pleaseultraviolenceme

Latest Posts by pleaseultraviolenceme

w/ john f. kennedy 18+ sexually explicit content

jack waking you up in the early hours of the morning, four maybe five am; you can feel him before you hear him, tossing in the sheets beside you, turning from that troublesome back of his to his side and then back again, seemingly adjusting and readjusting, more than few times over. you’re not nearly awake enough to care, your body simply takes notice of the divot changes in the bed - with distant awareness, your eyes remain peacefully shut.

eventually he lets out a huff, succumbing to his ache and turning over to your side, his bare body heat entering your space and radiating onto you; as he leans in, heavy and intensely warm is his breath on the hair which curtains your ear. his voice is gritty and sleep ridden, above a whisper and dripping his brahmin accent, “roll on your stomach for me.”

it takes a few fleeting seconds for the words to even register, barely conscious enough to give a hum of acknowledgement even as you oblige; messily moving and twisting in the linens to be on your frontside, stomach and chest meet the plush mattress below. with his eyes holding only a squint in the low - almost no - light room, his large hand surfs easily through all your maneuvering, finding the small of your silk nightgown covered back and following its soft seams to your equally as satiny thighs, guiding your leg to a 90 degree angle, far enough away from your other for him to fit right inbetween them.

the chill from the duvet falling away and off your body sparks your mind to awaken the tiniest bit more, as it now only comforts from your calves and below, a result of jack settling himself on his knees in the middle of your spread; keeping one hand roaming and kneading at your skin as the other sleepily fumbles to pull himself out of his boxers.

his hard-on pulses and springs out of its cotton cage immediately, its sensitivity already on high, causing him to groan in a low octave as he palms and massages the leaking pre-cum around his tip a few times as a lubricant. steadily gaining consciousness, you peer over your shoulder at him, through hooded lids; the sight of him looming large, with tousled hair and no shirt, his hand to his cock and his sleepy contorting-in-need face cause your anticipation to present in an ever so slight arching back to give him better access, and the rush of arousal liquidating in your center.

he slides your negligée up in a smooth motion, exposing all of your glory for his taking. the soft heat of his hand cupping your hip bone is a small, polite comfort, an action he does it with intent - to hold you still, to hold you close, to feel you.

your head has fallen back to the pillow and eyes have closed once again as he aligns himself with your opening; he can’t even bring himself to tease you and your rim, as he usually does, he’s much too tired, with too much of a craving to even consider playing a game. he enters slowly, his cockhead savoring your all encompassing, sleep-hot tightness. it fills your slick center fully, in deliberation, one long drawn out stroke inside that causes an involuntary soft toned-yet complete sighing moan to fall from your lips.

upon entrance, he gives another rumbling base-of-the-throat groan, with a mumble through gritted teeth, “god, that’s it…”

he’s now put both hands on each of your naked and open hips, gripping with pressure that would typically cause you to squirm, but in this moment, is the second most pleasurable sensation being inflicted upon you. he guides your hips, instead of thrusting his own - a testament to his laziness, regardless of how good he makes you feel - extending and conducting them upward, until he’s just a new centimeters from falling completely out of you.

there’s a second of pause; just a beat too long of him holding out, and as you’ve got the taste for him now, there’s a flash idea of simply pushing yourself back on him, but before you can even think it all the way through, he drags you back down, with more vigor than that first, sweet stroke.

you yelp, the squelch of his intense re-entering and hitting of your spot just perfectly fills the silent night with a pornographic mist; his breath is shaky and heavy, and though your eyes remain closed and shielded by a mix of hair and cotton from the pillow your face is buried in, you already know he has the most salacious, magnificent, strung out look on his face; knitted scrunched brows, squinting eyes, jaw slack in bliss. jack kennedy is a beautiful man, but never is he more beautiful than when he’s seven and a half inches deep inside you.

his hunger seems to overtake any exhaustion he may be experiencing, as he suddenly, almost rudely, quickens the speed at which he moves you; his fingertips burn into your skin, delightfully possessive, grasping the velvety flesh of your ass. the sensation of his relentless in and out is scorching and so filling you can’t possibly contain the noise that escapes through your mouth and nose; it’s exactly how he likes it, and if you didn’t already know it, his gnashing “c’mon, let me hear you,” is confirmation enough.

