little slay of horrors writes

Requests currently open for all Criminal Minds characters

Who I write for:

Criminal Minds: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jereau, Emily Prentiss

Others: Greg Montgomery (Dharma and Greg)

What I write

Smut (within reason lol- don't be shy to request anything but if I don't like it I probably won't write it)

Fluff

Angst

Years of being ignored had made you hate your birthday. It seemed like you got your hopes up every year, and then nobody bothered to celebrate you. There was that one year where all of your friends cancelled at the last minute, leaving you alone at a nice restaurant. Or, there was that year where even your mother forgot to call. It was like some cruel joke of the universe you couldn’t quite understand.

So, you stopped mentioning it. If nobody knew it was your birthday, you couldn’t be disappointed if they didn’t do anything.

That’s how it’s been for years now. The day came and went, you were one year older, and it meant nothing. 

Aaron wouldn’t have that, though. Since the moment you started dating, he never missed a chance to make you feel special. Of course, your birthday was just another opportunity to celebrate you. 

He’d figured it out when borrowing you I.D. to get you a guest badge for his workplace. The date was close, less than two months away. 

He asked why you hadn’t mentioned it, and you explained your reasoning. He understood, of course, but he also knew he couldn't stand for you always remembering your birthday as a day of disappointment, so he began to hatch a plan. 

First, he took you shopping. It was something he did often enough for it to be inconspicuous, and he simply slid in the fact you should choose something to wear for dinner on your birthday. 

Shopping always felt awkward to you, but Aaron was a patient teacher. He made sure to lead you to the stores he knew you’d like, insisting that you didn’t look at a single price tag. At least there was one advantage of him having a socialite as a mother. 

You spent hours at the mall, going from store to store until you found the dress. It fit you perfectly, highlighted your complexion just right, and was comfortable enough to sit through an evening of Aaron insisting on ordering everything you wanted on the menu. 

It was a mystery why Aaron enjoyed spending his limited time off waiting for you to shop, but it wasn’t your job to argue with perfection. If it was in his nature to be more agreeable than any other man you’d met, then it was simply a gift you were lucky enough to enjoy.

What you didn’t realize was how much he was planning until your actual birthday. You’d come home from work early, taking a half day after Aaron encouraging you to take time to get ready for dinner. 

When you got home, he’d left out some soaps beside the bath, ensuring that even your preparations for the evening were perfect. He had even left your favorite flowers on your vanity.

You take time to bathe, do your makeup, and make sure your hair is perfect. You’re still in your robe when Aaron gets home, a package in his hand. 

“What’s that?”

“Just a little something,” he says, handing it over. “Open it.”

You open it up, revealing a sparkling set of earrings. 

“Do you like them?”

You smile. “Of course I do.”

“Wear them to dinner, then,” he says. “I’ll go get ready.”

You finish preparing for dinner, putting on the dress and finishing your outfit with the earrings. Aaron puts on a nicer suit, one that hasn’t seen the halls of the BAU. 

Stepping out of the bedroom, you see Aaron’s smile. 

“You look beautiful. Even more so than usual.”

“You always say that.”

“Only because I always mean it.”

Being the gentleman he is, he takes your hand as you walk to the car. He drives to the restaurant, an expensive place that’s booked for months in advance. You’ve been wanting to try it, but never found the time.

“How’d you get a reservation here?”

He pulls out your chair. “Just luck, I guess. And planning.”

Dinner is perfect, as it always is with him. You order your favorite dish, and Aaron gets some expensive wine that supposedly compliments it, even if you can’t tell the difference. 

“I got you another gift,” he says, one of those dimples peeking out on his cheek.

“You know I told you that my birthday isn’t a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. “But it is to me. It’s the day my favorite person was born.”

“If only your coworkers knew how much of a cornball you could be,” you murmur in between bites. “What’d you get me?”

He pulls out another box, opening it for you to reveal a more subtle piece of jewelry. It’s a necklace, one you could wear every day, even though you’re sure he must’ve spent a good deal of money on it. 

“You spend too much on me,” you say, even though your smile indicates that you don’t mind one bit. 

He shrugs. “Sometimes you need to be reminded that you matter. I’d spend every penny of my salary on you if I knew it’d be what it takes to show you’re important to me.”

“I don’t need you to spend all your money on me,” you say, taking the box into your hands to inspect the necklace. “You make me feel loved without spending a penny.”

After the dinner, you expect to go home, but he instead turns off to some smaller road you’ve never seen before. It leads to an overlook, far from the bustle of the city. The air is calm, and just the right temperature. It’s so perfect you nearly start to believe that Aaron controls the weather.

He leads you out of the car and onto a blanket he must’ve set here before he even came home for the day. 

“I thought you’d like some quiet.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“I wanted to celebrate with you. I know you don’t like big things, so this is just for us.”

“Just for us,” you repeat. 

He opens the trunk, bringing out a basket. Inside is a small cake that he sets down on the blanket.

“Make a wish,” he says as he lights the candle on it.

“Wish for what? I already have everything a girl could want.”

“Find something. Even if it’s a silly one. Be selfish for once.”

You close your eyes, finding something to wish for. It comes to you, and you lean forward to blow it out. 

The sight brings a smile to his face, and he leans in to give you a slow kiss. When he pulls away, you can see a twinkle in his eyes.

“No more hiding from celebrations. Even if it’s just you and me, you’ll celebrate your birthday.”

“You’re a convincing man, Aaron.”

“All that money spent on law school is worth it if I can win you over on this.”

You laugh. “Fine. You’ve got me. But don’t start planning a surprise party for next year.”

He rolls his eyes. “I won’t.”

Going back to the basket, he pulls out your final gift. It’s a bundle of letters, all written over the past year. 

“I wasn’t sure when to give these to you, but I think now is the time.”

You look through them, seeing dates written on each envelope. “What are these?”

“I started writing these when I realized I was in love with you. That’s the first one, from that day I knew you had to be mine. What I didn’t realize is that it wasn’t just one moment. I kept falling in love with you, and I kept writing letters. So here they are.”

“Aaron…”

“I want you to open one every time you feel like you’re not worth the attention. I’m no writer, but I did my best.”

“Thank you. Today has been perfect.” You laugh at yourself when the statement leaves your lips. “I don’t think I’ve said that about my birthday since I was a kid.”

“Good. I plan on each one being better than the last.”

Any logical woman would want to be impregnated by Aaron Hotchner. What wasn’t to want? He’d be a perfect father, with how caring and attentive he is. Besides, you certainly don’t mind the process of conception.

You both had wanted kids, and known that fact since early in your relationship. You were logical people, so you waited for a while, making sure your life and marriage was stable before even considering it. 

That time had come, as both of you were in the place where you felt a baby would be right. Your jobs were stable, you had a good house, and you were more in love with him than ever.

You had an app to track your cycle, and you set it to the mode that’d help you get pregnant. It hardly made much difference, other than the absence of the reminder for you to take your pill. Besides, you had sex with your husband often enough that the ovulation alerts didn’t change your activities that much. 

Apparently, it hadn’t crossed Aaron’s mind that something like that existed, at least until you he was holding your phone when he got the notification.

You were in his office, showing him a news article about a court verdict about one of your past cases when the notification popped up.

Cowabunga, dude, you’re ovulating!

A little embarrassing and corny, sure, but you expected him to be too polite to acknowledge it. You were wrong.

“You’re ovulating?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, slightly awkwardly. “I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve done something.”

You blush. “Done something?”

“Yeah,” he says, setting down your phone. “We’re trying to have a baby. We should work on that when you’re the most fertile.”

You let out a small laugh. “We work on it all month, honey.”

“Yeah, but we can do more,” he says, stepping closer. 

“I think I would lose any ability to walk if we did more.”

He chuckles, fingers moving to play with the hem of your blazer. “Do I sense a complaint?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Then maybe you should lock the door.” 

Suddenly, you realize how gruff his voice has become. “You can’t mean we do it right here.”

