#dbf!hotch x reader

[show-your-fangs]

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort. 

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up. 

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on. 

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.  

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright. 

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red. 

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed. 

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you. 

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice. 

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else. 

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently. 

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.  

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home. 

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next. 

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives. 

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring. 

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it. 

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.    

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him. 

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him. 

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside. 

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room. 

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years. 

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours. 

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced. 

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you. 

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest. 

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute. 

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day. 

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him. 

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners. 

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more. 

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed. 

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length. 

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane. 

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long. 

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body. 

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.  

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip. 

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate. 

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look. 

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself. 

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case. 

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him. 

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away. 

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all. 

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg. 

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay. 

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet. 

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you. 

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you. 

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling. 

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool. 

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out. 

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you. 

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him. 

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you. 

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection. 

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened. 

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping. 

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body. 

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position. 

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm. 

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three. 

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water. 

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.   

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch. 

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there. 

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task. 

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty. 

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more. 

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms. 

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess. 

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time. 

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do. 

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips. 

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one. 

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it. 

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you. 

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile. 

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed. 

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it. 

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips. 

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully. 

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake. 

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled. 

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you. 

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time. 

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him. 

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now. 

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes. 

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone. 

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter. 

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something. 

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important. 

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could. 

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice. 

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours. 

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction. 

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C. 

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him. 

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day. 

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.  

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up. 

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him. 

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second. 

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said. 

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly. 

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours. 

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face. 

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone. 

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed. 

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief? 

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again. 

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you. 

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest. 

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him. 

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body. 

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight. 

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free. 

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.” 

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you. 

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level. 

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you. 

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him. 

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation. 

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over. 

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact. 

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you. 

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest. 

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him. 

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done. 

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue. 

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him. 

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length. 

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him. 

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become. 

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass. 

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise. 

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked. 

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did. 

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him. 

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house. 

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners. 

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection. 

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot. 

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have. 

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full. 

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in. 

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for. 

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you. 

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously. 

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself. 

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw. 

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him. 

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever. 

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect. 

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening. 

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place. 

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you. 

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive. 

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately. 

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours. 

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome. 

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory. 

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend. 

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours. 

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[bau-drabbles]

dbf!hotch having you cockwarm him under his desk… his cock sliding so easily down your throat as you try to take all of him… his pubic hair tickling your nose. you’re so content and happy, until suddenly your dad makes a surprise visit in his office and you go to move but aaron grabs your head and makes you stay there 🤭💞💞🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

MORGAN pls you're killing me 😭😩🤲 i love your mind 😵‍💫😮‍💨

"just like that, sweetheart" he coos from his chair, his hips gently bucking into your warm mouth and you're all too eager to accommodate more until he's reaching the back of your throat. the sounds he makes are enough for you to rub your thighs together, excitement shooting through your core. his musk is intoxicating, you're drunk on his scent and his taste. before you can come up for air, his office door opens and you squeak slightly your mouth already beginning to retract.

but you can't protest, he's already pushed your head back to it's original place. your eyes are widening, your fingers gripping his thighs but he's so calm. simply subtly comforting you, his hands knotted in your hair sweet as ever

and then it's even worse when you realise who it is, your father of all people.

your hands are gripping the pillow underneath you, trying not to make a sound. your cheeks are burning with embarrassment but your dad hasn't caught on, aaron sounds as collected as ever. as if you weren't currently choking on his cock as quietly as you could manage under his desk.

you even hear the seats opposite his desk being sat on, causing you to breathe a little heavy in impatience. you're pretty sure drool is starting to leak down your chin, your breathing slightly heavier as you grip his thighs urgently. silently begging him to wrap it up before you combust. hotch's voice is slightly strained now as he catches on but he still manages his best poker face, he's stroking your hair, his thumb under your jaw softly massaging the muscle there. his cock was twitching in your mouth and desire how desperately you want to move, his hand is still on the back of your head gentle but firm. thankfully hotch cuts the conversation short, quickly agreeing to the plans your dad has made even if it was the last thing he wanted.

"okay thanks, sunday it is" finally your dad leaves being none the wiser and you push your head away, gasping for air while hotch chuckles softly from his chair. he pulls back, looking at you from under his desk. you look so cute sitting there, he can't help but tease you

"my sweet girl, i thought you could take it??" he feigns concern, pulling you up on his lap. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, kissing you as you try to regain your breathing again. you want to glare but you can't find it in you to even care, your wet panties testament to how much you secretly enjoyed it.

"i almost choked you know" you chuckle a little, melting under his affection. his big calloused hands running across your thighs, separating your legs as he ghosts his fingers just above your entrance

"don't you worry, i'm gonna train that pretty of yours"

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of —"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him — like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere, no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just, just, slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's — what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then, oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his —

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I — I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[aureatelys]

nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, kinda flirty/brat!reader, car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.  

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

-

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

-

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn��t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

 “Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.  

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

-

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.  

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

PART OF THE JOB

pairing: dbf!bodyguard!hotch x reader summary: you go to a party to make hotch jealous and, in the process, end up butt-dialing him mid-make-out with another guy…oops, based on this request. warnings | an: jealous jealous super jealous hotch, protective hotch, age gap, mutual pining, tension, lil bit of manhandling, 2 divas arguing instead of kissing, angst if you squint, r is a brat. word count: 2.2k

✧ masterlist

Being a good kisser had never ranked high on your list of life priorities…until now. The sloppy lips currently smothering yours made you want to reconsider that standard entirely. And, annoyingly, all you could think about was how Aaron—no, Hotch, you reminded yourself—probably wouldn’t kiss like this.

He seemed like he'd be patient and gentle at first. He would take his time, studying, sensing your body before he decided to take it any further. He’d wait, just until a whimper was on the tip of your tongue before giving in, silencing you with his.

He had spent years, decades even, studying people’s behaviour for a living. And that skill was bound to apply to scenarios a little less gruesome than murder.

And his hands—so big—seemed like they would cradle you in place. Keep you still. Keep you there, ready for his taking. Fingertips moulding into your skin as his mouth trailed lazily down your neck.

The thought alone made you moan into the mouth of someone who neither deserved it nor was the reason for it. But Steven had taken it as encouragement anyway, his hands sliding down to your ass. They felt smaller. Wrong. Insufficient in every way Hotch’s wouldn’t be.

You pulled back slightly, lips parted, the words you’re not him taunting your tongue, only to frazzle into nothingness as you remembered all the countless times you’d practically thrown yourself at Hotch only to get nothing in return.

You had a pool. A big, gorgeous pool that mostly just existed for when your father’s friends brought their kids over. Otherwise, it sat untouched. You never really cared for swimming anyway. Chlorine clinging to your skin and ruining your hair? Not exactly your thing.

But you had noticed that on the gentler mornings, when your father was out of town, Hotch would sit outside with his coffee and the newspaper, positioned perfectly to face the said pool.

So, naturally, you decided that morning swims were now officially your thing. Wellness era, fresh air, early starts, all the things magazines were banging on about. Never mind that the swims lasted fifteen minutes and the everything shower that followed took forty-five.

You’d swim a few laps, then stretch out along the edge of the pool. You’d tip your head back, sun catching your skin, doing your best to coax even the smallest comment from the man who seemed permanently committed to keeping his mouth shut, and his eyes anywhere but on you.

But by your fourth attempt, you were convinced he’d started timing it. Closing the paper or standing up just before you decided to get out, like clockwork.

That was just one entry on the ever-growing, mildly unhinged list of attempts you’d made to get him to notice you.

There were others. Of course there were.

The final straw came in Steven’s bedroom. A house party that had slowly devolved into a bedroom party. One that, unfortunately, only one of you (Steven) seemed to be enjoying.

Hotch had been so good at dodging any and all attempts to get even a sliver of attention—anything that didn’t fall strictly within the bounds of his contract to keep you safe—that you’d started to think you’d imagined the connection between you altogether.

It felt less like something real and more like a concept. An idea to keep you company on the nights you couldn’t sleep, and, apparently, during moments like this, when you were actively trying to scrub him from your mind by hooking up with someone you had barely any interest in… only to end up thinking about that damn scowl anyway.

You pulled back all the way this time, a hand flat on Steven’s chest.

“I—I need a second,” you mumbled, standing almost too quickly, the drinks you’d indulged in earlier deciding your balance.

“Is something wrong?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, mostly to stop yourself from blurting out the truth that yes, everything was wrong. Because the man you actually wanted was old enough to be both Steven’s father and yours, and you had no business wanting him the way you did.

“No, Steven,” you said, forcing a breathy laugh as you smoothed your hands over your hips. “I’m just a little hot, you know? No AC in here, let’s crack a window open, yeah?”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but you were too warm to care. You turned and made your way across the room. Your fingers curled around the latch, starting to twist it open, only to freeze at the banging on the bedroom door.

“Uh hey? Sorry to interrupt your, um… whatever, but—” The door creaked open, and one of Steven’s friends poked their head in. “There’s some strange man at the door who just threatened to break my arm if I didn’t tell him where you were.”

Steven straightened immediately and it almost seemed endearing. “What the hell, I’ll go down—”

“No,” you cut in quickly, grabbing his arm before he could move. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”

“You sure? Sounds like a psycho.”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just my babysitter making sure I haven’t been kidnapped,” you muttered, brushing past Steven’s friend in the hallway as you headed for the stairs.

You were halfway down by the time your eyes landed on him, standing on the doorstep like a vampire who refused to enter without an invitation. You raised your brows first, the disbelief plain on your face, before hissing, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Your father wants you home.”

“My father is in a completely different state and has no clue where I am,” you bit back, whipping your head over your shoulder at the sudden stillness behind you.

Several pairs of eyes were strained on the two of you. At least the music was loud enough to drown out your voices, leaving them only with a visual, like a grainy, black-and-white movie.

“I will shut this place down quicker than you can blink if you don’t get in the car.”

“Feel free,” you encouraged, arms settling comfortably on your chest as you crossed them. “Did you bring your badge for the full effect, or was that confiscated before you swapped the FBI for a career in babysitting?”

Your name fell out of his lips in warning.

“There is no danger here. Just a bunch of honry young adults. Feel free to resume your evening, Hotch.” You reached for the door, hand already moving to slam it in his face, but he was painfully faster.

His own hand shot out, catching the door before it even reached the halfway mark. With a slight shove, he forced it back open and before you could react, that same hand was wrapping around your wrist.

“What the hell—” you started, but he was already pulling you through the door.

You stumbled after him, heels clicking against the pavement as he all but dragged you toward the car.

“Let go of me,” you yelled, yanking against his grip.

