever you were about to say fractures somewhere in your throat and never quite makes it to sound.

He doesn’t reach for you despite every neuron firing in his brain that begs for the opposite. It feels wrong, somehow, to respond with touch when you just confessed how often it’s been your only way of being heard.

So he stays still, watches the curve of your shoulder rise and fall under the slow drag of breath. Watches your gaze veer just left of his face, like you’re already bracing for disbelief, or worse, kindness that feels like pity.

You exhale instead then close your eyes.  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to fix this. I’m not trying to unload it on you. I just… I want you to know why I act like I do sometimes. It’s not mistrust. It’s old wiring. And I’m trying.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

Not because he doesn’t have something to say. He does. A thousand things, actually. Some sharp, some soft.

But you’ve just peeled your chest open with surgical precision, laid the whole bloody, tender mess of it in his lap, and the last thing he’s going to do is rush to stitch it shut with half-baked reassurance.

You shift, maybe reflexively, but you still don’t meet his eyes. So he softens. Adjusts. Meets you halfway.

“I don’t think it’s pathetic. I don’t think you’re broken. I think your nervous system is doing exactly what it was trained to do, sound the alarm at the first sign of disconnection. Fight to restore the bond before it can disappear.” His breath hitches, just enough to break through the formality of it. “But you don’t have to do that with me. You don’t have to fill the silence. You don’t have to seduce me into staying. If I pull away, I need you to know I’m not punishing you. I’m not… evaluating you. Sometimes I’m tired. Or quiet. Or somewhere else in my own head. But I’m not leaving. I’m not rescinding anything.”

Finally, his hand brushes gently — gently — over your arm.

“You don’t have to perform love here. Not with me. You get to just… have it. As it is. As you are.” He studies you. “I know you can’t unlearn it overnight. I don’t expect you to. But I’d rather you come to me scared and uncertain than go silent and spiral. Let me be the one who doesn’t make you pay for needing reassurance.”

And then, only then, his voice drops, hoarser. 

“I don’t want to be another place you have to earn safety. I want to be the proof you don’t.”

He doesn’t know if the words land. Not fully. He thinks you heard him. Thinks you wanted to believe them. But that’s different from knowing. So he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you throw his arms around neck and press your cheek into his shirt.

He feels the heat of tears soaking into his shirt. He kisses your forehead first, then your hair, whispers something that neither of you really needs to understand.

And even though he’s running on fumes, he stays awake until your breathing slows. Until he’s sure you’re asleep.

Because if you’re going to believe him, really believe him, it won’t be because of what of what he says, but what he does.

It hits him between your third or fourth breath against his chest that this was the first time you didn’t try to apologize with your body after a difficult conversation. Just warmth. Trust. Skin on skin because you want to be held, not because you’re trying to keep him from vanishing. It’s small. But to him, it’s the most profound shift in the world. 

And in the weeks that follow, he sees it again. The way you kiss him and then stop as if you trust he’ll kiss you back. 

It doesn’t happen all at once. You still hesitate when he says no. Still freeze up on the bad nights. 

But you don’t crumble anymore. You pause.

You pause and sometimes your hands shake, but you reach for him anyway.

And every time, he meets you halfway.

a/n: this sat half-finished in my drafts for soooo long because i wasn't sure i could land it, emotionally or otherwise. and i felt like it's one of those things that feels like it says more about me than i probably mean it to. if u see urself in this as well, hi. i hope it makes u feel a little less weird for the things u need, or the ways you've learned to ask for love that doesn't always make sense out loud

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[friendoftashi]

all mine | spencer reid x reader (nsfw)

because your job required so much travel, you and spencer were well practiced in quiet sex. at first, when your relationship was just clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, it was out of necessity.

the first time hotch allowed the two of you to room together, he handed the keys over with a firm look and “behave yourselves,” muttered under his breath. spencer flushed and morgan whistled.

“thank you, sir. you won’t regret it, i promise.”

you cut your eyes at morgan, who quickly fell back in line for the elevator.

spencer pulled away from your feverish kisses, chuckling under uneven, rapid breaths.

“what?” you questioned him, his amusement contagious.

“it’s just… whenever i imagined the first time we were assigned to the same room, i expected to feel relief at not having to sneak around anymore. but really i’m even more aware of our coworkers in the next rooms over.”

your lips curl into a smirk as you bring your arms around his neck, staring up at him.

“i’m naked in your bed and you’re thinking about our coworkers?”

“i just,” he brings his hips back to yours, settling himself right when you need him, “i don’t like anyone else hearing your pretty noises. all for me,” he’s mumbling against your neck. “plus, we’d never hear the end of it from derek.”

you gasp out a laugh in response as his hands find your waist, squeezing their way down to your ass, the backs of your thighs, repositioning your hips slightly to meet his at the perfect angle. you groan together, and spencer is quickly smashing his mouth against yours to muffle the sound.

he’s everywhere, hands on your breasts, kissing the jut of your hip bones and pulling your panties to the side. as he tweaks a nipple between the fingers of his left hand, his right holds your leg up as his tongue dives between your folds. your back arches as your hand flies to cover your mouth. you know the routine.

he eats you out sloppily for a few minutes before surging back to your lips. without breaking the kiss, he’s reaching for the pillows above your head. immediately, you know what he wants. you flip onto your stomach, lift your hips in muscle memory. spencer settles one pillow under your hips, the other under your head. he pets your hair and leans down to peck your shoulder before shoving his boxers off. on nights when spencer is especially worked up, often still buzzing off the adrenaline of capturing a particularly difficult unsub, he wants you from behind. this way, your noises are muffled by the pillows, his against your neck, while he sinks onto you. faster and faster, until the bed begins to squeak and he has to change his pace.

he’s bucking into you slowly now, his chest flush with your back. with your hands intertwined, his lips against your ear, hes whispering, more to himself, over and over, “all mine.”