“Can’t I?”

“Aaron,” you say in a hushed whisper. “Since when have you been a risk taker?”

“I think I’ll start right now,” he whispers in your ear.

You hardly sense the bite he leaves before he’s moving to lock the door, checking that the blinds are closed as tightly as possible. 

You’re still shocked he wants to do it here when he lifts you up and plants you on his desk. He quickly pulls your skirt down, hands squeezing the soft skin of your thighs. 

“You’re insatiable,” you say with a giggle. 

“Your fault,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth as he undoes the buttons on your top. 

Your shirt is discarded with your skirt, serving as a landing pad for Aaron’s belt as he tosses it aside. 

Your hands push against each other as both of you try to undress each other at once. You’re so focused on getting his pants down that you hardly notice he’s got your panties off until he presses a finger into your clit. You gasp, hips bucking into him. 

“See? You’re just as eager as I am,” he says with a grin.

You’re far too engrossed in the feeling of his fingers slipping inside to respond. You could argue that, if his goal was simply to make a baby, he wouldn’t be fingering you, but your words die on your lips as a moan slips out. 

Aaron slips his fingers all the way inside, and you can feel them pushing into your sweet spot. He scissors them open, spreading you wide in preparation for his length. 

Your legs fall open even wider. His fingers are thick, almost ridiculously so. The size dwarfs your hands when you hold his, and ruin you even more when they’re prying open your velvety walls. 

When he removes the digits, the slick of your arousal is audible in the quiet room. He smiles, sucking on his fingers. 

“Delicious,” he murmurs, the sound low in his throat. 

The fly and button on his pants are already undone, thanks to your earlier work. He slides them down, along with his boxers, letting them fall but not kicking them off. He’s got more important things to do, things such as getting his achingly hard cock inside of you as fast as possible. 

He slowly slides in, making sure you feel each pulsing vein as he enters your heat. His forehead rests on your shoulder as he builds up the strength to thrust without reaching his peak instantly. 

“Move,” you whine.

“Just… wait,” he groans through gritted teeth. 

You huff, doing all you can to not move your hips to get more of him. 

After a few more seconds, he gathers himself enough to move. Aaron tries an experimental thrust, steadily pulling all the way out before sliding back in. Your moans combine as he bottoms out, and your hands grip at his arms. 

The desk creaks as he starts to find his rhythm. His hands move to your backside, gripping your hips, half for leverage and half to feel your flesh in his palms.

“Right there,” you gasp when his bulbous tip hits your sweet spot. 

Being the great listener he is, he continues to drive into the spot at just the right pace he knows will get you to your edge but not push you over. 

Your hands desperately explore his back, feeling the rippling muscles hiding under his shirt. You can feel them flexing as he moves inside of you, working to bring you as close to your climax as possible.

“Gonna take all of my come? Gonna let me put a baby in you?

You cry out at his words, saved only by his palm coming up to cover your mouth. 

He chuckles darkly at your outcry, nipping at your ear. “You ready to take it?”

You nod frantically as his fingertip moves to circle your clit. It’s the final piece of pleasure you need to send you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like cold water.

All of the air leaves your lungs and your back arches into his chest. The tightening of you around his length pushes him into his peak. His forehead lays down your shoulder again, his body wracking with the intensity of his release. 

His tip was already leaking from the moment he got his hands on you, but now he’s absolutely flooding your walls with white. He thrusts through his orgasm, pushing his come back inside you. You can feel it slowly cooling inside you as he stays pressed within your walls, not wanting to pull out just yet. 

When he does pull out, his fingers slip inside, keeping his release in you. “Can’t let anything go to waste,” he murmurs. 

Eventually, you start to squirm from the overstimulation, and he removes his hand. Grabbing a tissue, he wipes the slick from his fingers, then gently cleans you up. You get dressed, trying to look as presentable as you can after being taken right on his desk.

“Do you think that one did it?”

You smile, adjusting the buttons on your top. “Maybe. But it can’t hurt to try again later tonight.”

It was a habit at this point. Two taps every Friday night on your window at exactly 11 PM. You’d open it, a cool breeze rushing in as he climbed into your room. 

You knew your father would lose his mind if he knew what happened between you. He had made it clear that you were not to engage with anyone in the BAU, especially one that was ten years older than you. 

But how could you help it when you saw Aaron smile at you from across the room during one of your father’s dinner parties? The way his eyes sparkled, the dimple that appeared on his cheek– it was all too perfect.

He was smart enough to assume your father wouldn’t care to see you flirting, so he formed a strategy. Brushing against you in the breezeway, he slipped his number in your pocket, his large hands brushing against your thigh as he passed. 

One call turned to another, and the tension grew with each word you spoke to each other. You couldn’t resist any longer, and the hushed conversations turned into a plan. He’d come to your window, knocking twice after climbing the lattice up to your balcony. 

That’s how the arrangement turned into a routine, a meetup to end the week on a high note. You knew that every time he snuck in, you increased the risk of being caught, but the two of you had stopped caring the moment you realized how perfectly your bodies fit together. 

This week has been rough for you, your college courses overwhelming you with work and tests. You’d only held it together knowing Aaron would be climbing into your room at the end of it all.

And, here he was, leaning against the wall in his button up and slacks. His tie and jacket must’ve been dropped when he stopped at his house, waiting for you to call to tell him he was in the clear. 

He gives you a look over, half lust and half analysis. “Long week?” 

“Very,” you say with a groan, flopping down onto your bed. 

He chuckles, moving closer. “As dramatic as usual, I see.”

Your foot reaches out, nudging his thigh. “I need a handsome man to make it better, I think.”

He grins. “And am I to assume I’m said handsome man?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be anyone else.”

It’s all he needs to lean in, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You know that’s your cue to take off your top, leaving you in just your bra. He bites down a groan at the sight, pulling down your sweatpants. 

Looking down at you, he raises an eyebrow. “No panties? Really?”

“Just trying to make your job easier,” you say with a deceptively innocent smile.

He huffs out a laugh, leaning in to kiss up the inside of your thighs. “Naughty girl.”

You giggle, grasping at his hair as he nips at your skin. Your giggle turns to a gasp as his lips land where you want him most. His tongue teasingly nudges at your clit, the touch just light enough to have your heart racing. 

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he presses his tongue into you. Dark brown eyes flutter shut at the taste. He always does this, acts like it’s the best thing that’s ever fallen on his lips. 

Whenever he eats you out, it’s like he can’t control himself. He starts out slow, trying not to overwhelm you. He slowly licks stripes up your slit, gathering the wetness that’s inevitably gathered. 

The taste of you possesses him, though, and soon he can’t bring himself to care that you’re squirming beneath him. He pushes his tongue inside your hole, feeling the gummy walls squeeze around him. He drags his teeth along your swollen bud and nips at spots he knows are sensitive. And, tonight, he slides his fingers inside you as his lips wrap around your clit. 

Your hips push closer to him, moving his fingers even deeper. He curls them against your sweet spot, whining into your heat as you clench hard around his digits. This is his favorite part, seeing the pleasure overtake you.

But he won’t let it happen just yet. He knows you like to be strung along. So he pulls away, standing back to watch you as you catch your breath.

“More,” you whimper, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction you can get. 

He smiles at your desperation, quickly shedding his clothes. You free yourself from your bra and reach out for him. He can’t help but lean into your touch, moving to hover over you on the bed. 

You’re quick to pull him down into a kiss. His tongue darts out as your lips part, and you can taste yourself in his mouth. Aaron grabs at any bit of skin he can reach, leaving a tingling with the break of each grasp. 

His knee slides between your thighs, giving you something to grind against. You mindlessly rock your hips, whines turning to giggles as he plants kisses all over your face. 

Even now, in the heat of your intimacy, he finds a way to let out the side of him that’s so overly affectionate it’s almost goofy. Laughter escapes both of you as he moves to line himself up with your entrance. 

Aaron gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, too sweet for the way he’s about to ruin you. “You ready?”