“I asked you nicely.” He didn’t even look back. “You wanted a scene, now you’ve got one.”

You dug your heels in, breath catching as anger surged in your chest, before you confidently decided to take a page out of his handbook.

“I will have you out of a job before you’ve even put the keys in the ignition if you don’t let go of me right now.”

That stopped him.

He turned to face you, your wrist slipping free. “Do you want to use my phone or yours to call your father and tell him you spent the night getting drunk, letting some guy crawl all over you?”

“What?” Your stomach dropped, brows pinching together as the words landed.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You pocket-dialled me.”

“No, I didn’t,” you breathed, denial rushing out as your hands flew to your back pocket, fingers scrambling for your phone.

You unlocked the screen, heading straight to your call log.

There it was.

Hotch (bane of my existence) – 5 minutes, 42 seconds.

Fuck.

“That was an accident,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to.”

Which, technically, was true. You wanted him to imagine it, paint his own picture when you walked out in that low cut top, knowing full well he’d track your location to Steven’s house. You wanted to get under his skin, not give him front-row seats to the sound of your moaning.

He said nothing.

Just stood there, watching you like he could see straight through every excuse before you even placed them in a sentence.

“I figured. Didn’t sound like you meant to call anyone.”

Heat flooded to your cheeks, every drop of blood in your body momentarily being replaced by molten embarrassment. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you sighed, then walked past him, spotting his car parked a short distance away.

He followed without a word, but when you reached the curb, he moved ahead and opened the passenger side for you.  

The call had lasted almost six minutes.

And he hadn’t hung up.

He’d stayed on the line, listening to Steven’s hands on you. Listening to the moans that weren’t meant for him but came from thoughts that were. Thoughts that had always been about him.

You stared at the window, your teeth picking apart the inside of your cheek, trying to focus on the blur of streetlights instead of the shame simmering beneath your skin, settling into the space where your confidence used to live.

Still, he said nothing as he drove.

Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t bring it up. Didn’t even look at you.

Back to the usual, then.

Pretending like nothing had ever happened. Like this was just another night, another drive. Like escorting you home after dragging you out of a party wasn’t personal, and instead was just part of the job.

As if you were the only one making this complicated. As if you were reading too much into things. Like he hadn’t quite literally shown up, stormed in, and hauled you out after listening to you dry-hump someone else over the phone.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a moment, the delivery of the question and when he chose to ask it pulling a laugh out of you.

“Really? You came all this way to make sure I’ve eaten dinner?”

“A yes or no would suffice,” he replied, eyes fixed on the road.

“No, Hotch. I’m not hungry. Though I probably would’ve worked up an appetite if Steven had finished what he started.”

His jaw twitched—just slightly—knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m sure you’re not missing much,” he said flatly. “He seemed a little sloppy.”

“Oh yeah?” you shot back, a bitter little smile curling at your lips. “You got all that just from listening in? Bet you wished it was a FaceTime call instead, huh? Would’ve really completed the picture for you.”

“You think that’s funny?”

You shrugged, fingers busying themselves with pulling apart the loose threads of your denim skirt. “I mean, don’t you? You’re the one who stayed on the line for six minutes just to judge my taste in men.”

“Boys,” he corrected.

“Oh yes, absolutely. Because a man would never string me along. Never make me feel like I’m imagining things. It’s the boys that are the problem.”

He stopped at a red light, using the pause to turn toward you but you shifted immediately, pressing yourself further into the door, angling your body away from him. As far away as you could get without actually jumping out of the car.

“I just don’t think you should be giving your attention to people that don’t deserve it.”

“And where do you think you fall on that scale?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“I don’t.”

You frowned. “You don’t what?”

“I don’t fall anywhere on it,” he replied simply. “I’m not supposed to be on the scale.”

“Right.” You nodded once, popping the t. “Of course not.”

“I—”

“Just take me home, Hotch,” you cut in, turning your body back toward the window. “I’m tired, and, quite frankly, I don’t want to be around you anymore.”

Lies. All of it. Every single word.

You wanted to stay in that car until he cracked. Until he slipped up. Until he admitted something. But there was only so many hits your pride could take in one night, and you were already bleeding from every place that counted.

He obliged to your request, shifting the car back into gear the second the light turned green.

The rest of the ride back was spent in silence. Halfway through you reached for the radio and started flipping through the stations, deliberately landing on the cheesiest pop music you could find, just to irritate him further.

And when he finally pulled into the driveway, you wasted no time reaching for the door handle, but his voice stopped you.

“You don’t have to keep trying so hard.”

You turned to face him. “What?”

He stared ahead, not looking at you. “To get my attention. You already have it.”

Your breath caught, stuck somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

You nodded again, this time managing to successfully open the car door.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @writerskive

[cimmanonrowl]

OMG I love dbf trope 🫣… could I req dbf!Hotch and reader where they’re secretly dating and the team accidentally catches them on a date together or something similar to that?

lowkey

There must be something with the coffee. Or the new water dispenser in the BAU breakroom. For a couple of weeks, Aaron Hotchner seemed to be in the best mood everyone in the Bureau has seen in a long time. And well, the mystery was solved when the team caught you both red-handed on a date.

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x rossi!reader

Theme: fluff mallows

Content: age gap, cheesy date, secret relationship.

Rumor has it that SSA Hotchner was dating someone.

Even you have heard the whispers in the hallway, the gossip they spread in the breakroom, and even the cautious murmurs in the elevator. For many weeks, the team had been a target of all faux inquiries in different conference rooms before every meeting started; all pertaining to when Aaron Hotchner found his happiness. And who the lucky woman was.

They know Aaron has a special someone. They just don’t know who it was– no, scratch that. They just don’t know it was you. 

“I’m not saying this because I don’t like seeing him happy...” Emily murmured to you and Morgan, who was already filling his third mug of searing coffee for the day. “But he’s acting too happy lately, it’s starting to freak me out.”

Emily leaned against the counter, quietly observing Hotch from a distance with her red lips pursed and suspicious eyes. As you turned around, you saw Aaron caught in an interesting conversation with Reid; a big, endearing smile lighting up his usually stoic and serious face.

Morgan shook his head as he looked over his shoulder, chuckling in obvious agreement. “He’s been joking around lately, too. It’s almost… unsettling.”

“Right? It’s literally been ages since I saw him like that- wait, do you know he went home early last night?” confusion was deeply etched on Emily’s face as she babbled, her eyes wide in faint excitement.

“Yeah. Nearly gave me a heart attack when he peeped into my office and told me he was heading home,” Morgan also leaned against the counter and took a sip of his drink.

“He went home earlier than Derek Morgan?”

“Shut up, Prentiss,” was all he could say.

You nodded along with their conversation in silence, not having anything interesting to say. Besides, your attention was fixed on your boyfriend from across the room; observing the way he listened intently and patiently to Reid’s genius ramble, the way he’d give him an encouraging nod to continue talking, his strong arms crossed over his chest, and with a kind smile plastered on his face. That look on his face sent hundreds of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. 

You love seeing him smile, which in return, also made you smile behind your mug.

“Maybe it’s the new water dispenser,” Emily suggested out of nowhere, half-joking. “Or the coffee. They changed it recently. What do you think?”

“I think it’s still shit...” you chimed in before you could even stop yourself, scrunching your nose at the bitterness of your drink.

Derek let out a surprised laugh, almost spitting the hot coffee in his mouth before quickly placing his mug on the counter, nodding frantically. “That, I fucking agree.”

Across the room, the sound of your hearty laughter caught Aaron’s attention. He quickly glanced at where you were standing, his expression softening a tad more at the sight of you talking animatedly with the other team members. It took all of his self-restraint not to grin at the familiar sound, although his heart fluttered at the very moment he heard it. 

He shook his head as he tore his eyes away from you, biting his lip to stop the smile slowly tugging on his lips, only to meet Reid’s inquisitive gaze the moment he focused back on him.

And all Aaron could mutter in his head was: Oh, fuck.

“Or maybe someone special has put that smile on his face. You know there’s a lot of rumor he’s seeing someone,” Morgan wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Yeah, the barista across the street.”

“What? The ba- what?” Emily’s eyes widened as she turned to you. “Did you see them? When? What happened? What does she look like?”

“Do you mean the one with crooked bangs? I swear that girl’s barber used a butcher’s knife or something.”

You chuckled at the description Morgan used. “I don’t know. I’m just kidding, anyway. That’s the new gossip I heard from Anderson’s team.”

“Last week they’re saying it’s some model in New York.”

“New York?” you repeated, feigning interest in the information.

“Uhuh, even Strauss was curious. Did you know that’s what she asked me on the elevator instead of asking how’s the bullet hole on my leg?”

“You’re being dramatic, Derek.”

Morgan snorted. “If you get shot, that’s the first thing you’ll hear from me, Prentiss.”

You let out a soft sigh, clutching the report in your hands as you approach Hotch’s office. The door was wide open, just the way he would always leave it, and you could see him focused on a stack of paperwork on his desk even from afar.

When he didn’t notice your presence, you took that as an opportunity to observe him. Aaron’s attention was focused on the document laid on his hand, his thick eyebrows tugged together, his eyes sharp with precision. You know it’s been a while since he shaved, and now there’s a hint of dark stubble shading his chin, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise polished appearance. You vividly remember the feeling of his growing beard on your neck whenever Aaron kisses you there. Just the memory alone makes you giggle and blush to yourself.

You tapped lightly on the doorframe.

“Agent Hotchner?” you called out softly, “Here’s the report you’ve been asking.”

Aaron looked up almost instantly, his stern expression softening just a fraction when he realized it was you. “Thank you, Agent,” he replied with a smile, mirroring the one you have on yours.

Aaron stood gracefully and walked around his desk to take the report from you, his fingers brushing lightly against yours in a fleeting touch. Up close, you noticed the shadow of exhaustion looming over his head. The tired frown, the dark circle under his eyes- you almost reached out and touched his face. All you wanted at that moment was to kiss the weariness away.

“How’s your day been?” you intended that question to sound professional but eventually failed as it was laced with obvious worry.

“Busy, as usual,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that only you would recognize as genuine. “But I feel better now.”

You bit your lower lip before nodding shyly.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

He darted his attention to the report and skimmed through it, nodding appreciatively. “This is thorough, as always. Excellent work.”

“Thank you, sir,” you beamed, your heart beating a little faster at his praise. “I try to keep up.”

Aaron’s eyes meet yours again, his voice low and smooth as though he was passing top-secret information. “About tonight, baby,” he began, “I made reservations at that Italian place you like. Eight o’clock work for you?”

You nodded promptly, keeping your expression neutral for any potential onlookers. Not only the door was left open but also the glass window. This old man and his professionalism, really. And it still freaks you out to think that, just last week, Reid has taken an interest in learning the art of lip-reading. No one has the nerve to call him out yet but he’s slowly becoming a menace to society.