“jack,” you sigh out, your forehead digging into the memory foam as your writhe in his hedonism; as he brings you down for a particularly hard and godlike blow, striking your walls to make you see stars, your hand flies from clenching the fitted sheet below you to his hand, which remains firmly planted on your hip. your palm smacks his knuckles and in the same motion, your thumb hooks under his pointer finger, which only just gives way for you; it’s such a small, seemingly insignificant, act of intimacy, but somehow bridges a gap between you both.

“i know,” he answers, panting and moaning - but he doesn’t actually, because truthfully, you don’t know either. saying his name just feels right.

as you tighten the hold of his hand, and he never once falters, you for some reason have the inappropriately timed thought of all the hands that have shook this one - from the greatest political figures of the time to the average american citizen, they’ve all touched it, cradled it, savored it - and yet, none know of it’s perversion and dirtiness, that you are the one to ultimately own it. it’s this hand that shall mark your body time and time again, completely yours.

your hips begin to move on their own, circling as he heaves them up and down, making sure his tip to shaft reaches every bit of you. his head falls back, now in true heaven, and just as you feel yourself reaching a head, he pants out, “baby…”

baby, a name you only ever hear right as he’s about to cum, indicates to keep going as you’ve been - the pace he’s chosen works in perfect harmony with your grinding, “please, jack.”

everything within yourself suddenly pulls to your center and pushes downward as you reach your climax, unapologetic about the obscene sound pouring from you; the knot in at the bottom of your stomach unravels as a rush of pleasure runs up your back and throughout the whole of your body. jack follows immediately after, bucking up into you with fervor, pulsing and twitching inside you while releasing angelic whimpers only you get to hear.

you both remain still for a passing moment, catching your breaths and reveling in the practical porn you just partook in. jack removes himself from you after less than a minute, nothing short of typical for him; you hiss at the feeling, going from full to barren allows the cold to take jack’s place within you. he takes another second-long pause before reaching down and tenderly kissing where his hands have no doubt bruised you - each side of your body gets a drawn out pressing of his lips, nothing short of atypical for him.

he mumbles something that sounds distantly like an i love you, before climbing off the bed entirely, and shuffling to the en-suite bathroom of your shared bedroom. not long after the light has flickered on and the bathroom door has been pushed but not closed entirely, you hear the shower head spurt on and the curtain draw; jack begins his day, leaving you to the tranquility of bed, as he continues to spill out from you in a stream while returning to sleep.

lacy says. hiiiii

i would kill for a jack & joe jr x reader smut at palm beach !! something to the tune of sibling rivalry ,,

What The Boys Will Do

synopsis: two kennedy brothers, a smoldering rivalry, and a girl who knows exactly how to stir the pot at palm beach. it’s all a game of who gets to win... until they realize they’re both playing for the same prize.

word count: 4.8k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader, joe kennedy jr. x reader

rating: 18+; includes explicit sexual acts

author's note: for that one other anon who requested joe jr smut, this is for you as well!

December in Palm Beach meant nothing like the Christmases you'd known before. No snow, no biting wind, just the relentless Florida sun beating down on the Kennedy compound's whitewashed walls, turning everything golden. The Atlantic stretched beyond the garden wall, a glittering blue expanse that seemed to mock the very concept of winter.

You'd been staying with the Kennedys for nearly two weeks now. Ambassador Kennedy and his wife Rose had extended the invitation through your father—business connections, naturally—and you'd accepted with polite enthusiasm that masked your genuine curiosity. The Kennedys were American royalty, after all, and their sprawling Palm Beach estate was the stuff of newspaper photographs and whispered gossip.

What you hadn't counted on was the brothers.

Joe Jr. and Jack Kennedy were studies in contrast. Joe Jr., the eldest, carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who'd never questioned his place in the world. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and clear eyes, he moved through rooms like he owned them, which, you supposed, he technically did. His laughter was loud, his opinions firm, his handshake crushing. The golden boy, groomed for greatness from birth.

Jack was... different. Leaner, sharper somehow, with eyes that seemed to catch everything. Where Joe Jr. commanded attention, Jack slipped into it sideways, with a wry comment or an observation that made everyone in earshot suddenly aware of his presence. He was quieter, but no less intense—just more selective about when to deploy his considerable charm.

And both of them watched you.