You nod, legs falling open wider. He presses another kiss to your forehead before sliding his tip inside of you. 

A sharp contrast from the way he eats you out, he always takes this slowly, watching how your body begs for more. 

Your head rolls to the side and your vision is filled with the image of his strong arms framing your face. They’re thick from training, a physique fresh out of the academy’s long conditioning sessions. You reach up, wrapping your fingers around his thick shoulder as he slips deeper inside of you. 

Your heart stutters when he bottoms out, the sweet stretch filling every one of your senses. He watches your pupils dilate as the sensation overtakes you, the primal need to be one with him. 

The first time you were together, you worried that you’d be too loud. Now, you know that your father’s room is too far away to sense even a hint of what’s going on in your room. You moan unabashedly as he thrusts for the first time. 

Aaron groans with you, shutting his eyes as your tight walls pull him even closer inside. He’s anything but uptight with you, letting you know just how good he feels with you. Your room is his refuge, the one place he doesn’t need to prove himself to any higher-up agents waiting for him to slip up. 

He starts slow, teasing you as his tip drags along the ridges of your soft walls. He hardly hears your sounds of pleasure, his mind simply filled with how you flutter like a heartbeat around his hard length. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s speeding up until the sound of skin hitting skin becomes too prominent to ignore. Your breath hitches as his thrusts start to hit right where you need him, heels digging into the small of his back as your legs wrap around him. 

The position pulls him in more, and he nearly whimpers at the depth. His large hands capture your waist, fingers digging into your soft stomach. 

Your hands dig into his shoulders, half-moon shaped indents marking the skin that’s illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from your window. 

Tension mounting in your body, he can tell you’re moving closer to your peak. 

“Come for me,” he whispers into your ear, gently biting your earlobe. 

The nip is all it takes to send you over the edge, tumbling into a haze of pleasure. You’re so caught up in your orgasm that you don’t realize he’s followed behind until you feel his release dripping onto the sheets as he pulls out.

He flops down beside you, the air too warm to cuddle right away. Aaron gently plays with a strand of your hair, gazing at your flushed face. 

He breaks the silence. “Same time next week?”

After the loss of her husband, JJ had many moments where the grief was almost gone. Moments where her boys came home with good grades, moments where Henry and Michael played catch in the backyard, moments where they almost felt like a full family with just the three of them. 

And then there were the moments where it all hit her at once, just like the first time the doctor said those dreaded words. These occurances had been lessening as the months passed, the sharp pang of his death slowly ebbing into a soreness that settled in her bones like it had always been there. She got wrapped back up into work, focussing her attention on anything but the pain she knew would never fully disappear. 

What she had not prepared for was the hurt that would come with the holiday season. It had been nearly two decades since she had spent Christmas without Will, and now, suddenly, he was gone, leaving her to manage everything alone once again. Before she met him, she could make do with some small gifts for her coworkers and takeout, but now she had two children relying on her to make the day magical. 

She was also keenly aware that this would be Henry’s last Christmas before going off to college. Another loss to add to the pile that had been gathering since she was eleven.

It was late November when the first wave of pain unexpectedly washed up in her heart. She was on her way home from work, Christmas music on the radio, background noise to ward off the silence. The music came to the forefront, suddenly, when Baby Please Come Home came through the crackling station. 

The snow’s coming down, I’m watching it fall. Lot’s of people around. Baby, please come home. 

Tiny flakes land on her windshield as she pointedly tries not to listen, tapping into her usual routine of ignoring the emotions that threaten to overwhelm her. 

They're singing "Deck the Halls", but it's not like Christmas at all.

The lyrics feel far too true for her. The holiday songs on the radio had been droning on since Thanksgiving, the cheery tunes irking her with every bright lyric. Everything had felt that way since Will died, the happiness of others almost ironic in contrast to her own heart. 

‘Cause I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year.

Her hands clench tighter around the wheel, the drive feeling longer than ever. She feels that bubbling in her chest, the one that tells her the carefully crafted protective shell is slowly cracking. 

It had been months since she last let the emotions bleed through, and she nearly believed the worst of the pain had passed. But here she was, driving home on a cold night, salty tears gathering on her waterline. 

She gives herself one small allowance, letting the tears fall until the song ends. When the notes fade out, she takes a shuddering breath, willing herself to be put back together again. Her eyes are dry by the time she pulls into the garage. She pulls down the sunvisor, sliding open the mirror to make sure the kids won’t notice any signs of sadness. Satisfied, she grabs her back and walks inside to the two of them doing homework on the couch. 

“Hey, boys. Hungry for dinner?”

They both call out affirming her question. She goes to the kitchen, making something simple. On the nights where she worked late, Will would always be the one to make dinner. It was an agreement that applied for both of them, the one who wasn’t working making sure the house was in order. 

When she finishes up, she sets the food down on the table, everyone gathering in their usual seats. She still doesn’t have the heart to take the fourth chair away.

Her sons chatter on about their school days, debating who has to do the dishes after the meal. She almost tunes out of the conversation when Michael speaks up.

“When are we putting the Christmas tree up?”

She pauses, considering his question. “We’ll do it soon,” is the best answer she can give. “Some weekend when I don’t have work.”

The youngest boy seems satiated by this response, going back to his ranting about some project he’s working on at school. 

In that moment, JJ realizes she’s never even put up her own tree. Frankly, she doesn’t even know how to tie it to the car in the right way. It had always been Will’s job to choose the perfect one at the lot, secure it to the car, and put it up in the living room.

That night, when both of the boys are asleep, she pulls up a video of instructions on how to put a Christmas tree up without getting needles everywhere. 

It’s December by the time she has a free weekend to go to the tree farm. She gathers the boys, loading them up and driving them to the lot they always go to. Walking through the rows of firs, she tries to remember the characteristics Will always looked for when shopping. 

Henry saves her when he points to one, mentioning something about color and sturdiness. Once it’s cut down and wrapped up, the three of them carry it to the car. She almost puts it up on the roof the wrong way before Michael reminds her that the stem faces forward. She does the best to secure it with the bungee cords that have been sitting in the trunk since last year. 

The ties last the drive, and she parks in the driveway. The boys insist on carrying it themselves, Henry doing most of the heavy lifting but not complaining for the sake of his brother. JJ watches as they carry it in, setting it up on the stand like Will always used to do.

As they arrange it over the tree skirt, it dawns on her how much the two had learned from their father without her realizing it. Each of them had inherited some of his traits, and now she realized they’d inherited his knowledge, as well. 

She doesn’t realize her eyes are watering until she notices her sons are staring at her.

“Mom, are you alright?”

She blinks away the dampness. “Yeah, yeah," she says, thinking of an excuse. “You’re both just growing up too fast.”

They both laugh softly at the comment. They’ve heard it probably a hundred times before. In their laughter, they pull her into a hug, sandwiching their mother between them. She holds them for longer than she needs to, feeling the warmth of her boys, tangible mementos of her late husband. 

They break away and start to decorate the tree. When Michael tries to reach the top, he gives a small jump, before Henry lifts him up to reach the top. 

Another job that used to be Will’s. Of course, the tallest in the house would lift him up to reach the top. And the tallest used to be Will.

JJ has to leave the room at that, busying herself with other things that need to be done. She goes to her room, wrapping up the gifts she bought. 

She was never great with shopping for boys. She simply could never catch onto what they wanted. It was always Will’s job to tell her what was popular with kids these days. Without him around, she consulted all the gift guides she could find online, scrolling through hours of social media for a hint. Her only saving grace was the text she sent to Hotch, who informed her what teenage boys are interested in. 

So many jobs were his. They always insisted on splitting eqaully, and now that he's gone, she's left realizing much another half is.

She waits until Christmas night to set out the gifts. Michael is probably getting too old to believe in Santa, but she can’t help but hope. In the glow of the lights on the tree at midnight, she finds herself sitting down to take in the chill of the night air. 