“That sounds perfect. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, and then Aaron nodded. “Good. I can’t wait, angel.”

That was your cue to leave so you quickly bid him goodbye, but not before giving him a sweet smile and a subtle wink. “Don’t stress up too much, Agent Hotchner.”

“You too, Agent,” he replied before you turned around, fully aware of how his eyes followed you as you walked out of his office.

When you returned to your desk, Emily glanced up from her paperwork, a tired smile plastered on her lips. “Everything alright with the report?” she asked innocently.

“Perfect,” you answered casually, keeping your tone light. “As always.”

Hours dragged on and the bullpen was slowly winding down for the evening. For the third time in five minutes, you glanced at the clock, your heart beating a little faster as the hands crept closer to eight. Tonight’s date with Aaron was all you could think about, and you couldn’t wait for the night to end when the both of you are already on his bed and resting.

Until suddenly, your father leaned against your desk, his trademark grin in place. “Ready to head out, kiddo? I was thinking we could grab dinner at that new Italian place you’ve been wanting to try.”

You gave him a small smile, not wanting to draw any suspicion for the sudden rejection. “Actually, I have plans tonight, Dad.”

“Plans, huh? With whom, if I may ask?”

Obviously, that piqued his interest. It’s been a year since you joined the Bureau and have been living independently since. You no longer live under his roof, but knowing your father, he still loves to act as if you do. He’d always offer you a ride to your apartment after grabbing dinner together.

You tried to keep your expression normal, but the excitement bubbling inside made it hard to hide your smile. “Just... a friend. We’ve been planning this for a while.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A friend, mi cara? Anyone I know?”

“Well, sort of...” Hesitation lidded your expression for a moment. “But it’s still pretty new, so I’m not ready to share all the details yet.”

Rossi shook his head, chuckling at the sight of you blushing over some trivial question. “Alright, I won’t pry. But you know, you can tell me anything, right?”

You nodded quickly. “I know, Dad. And I will tell you about him... soon.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Alright. Just be careful, okay? And have fun.”

“I will, Papà,” you promised after giving him a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Make sure to use protection.”

“Dad!” you glanced around the bullpen in scandal.

“Don’t be silly, just making sure he wraps his willie.”

From her desk, you heard Emily burst into boisterous laughter, obviously listening to the conversation. Your ears felt hot with embarrassment and you almost stumped your feet on the floor like a child.

“Oh my goodness, Dad!”

“What?” he feigned innocence. “Just a reminder, cara. But do enjoy your evening.”

You watched your Dad turn to leave before you breathed a sigh of relief, the tension finally easing from your shoulders. When you glanced around the office, that’s when you noticed Dr. Reid’s eyes focused on you, making you panic inside your head. What now?

After a while, he gave you an adorable tight-lipped smile before waving his hand. You gathered your things as everyone did, making sure to match everybody’s pace, eager not to appear suspicious from any angle.

Just as you were about to head out, you caught sight of Aaron emerging from his office, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He gave you a discreet nod, which you only returned with a smile.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the table. The air was filled with the melody of an old Italian song, distant conversations, and clinking of cutlery. At times, you would hear a champagne or wine bottle being popped open. And the moment Aaron pulled back a chair so you could sit, it was as if time had finally slowed down.

Aaron’s eyes were locked on yours, his gaze so tender you almost melted in your seat. He leaned slightly forward, an adoring smile present on his lips.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “You get more beautiful with each passing day. You keep me on my toes, baby.”

You chuckled at his terribly sweet words, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “We need to leave some room for dessert, love.”

“Just saying, angel,” he reached across the table to gently touch your hand. “Did you even notice how many men looked back at you when you walked past them? I bet some of them are on a date, too.”

You giggled, squeezing his hand lightly. “Can’t say I have. I’m too busy thinking of being in your bed.”

“Ah, my bed,” Aaron’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Laters, sweetheart. It feels cold and empty without you in there.”

As soon as he said it, the waiter arrived with your meal, setting down a plate of creamy fettuccine Alfredo and a glass of rich, red wine. Aaron took a moment to admire the spread, then turned back to you. When he lifted his glass for a toast, you noticed a flicker of hesitation flash in his eyes.

“Fuck. I was planning to say something sweet but I forgot it now.”

You laughed at his confession. “Take your time, Papi. You can do it.”

“No, really. Fuck...” he chuckled heartily. “Stop looking at me like that, darling. You make my heart flutter.”

“Like what, Aaron?”

“Baby, stop. Have mercy on me.”

You tilted your head innocently. “Like what, Aaron?”

He heaved a deep sigh, finally tearing his eyes away. “Jesus Christ...”

Heat crept into your cheeks as you lifted your glass. Giggling at his flushed expression, you clinked your glasses together, the sound resonating amidst the noise.

“I love you,” you said warmly, your heart swelling with every word. “And I know all the ways to cover a crime scene so don’t ever hurt me, Aaron Hotchner.”

Just as he was about to say something, the familiar voice of your father suddenly interrupted. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

You turned to your side and saw the rest of the team standing beside your table, all with different looks on their faces. Emily looked absolutely in shock, her eyes wide and lips ajar. JJ was biting back a smile, shaking her head. While Penelope was squealing and shaking JJ’s shoulder.

Behind them, Reid was already bantering with Morgan and asking for the price money he had won on their bet.

“I told you he called her ‘Angel’ not ‘Agent.’ I know I’ve only been learning how to read lips for a week but my skills are highly reliable.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“It’s true!”

Motherfuckers.

And to your dread, your dad was the first to break the silence. “So this is the willie—”

“Oh my god, Dad!”

Penelope clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with happy tears. “Oh my gosh, this is the cutest thing ever! Wait, what do you mean he’s the willie?”

No, because I tear up writing this while listening on-loop to lowkey. LOL. I'm so hopelessly in love with Aaron. Someone pls kill me.

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover - dbf!hotch x reader

for @hotchnerholic who requested: your dad went out of town so you’re staying at aaron’s place because you don’t like being alone <3

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Honey?” a warm voice whispered in your ear, and a hand shook your shoulder softly.

Your eyes were way too heavy for you to care, so you buried your head further in the sofa cushions and tried to fall back asleep.

The voice insisted. “Sweetie? Let me take you to bed.”

“Let me take you to bed.”

The Aaron Hotchner just offered to take you to bed and you were sleeping?

Using your hand to cover up a yawn, you opened your eyes and found his beautiful brown ones already looking at you. You blinked at him slowly as if you were a cat trying to communicate that you loved him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the side of your face. “Your back is gonna hurt in the morning if you spend the night on the couch.”

“Yeah…I…I fell asleep watching TV.”

“It’s admiring that you managed to fall asleep while a thriller is playing,” he joked, and offered you a pretty smile.

You turned your head towards the TV, and caught a glimpse of a guy in a mask sharpening a knife. “Now that is exactly the reason why I didn’t wanna stay home alone.”

Aaron chuckled and placed his hand on top of yours. “You’re safe here.”

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he was this close to you, so you tried to change the subject.

“I fell asleep while watching Shrek. I guess the thriller started after that.”

“Hm…You wanna watch it with me? Or do you wanna go to bed?”

Yes to the bed option, but only if it’s with you, you thought. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen so watching a movie with him was the next best thing.

“Sure, let’s watch it.” You smiled, and he smiled back. “Only, I’m warning you, I get scared very easily.”

“You don’t say.”

“Don’t make fun.” You pointed at his face.

“I would never,” he said, and leaned back on the couch stretching out his arm.

The space next to him looked so inviting. You could just curl up in his arms and not worry about anything else.

The fact that you were staying at his house was heavenly in the first place. But watching a movie with him? That was beyond your wildest dreams. You expected him to be gone all day at work. This? This felt like staying over at your boyfriend’s house and having a movie night with him.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I have popcorn.”

“Oh…yes please!”

You followed him to the kitchen, and observed him while he was filling a big bowl with popcorn.

His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough for his forearms to drive you crazy. A man his age shouldn’t get this type of reactions from you, but he did anyway. As your father’s best friend he was forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to want him in secret.

“How was work?”

“Could’ve been better,” he sighed. And then he looked at you with a grin that made him more irresistible than you could’ve ever imagined. “But I have you here so it’s not too bad.”

What was breathing? “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe,” he said, and signaled you with a head movement to follow him back to the living room.

“I mean…you’re an FBI agent. Who would have been better for the job?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The movie had started for a while now, so it was hard to follow the plot. Not that you necessarily cared about it – the only thing that was occupying your head the entire time was Aaron sitting next to you, his cologne, and how your fingers brushed a couple of times while you were getting popcorn.

Zoned out as you were, a loud sound coming from the movie made your heart almost stop and you hid behind your hands with a squeal. “Shit!”

Things only got worse, as the killer on the screen seemed to be unstoppable, chasing one character after the other. You curled up in the corner of the couch, grabbing a cushion to protect yourself.

“Hey…” Aaron said, looking certainly amused. “Come here.”

Careful not to look too eager, you went close to him and let yourself into his embrace. His arm rested around your shoulders, and he pulled you in close enough for your head to rest against his.

“Better now?”

“Mhm…” you could only say, as your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear. “I won’t let him get to you.”

“Promise?” you whispered back and looked up at him.

“Promise,” he said and kissed your forehead.

part 2

[hotchshands]

dbf!hotch aesthetic

[show-your-fangs]

feeling silly goofy this morning. happy birthday thomas gibson 🤭

lmk if you’d like to be tagged for we shouldn’t (and yet we do) updates. thinking of uploading every monday but it’s subject to change depending on my mood, energy and moments.

[ddejavvu]

Hey, I know you haven’t really been writing for hotch as much lately, but is there any chance you would write more of dbf!hotch x fem!reader? Maybe where they almost/do get caught by her parents (totally up to you for how and it doesn’t have to be smut)

If not no worries at all, but if you do feel like writing something like this, definitely feel free to make any changes or add on to it, thank you!! ❤️

more dbf!hotch please :) <3

--

You're sure there's worse positions that Mr. Hotchner could have caught you in, but ass-up, stuck beneath the flower box in your front garden still wouldn't have been your first choice.

"Y/N?" His voice breaks you out of your internal monologue, something along the lines of 'this fucking hose', and you startle so badly that you slam your head into the underside of the flower box.

There's a strong, warm hand on your shoulder that slips beneath your arm to pry you out of the crawlspace. "Sorry, sorry." He murmurs, guiding you out of the dirt with firm but gentle hands. You let yourself be pulled out, and when you emerge from beneath the wood you squint in the bright daylight. Aaron's staring down at you with wide, concerned eyes, probably from the impact of the dull, throbbing pain in your head.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He hums, his hand still holding your shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I- I think anything would have startled me. I wasn't paying attention."