You first noticed it during tennis matches, when you'd catch Joe Jr.'s gaze lingering a beat too long on your legs as you reached for a backhand. Then at dinner, when Jack would pass you the salt before you'd asked, his fingers brushing yours with deliberate slowness. Small moments, easily dismissed individually, but collectively forming a pattern you couldn't ignore.

Neither brother spoke of it directly. Instead, their rivalry leaked out in a thousand tiny ways: Joe Jr. cutting Jack off mid-story to tell a better one; Jack needling his brother about some Harvard football game he'd fumbled; Joe Jr. casually mentioning his plans to enter politics while looking pointedly at his younger brother's thinner frame, still recovering from some illness.

And always, always, their eyes would flick to you afterward, gauging your reaction.

You weren't naive. You understood the game being played, and rather than shy away, you found yourself leaning into it. A laugh at Joe Jr.'s jokes that lasted a touch too long. Asking Jack to explain something political, your body angled toward his, eyes wide with manufactured fascination. Accepting Joe Jr.'s invitation to swim, then emerging from the water with your bathing suit clinging to every curve. Borrowing one of Jack's books, then returning it with comments that showed you'd actually read it, watching surprise and something hungrier flicker across his face.

It was intoxicating, this power. Dangerous, perhaps, but no more dangerous than the cocktails Ambassador Kennedy mixed himself each evening—strong enough to burn, sweet enough to make you forget the burn until morning.

Today had been particularly charged. A boat trip along the coast, all of you packed into the family's sleek vessel, salt spray and sunshine and too many bodies in too little space. Joe Jr. had insisted on teaching you to steer, his chest pressed against your back, hands covering yours on the wheel. Jack had watched from his seat at the stern, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the tight set of his jaw.

Later, back at the house, Jack had cornered you in the library, ostensibly to show you a first edition of Fitzgerald, but really to stand close enough that you could smell his cologne and count the freckles across his nose.

Dinner had been unbearable—the brothers seated on either side of you, Rose Kennedy oblivious to the tension as she discussed Christmas arrangements, the younger Kennedy children squabbling over dessert. Joe Jr.'s knee pressed against yours under the table; Jack's foot hooked casually around your ankle.

Now, as evening settled over the compound and the family dispersed to their various entertainments, you found yourself needing air. Space to think. The beach called to you—empty, you hoped, and cool with the night breeze.

You slipped out through the garden gate, shoes dangling from your fingers, and made your way down to the shore. The sand was still warm from the day's heat, fine-grained between your toes. You walked until the house lights dimmed behind you, then settled on the sand, knees drawn up to your chest, watching the moonlight dance across the water.

"Thought I might find you here."

Joe Jr.'s voice startled you. He stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his linen trousers, jacket discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tanned forearms. In the moonlight, his features seemed harder, more defined.

"Did you follow me?" you asked, not moving to make room beside you.

He shrugged, a fluid motion that spoke of absolute confidence. "Maybe. Or maybe I just needed some air too." He settled beside you anyway, close enough that his arm brushed yours. "It's a madhouse in there. Mother's on about Christmas decorations, and Jack's being... Jack."

The way he said his brother's name carried a weight you couldn't quite decipher. Irritation? Jealousy? Both?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joe Jr. picked up a handful of sand, let it sift through his fingers. "You know exactly what it means. He's been following you around like a lost puppy for days. It's embarrassing."

"I hadn't noticed," you lied, watching his profile.

He turned to face you then, his expression skeptical. "Sure you haven't. Just like you haven't noticed me watching you either, right?"

Your heart kicked against your ribs. This was it—the thing neither brother had been willing to say out loud, suddenly made explicit in the darkness.

"Joe—"

"Don't," he cut you off. "Don't pretend you don't know what's happening here. Between us. Between you and Jack. All of it."

You swallowed hard. "And what is happening, exactly?"

His laugh was short, almost bitter. "You're playing with us. Both of us. And you're enjoying it."

The accusation should have shamed you. Instead, it sent a thrill down your spine, a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the lingering warmth of the day.

"I'm not playing anything," you said, but your voice betrayed you, coming out husky and low.

Joe Jr. shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours now. "Liar," he said, but there was no anger in it—only a strange sort of admiration. "You've got us both twisted up, and you know it. The question is..." His hand found your waist, fingers splaying wide. "What are you going to do about it?"