She swears she didn’t used to be this cold. Sure, Will was there to hold her at night when it snowed, but most of the time, she was bundled in the same jackets she still owns. But she’s freezing all the time now. Maybe the hurt of losing the love of her life is chilling her from the inside out. 

She toys with one of the ornaments on the tree as she loses herself in her thoughts. Baby’s First Christmas it says, a figure of a stork holding a blue bundle. Will had bought it for her as an apology for being gone near the holidays, delivering it on Christmas Eve when he wad fresh off a flight. It feels so long ago that he handed it to her– seventeen years now. And the baby that was celebrating their first Christmas just a few short years ago is now spending their last one at home before going off to college. 

It’s not fair, she decides. It’s not fair to have loss in so many different forms.

Tears fall freely down her cheeks. She's never had to set this up before, never had to make the season magical without someone else’s help. She knew she could do it. She was always her own person, often independent to a fault. Despite that stubborn self-determination, Will had been there, as a confidant, as a coparent, as a counselor. And suddenly, in one moment, it was gone, and she was just as alone as she was on that night she found Roslyn in that tub. 

She’s had to do it all alone this year, managing two boys with a job that keeps her from being home as much as she should be. She had to help Henry with college applications, finding a place for him to spread his wings in a world that had changed so much in so little time. For both boys, she had to guide them through grieving a man she didn’t know how to live without. 

Before she knows it, an hour has passed of tears under the tree, the bright colors mocking her sorrow. She gives the gifts one last look before heading to bed, falling into a restless sleep.

The morning comes as it has for the past few months, with her waking up to sunlight instead of a kiss on the forehead. She makes her usual breakfast of cinnamon rolls. Every tradition required a debate on whether or not it should continue after Will’s death. They get placed into little piles based on the pain they’d bring if they were skipped, measured against the pain of doing them with an empty space. The breakfast stayed. 

The boys wake up in their usual flurry, the noise of their conversations floating down the halls before they reach her. JJ is grateful for a break from the quiet that had blanketed her life like the snow covering her home. 

Presents are opened as the rolls rise in the oven. The boys love their gifts, even though the label says From Mom instead of From Mom and Dad this year.

Eating breakfast, JJ can’t help but smile as her boys laugh with each other. In all of her grief, there’s always joy. Of course, the joy she felt with Will is the reason she’s feeling so much pain. There’s no escape from mourning deeply for a person who loves like she does. 

She may not ever have her husband back, but she has her boys with his smile and the chance to watch them walk into a world as their own people. Michael and Henry may never have their father back, but they have their mother who’s made up of the love Will gave her and all the things they’ve learned from him about how to manage a life that’s been fragmented. 

JJ begins to see Christmas differently, then. Not as a time to be forcefully happy or a pressure to be perfect, but as a time to take stock of the things she’s loved and lost. From now on, all of her holidays will be spent without Will, an empty chair that might never be put up in the attic. All the while, she gets to see a year of growth in her sons and the smiles they have as they flick frosting at each other. 

Maybe tonight she'll go into their rooms to hold them through tears, their small bodies having too little room for all the love they have for a man who they'd never see again. It doesn't matter now. She'll ride the waves of the emotions all of them are feeling because she knows better than anyone how grief can switch laughter to pain in seconds.

Aaron Hotchner was not the kind of man who liked to have lots of attention. Unlike the rest of the team, he’d never wanted a birthday party, or any acknowledgement that another year had passed. 

You knew his past made him less enthusiastic about the day. He always insisted that you didn’t remind the team of the day, knowing they’d go all out if they knew his birthdate. 

You were the complete opposite. You loved birthdays, especially when it came to planning celebrations. That’s why you made it your mission to get him to feel special on his birthday.

Unfortunately, your plans of an intimate dinner at home were foiled when you were called away on a case the day before his birthday. Aaron didn’t have the chance to be disappointed, considering he didn’t know about your plans, but you did. You’d had November 2nd marked in your planner for months now as you tried to formulate the perfect celebration that wasn’t too much for him.

So, while you’re working on the case, a plan is forming in the back of your head. 

On the morning of his birthday, you don’t say anything, knowing the team would somehow figure out a way to be obnoxious about it. You’ve just arrived at the local station, and your arm slips around his side when you know you’re alone. He gives you an eyebrow raise, surprised by your sudden affection.

“What? I can’t hug the birthday boy?”

He laughs softly, giving you a small eye roll. “I’m just surprised, that's all.”

You hum, a hand slipping into the pocket of his suit jacket where his hotel room keys sit. You pull one out, slipping it into your back pocket.

From the small smile on his face, he’s got no clue of your plan. The key sits in your pocket, anticipation of executing the mission fluttering in your chest. 

When the team gets a lunch break, you make up some excuse about getting something from the hotel. Before heading there, you make a quick stop at the dollar store for some cheap decorations before getting to the hotel. 

Going into his room, you begin to set up. You wrap streamers around any surface you can find. You litter the floor with balloons in his favorite color. You pull out the desk, arranging it to have two chairs facing each other. Placing some fake candles on the table, you try to make it seem as much like a romantic dinner setting as is possible in the setting. 

In record time, you get back to the station, as if nothing ever happened. The day drags on slowly as you know the setup waiting for when the day is over. It’s dark outside when Hotch finally tells everyone to call it a day.

You have to hide a smile for the whole ride back. You’re nearly giddy, knowing what awaits him at the hotel. He’s too lost in his own thoughts about the day’s work to see you fighting a grin in the passenger seat. 

After what feels like forever, you get to the hotel. Instead of going to your room, you follow him to his.

“What are you following me for?”

“No reason,” you say, watching as he opens the door to his room.

You can’t see his face, but you see the way he freezes in the doorway.

“What is this, sweetheart?”

“It’s for your birthday. I wanted to do something special.”

Hotch walks inside, gaze traveling along all the decorations. “All of this is for me?”

“Of course it’s for you.”

He studies the room, almost like it’s a crime scene that needs profiling. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

He sighs, hand running over the table in the middle of the room. “It’s too much.”

You shake your head. “It’s not enough, actually. You do everything for others, but hardly accept it when people do things for you.”

He sighs, knowing you’re right, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “Thank you,” is all he says. Not exactly a concession to your statement, but not a denial, either. 

You guide him to sit, then check outside the door. You’d coordinated room service to be delivered at just the right time. The team never got the fanciest hotels. Not that they were run down by any means, but only so much money could be spent on a team that is traveling almost nonstop. The hotel burger wasn’t exactly the steak you’d planned to cook for him at home, but it was something. 

You set down the tray, and Aaron looks up at you in surprise. “You’re really outdoing yourself, honey.”

You roll your eyes, setting the plates in front of where the two of you sit. “It’s dollar store decorations and room service.”

“I know, but… it’s the thought you put into it. It’s more than I’ve gotten before I found you.”

“You deserve every single bit, Aaron.”

He blushes, glancing away as he eats. He always gets shy like this, no matter how often you compliment him. 

When you finish eating, you gather up the plates, setting them outside the door. Riffling through your suitcase, you pull out something wrapped in a plastic bag.

“I grabbed it as we were heading out, so I didn’t have time to wrap it. But here’s your gift.”

He takes the package from you, studying the bag containing it. The first thing he pulls out is a tie. It’s soft, clearly expensive.

“I thought it looked like something you’d like. I never imagined a tie could cost so much money.”

He laughs softly. “Tell me about it,” he says, studying the tie. “It’ll go perfectly with the suit I had planned for tomorrow.”

“There’s one more gift in there.”

He pulls out a notebook, worn slightly at the edges. 

“Jack and I have been keeping it for the past year,” you say. “We wrote all the memories we had with you. We’d both keep it for a week each before switching.”

Aaron silently flips through the pages, skimming the memories. He can tell Jack’s juvenile scribblings from your handwriting, but sentimental notes in both of your words. One day, when he’s not exhausted and in the middle of a case, he’ll read all of it. But tonight, he simply closes it, handling it like the most precious thing in the world. 