"What were you doing?"

"The hose is stuck on an old nail down there. And I can't reach it to unhook it, and if I just yank on it it'll rip in half. I'm just trying to water the roses."

"Concussing yourself probably won't help," Aaron muses, his hand snaking up your neck to cup the back of it, "Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy, is your vision blurry?"

"I'm fine." You insist, but he kneels anyways, crouching in the dirt to meet your eyes. He looks directly into them, searching for signs of a concussion that he won't find. Your head doesn't hurt that bad, really. His hand cradling the back of your neck, his thumb pressing into your cheek, his eyes boring into yours are affecting you much more than a bump on the head. But he's satisfied with what he finds, and he nods once before letting your face go.

"Why don't you come inside and have something to eat? Your dad invited me over to watch the game."

"You mean you didn't come to help me garden?" You feign disappointment, and you feel a rush of satisfaction when he smiles, laughing breathily.

"I don't have a green thumb. Jack won't let me touch his strawberry plant for school." Aaron admits, "You don't want me anywhere near this garden."

"That's just what people say when they have one bad experience," You groan, "You could take care of a plant, you're just choosing the wrong ones."

"You have too much faith in me," Aaron calls, but it's too late, you're already walking towards the rose bed.

"Try these," You hum, snipping four roses at the base of their stems, carefully so that your fingers don't catch the thorns, "Put them in water, with plant food I'll give you inside, and try to keep them alive long enough to switch out the water. Then you can try actually growing them instead of just having them on display."

"I will try." Aaron procures a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around the roses, taking them carefully from your hands, "But I can't guarantee they won't fall apart tomorrow."

"They won't." You assure him, and you hear the screen door slam as you safely transplant the roses into Aaron's waiting hands.

"I thought I heard your car." Your dad calls, "And then i thought I heard someone slam into the side of the house."

"That was my head." You admit sheepishly, your cheeks burning as Aaron wraps your roses in his cloth and keeps them safely held to his chest, "I didn't know he was here, and I was under the house so I sort of slammed my head into the flower box."

"She's not concussed," Aaron promises, "I checked."

Your dad's expression is fond, but it's one of exasperation, and you know he's got a lecture cooking up about being aware of your surroundings. You wouldn't be surprised if you get one from Aaron too, because he's always informed you of the grittier parts of his job in an effort to keep you safe.

"Well let's all get inside before someone else nearly kills themselves," Your dad holds the door open, "Aaron, you're taking up gardening?"

"I was given orders," Aaron teases, stepping aside to let you into the house before him, "She's determined to help me grow something."

"Roses aren't always easy," Your dad glances sideways at you, "Aren't there better flowers for beginners?"

You shrug, trying to keep the movement light and casual, "Roses are what I've got. Maybe if you keep them alive, Aaron, Jack will let you farm strawberries with him."

"Not a chance." Aaron laughs, "But I'll take the roses anyways. They'll look nice on my nightstand."

And really, truthfully, that's why you'd given him roses. Maybe there's a better plant for someone who's got a shady history with gardening, but thinking of Aaron with your roses on his bedside table-? Your dad doesn't need to know.

[bau-drabbles]

dbf!hotch making you choke on his fingers after you’ve been mouthy and rude because you don’t deserve his cock 🤭💞

oral fixation goin crazyy 😵‍💫😮‍💨 sorry this is so short, i don't really know how to write for this but i tried 🥹

"aww what's the matter?? where's that attitude gone now, princess??" he's so cocky, daring you to be mouthy with him again. he just laughs when he gets another whiny moan in response, pushing his fingers in a little further into your willing mouth. he's got you on his thigh, half naked but he's still in his suit. still you grind your hips against his thigh hoping for some relief for the building ache growing by the second. he's so cruel, he stops your hips, keeping your still with his fingers in your mouth.

"what's the matter honey? you want my cock, is that it? you want me to fuck you over my lap??" he taunts, pulling his fingers out a little to give you a breath and then slamming them back into your mouth again. you suck them as best as you can in your needy state, your fingers holding his wrists while he groans softly encouraging you further. his two fingers were sliding over your tongue, chuckling at the mess you were making on his suit. but even like this, he still taste amazing. you're absolutely insatiable when it comes to him

"you look so beautiful when you're desperate for me to fuck you" he finally removes his fingers, one hand lazily unbuckling his belt while the other holds your hips steady

[mariasont]

Art of Losing Control - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is uesd to following orders, but she's never questioned why, until now. when hotch turns an academic discussion into something personal. too personal

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf!hotch, pyschological tension perhaps??, discussion of power dyanmics, dom/sub undertones, age gap, suggestive themes 4 sure, hotch lowkey putting r through an accidental bdsm awakening

wc: 2.7k

The glass was arguably frigid beneath the pads of your fingers, but it was a biting type that worked its way into your skin before your brain could catch up. You recoiled instinctively, rubbing your hand against your sleeve in a futile attempt to chase away the lingering feeling. That was pointless. The cold had already burrowed itself in. 

You were sure that was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes. But from the way the woman sat inside the room, the way she barely seemed to notice, you weren't sure exactly how effective said method was.

If the cold affected her, she didn't so much as blink. She leaned forward, elbows sinking into the scuffed metal of the table, her fingers hovering just above, twitching, like they wanted to move but hadn't yet been given permission. Impulse warring with... restraint? Maybe.

At first, you chalked it up to nerves, a subconscious tick, the body's way of trying too hard to stay still. But the longer you watched, the more convinced you became that it was something else.

She looked far too at ease for someone who'd just been arrested. No tension in her shoulders, no fight in her posture, like this was casual small talk over a morning coffee instead of answering for a crime. Her head dipped slightly, her eyes lingering on Morgan as if his words were little more than passing curiosities.

You inched closer to the glass, shifting focus to Morgan. He kept his voice perfectly tuned, soft enough to seem non-threatening, firm enough to demand attention. He was letting the conversation unfold at its own pace, drawing her in without forcing it. It reminded you of a hunter scattering bait, waiting for the trap to spring shut.

You were trying to study it, the pick apart the mechanics of it all — the inflection in his voice, the way he leaned back at just the right moments, how he allowed the silence to work for him rather than rush to fill it.

You used to think it was instinct, just something they (the best, brightest and more experienced of the BAU) had, something that can't be learned. But the longer you were here, the more you saw it for what it really was — craft, skill, an art so finely tuned it just looked like instinct.

When you looked back to the woman, you noticed it, the way she lingered on her words, shaping them slowly, like she was tasting each one before decided if it was worth sharing. 

"She's enjoying this." The words slipped out quietly, almost like an afterthought, your eyes still fixed on the suspect.

The sound behind you — low, contemplative — made you turn before you could think about turning.

Too fast. Too reactive. And suddenly, you weren't just turning you were colliding, your shoulder pressing something solid. Firm. Hotch. His chest absorbed the impact.

It sent a strange disconnect between knowing this is your boss and whatever ridiculous reaction your body had decided to have about it.

If he noticed your flustered reaction, he gave no indication, just took control of, turning you back to the glass, his palm settled between your shoulder blades.

"Tell me why you think that."

Your heart stuttered. Slamming against bone, thrumming under skin, knocking around like it didn't belong to you anymore. Heat licked up your neck, pressing at the back of your ears.

And Hotch, well, Hotch was just watching, waiting, looking at you like he expected something useful to come out of your mouth. 

Your tongue flicked across lips that felt too dry, but that didn't fix the problem.

"She's keeping the pauses in conversation long —," You exhaled, tried to make it sound normal. "Like she wants him to say more. Like she's giving him the space to take the lead."

Hotch barely tils his head. His version of a nudge. "And?"

You swallowed. He did this sometimes, gave you just enough room to think, to fumble, to find an answer on your own instead of handing it to you. It wasn't impatience, not exactly. It was how he worked, specifically how he worked you. Letting you step forward, letting you find the edge of your own thought before deciding whether or not to pull you back.

You leaned closer to the glass, tracking every detail, letting yourself see her the way he would.

"She keeps touching her lips. Not absentmindedly, but... like she wants to draw attention to them." Hotch said nothing, so you keep going. "She tilts her head, too, just a little, lets her neck show when she laughs."

"Good."

It was just one word. Barely even a murmur. Almost nothing. But it still gets in, slipping into that deep, secret part of you where validation and want blur together, where approval doesn't need to be loud to matter.

And it's not even praise exactly, but it's close enough. And that's all it takes, just that tiny, electric satisfaction sparking along your spine, pulling you upright, nudging your chin a fraction higher. Like something inside of your had been set right without you even realizing.

Then, his voice again. "What else?"

You hesitate, not because you don't know what you're looking for, but because you're trying to separate what you see from what it means.

Your eyes flick lower, and you see the way she presses her thighs together, holds, then releases. It was hardly there, like she was just getting comfortable in the chair. But she does it again, right after Morgan leans forward, his voice dropping, guiding the conversation exactly where he wants it.

You roll the scene over in your mind, trying to pin down exactly what you're seeing, trying to slot it into something else. Engagement. Focus. Attentiveness. It could be any of those things. It could be nothing.

But her lips part, not to speak, not to react, but to breathe. It’s so slight, just enough to let in more air, just enough to give away what she’s feeling. You might have missed it if you hadn't been looking for something, but now it's all you can see.

You swallow, and now not only are your lips dry, but your mouth is too, because you know what you're looking at now.

And you should say it, because that is what profiling is, isn't it? Identifying behavior, understanding it, giving it a name.

But you hesitate, because where you grew up, girls didn't talk about this.

They didn't acknowledge it, didn't name it, didn't let it exist in spaces where they were allowed to be seen. You were raised to be polished, poised, proper. To sit with your legs crossed, to smile without showing too much, and certainly to ignore the things that weren't mean to be spoked aloud.

"She's reacting to him," you say finally, fingers catching on the necklace at your collarbone, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger. You took the cowardly way out. "To the way he talks. She likes that he’s leading.”

You don't wait for Hotch to confirm your words, because the question is already pressing forward, unfiltered.

"But if she's not in control," you say, almost to yourself. "Wouldn't that make her less interested?"

"Not necessarily." Hotch shakes his head. "Interest is subjective. Sometimes it increases when control is taken out of their hands."

"She's aroused." Hotch continues, completely detached, "because she enjoys the feeling of someone else guiding the interaction. It changes the way she experiences the conversation. Instead of leading, she's reacting. Instead of deciding, she's anticipating. That shift can heighten emotional and physical response."

Your body freezes. It shouldn't, but it does. Because he says it so plainly, so unbothered. Aroused. Just another word, just another observation. He could be talking about stress responses, about interview techniques, about anything other than this. But it feels different. Sounds different, slipping from his mouth in that low, even tone of his. 