You should have pulled away. Should have stood up, brushed the sand from your clothes, walked back to the house and the safety of other people. Instead, you turned toward him, close enough now that you could feel his breath on your face.

"What do you want me to do about it?" you whispered.

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, maybe, or relief. "I want you to stop pretending you don't want me."

And then his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, his hand sliding from your waist to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you. There was nothing gentle about the kiss—it was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained hunger, months of watching and wanting compressed into a single, explosive moment.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle there. He was so different from Jack—broader, harder, radiating a physical presence that seemed to overwhelm everything else. His kiss tasted like bourbon, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor, as if some dam had broken inside you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "Tell me to stop," he said, but his hands were already moving, one sliding up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress.

"Don't stop," you breathed, and something wild flashed across his face.

He pushed you back onto the sand, his body covering yours, mouth finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I've watched you with him," he murmured against your skin. "Seen the way you look at him. The way you laugh at his stupid jokes." His teeth grazed your neck, making you arch against him. "Is this what you want from him too?"

The question sent a jolt through you. "Joe," you gasped, not answering, not needing to.

His hand found the hem of your dress, pushed it up around your hips. The night air was cool against your suddenly exposed skin, but his palm was hot as it slid up your inner thigh.

"Say it," he demanded, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Say you want me. Not him. Me."

You couldn't speak, could barely think with his weight pressing you into the sand, his touch so close to where you needed it. Instead, you pulled his face down to yours, kissing him with all the pent-up desire of the past weeks.

He groaned into your mouth, his fingers finally slipping past the barrier of silk to find you wet and ready. "Christ," he muttered, forehead pressed against yours. "You're soaked."

The crude observation should have embarrassed you. Instead, it only heightened your arousal, knowing how much he wanted this—wanted you. His fingers moved with expert precision, circling, dipping inside, drawing out your pleasure until you were writhing beneath him, sand sticking to your sweat-dampened skin.

"Joe, please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for.

He seemed to know, though. With swift, efficient movements, he unbuckled his belt, shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. You caught only a glimpse in the moonlight—thick, straining against his palm as he stroked himself once, twice.

"Tell me," he said again, positioning himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathed, and it wasn't a lie, not in this moment with the ocean roaring in your ears and his body hot and hard above yours. "Please, Joe, I want you."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, filling you completely, drawing a cry from your lips that he silenced with his mouth. There was nothing gentle about the way he took you—his hips driving forward with a force that sent you sliding in the sand, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider for him.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust. "All those times you bent over in front of me? Wore those little dresses? This is what you were asking for, wasn't it?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was easier than explaining the complicated truth—that you'd wanted both of them, differently but equally, in ways you couldn't even articulate to yourself.

He fucked you like he had something to prove, like he could erase any thought of Jack from your mind through sheer physical dominance. And for a while, it worked—your world narrowed to the sensation of him inside you, the weight of him above you, the sound of his labored breathing mixing with the crash of waves.

Your orgasm built quickly, almost violently, spurred by the rough friction and the forbidden thrill of being taken like this—outdoors, where anyone might see, by a man whose brother wanted you just as badly. When it hit, you cried out his name, your nails raking down his back, leaving marks you hoped would still be there tomorrow.

Joe Jr. followed soon after, his rhythm faltering, his face buried in your neck as he groaned his release. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together on the sand, catching your breath.

Finally, he rolled off you, tucking himself away, straightening his clothes with efficient movements. You did the same, pulling your dress down, running fingers through your sand-streaked hair.

"We should get back," he said, his voice oddly formal now, as if trying to recapture some sense of propriety after what you'd just done. "Before they notice we're both gone."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. He offered his hand, pulled you to your feet, then brushed sand from your back with a touch that lingered just a moment too long.

The walk back to the house was silent, charged with unspoken questions. At the garden gate, he paused, turned to face you.

"This isn't over," he said, and you weren't sure if it was a promise or a warning.

Then he was gone, striding ahead of you toward the house, leaving you to follow in his wake, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, your mind already spinning with the implications of what had just happened.

And what might happen next.

You avoided both Kennedy brothers the next day, pleading a headache and staying in your room until late afternoon. It wasn't entirely a lie—your head did ache, though more from the tangle of thoughts than any physical ailment.