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“Jack and I were talking about how hard it was to shop for you last year, so we decided you could use something that can’t be bought.”

A slightly misty look passes over his gaze before he regains his composure. His large hands hold the book delicately, as if it could shatter. 

“We should get some rest,” he says, finding an excuse to not face the warmth from the gesture.

You know him well enough to understand his feelings, and that you shouldn’t argue when he’s not in the mood to face them. So, you simply walk into the bathroom.

“I bought some bubble bath,” you call out as you start to run the water.

“Bubble bath? I’m not turning seven.”

“Oh, shut up. You love it.”

He chuckles quietly, knowing you’re right about that part. He walks into the bathroom, watching you feel the temperature. 

“You better be planning on joining me,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt.

“That’s an offer I’d never turn down.”

When the tub is full and bubbles are practically spilling over, you grab the bottle of wine you’d hidden away earlier. You pour two glasses before you sink in the bath with him. 

“This would be much more romantic if they put us in nicer hotels with bigger baths.”

He grins as he takes a sip. “Doesn’t matter, as long as you’re here. Besides, it just means you get to be closer to me.”

You laugh softly, blushing slightly. The two of you get lost in conversation, going from ranting about the case, to discussing the profile, to analyzing Jack’s last soccer game. Finally, the combination of the lavender bubble bath, wine, and exhaustion from the case overtake you.

You get out of the bath and change into your pajamas. Both of you have to kick balloons out of your way to make it to the bed, collapsing into the soft sheets. 

“I’d give you one last birthday treat if my eyes weren't already closing,” you say with a yawn. 

Aaron gives a sleepy laugh. “I know you would, sweetheart. But I think it can wait until we can both stay awake for at least one round.”

You turn over on your side to face him. “Goodnight, birthday boy.”

He faces you and pulls you into his chest. “Goodnight. And thank you for the birthday party.”

As you drift off, the glow of the battery powered candles casts a warm light onto your sleeping figures, and Aaron can’t help but think about how lucky he is to have someone who knows him so well. You managed to perfectly balance his need for privacy and his secret want to be appreciated. And, most of all, you expressed your love to him in a way he never got from anyone in his past. 

In that moment, as he’s between being awake and succumbing to dreams, he makes a promise to himself to make sure you never forget how thankful he is for your love– and to make sure he outdoes you when you’re birthday comes along.

Spencer is curious about many things. He likes to have a deep knowledge of all topics, seeking to be as well-rounded as one man can be. He’s still in his early twenties, but he’s already got three doctoral degrees under his belt, proving his thirst for learning.

But even with all those degrees under his metaphorical belt, he’s still got a gap in his knowledge when it comes to what’s under his literal belt. He’s never even seen a girl naked before, at least not in real life. Maybe that’s why he’s so curious about you and Hotch.

He watches the way you act with each other. He sees the simple touches that seem so casual to you, the closeness that feels completely natural, the way you seem to know exactly what the other needs. He’s sure you sleep with each other, considering how long you’ve been dating. It’s one of those dirty scenarios he allows himself to indulge in before thwarting it with his rational mind.  

He knows it’s wrong to see his coworkers in that way, especially when one of them is his boss. But he’s got a curious mind, right? It’s just the fault of his vivid imagination that he pictures the way Hotch’s cock must move inside your clenching hole, his large hands running over your perfect body.

Spencer imagines what must be under your clothes, the view that’s only afforded to the two of you. According to his calculations, the large hands that Aaron possesses must equate to a rather large length, probably above average. Add that to his walk, and the bulge he can’t help but notice when he wears more casual clothes.

And for you? He pictures the smooth skin he only gets glimpses of in your professional attire. He imagines how soft it must be under his hands, how you might arch into his touch. Hell, he even mentally dresses you up in lingerie, his favorite fantasy having you wrapped in purple lace. 

It’s a line of thought that nearly drives him crazy. He can’t help but imagine it, as much as he hates how much it has permeated his mind. He’s a literal genius, and all he can use his brain for is a virginal fantasy about two people he has to see on a daily basis.

It pushes him over the edge one day when he sees Hotch’s hand brush against your waist, sitting to rest on your back as he explains a file to you. That simple touch has his mind racing with all the other ways Hotch is touching you. If he’s so comfortable touching you in the middle of this busy station, he can only picture the things he does behind closed doors.

It’s so maddening that, against his better judgement, he finds himself knocking on your hotel room door that night. 

You tilt your head when you see him standing there, looking so small despite his height advantage over you.

“Spencer? It’s nearly midnight. Is everything alright?”

He nods. “I’m well. I actually had a question,” he says, voice as steady as he can force it to be. 

“Go on,” you say as you let him in and shut the door behind you. Spencer sees then that Hotch is sitting at the desk, his tie loosened and a few buttons undone. He’s got a glass of whiskey in his hand and his hair is slightly mussed, indicating his hands (or yours) have been running through it. 

“It just so happened that I’m rather, well, inexperienced in certain avenues, and I was hoping you and Hotch could teach me some things.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you think you know what he means, but it’s too bold of a comment for you to logically imagine him asking. “Teach you?”

“It doesn’t have to be hands-on, exactly. I could simply observe.”

Hotch pipes up then. “Observe us…?”

“Fornicating,” he says, wincing at the scientific term. “Or making love, or whatever you two prefer it be called.”

You glance at Hotch, half shocked at the proposal. Smiles grow on your faces until you burst out laughing. But somewhere in that laughter, a look passes over you, a silent agreement. 

Spencer blushes at the laughter. “I’m sorry, you can just forget–”

“No,” you interrupt. “If you really want to learn, then we’ll teach.”

Spencer is too shocked to speak then, so you guide him to sit in the armchair facing the bed. 

“Can you see the bed, Spencer?”

He gives a thick swallow and nods. 

You and Hotch exchange a look, and he stands in front of the bed. He speaks up for the second time that night. “Have you ever seen a woman naked?”

“In pictures,” Spencer replies timidly.

You and Hotch both let out laughs. It’s so innocent of him, so predictable. Without another word, Aaron steps behind you, pulling up your shirt. He tugs it off, leaving you in your grey bra. It’s not the fanciest thing in the world, but it’s enough to have Spencer’s eyes popping out of his head. 

Hotch then moves on to your pants, unbuttoning them from behind and pulling them down. You’re left in only your undergarments, Spencer’s eyes nearly burning a hole into your body.

“You like it?” Hotch lets out a chuckle, hands roaming all over your body. “I get to see it every day, kid.”

“It’s only fair that you go next,” you say, turning to face him. “Show Spencer what a man looks like.”

You tug his tie all the way off, tossing it somewhere in the room. Your fingers slowly unbutton the shirt, letting it fall open to reveal Hotch’s chest. Spencer’s eyes roam over the dark hair dotting the thick muscles, his soft stomach, his broad chest. He thinks Aaron must be twice his size, more meat on his bones than Spencer thinks he could ever achieve. 

You undo Aaron’s belt. Normally he’d do it himself, considering the two of you are usually in a hurry to undress each other, but he lets you take the lead just to put on a show. The belt comes off, another article of clothing tossed away. 

“Wait until you see the size of him,” you say, unzipping his pants. He kicks them off, leaving him in his boxers.

Even though he’s still covered, Spencer can see just how large Hotch is. The outline of his cock is clear through the boxers, poking out with his erection.

“Show him, baby,” you whisper in Aaron’s ear. 

He turns to you, a smile on his face. “Anything you ask,” he says, sliding the underwear down.

His hard cock springs out, Spencer blushing even more. He’s long. Thick, too. Spencer is aware that the size of him is above average, based on his research. The sight reaffirms his earlier hypothesis that he was large, but he couldn’t have prepared himself for the real thing. 

“Like what you see?”

Spencer nods, mouth too dry for words.