And maybe that's why your jacket feels too heavy now, why your face feels too warm, why his hand at the top of your spine feels less stable and more like something you can't bring yourself to move from.

She likes giving up control.

That's what he said. That's what makes this work for her. And you hear it, you process it, but you don't get. Not in the way you should. She enjoys it, but how? You've spent your whole life gripping control with both hands, holding it tight enough to leave imprints on your skin.

Growing up, your parents had been distant in different ways, your mother preoccupied with appearances, your father preoccupied with, well, everything else. So, you handled things yourself. Your grades. Your future. Your emotions. You made the decisions, because no one else would make them for you.

But Hotch. Hotch was different.

Your trust in him didn't require thought, didn't need justification. It just was. You listen when he speaks. You follow his orders before you've even processed them. You let him decide things for you, choices you hadn't even realized you wanted made. When he told you to slow down, you did. When he told you to push harder, you gave more. You want his approval, but it’s deeper than that.

You didn't just follow him, you let him lead you. And that should feel strange. It should make you second-guess yourself, make you want to push back. But you don't. You never have.

And that feels like something you should've noticed sooner, a part that you don't quite know what to do with.

You open your mouth. Then shut it.

It's a stupid question, it must be. Because he just explained it, because it's obvious, because she enjoys it, because that's just how some people are.

And still, Hotch, who hasn’t even looked at you, hasn’t moved an inch, somehow notices. Somehow knows. "You don't have to filter your thoughts."

You pause for just a second, lips pressing together, trying to gauge whether this is a question worth asking. It feels too big. Or maybe too personal. Like voicing it might crack something open that you haven’t even looked at yet. But you can’t stop it now.

"Why do people like that?"

"Because for some people, control is synonymous with stress," Hotch says. "It's a constant demand, predicting outcomes, making the right decisions, managing not just their own expectations, but those of everyone around them. Being able to defer that to someone else, to trust that another person will handle it, removes the weight of responsibility."

You shouldn’t be applying this to yourself. Shouldn’t be peeling apart his words and trying to fit them around something  familiar. But you are.

"So, if someone's always been in control, they start to..." You hesitate, grasping for something else, some other explanation. "What? Get tired of it?"

"It's not uncommon. If control has always been a requirement, not a choice, then relinquishing it, at least in certain aspects, can feel like a sort of freedom for them."

You press your teeth into the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to slow your thoughts.

"And this kind of thing, it doesn't just appear out of nowhere, right? It has to come from somewhere?"

Hotch nods. "Most behavioral patterns do. Sometimes it's environmental, sometimes it's developed naturally. Sometimes it's learned through relationships. And sometimes, it’s an adaptation. A response to an environment where they had no choice but to take care of themselves. Where emotional needs were ignored or never considered at all."

Your breathing quickens. Not in a bad way. Not exactly.

It's just strange, hearing something you've never put into words, something you've never even considered, be said so matter-of-factly. There was something unnerving about hearing your life, your past experiences boiled down into a single sentence.

It makes you feel exposed. Which is ridiculous, he wasn't talking to you. It's just behavior. It's just patterns. It's just psychology. It's not personal. It's not.

"But why would someone be... aroused by that?"

You barely recognize your own voice. The words came out too fast, too eager, and the second they hit the air, you regret them. You weren't supposed to ask that, weren't supposed to say that and certainly weren’t supposed to let it sound like something you needed an answer to.

But the word was out now and the world didn’t seem to collapse around you.

Hotch doesn't even blink. "The connection between submission and arousal is well-documented. Less control means less overthinking. Less overthinking means more sensation. More sensation leads to a heightened response.”

You shift slightly. His hand feels like it was burning through the layers of your jacket.

"And it's not something you should hesitate to discuss." He glances to you, his voice doesn't change, doesn't dip into anything resembling awkwardness, and somehow that only intensifies the heat pressing against your skin. "You can't be afraid of conversations like this. Understanding human behavior means understanding all of it. Power, desire, submission, these things drive people as much as fear or anger. If you hesitate to recognize them, you won't see them when it matters."

You hate that you reacted in the first place. Hate that he noticed. Hate that now, whether you like it or not, there’s something you feel the need to prove—to fix.

"I wasn't —," You exhale sharply, shaking your head as if that would rewind the last ten minutes. "I just — I didn't mean to sound like that. I know it's important. I —" Another sharp inhale. "Sorry. I don't know—,"

You turn, just barely, and it’s a mistake. Immediate. Total. Because now you’re looking at him — fully, completely — and something inside you tilts like gravity just shifted.

Your body brushes his, and somehow, somehow, he still feels bigger than he should be. Like he takes up too much space, like if you moved an inch closer, you'd disappear into him completely.

He hasn't moved. That's the worst part. He hasn't adjusted, hasn't shifted, hasn't done a thing except exist, and yet, he's there, encompassing and suffocating in a way you don't hate. Your breath catches and you know he hears it.

For a second, just a second (maybe even a millisecond), so brief it could be imagined, his lashes dipped before lifting again. You think his fingers twitch at his side. Maybe. But then, it's gone, erased before you could be sure.

"I'm not criticizing you," Hotch says, and you believe him. "You don't need to apologize or justify yourself to me. You're still learning, and I want you to be able to recognize things like this without hesitating. That's all."

You nod, but it's not fully a nod, more like the start of one before you think better of it. 

"I'm sorry," you say instantly, the words automatic, before you can think about them. "I don't want you to think I'm not taking this seriously."

Hotch doesn't sigh, doesn't scold, doesn't soften. He just looks at you, giving you a beat, like he's waiting to see if you'll realize what you just did, if you’ll take back the apology yourself.

When you don’t, he says simply, "That's not what I said. I know you take this seriously. I wouldn't be having this conversation with you if I thought otherwise."

You should move. You need to move.

Your brain fires off the warning like an emergency flare, but your body stays put. You know you should step back, break the tension, say something that makes this feel normal again.

But Hotch hasn't moved either. Hasn't stepped away, hasn't broken his gaze, hasn't done anything but watch you.

Your lips part, a breath catching on the back of your throat. You don't know what you're about to say, maybe something stupid, maybe something honest, maybe something you wouldn't even understand until it was too late.

Before you can, the door opens.

"Hotch?"

The moment snaps. Shatters. Like glass under pressure, breaking apart before you even get the chance to understand what you were standing in. Whatever was there, if there was anything, vanishes in an instant.

Emily stands at the door, her expression unreadable.

"Rossi's asking for you."

Hotch steps away, and the moment his hand leaves you, the cold rushes in like a shock to your system. You don't realize how warm you'd been until it's gone. Until you're left with this.

You don't move. Not right away. Because for a second, you feel off-balance, like stepping away will make something shift, something collapse, but that's ridiculous. Irrational, even. You shake it off, press your lips together, fingers moving before you shove them back to your sleeves. Back to the cold you should have never stopped noticing.

It was always freezing in here. That was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[aureatelys]

summer lovin'

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

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

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

read below or on ao3 here <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he is now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better come before your dad gets back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d that girl get to now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

[alinathinkstoomuch]

APPLE SLICES & SILENT VICES

pairing: dbf!bodyguard!hotch x reader summary: it started out as a sleepless night and a midnight snack, and ended with your bodyguard standing between your legs in your dad's kitchen. wanings | an: suggestive, age gap, power imbalance, r gets turned on by hotch peeling an apple (she's just like me fr), shoutout to all my shawties with a nut allergy - i am magically erasing it just for this fic, sorry babies!!! word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

especially from 2:57 onwards

You couldn’t sleep. The pillows were too flat and somehow too full all at once. The left side of the bed felt wrong, and the right wasn’t any better. You hated sleeping on your back, but every time you turned over, the sheets twisted tighter around your legs like they were trying to hold you down.

Even your pyjamas were uncooperative—clinging to your skin in all the wrong places, too warm where you didn’t want them to be and not warm enough where you did.

Everything felt off. The room felt foreign, despite it being yours for years, and the air was too still. Even the glass of water on your nightstand had gone warm, like it had given up on you too.

With the deepest sigh you could manage at quarter to one, you threw off the covers and climbed out of the bed that was doing more harm than good. The sheets tangled at your ankles like they wanted you to stay, but you ignored them and padded your way downstairs, hoping the kitchen would offer a little more peace than your bedroom ever could.

The house was too quiet without your father in it, no footsteps pacing down the hall, no muffled phone calls bleeding through the walls. He’d left for the weekend, some conference or retreat, you hadn’t really listened. You just remembered the part where he said, “Hotch will stay here, just in case.”

Hotch was your version of a nanny—if nannies were ex-FBI agents who still carried guns.

It was excessive, honestly. The whole bodyguard thing. You weren’t a diplomat’s daughter or some heiress under threat, just a girl with a last name people recognised in the right circles. But your father insisted, always had. And it didn’t help that they were good friends.

For your dad, having Hotch around probably felt like catching up with a buddy over coffee—or whiskey. For you, it meant not being able to run to the store without a full-scale security protocol and a man whose version of small talk was a silent nod.

And now, with your father gone, he was somewhere in this house. Asleep, maybe. Or awake and reading reports on people who weren’t even after you.

You rolled your eyes to yourself.

Ridiculous.

Making your way towards the kitchen, you didn’t see any lights on—so naturally, you weren’t expecting anyone else to be awake. Which is why you nearly screamed when a low voice cut through the silence.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jumped back, hand flying to your chest. “Jesus Christ—what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hotch didn’t flinch. He stood there, perfectly still in the faint glow pouring in from the garden lights outside, one hand curled around a mug like he’d been there for hours.

“Is that coffee, or did you finally crack open the good stuff?” you asked, moving past him to the fridge.

“Decaf.”

You pulled a face, grabbing the water jug. “Decaf? Do you ever just switch off?”

“I do,” he said simply.

You arched a brow as you poured yourself a glass. “When?”

“Now.”

You let out a laugh, the sound feeling almost illicit in the hush of the room, too human for the hour.

Of course this was his idea of switching off—standing in a dark kitchen at one in the morning, drinking lukewarm decaf like it was some kind of ritual. Or maybe routine. Aaron Hotchner struck you as the kind of man who followed routines with concerning precision.

You took a sip and turned, leaning your back against the counter so you could face him fully.

He still hadn’t moved, mug in hand, gaze fixed on you, or maybe just past you. It was always hard to tell with him. He had that maddening ability to look like he was paying no attention at all while somehow catching everything.

Even the traitorous sound of your stomach rumbling.

He narrowed his eyes at you.

You sighed and set your glass down. “Guess water doesn’t count as dinner.”

“Did you skip it again?”

“I wasn’t hungry earlier.”