What had happened with Joe Jr. on the beach felt like crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed. The game you'd been playing had suddenly become very real, with consequences you weren't sure you were prepared to face.

And then there was Jack. The thought of him made your stomach twist with a complicated mix of guilt and anticipation. Did he know? Had Joe Jr. said something? The Kennedy brothers shared many things, but you doubted this would be one of them.

By evening, hunger and boredom drove you from your sanctuary. The house was quieter than usual—Ambassador Kennedy and Rose had taken the younger children to some Christmas event in town, and dinner had been an informal affair that you'd apparently missed entirely.

You wandered the halls, eventually finding yourself at the foot of the grand staircase. The second floor housed the family's private rooms, including your own guest suite at the far end of the corridor. You climbed slowly, trailing your fingers along the polished banister, lost in thought.

At the top of the stairs, you froze. Jack Kennedy leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, a book dangling from his fingers. He looked up as you reached the landing, his expression unreadable.

"There she is," he said. "We thought you might have caught the train back to New York without saying goodbye."

"Just feeling a bit under the weather," you said, suddenly aware of how close you were standing to him, of the narrow corridor stretching behind him toward your room.

He studied you, his gaze moving slowly over your face, down to your neck where you knew a faint mark from Joe Jr.'s mouth still lingered, despite your best efforts with makeup. "Better now, I hope?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. There was something in his eyes—a knowing look that made your skin prickle with awareness.

"Good," he said, pushing off from the wall. "I was hoping to show you something. In the study."

The study was Ambassador Kennedy's domain, a wood-paneled room filled with leather-bound books and the lingering scent of cigars. Jack led you there with a hand hovering just above the small of your back, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of his palm through your dress.

"Your father won't mind?" you asked as Jack closed the door behind you.

He smiled, a quick flash of teeth. "Dad's not here. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him." He crossed to a cabinet, opened it to reveal a collection of crystal decanters. "Drink?"

You nodded, watching as he poured amber liquid into two tumblers. His movements were precise, economical—so different from Joe Jr.'s broader gestures. Where his brother commanded space, Jack seemed to navigate it with a dancer's awareness of exactly where his body began and ended.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. "To feeling better," he said, raising his drink in a toast.

The whiskey burned pleasantly going down, warming you from the inside out. Jack watched you over the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving your face.

"So," he said finally, setting his drink aside. "You and Joe had quite the evening last night."

Your heart stuttered. "I don't know what you mean."

His laugh was soft, almost kind. "Come on now. We both know that's not true." He moved closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "He came back covered in sand. And you..." His finger traced the air just above the mark on your neck, not touching but making you acutely aware of its presence. "Well, let's just say the evidence is fairly compelling."

Heat flooded your face—embarrassment, yes, but also a strange, twisted excitement at being caught. At having both brothers' attention so completely focused on you.

"Jack, I—"

"You don't need to explain," he cut you off, taking the glass from your suddenly nerveless fingers and setting it aside. "I'm not angry. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He smiled again, but this time there was something predatory in it. "I mean that my brother has always had a habit of taking what he wants without thinking about the consequences. Without considering whether what he's taking might be better off in someone else's hands." His own hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with feather-light pressure. "My hands, for instance."

Your breath caught in your throat. This was what you'd been playing with, wasn't it? This rivalry, this tension. And now it was fully in the open, impossible to ignore or deny.

"Jack," you began, but he silenced you with a look.

"Let me ask you something," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Did he make you feel good? Really good? Or was he too busy proving a point to pay attention to what you needed?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Because while what had happened with Joe Jr. had been intense, overwhelming even, there had been a selfishness to it—a sense that your pleasure was secondary to his need to claim you.

Jack read your silence correctly. His smile widened, turned knowing. "That's what I thought." His hands slid from your face to your shoulders, down your arms to capture your wrists. "Let me show you the difference."

He backed you against the Ambassador's massive desk, his body caging yours without quite touching it. Unlike his brother's forceful approach, Jack's was measured, deliberate—a slow burn rather than a conflagration.

His mouth, when it finally met yours, was gentle at first, almost teasing. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring a fine wine rather than gulping it down. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking permission rather than demanding entry.

You opened for him with a soft sigh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. Through the fine fabric of his shirt, you could feel his heart beating, steady and strong. He deepened the kiss gradually, one hand sliding into your hair, angling your head to give him better access.