Aaron sits down on the bed, cock heavy between his thighs. You decide it’s your turn to fully undress. You slip your bra off, breasts spilling out. Spencer thinks he must be hallucinating with how impeccable you are, skin nearly sparkling beneath the hotel lights. You smile when you see his reaction, turning away from him and tugging your pantaies off. 

You pick the panties up from the ground, walking over to Spencer. “A keepsake,” you say, placing them on his lap. “How about you use those to get off?”

His lips part to try to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a pathetic whimper. You chuckle, sitting down on Hotch’s lap. He grips your thigh to spread your legs, thick fingers going straight to your cunt.

Spencer’s mouth starts to water at the sight of your glistening heat, brown eyes tracing the lines of your folds like he was going to be tested on it later.

“Take your pants off, Spence,” you coo. “Touch yourself.”

There’s not even half a notion for Spencer to not listen, belt hastily being unbuckled. He gets his pants to his mid thigh, revealing his already hard length.

Your eyes trace the red tip and pulsing veins. It’s honestly longer than you would’ve guessed, considering his clear lack of confidence. 

“Not so bad,” you say. “Skinny, but long. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, shifting in the seat. He’s still too enraptured of the sight of Hotch touching you to consider stroking his own length. 

Your eyes roll back as his fingers circle your clit. The hand not working on you holds your hip to keep them from bucking. 

“Watch my hands,” Hotch says. His words are matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining a profiling technique. “You’ve got to get a girl worked up so it doesn’t hurt when you put your cock in her.”

You give a hum in response, wetness dripping onto Aaron’s thigh. 

“Look at how wet she is, Spencer. It’ll slip in easily like this,” he continues. “Or better, make her come first so she’s more sensitive. That’ll be good for someone inexperienced like you, since you’ll probably want to come quickly, and she’ll also orgasm fast when she’s already come once.”

It’s all so factual, a stark contrast from the pleasure flowing through yourself. He pushes two large fingers in, thumb taking over the job of circling your clit. Spencer’s stomach flips at that sight, watching how eager your hole is to welcome him inside. 

He starts to fuck you with his fingers, a squelching sound going straight from Spencer’s ears to his cock. You moan, and he thinks it might be the sweetest sound that he’s ever had the privilege of hearing. Your legs are wide open, close enough for him to see every drop of slick that comes from your needy cunt. 

He scissors his fingers open, spreading your walls even more. Spencer groans at the sight, cock twitching as precum gathers on his tip.

It’s not long before you’re close, panting as Hotch intently pushes his fingers inside. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder.

“Hear her? You’ve got to listen for those sounds so you know when she’s close,” Hotch says, still working your soaked hole. 

He presses hot kisses to your neck until you fall over the edge, gasping as your orgasm overtakes you. You go limp in his arms, leaning onto his chest. Your cheeks are flushed, hole pulsing and pushing wetness onto Hotch’s skin. 

“So pretty,” Hotch says, gently stroking your thigh as you come down from your high. “Ready to see her get fucked?”

Spencer nods enthusiastically, sitting up slightly. You give a weak chuckle at how eager he is, not missing how needy his cock looks. 

Aaron lays you down onto the bed. “How should I take her, Spencer?”

“I guess it’s up to you,” he says shyly.

“No,” Hotch commands. “Make a decision for once. How do I take her?”

Spencer pauses for a moment, considering his options. He has to find the optimal view of both of you. “From behind. Facing me.”

Aaron hums in approval. “Good choice,” he says, manhandling you onto your hands and knees. 

He moves onto his knees behind you, gripping the flesh of your ass to spread you open. When you look up, you see Spencer finally starting to touch himself, using your panties to stroke his leaking cock. 

Hotch lines himself up with your dripping core, rubbing his tip against your wetness a few times just to tease you. “Ready?”

You nod, and he slips in. A whine leaves your lips as your greedy heat pulls in his tip. He hisses as you do, a hand going to your lower back for leverage. 

Spencer’s eyes are on your faces, gaze darting between the two of you as your expressions contort in pleasure. Knowing what it looked like when Hotch’s fingers slipped inside, he can only imagine the way you stretch around that thick cock of his. 

He pushes in more, whiny breaths leaving you as he bottoms out.

“What I’m doing is giving her a moment to adjust,” he says, thumb tracing circles where it rests on your back. “Even after all these times, she still needs a moment. Don’t you, honey?”

You nod, a moan leaving you in affirmation. Hotch chuckles darkly, leaning forward to press a kiss on your shoulder. He gives you a couple more seconds to let your heat open up for him before he starts to thrust. 

He pulls out all the way before pushing back in slowly, a moan escaping you. Spencer’s hand starts to move at the speed of Aaron’s thrusts, pupils dilating at the sight. The pace is slow, the intention to keep you from getting overwhelmed with his size.

He pushes you down so your ass is up in the air and your face is down on the mattress. That way, Spencer can see the jiggle of your ass with each thwap of him against you. Aaron’s hands are gripping the fat on the sides of your hips, caressing the soft flesh in his large palms. 

“Taking me so well,” he groans, his hips starting to move faster. 

As the clapping of his thrusts gets louder, Spencer’s hand starts to work more. He’s fighting as hard as he can to keep himself from coming, wanting at least to last until you do. 

Whimpers are muffled by the mattress, and Hotch concludes that he needs to hear you. He wraps a muscled arm around your waist, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. The new angle has his tip hitting you right in your sweet spot, eyes shutting as pleasure wracks through every inch of your body. 

As he drives into you, your breasts bounce with each motion. Spencer watches the rippling, squeezing the base of his cock as a whine leaves him. 

You whimper in response to Spencer’s sounds, so inexperienced and new to the world you’re showing him. His eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, sweat beading at his temples. Lust has overtaken that genius brain, leaving him laser-focused on the sight in front of him. 

He intended to watch you like a researcher, but that intention quickly dissipated as his need grew. He’s almost embarrassed at how perverted he feels, touching himself as Hotch fucks you. His hips are bucking off the chair, trying to remember everything he sees for future use. 

“Harder,” you moan, and Spencer’s eyes screw shut with how needy you sound. 

Hotch’s thrusts turn nearly animalistic at that, plunging deep inside of your tight heat. One of his hands gropes at your breasts, and the other moves to circle your clit. A nearly pornographic moan escapes from the deepest part of your chest. 

Pants and swears escape you, your brain too mushy to censor your sounds. Not that anyone will complain. Hotch is matching your sounds with his own, groans of encouragement spoken into your ear between nips. 

Feeling you start to clench around him, he whispers in your ear. “Show Spencer how you come around my cock.”

You let out a sob as you come, walls tightening around Aaron’s length. He moans as the white-hot pleasure hits deep inside your bones, turning you into a moaning mess. 

As you fall over the edge, Spencer lets himself come, his release soaking into the panties you gave him. The grey material turns dark as he coats the inside, leaning back against the chair with more pleasure than any video could bring out of him.

Hotch is the last to come, spilling deep inside of you, reminding you who you belong to despite the eyes watching from afar. The room goes still, silent other than labored breaths. 

Hotch pulls out, white trickles running down the inside of your thighs. Spencer’s weak hand lets the panties fall to the floor, tucking himself back into his pants. A small stain on the crotch sits there like evidence, a reminder that his load was too much for your underwear to hold. 

You catch your breath just enough to talk to Spencer. “How was that?”

“Quite informative,” is all he can muster, causing you and Hotch to let out breathless laughs. A smile is exchanged between you, and Spencer almost feels left out at the comfortability only time and intimacy can create. 

“Relax,” Aaron says to you, rubbing your back. You hum, body feeling too exhausted to do anything but let him guide you into a more comfortable position. 

Aaron gently lays you down and finds a washcloth from the bathroom. He’s back in information mode, knowing Spencer must be educated about every single facet of the experience. “Your job isn’t over when you both finish. You have to make sure she’s cleaned up and has everything she needs,” he says as he wipes the inside of your thighs. 

When he’s done with the washcloth, he brings it to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he’s got a glass of water in his hand. He guides you to sit up against the headboard, letting you sip the water before finding your pajamas in your suitcase. 