You reached for an apple from the fruit bowl. “Don’t even think about judging me,” you called over your shoulder. “I’m about to make the best midnight snack of all time.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he replied, and you caught the quiet clink of his mug being set down.

“I know that face,” you argued, pulling a knife from the drawer and setting it down beside the cutting board.

“I don’t think you should be using knives in the dark.”

Before you could squint in protest, the overhead lights turned on, painfully washing everything in a harsh yellow brightness. You blinked against it, eyes adjusting.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. 

He was closer now. Not near, exactly. But close enough for you to notice the way the first few buttons of his dress shirt were undone, a crisp white undershirt peeking through. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, the fabric soft and worn, like it had moulded to the shape of him over the day.

You pulled the apple towards you and reached for the knife again, fingers curling around the handle like you actually knew what you were doing.

You hated the skin—always had—but never bothered to learn how to peel it properly. Too impatient, too clumsy, too willing to just eat around it, even if the texture made your teeth itch.

There was a peeler somewhere in the kitchen—three drawers over, maybe four—but with him watching, you didn’t dare go searching for it. You’d rather struggle in silence than look incompetent.

Your pride was a powerful thing.

You set the blade to the apple and sliced it in half. Then angled one half to cut it again when his voice stopped you.

“Aren’t you going to peel it first?”

You froze, the knife hovering mid-air. “Oh yeah,” you replied quickly, like that had always been the plan. “Obviously.”

He didn’t respond, but you didn’t need to look up from the cutting board to know he was watching you.

Clamping your bottom lip between your teeth, you rearranged the apple in your hand and dragged the blade along the edge with an unsteady hand. The skin peeled off in thin, uneven curls.

Frustrated, you adjusted your hold and tried again—only for the blade to slip and nick your thumb.

“Fuck,” you hissed, and without thinking you brought your thumb to your lips, gently sucking the sting away, brows pinched together in annoyance.

And then you looked up.

A mistake.

Hotch was still watching, his expression devoid of any indication of what he was or wasn’t thinking. But you swore, just for a second, his gaze dipped from your mouth to your thumb still pressed against it, and then slowly back up to your eyes.

There was nothing overt about it. Nothing inappropriate. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. But the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, and now you were acutely aware of your thumb at your lips.

“Let me see.”

You pulled your hand away, thumb slipping from your mouth and wiggled it in his direction. “It’s fine. Barely broke the skin.”

He was already moving, rounding the kitchen island. When he stopped next to you, he nodded towards your hand again.

Reluctantly, and maybe a little more flustered than you wanted to admit you held it out again, palm up, thumb turned towards him.

He didn’t touch it. Not yet.

But it felt like he had, the way his gaze settled on the barely-there cut like it was something delicate. Important. His eyes traced the mark, and somehow that was worse than if he'd used his hands. You swore you felt the heat of it bloom under your skin, like his stare alone could draw blood.

It had to be some kind of magic—or straight-up voodoo—because your hand began to burn beneath his attention. So much so that you pulled it back instinctively, a breath catching in your throat before you could stop it.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why, didn’t press. Instead, he reached forward, hand bypassing yours completely and picked up the root of your minor injury and your embarrassingly half-peeled apple.

The blade glided beneath the apple’s skin in one smooth motion, peeling it away in perfect ribbons.

You watched him in silence, barely breathing each time his fingers adjusted their grip, every shift in pressure causing the veins along his forearm to flex. The silence wrapped around you both, thick and strangely intimate, broken only by the soft scrape of steel against fruit.

“You don’t have to pretend to know how to do everything,” he said quietly, eyes still on the apple.

There was no judgement in his voice, just a fact, a simple truth wrapped in something that felt surprisingly gentle.

“I suppose not,” you murmured, hopping up onto the counter beside him, letting your legs dangle freely.

“I could teach you,” he offered, still not looking at you.

You stilled.

At the way he said it.

At the words themselves.

He finished peeling the last strip and sliced the apple into even wedges.

“How to peel the skin off with a knife,” he added, like that clarification would make the moment feel less…whatever it was becoming.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse. Or better.

You weren’t sure which.

“Please,” you breathed, then nodded—eyes basking in the way his jaw was set, how it tensed as he focused.

You were not thinking about apples anymore.

He finally looked at you then and without a word, picked up the other half of the apple you’d failed to peel. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you and the counter until he was just one step away from standing between your legs.

“Here.” He held the apple out to you in one hand, the knife in the other. “Have another go.”

You took the fruit first, then the knife—the handle still warm from his grip—and you almost dropped them both when his fingers brushed against your wrist.

You tried not to fumble again as you adjusted your hold, tried not to think about the space between your knees and how it had suddenly become his.

“Start at the top,” he murmured, eyes fixed on your hands. “Let the blade find its edge. Don’t force it.”

You swallowed and nodded, pretending the words didn’t land somewhere deeper than they should have.

You set the knife to the skin and dragged it down slowly, letting it curl away in a delicate ribbon.

“That’s it,” he said softly.

The words sank into your skin like heat.

Then his hand came to your wrist again, his fingers threading with yours as he guided your grip. “Keep the pressure even,” he instructed. “If you’re too rough, it’ll break. Too light…and it won’t do anything at all.”

Your breath stuttered in your chest.

Were the two of you two still talking about peeling apples?

When you looked up at him—his eyes already on you—you weren’t sure he knew either.

Your hand trembled slightly under his touch, and whether he noticed or simply felt it, he let go. His fingers brushed away from your skin, only to rest on the edge of the counter beside your thigh.

“Don’t rush it. Take your time. Let it come off in one smooth line.”

He might as well have been speaking directly to your pulse.

You turned your focus back to the knife, guiding it carefully along the curve of the apple. The skin began to peel away—uneven but still intact. You angled the fruit, adjusting your hold so the peels would fall onto the cutting board beside you and in doing so, your thigh shifted just enough to press lightly against his hand.

He didn’t move.

His hand remained exactly where it was, fingers loose and relaxed against the counter, like the contact hadn’t happened at all, or like he was choosing not to acknowledge it.

“Keep going,” he encouraged. “You’re doing fine.”

So you did. You kept going, though your mind was split in half between the apple in your grip and the warmth of his hand still resting beside your thigh.

When the last strip of peel dropped to the cutting board, you exhaled slowly, setting the knife down beside it.

“See? You’re learning.”

Your voice came out low and a little unsteady. “Only because you’re a good teacher.”

“It helps when you actually listen instead of fighting me on everything,” he replied dryly, stepping away to move towards the pantry. “Peanut butter?”

You nodded automatically then paused, realising he couldn’t see you with his back turned. “Yeah,” you said aloud, your voice softer now. “Please.”

While he moved, you turned your attention back to the apple, quietly cutting your half into wedges. You didn’t climb down from the counter, didn’t want to. You were too comfortable, and the slow, deliberate ache between your thighs didn’t feel like it wanted to be disturbed just yet.

He returned and set the jar down beside the cutting board, unscrewing the lid and placing it neatly to the side. You dipped the knife into the jar, dragging out a thick swirl of peanut butter and began swirling dollops onto the apple slices.

You picked one up—maybe as a reward for your hard work, or maybe just to distract yourself from how hard you were worked up.

You took a bite and gestured toward the cutting board before you did something stupid, like offer him a slice from your hands.

He grabbed the one with the least amount of peanut butter and the two of you went silent, mouths full. Your mind still hadn’t caught up since that first gentle, “I could teach you.”

He moved before you could, stepping away from the counter to grab a small plate from the cabinet. You watched him intently as he returned, methodically placing the remaining slices onto it.

“You kicking me out of my own kitchen?” you asked, half-jokingly.

“I am. But only because it’s late and you need the rest.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, then hopped down from the counter. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t ruin the rare streak of me listening.”

You turned to grab a paper towel, wiping your fingers slowly, fully aware of how your pyjama shorts had ridden up when you jumped down. And you did nothing to fix them. Didn’t tug at the hem. Didn’t cover your legs.

When you turned to face him again, his eyes were on yours and not anywhere they shouldn’t be. But the way his fists were clenched told you they might’ve slipped elsewhere when you weren’t looking.

You grabbed your apple slices, heading for the door. “Same time tomorrow?”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @beahotchner @yourallaround-simp @percysley

post-run activities with hotch & fake!fiancee!reader coming up next to an alina-blog near you!🌟

dividers by cafekitsune

[cimmanonrowl]

dbf!hotch where you have to be quick n quiet bc your parents are next door, and he's only staying for one night. heavy w the smut and tension 🤭

So It Goes...

It was summer break from University and you were home to spend time with your parents. And maybe Aaron was just as clingy as you because you woke up one morning with him in your room, admiring you in your sleep. And the night you spent together didn’t disappoint either.

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x bfd!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, secret relationship, sweet dom!aaron, sneaky, unprotected sex, cowgirl, creampie, gagging, oral (f) receiving.

The soft, feather-like touch on your cheek pulled you from the depths of sleep. The caress was gentle, almost ghostly, yet enough to rouse you even if you were unconscious.

“There she is…” you heard someone say; a familiar deep voice, soft and whispery. “Good morning, baby.”

Your eyes fluttered open, groaning lightly to yourself, while the hazy remnants of sleep gave way to early morning light filtering through your bedroom drapes. Someone’s warm hand still rested lightly on your face, occasionally rubbing your cheek with the back of their fingers. And your heart skipped a beat as you became fully aware of the presence, with the uncanny feeling of being watched.

“Aaron?” you grumbled, confusion threading through your voice. 

Blinking away the blur of sleep, you slowly whipped your head to the side. Only to be greeted by a sight that almost instantly knocked a breath out of your chest.

You rubbed your eyes quickly, half expecting him to vanish, a figment of your frail imagination. But he was still there, smiling softly at you, his eyes crinkling at the very corner. His affectionate gaze narrowed down on your face alone, full of tenderness that melted away any lingering drowsiness in your brain.

“Aaron? W-what— what?”

“Hey…” he murmured, chuckling a little as he saw your baffled reaction, his voice deep and soothing as always. “I’m sorry, I just... I couldn’t wait to see you."

Your heart warmed with a mix of joy and confusion, but also a pang of worry. How did he even manage to sneak into your room, you don’t know. But here he was, tucking the stray strand of hair behind your ear, staring back at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. It feels surreal, like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice still groggy and croaky from sleep.

You know for sure that you look like a mess. Maybe with a drool at the corner of your mouth, or a trace of sleep in your eyes. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Aaron was looking at you like this, not when all you see is love and longing, not with the fact that your parents must be somewhere downstairs waiting for you both to come down and join them for breakfast.

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound of a sweet melody to your ears. “I missed you,” was all he said, as if that explains everything. 

And knowing your boyfriend, maybe it does.

You reached up, your hand covering his on your cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “I missed you too,” you admitted, “But how? Where’s Dad? Mom? How did you get here?”