Where Joe Jr. had been all urgent heat and barely restrained power, Jack was precision and patience. He kissed you until your lips felt swollen, until your body was melting against his, until you were making small, needy sounds in the back of your throat.

Only then did his hands begin to wander, tracing the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip. He found the zipper of your dress, drew it down with agonizing slowness, his mouth never leaving yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—less a challenge than a genuine offer.

Your answer was the same. "Don't stop."

He smiled against your mouth, then stepped back just enough to help you out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet.

"Beautiful," he said simply, and somehow that single word affected you more deeply than all of Joe Jr.'s heated declarations.

Jack's hands skimmed over the silk of your slip, learning the contours of your body with careful attention. When they finally slipped beneath the hem, sliding up your thighs, you were already trembling with anticipation.

"Sit on the desk," he instructed, his voice low but firm.

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the massive oak surface. Jack stepped between your knees, spreading them wider with gentle pressure. Then, to your surprise, he sank to his knees before you.

"Jack, what—"

"Shh," he silenced you, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Let me show you what my brother should have done last night."

Your slip rucked up around your hips as he pushed it higher, exposing you completely to his gaze. Unlike the darkness of the beach, here in the warm lamplight of the study, you felt suddenly, acutely vulnerable.

Jack seemed to sense your discomfort. He looked up at you, his eyes serious now. "You are exquisite," he said. "Every inch of you. Let me worship you properly."

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing a path that made your head fall back, a gasp escaping your lips. Where Joe Jr. had been efficient but hurried in his attentions, Jack was thorough to the point of torture, alternating between broad strokes and focused circles, bringing you to the edge only to back away, building your pleasure in careful, deliberate increments.

Your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, urging him closer. He hummed against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for his mouth, his tongue delving inside you before returning to the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars.

"Jack, please," you begged, not even sure what you were asking for, only knowing that you needed more, needed release from the exquisite tension he was building.

He looked up at you, his mouth glistening. "Not yet," he said, and the command in his voice was all the more powerful for its softness. "Think about it. Think about how different this is. How much better."

And it was different—not necessarily better or worse, but a completely different experience. Where Joe Jr. had taken you with raw passion, Jack was dismantling you piece by piece, with surgical precision and devastating attention to detail.

When your orgasm finally hit, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced—a wave that seemed to go on and on, Jack's mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony to draw out every last tremor of pleasure until you were gasping his name, your body boneless and liquid.

He rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression one of pure masculine satisfaction. "Now," he said, unbuckling his belt with unhurried movements, "I'm going to fuck you on my father's desk, and you're going to remember every second of it."

The crude language, so at odds with his usual polish, sent another jolt of arousal through you. You watched, still dazed from your orgasm, as he freed himself from his trousers, stroking his length with the same deliberate pace he'd applied to pleasuring you.

He was different from Joe Jr. here too—not quite as thick, but longer, curved slightly in a way that promised to hit places his brother hadn't reached. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, hard and ready.

"Turn around," he instructed, helping you off the desk. "Bend over."

You complied, bracing your hands on the polished wood surface. Jack moved behind you, his hands sliding up your sides, pushing your slip higher until it bunched around your waist. You felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against you, teasing your entrance.

"Ask me for it," he said, his voice tight with restraint. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you breathed, pushing back against him. "I want you, Jack. Please."

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn of him. By the time he was fully seated, you were both panting, your forehead pressed against the cool wood of the desk.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "So tight. So perfect."

He began to move, setting a rhythm that was neither as frantic as Joe Jr.'s nor as slow as you might have expected. Each thrust was calculated for maximum impact, angled to hit the spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, echoing his brother's words from the night before, but with a different inflection—curious rather than accusatory. "All those times you looked at me across the dinner table? When you borrowed my books and returned them with your scent on the pages?"

"Yes," you gasped, because it was true—you had wanted this, wanted him, from the moment you'd first seen him lounging by the pool, his lean body golden in the sunlight, his eyes following you with quiet intensity.

He reached around, his fingers finding the sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs, circling it in time with his thrusts. "And my brother?" he asked, his voice strained now. "Did you want him too?"