“You have to take care of what’s yours,” he says as he helps you get into your pajamas.

When he’s sure you’re comfortable, he dresses himself. “Are your questions answered?”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer says, still breathlessly from before. Part of him can’t believe anything that happened is real, but your hazy eyes on him prove that he’s not dreaming. 

“Good. Now get some rest.”

Spencer nods, awkwardly picking up your soiled panties and looking around for a place to put them before Hotch grabs them, tossing them into the designated laundry pile he’s built. 

Making his way toward the door, Spencer steals glances at Hotch tucking you in, murmuring sweet messages about how well you did. He notes the behavior, remembering the way he brushes hair out of your face.

“One last thing,” Hotch calls out, causing Spencer to take his hand from the door handle. “If you ever need any other lessons, just let us know.”

And with that, Spencer gives a single nod, slipping out of the room into the dark hotel hallway, mind racing with the visuals that he knows will be plastered in his mind every time he sees you at work.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to end up wine drunk at Rossi’s house. It was the team’s preferred way of destressing after a long day. You’d come back from a case, he’d pull out some of the expensive imported wine, and everyone would have to call a cab to get home by the end of the night. 

Emily and you just so happen to love these nights. You always end up in the back of a cab, limbs tangled as you use all your restraint to hold it together until you’re back to her apartment.

Every part of Rossi’s house is spacious, more than enough room for the few of the BAU members. You all end up huddled in his living room most of the time, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace while the sound of laughter filled the air. 

Tonight everyone is outside, gathered around a small bonfire. You get up and walk to the table against the wall of the house, pouring yourself another glass of wine. 

“It might be good to get some fresh air,” she murmurs in your ear. 

You raise an eyebrow, wondering what her current scheme could be. “We’re already outside.”

“I know,” she says with a chuckle. “But there’s so many people around.”

You let her pull you out to an area around the corner, out of view of where everyone else is gathered. The night air is just the right amount of cool, and the stairs twinkle brightly above your head. She seems satisfied when you’re far enough away from the team that they’re out of sight and out of earshot. 

Emily drags you down onto the grass, causing you to tumble into her arms. You giggle at her eagerness to sit you in her lap.

“So why’d you drag me over here?”

“You just looked pretty,” she murmurs, pressing damp kisses against your collarbone. 

“Yoy say that as if you’re not wearing the tightest dress in your closest,” your murmur, hands raking through her hair.

“You want to take it off of me?”

“I think Rossi might object to us fucking in his backyard.”

“He would not. You know the guy,” she says, nibbling on your soft skin. “Besides, they’re probably too drunk to even notice we’re gone.”

You give a hum, letting one of your hands wander to the back of her neck. You’re just tipsy enough to agree with her, leaning in to capture her lips in a deep kiss. It’s not close to quick, your lips locked for what must be minutes, leaving you gasping for air each time you part. 

Somehow, you end up rolling around on the grass, hands roaming each other's bodies. Emily pushes up your skirt, only breaking away from the kiss to move her mouth to your core. 

You gasp as her head disappears under your skirt, her tongue pressing against the crotch of your panties. She can feel the wetness soaking through the fabric, and her saliva combining with your need to make you even more damp. 

Teasing you through your panties, you can feel her pressing against your core, giving you just enough friction to be teased. It only takes a small whine for her to pull the crotch to the side, tongue pressing into your hole. You groan, leaning back on your elbows. The grass pokes at your skin, but it’s not even a thought when her tongue starts to circle your clit. 

She flattens her tongue against your core, savoring the taste of you. She’s sure it’s not enough to get you nearly enough pleasure, but she’s too lost in your sweetness to care. You grip her hair, trying to push her closer. She responds by suckling at your clit. You can’t see her face, since it’s covered by your skirt, but when she hears a moan leave your lips, her eyes close, all senses focused on your sounds.

Your pointed toes have caused your shoes to fall helplessly down to the ground, scattered carelessly. You feel yourself starting to get close, and you pull her head up from your core. She tilts her head in confusion, the string lights above you highlighting the wetness coating her lips.

“I want to feel you against me,” you say, gripping her hips and pulling her panties down.

She knows what you mean, and lets you get her underwear down. As you shimmy out of your own panties, she positions herself so she’s sitting on top of you, one leg hooked under yours. Your cunts press together, causing you to whimper and her to let out a hiss. 

For a while she just sits there on top of you, hands roaming over your dress, caressing your waist and hips. You’re already half-desperate from her earlier work, so it’s inevitable that you start to wriggle beneath her. 

She gives a small laugh at your need. “You’re adorable when you want me,” she says, starting to rock her hips. 

Both of you gasp at the moment your clits drag against the other’s. The pace is still slow, your legs locked together, but it’s enough to have you both grasping at the grass beneath you. 

As both of your backs arch, you can’t help but imagine how she’d look if she wasn’t clothed. You can imagine her breasts under the soft light of your bedroom, her thighs flexing with each motion. 

But for now, she’s here, under the warm lights of Rossi’s backyard, her wet pussy grinding against yours. You can feel how slick she is, your wetness combining with hers to speed up your motions.

You feel a drop running down your thigh, and you can't know who it belongs to. Emily is still moving at a tortuous pace, making you wait. She always does this when you scissor, making you be patient for the orgasm you know she’ll give you. 

When you’re too desperate to wait, you start to move your hips faster from beneath her, watching her pink lips part as you do. Her long eyelashes brush her cheeks as her eyes flutter shut. 

“That’s it, baby,” she groans, hands going to grip the plush of your hips. She guides your grinding, making sure your clit brushes against hers every time. 

Her motions get faster, rubbing against you deeper. You can feel her core fluttering around nothing, matching your own heat’s movements. You reach up, a hand wrapping around her waist. 

Her range of motion gets smaller, focussing on the feeling of your clits bumping against each other. The small buds are swollen, sensitive from the friction you’re giving each other. Your whines combine into a symphony of pleasure, quiet enough to be responsible but loud enough to spur you on. 

“Come for me,” she moans out, a hand going to your thigh. 

Just one squeeze of her palm and you’re falling over the edge. White hot pleasure courses through you as he cunt presses against yours. Her hand goes to cover your mouth as your sounds get uncontrollably loud.

It’s not long after that she follows, her peak reached when she hears and sees how absolutely ruined you are just from grinding your pussies together. She swears under her breath as her back arches, biting her lip to keep herself from notifying the team of your activities. 

She rolls off you, the two of you now laying side by side in the grass. You both stare up at the night sky, panties scattered and dresses pulled up. Stars swirl in the sky, matching the light twinkling in your eyes. Lost in your haze, you’re not sure how long it is before you sit up, but eventually you force your legs to work enough for you to stand. 

Emily gathers up the underwear, passing yours over. Shoes get put back on and skirts get smoothed down. You recollect yourselves, making sure you’re at least presentable enough that you can blame the wrecked hair on the fall wind. 

When you teeter on your shaky legs, Emily holds you up, a grin on her face.

“You better remember how to walk in front of the team,” she says, helping you steady yourself.

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to walk normally to prove a point. By the time you reach the team, they’re another bottle of wine deeper into their festivities. The two of you sit down, rejoining the team like you weren’t just fucking each other around the corner. 

“We thought you must’ve gotten lost,” Rossi comments.

“Smoke break,” is all the explanation Emily gives, shooting you a sly wink.

You open up the door to your locker, finding your clothes from earlier. Your current outfit feels slightly ridiculous, the mini dress completely out of place amongst the rest of the agents. It made sense at the club where you went undercover to catch the unsub, and you admit that you rather enjoyed the glances Hotch gave you while wearing it, but now the unsub is caught and you have to focus on interrogation. 

Hotch, being the man he is, refuses to waste time and opts to do the debriefing in the locker room. No need to waste time in his world. He stands facing the opposite direction, leaning against the lockers. In true Hotch fashion, he’s the gentleman, making sure you’re out of his sight line.