You kept glancing towards the door after your question, imagining it to burst open at any moment; your father with a rifle in his hands, your mother crying behind him. You shuddered at the image; it was surely exaggerated, and not exactly how you planned for them to know your relationship with Aaron.

“They went out to the local market,” he explained shortly, frowning as he noticed the worry lines on your face. “They’re buying meat and groceries for their anniversary party later. Your Mom told me to get some rest instead of helping them; saw my chance and sneaked in.”

Just with what you heard, relief and excitement coursed through your veins. So you’re here all alone with Aaron, and the house is silent and empty. You can’t help but feel a thrill at the audacity of it all. “We still have to be careful,” you said, although your voice carried a hint of anticipation.

Aaron’s smile turned a bit more mischievous, his fingers tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “I know, princess,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But right now, it’s just you and me.”

“Oh?” your eyebrows perked as you picked up the insinuation. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

The smirk on his face grew at the challenge. And his touch lingered, the warmth of his hand spreading through you. His eyes darkened with desire, and you feel a similar heat rising within you.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is not to touch you while you sleep?”

You snorted. “Oh, shut up. Bet I look like a troll.”

“Hey, don’t speak to my girlfriend like that,” he scolded lightheartedly, pinching the side of your stomach. “You always look like an angel.”

You tried hiding your blush with an eye roll.

There he is again with his confessions; sweet, little words dripping like honey in this early morning. With Aaron, those words never felt forced, never felt like an empty expression. Maybe it has to do with the way he says it, or the way he never tore his imploring gaze away from you, or maybe you trust him so much that you willingly listen to everything he says. With no complaints. No doubts.

Aaron leaned in slowly, “I’ve missed you so much, baby. My bed feels empty without you.”

“It’s only been two weeks, Aaron.”

He frowned as if that insulted him, his thick eyebrows tugging together. “Your point being?”

“You’re clingy,” you laughed in amusement, tipping your face away from him, avoiding his lips that kept chasing yours.

A firm grip on your hip stopped you from moving.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, a confused frown still plastered on his face. “I’m trying to kiss you.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

“And do I look like I care?”

“Ew,” you scrunched your nose to feign disgust. “Really, love?”

“Sweetheart, I eat my own cum as it drip down your ass. Do you think—”

You slapped both of your palms on your face, groaning at his words. What the hell. You expected a different response. Not these dirty, crude words. Why would he even say that?

“Aaron!”

“What?” he only laughed– he always does, he always enjoyed seeing you blush like a tomato. “It’s true, sweetheart. What do you think will stop me from tasting you?”

Just as he said, it’s true. Nothing has ever stopped him from showing you love and pleasuring you. He’s always got to have his hand on your body, on your waist, on your thighs; his lips on yours, or your skin; his head buried at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, and most of the time, in between your legs, eating your cunt.

“Whatever, old man. Come here,” you giggled, pulling his neck, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly soft kiss. The softness of the contact sent a shiver all over your body, awakening a hunger that has been building up ever since the summer break began.

Aaron’s hand slipped from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and deepening the kiss.

The house was wrapped in silence, yet the idea of doing something so illicit and dangerous under your parent’s roof made you tremble in anxiety– or was it pleasure? You don’t know. You can’t seem to know. Not with Aaron’s hand kneading your breasts, not with his lips trailing down to your pulsing cunt.

Your discarded underwear lay forgotten on the floor. And Aaron’s head finally nestled between your thighs, his breath hot against your wet and throbbing pussy. His calloused hands rested firmly on your hips, and the first flick of his tongue against your clit sent shivers rising from the soft surface of your skin.

“Fuck, baby. You taste so good,” Aaron murmured, his voice deep and raspy as he glanced up.

His words crumbled your resolution, with Aaron’s expert lips and tongue moving with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, exploring every inch of your cunt as if he had it all memorized– which he does. Every flick and twirl of his tongue, the vibration of his pleasured groans against your wetness, the desperate pleas that escaped your lips— he knows it all.

“Aaron…” you breathed, your voice trembling in a brimful of desire and need. “Don’t stop.”

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling through the soft strands as you guided him closer, deeper. You bucked your hips abstractedly, creating an even more delicious friction. It was all overwhelming, full of ecstasy after two weeks of spending time away from each other. Aaron’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, watching you fall into pieces, a drunk look present in his eyes.

“I won’t, angel...” he promised. “I want you to feel everything.”

The secrecy almost felt sacred. The early morning light painted everything in a soft, dreamy glow, blurring the lines between your reality and both of your desires.

You watched him lick two of his fingers before slowly prodding them inside of your wet, dripping cunt. Aaron took your heavy moan and the satisfaction in your face as a signal to assault your pussy just the way he knows you like it, reaching spots that made you see stars behind your eyelids.

“God, I missed this… missed you...” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you felt your orgasm rising, building fast and deliberately. “A-Aaron… faster… please…”

The firmness of his touch, his caresses, his very presence; as the sensations built within you, you knew nothing could ever make you give up this moment.

All the while, his eyes held yours, tender and full of desire. “Whatever you want, baby,” his voice even softer as he said, “I’ll give you everything.”

The heavy smell of grilled meat and the sound of laughter filled the air as you stepped into the garden, wearing only a short, breezy dress that fluttered around your thighs with each step. The barbecue party is in full swing, with your family and some other neighbors gathered around, chatting and enjoying the warm afternoon. Your parents are busy at the grill, flipping burgers and ribs, chatting with each other, and laughing.

You quickly scanned the garden and spotted Aaron. He’s engaged in conversation with a small crowd of men, but as if sensing your gaze on him, his eyes quickly found yours. A warm, secretive smile spreads across his face, sending a flutter through your chest.

As you move through the crowd, greeting some of your neighbors and grabbing a plate of food, you can’t help but feel Aaron’s eyes on you. Oh, you knew that his eyes were on you. The dress you chose wasn’t just for comfort in the summer heat; it was an attempt to catch his attention, to feel his gaze, to make sure he was on the tip of his toes.

You found a seat at one of the picnic tables under the shade of an old tree. Aaron casually made his way over, each of his steps languid, his movements seemingly unhurried. And when he took the seat across from you, his leg brushed against yours under the table, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“Everything looks delicious,” you tried keeping your voice steady, your eyes flicking to his with a knowing look. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Hmm…” he nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. His foot nudges yours playfully, hidden from the view of the others.

“Stop,” you chuckled, shaking your head at his childishness.

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I know.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “How cocky.”

Throughout the small gathering, the two of you stole clandestine glances. There isn’t a moment where you felt Aaron wasn’t paying attention to you. Occasionally, Aaron’s hand would graze yours when reaching for the salad bowl or the pitcher of lemonade, each touch brief and only for a lingering moment.

At one point, you excused yourself to grab yourself a drink. As you walked past by Aaron, you felt his hand subtly brush the small of your back, a fleeting touch that sent a thrill through your pulsing cunt. You can feel your underwear slowly getting soaked in anticipation for tonight, as you already know he’s staying.

You glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes, and saw the same spark of desire mirroring in there.

The afternoon crawled excruciatingly slow, and as the sun began to set, the sky a pale hue of salmon and lilac, the guests started to gather around the fire pit. You took a seat on a wooden bench, with Aaron joining you shortly after. 

He sat beside you.

A bold move.

You became hyperaware of everything: the closeness of his body next to yours, the occasional brush of his hairy arm, the deep rumble of his laughter as he chimed in the conversations of others. Nobody seemed to mind why Aaron chose to sit beside you of all places. Nobody even batted an eye. But for some reason, it made your toes tingle in anxiety.

Your parents are nearby, laughing and sharing stories with their other friends, blissfully unaware of the castle of dirty thoughts you built in honor of your father’s dear best friend. God, it feels so wrong. But you’d let the whole world crumble to dust than let go of this feeling.

As the sky darkened, you found a moment when the two of you were left alone. Aaron leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant only for your ears.

“You okay, baby? You’re quiet,” he observed, his eyes scanning your face with worry.

“I’m fine...” a shy smile played on your lips. “Enough with the beer now, please. You look red.”

A smile rose on his lips as he nodded, setting down the half-finished bottle on the ground to follow your order. When his attention landed on you again, you mirrored the smile tugging on his lips.

His hand found yours under the bench, fingers intertwining in a gesture that’s both innocent and intimate. “I wish we could be together openly,” he whispered, his thumb gently rubbing soft circles on your knuckles.

“Someday, yeah?” you whispered back, squeezing his hand. “Are you tired of this?”

“No, Jesus Christ,” he whispered, almost to himself, voice quiet and absentminded. “But it reminds me you’re graduating in a few months.”

“Right, can’t wait to escape that hell.”

Aaron snorted, throwing you a glance. “You wanted to enter law school, remember?”

“Because I wanted to impress my now boyfriend, remember?”

His eyes softened, and you could see amusement and affection filtering through them. “You didn’t have to impress me, baby, you’ve got me at the palm of your hand,” was what he said, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

The party went on until the evening. The faint sounds of the gathering still lingered in your mind— all the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the stolen glances between you and Aaron. Your heart fluttered as you recalled his eyes meeting yours across the crowded yard, his piercing eyes observing you from afar.

You laid in bed, feeling your pulse quicken as you waited, the anticipation almost too much to bear. Then, you heard it— a gentle knock on your door. 

You rose quietly, wincing at the sound of your bedsheet rustling upon your movements. In quick strides, you crossed the room and swung the door carefully, so softly, until there he was again. In front of you.

“Hi,” you whispered, a smile spreading across your face. “Come in.”

Aaron locked the door behind him, and the room felt suddenly warmer, his presence filling the space with a palpable energy. You stepped closer, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“What a torture...” Aaron murmured lazily, his lips brushing against your ear. “Wanted to be near you every second.”

“Huh,” you said teasingly, poking the side of his ribs. “And you dare say I’m the clingy one in this relationship?”

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both gentle and intense. The heat made you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss, letting yourself lose your mind in his warmth and touch.

Aaron’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

“Oh, please, baby. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He led you to the bed with guided steps. Aaron’s touch was tender, the fingers trailing over your skin made your heart ache, and your cunt pulse in hot desire.

You looked into his eyes, finding a reflection of your own need. His gaze was affectionate yet filled with an intensity that made blood rush to your cheeks.

“Need you...” your voice was barely audible in the stillness. “Fuck me good, baby.”

He smiled, a slow, intimate curve of his lips that made you catch your breath. “With your parents next door? Sound dangerous…” he replied softly, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a sweet kiss.

You could feel the tension of the day melting away. Aaron’s hands moved slowly as if he was savoring every moment, every touch. He kissed a trail from your lips to your jaw, and down to your neck, his breath warm against your skin, leaving a wet path in its wake.