He’s rambling about some sort of interrogation technique when you unzip the dress. He tries his best, but he can’t help but look as it slips off your shoulders, revealing the soft skin of your back. He can make out the clasp holding your bra taught, the clasp he so desperately wants to unhook–

But he has to be professional. Besides him being your boss, he was raised to be a proper man, to treat women with respect rather than stare at them when a single inch of skin is in sight. That’s why he keeps talking when the dress falls down to the floor, revealing the thong that it was hiding. Of course you’re wearing a thong, showing the soft ass he’s been ogling through your pants for months. His face is still turned away, but his eyes seem to have a mind of his own. 

You’re left in your heels and underwear, a sight far too erotic to be happening in the locker room of your workplace. He can almost imagine you in his bedroom, stripping down just for him, in the same black set you’ve got on now. He shakes that thought off with a small twitch of his head.

He’s totally screwed when you take your bra off, this time facing toward the locker to give him the perfect view of your bust. He knows he shouldn’t be looking. It’s absolutely inappropriate. But he can’t help himself from watching the small jiggle of your breasts as you reach inside for your regular clothes.

What Hotch doesn’t know is that the teasing is completely purposeful. You don’t miss the way he looks at you when you wear pants that are tighter than usual, or a top that hugs your waist in the way you wish his hands were. You look at him, too, even though his suits leave almost everything to the imagination. 

You could’ve changed in a more tactful way, slipping your shirt on as the dress fell, keeping everything out of sight. But what fun would that be? Extra lucky for you, the strapless bra you needed for the dress was far too uncomfortable for work, letting you tease your strictly professional boss with a glimpse of more skin. 

That’s why you spend a bit too much time looking for your clothes, bent over with your tits out as you dig through the locker. Hotch is still trying to struggle through his speech, hoping you don’t notice the stuttering. 

You slip your everyday bra back on, making sure to tilt yourself ever so slightly toward him as you do. The heat of his eyes on your body has you unable to resist any longer.

“You know, I can see your eyes,” you say.

He completely freezes, turning pink. “I didn’t mean,” is all he can stutter out before turning away from you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Maybe I don’t mind you looking.”

He raises an eyebrow, turning back to you. “Don’t. You’re my subordinate. This is an inappropriate line of conversation.”

“It’s also inappropriate to stare at said subordinate.”

He shakes his head, looking down. He’s still trying to resist, but he’s run out of things to say to deter you. 

You take a step forward, still in nothing but your underwear and heels. “Nobody will know. It’s not like there’s cameras in here.”

Hotch gives a small huff, letting his eyes roam over your body. It’s so perfect, almost like it’s made for his gaze. His eyes fall onto your lips as you step forward, tempting him even more.

It’s a tug on your bra strap that breaks his restraint. He turns you around so your back is pressed against a locker, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. His hands are on either side of your face, caging you between the metal and his body. It goes against every bit of sense he’s got, every oath he took in his position. But when your lips part for his tongue to slip in, he doesn’t give a damn about anything but the heat between you. 

Your hands go to his back, grasping at the crisp suit jacket covering the body you long to see. His hands are all over you, exploring every inch he can reach before gripping onto your waist to keep you steady against the metal. 

He tugs your panties down, letting them drop onto the tile. He only takes one hand from your waist to undo his belt. You help him tug his pants down, getting his slacks and boxers down to his mid thigh. 

The second he’s undressed enough, his hand hooks beneath your knee, giving him better access to your core. He thrusts his hips forward, rubbing his hardness against your wet heat.

“Are you sure you want this?”

It’s an insane question, really, considering how long you’ve needed him for. “I’m sure,” you groan.

It’s all Hotch needs, and he pushes the head of his cock into you. Your hands clutch his shoulders tighter, the clean material wrinkling under your tight grip. He’s just gotten his tip in, but you know it’s going to sting already. He’s thick, which you know just from the feeling, and when you look down at where your bodies connect, he’s got a long way to go before he’s fully inside. 

From your gasps and whines, he knows you’re struggling to fit him in. He goes slowly as he pushes in, making sure to notice when you need a break. It’s slow and tortuous in the best way, each stretch shooting a sting of pleasure to your core.

A minute passes before he’s fully inside, groaning at the way your tight cunt hugs his length. He waits as long as he can to let you adjust, but every pulse of you around him has him needing so desperately to thrust inside. 

You give a small nod, permission for him to start moving. He picks you up fully first, your legs wrapping around his hips as your ass touches the cold metal. He pulls out all the way before thrusting back in. The feeling of his fat tip rubbing against your gummy walls has you already crying out, thankful it’s far too late for anyone else to be in the locker room. 

Hotch’s hands are lifting you from your ass, squeezing with each slow thrust. His rough palms grip the smooth skin, easily lifting you against the lockers. 

Your mouth has already fallen open, a shaky breath exiting your lips with each slow thrust. He’s holding himself back, you can tell, and if it weren’t for his size, you’d tell him to fuck you as fast as he wants.

He can’t resist much longer, hips speeding up incrementally with each thrust. Your moans spur him on. With each faster motion, your moans increase in volume. 

“Harder,” you whimper. Aaron’s hands grip your ass tighter at your words, head falling back with a strangled moan. 

His hips start to drill into you, fucking into your tight hole with every ounce of passion in his body. He nearly closes his eyes in pleasure, but forces them to stay open so he can keep his eyes on the bounce of your tits with each rut into you. 

Each thrust of his hard cock into the deepest part of your body has bolts of pleasure running through your veins. Fists clench at his clothes, anchoring yourself to anything you can grasp. You can hardly think as he fucks you harder, the coolness against your back sending chills through your body as he pushes you against the lockers. 

He nips at your neck, claiming you with his teeth. Suckling at your pulse point, his warm mouth leaves his imprint against your sensitive skin. The feeling of him marking you up has your walls clenching around him. You can only thank your past self for choosing a turtleneck today.

He presses hot kisses against you until he’s too close to do anything but focus on the feeling of him inside your fluttering pussy. Both of you are gasping and moaning, the sounds mingling until you’re not sure who is making which sound.

“Come in me,” you whine. “I’m on the pill.”

Another moan leaves him, your words like a gate opening to lead him into heaven. It’s all he can do to wait until you come first.

“Let go, baby,” he groans into your ear. 

The sound of his rough voice and the feeling of his breath tingling your ear pushes you over, your back arching against him as the tension in your body snaps into trembles with your orgasm. Your head falls back against the lockers, mouth open with a silent scream. 

Feeling your peak, Hotch follows quickly, spilling inside you. He lets out a final moan, punctuating the feeling of his hot come filling your sensitive cunt. 

Gently lowering you down, he makes sure you can stand before taking his hands off of you. Staring at your flushed cheeks, he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. He goes to one of the stalls, handing you a piece of toilet paper.

You wipe down the inside of your thighs, and Hotch’s dark eyes watch each of your motions. When you’re cleaned up, he takes the paper soiled with his seed, tossing it in the trash. By the time he returns, you’re pulling your underwear back up. 

Before you can worry about it, he goes to your locker, getting out your clothes and helping you dress. When you’re both fully dressed, an awkward smile touches both of your lips. You look into the small mirror attached to your locker, both of you fixing your hair as well as you can. Hotch makes sure no evidence of his release is on his dark pants before deciding he’s satisfied with his appearance.

“That was highly unprofessional,” he murmurs, adjusting his belt. 

You grin. “I know.”

His eyes look over your now-clothed form. “It was worth it,” he says, this time quieter, as if he’s scared any harsh speech could shatter the delicate moment. 

“I’ll say,” you giggle. “Can I plan on this happening again?”

Hotch gives a reluctant chuckle, glancing away for a moment before locking eyes with yours. “You can,” he says, walking out of the room. Before he opens the door, he turns back around, addressing you one last time before returning to his professional self. “But next time it’ll be somewhere more comfortable than this locker room.”