As his kisses grew more insistent, you felt a wildfire ignite within you, the desire that had simmered all day finally threatening to spill. You pulled him closer, even more closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss with a pace that matched his own.

While Aaron’s hands roamed around your body with such possessiveness, the only sounds in your room were the soft rustle of sheets and your quiet whining. He explored every inch of your skin with a silent plan to conquer. To take. To remind you how you and your body are his and his alone.

“Be quiet, little girl, or I’ll gag you,” his eyes darkened with warning. “Can’t have your parents know their good girl is a dirty slut, can we?” he mumbled hotly in your ears.

“Y-yes, sir...”

You lifted your hips as you felt his hands playing with the waistband of your underwear. And you couldn’t do anything when he said “Open up wide,” and slipped the crumpled fabric of your soaked underwear inside your mouth.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, hm?” he whispered again, his voice soft yet taunting.

And you could only nod because your words were caught right in your throat. Literally.

Aaron moved swiftly and with urgency this time, as he was aware of the risk of what you were doing. It was exhilarating; sharing this secret, him forcing you to keep quiet— you’ve never been quiet, not when his big, girthy cock stretched you wide, ramming in and out of your tight pussy.

“Fuck, baby, so warm…” Aaron grumbled lowly, biting on his hand as you sank deeper into his cock.

You kneaded on your tits, rubbed your nipples as you stared back at Aaron, lowering yourself to ride his hard cock. A low whimper rumbled in your chest as you felt the burn of the stretch, your moans muffled by the fabric serving as your gag for tonight.

“That’s it, angel, move your hips like that. Fuck,” Aaron closed his eyes as he felt your cunt tighten with your slow movements. “Fucking hell, baby. You’ll kill me one day.”

You started bouncing on his cock in no time, fast and hard, feeling his hands on your thighs tighten in restraint. Your air flow was restricted by the gag on your mouth, making you breathe heavily, noisily, accompanied by the quiet flapping of sweaty skin and Aaron’s pleasured grunts.

“Fuck. Fucking hell, angel…” he groaned as he spread his knees and started fucking into you.

Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as he prodded the spots only he could reach. With bleary eyes, you watched how Aaron bit his lower lip and how his hips fucked into you with vigor, with the same need, struggling so hard to contain his noises.

Your eyes lingered on the solid plains of his hairy chest and rested your palm on the soft surface of his stomach, moving your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. Warm tears streamed down your cheeks with pleasure, with the nagging voice at the back of your head warning you not to make a mistake. To be quiet. To not ruin the moment.

Yet it’s all too much.

“You’re doing good for me, baby. You’re so gorgeous…” Aaron cooed as he noticed your tears. “You’re so tight. Fuck, you’re close already?”

You nodded dumbly, too fucked to even understand everything he just said.

“Go on then. Cum for me, baby,” Aaron smiled, slapping your thighs lightly. “That’s it, good girl. Ride my cock like that. Fucking hell, what a slut.”

You tried warning him. You wanted to tell him you’re close. To go faster. Harder. To let you come. To give you everything. To beg. But your quiet pleas were muffled, leaving a deep rumble of amused laughter on Aaron’s chest.

“What’s that, slut? Can’t hear you,” he taunted softly. “What do you think your parents would think if they saw you like this, hmm?”

You whined and whimpered as your thighs burned from the effort, finally letting Aaron take the control.

“I’m so close, baby... fuck, feels so good...” he too was breathing heavily. “Come for me, come on. Good girl. Tighten the cunt even more– like that, fuck!”

White hot pleasure blurred your vision as you felt your orgasm coursed through you. You felt Aaron tremble beneath your body, his hot load flooding your insides, his warm hand exploring your sweaty skin with a devotion that left you breathless.

“My jaw hurts…” you pouted as he gently took out the fabric on your mouth and tucked your face in the crook of his neck. “I love it, though.”

Aaron chuckled at your whiny voice. “I know it’s wrong but that’s so hot, darling.”

“I know…” you giggled weakly, feeling the palm of his hands roam at the surface of your back. “Can we do it again? I wanna... ride your stomach. Please, sir, can I? Didn’t you say I’m your good girl?”

Sorry for the long wait but thank you to Anon who requested this! As always, your replies, reblogs, and reactions are very much appreciated. See you on the next ones!

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover part 2 - dbf!hotch x fem!reader

18+ minors dni!

umm a little part 2 of staying at your dad’s best friend’s house <3 1.5k words, warnings: age gap, choking, degradation? unprotected sex 🤗

To say that your body was on fire since the night before would be an understatement. Aaron held you close until the credits of the movie started rolling, his thumb either rubbing your cheek or running circles on your neck. For such an experienced profiler you were surprised he hadn’t noticed the way you were shaking or the goose bumps on your skin.

His huge hand on you had felt rough on your skin but you wanted nothing else to touch you for the rest of your life. The subtle scent of him was stuck on your clothes and you heavily considered running errands in your pajamas, just so you could live in the cloud of his cologne.

It had just started getting dark outside and you figured Aaron wouldn’t be home until much later. That gave you time to take a long shower and also take your mind off of him and the veins on his hands.

You hit play on your favorite playlist, gathered all your best smelling toiletries, and stepped into the shower. The only problem was that the more you were trying not to think of Aaron Hotchner the more your brain focused on him. When you commanded yourself not to think about his thick thighs, your mind did the opposite. The more you were pushing him away the more he was stuck to you.

Maybe you could take care of your problem until he was home.

--

“Sweetie?”

Aaron searched around the house for you, holding a bag of takeout. He knew your favorite order from all the evenings he had spent at your house, keeping company to your dad – and naturally to you as well.

Moving further into the house, he heard the shower running, finding the reason you hadn’t been replying to him. He had to take a long breath in not to get all hot by the mental image of you in there. Naked and wet and…

No. You were younger, sweet and innocent. He had no business messing with a girl like you. You deserved a guy your age, with less baggage, without a kid, a demanding job, and a dead ex-wife.

Unfortunately for him, all his thoughts and reasons on why he should stay away vanished, the moment the door opened and you stood there in front of him with a little towel wrapped around your body and the expression of a deer caught in headlights.

“Hotch,” you said in a breath. “You’re home.”

“Yeah…I…I brought food.” He wasn’t sure how he was able to speak. Little drops of water were sticking onto your skin, and most of your body was completely exposed.

Aaron wasn’t naïve; he knew you wanted him. Still, he had never even dared to think of touching you.

But now, there you were, wrapped like a little gift just for him, looking at him with eyes that felt as if they were pleading for him to take you.

“I’m sorry for…um…” you said gesturing at your appearance, “this. I didn’t think you’d be home that soon.”

“It’s okay, honey.”

You both stood there for a moment, unable to avert your gaze from each other. The tension was strong, and Aaron knew the right thing would be to ignore it. He wasn’t thinking when he took a step towards you and he definitely wasn’t thinking when he grabbed your arm and pulled you close.

He heard you gasp at the contact and your open mouth looked deliciously inviting. Aaron wanted nothing more than to feel those lips wrapped around his dick, swallowing him whole.

“Hotch…” you whispered all needy, and it snapped him back to reality. If he didn’t let you go now, he would destroy you forever.

“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing your arm, but you grabbed his in response.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because this is wrong.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and your hand moved across his arm, reached his shoulder, and then moved down his chest. Aaron was praying you would stop soon, otherwise there was no way he was letting you out of his arms tonight.

“Unless you want me to take you to my room you should stop right there, sweetheart,” he said.

“And if I want you to take me?”

Aaron didn’t need another signal. He cupped the sides of your head and crushed his lips on yours, pulling you into his body as close as possible.

Your little whines as your lips moved against his drove him crazy and his cock was getting harder and harder by the second. Using his left hand he grabbed your jaw and urged you to walk backwards, without for a moment dropping your gaze.

Soon, you were on laying on your back decorating his bed. The whiteness of your towel was a beautiful contrast to the darkness of his sheets, as he pulled it off your body.

“Fuck, baby, you are so hot,” he said while scanning your body. To say he had never pictured you naked would have been a lie, but you were prettier beyond any imagination.

“Hotch,” you whined.

“Aaron,” he corrected you.

“Aaron, I need you. Please.”

He was dying to touch your body but his hand went to your face first, parting your lips, letting you suck on his finger. “I know you do.”

Your legs parted and the sight of your glistening cunt had his mouth water. You used your legs to bring him closer, wrapping them around his waist.

Your hands went to his belt, the feeling of them on his crotch driving him crazy. You moaned when you released him from his pants and that moan went straight to his ego, seeing how satisfied you were with his size.

Aaron’s finger was wet with your saliva and he run it down your neck, reaching your chest. Your nipples hardened even more under his touch and he could not resist putting one into his mouth, while he played with the other.

“You’re perfect,” he moaned. He lifted his head to look at you. “I want to make you mine.”

“All I want is to be yours.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. I can see that sweet little pussy dripping and begging for me. How are you this wet already?” he asked, when his hand finally found its way between your legs.

Your response was a sneaky smile.

“What does this little smile mean now?” he grinned.

“I was thinking about you,” you admitted. “In the shower…”

Oh, you were going to be the end of him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you show me, baby? Will you show me what you were doing while thinking of me? I wanna see you play with your pussy.”

You blinked ta him shyly.

“Come on, be a good girl and touch it.”

With a proud smile he saw your hand move, before two of your fingers disappeared inside you.

“Fuck,” he said, and started stroking himself at the sight of you. He bit his lips at the thoughts of all the ways he would use your body tonight.

“Need you,” you moaned. “Please, Aaron, I can’t.”

“What would your father say, honey, if I told him I had his daughter under me begging me to fuck her? If I told him she was begging for his best friend’s cock like a fucking slut?”

Your little cries drove him crazy and he placed the head of his dick on your entrance.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, and the next moment he was inside you.

His hips started rocking against yours, and Aaron thought that this had to be how being in heaven felt.

“You feel so fucking good,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Ah…Aaron,” you moaned. Your hand found his and he thought you wanted your fingers intertwined. To his surprise your request was something different.

“Put it on my neck,” you said.

“You like to be chocked, honey?”

“Mhm…”

He wrapped his hand around your neck and you wrapped your own hands around his wrist.

“Fuck, it’s so good.”

“I know, baby.”

“You’re so fucking big, I…I…”

“Are you close, baby? Will you come for me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you screamed, and he felt your pussy pulse around him.

You looked like an angel while finishing, with your mouth open and your eyes closed. He stared at you, trying to memorize every single feature of your face. You were his now.

He pulled out and after a few strokes he was cumming all over your stomach. Your eyes were on his, and you were biting your finger with a playful smile. It seemed like you wanted to be fucked again, and who was Aaron to refuse you?