The question should have shocked you, but in the haze of pleasure, it only heightened your arousal—this acknowledgment of the triangle you'd been navigating. "Yes," you admitted, and felt him thrust harder in response.

"Both of us," he said, not a question now but a statement of fact. "You greedy thing."

His pace increased, his control slipping as his own pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, spurred by his fingers and the relentless drag of his cock inside you.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough now, his rhythm faltering. "Come for me while I'm inside you. Let me feel it."

Your body obeyed, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you for the second time. Jack groaned, his fingers digging into your hip as he followed you over the edge, his release hot inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed joined together, catching your breath. Then Jack pulled away carefully, helping you stand, turning you to face him. Jack took his time—straightening your slip, retrieving your dress from the floor, helping you back into it with gentle hands. He zipped you up, pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, then turned you to face him again.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he said, but there was no judgment in his tone—only a kind of rueful admiration. "With both of us."

You met his gaze steadily. "I know."

He studied you for a moment, then nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "Well, then," he said, stepping back, "may the best man win."

Later that night, you stood before the mirror in your room, examining the evidence of the past two days—the faint mark on your neck from Joe Jr.'s mouth, the slight bruise on your hip from Jack's fingers. Your body felt pleasantly sore, used in the best possible way.

From downstairs came the sound of raised voices—Joe Jr. and Jack, their words indistinct but their tones unmistakable. Arguing, as they so often did, but with a new edge that you recognized all too well.

You smoothed your hands down the front of your dress, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. You could end this if you wanted to. Choose one brother over the other. Draw a line under the whole affair and return to New York with a scandalous memory to keep you warm through the winter.

But as you listened to their voices rise and fall, each trying to assert dominance over the other, you knew you wouldn't. Not yet, anyway.

the womanly machinations of a kennedy love-sick novelist: enter at your own heed.

evil kennedy men one-shots:

summer wine rfk one-shot

american jack schlossberg one-shot

take me out to the ballgame jfk one-shot

god’s and monsters rfk one-shot

jfk jr one-shot

controversially young!gf rfk one-shot

salvatore rfk one-shot

aviation rfk one-shot

jack schlossberg architectural digest one-shot

jfk, rfk love triangle one-shot

the socially active secretary chapters:

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

kennedy hc's:

rfk hc's

jack schlossberg husband! hc's

boss!bobby and secretary!reader hc’s

loner!bobby and popular girl!reader hc's

god bless america and all the beautiful women in it jack schlossberg comfort hc's

frat!jack schlossberg hc's

situationship!jfk hc's

jfk and nurse!reader hc's

jfk!jr arranged marriage hc's

jack schlossberg & ballerina!reader hc's!

boyfriend!bobby vacation hc's

12 days of melancholichristmas:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Being Bobby's girlfriend and catching Jack’s attention…

a/n: this is set in their college years + before Jack meets Jackie!! This is very messy + this fic contains nsfw content so please proceed with caution. This doesn't contain anything nsfw happening between the brothers.

currently listening to: Music To Watch Boys To by LDR . ݁₊ ⊹ ! !

It all started when Bobby took you home to Hyannis Port during the summer to meet his family. You were absolutely nervous, your hands were sweating and your brows furrowed with anxiety at the thought of you saying something wrong and immediately becoming enemy #1 of the Kennedy family. However, your sweet, darling boyfriend was quick to shut down all the negative thoughts that were clouding your head with his reassuring words.

"oh, don't think like that, sweetheart. They'll love you just as much as I do. I know they will."

Thankfully, Bobby was right, just like he always was when it came to calming your nerves. His parents, particularly his mother, asked you all sorts of questions that spanned from historical events, political opinions, and what was it about Bobby that interested you so much. If his parents were quizzing you, you would've passed with flying colors. His siblings were much easier on you and simply turned to teasing Bobby about how smitten he was with you. His sisters didn't spare any compliments and his brothers shot him an approving look with a proud raise of their eyebrows.

However, one of his brothers was particularly proud of Bobby's taste in women.

"She's a nice girl, Bobby. Real nice. I always wondered what you were doin' bringing those other girls to the house but I can't say I'm mad a'cha for bringin her around. I would've brought her home, too." Jack whispered to his younger brother once the two of them were alone in the kitchen, putting away dirty dishes. Bobby sheepishly thanked his brother for his version of a sincere compliment.

Jack’s interest in you started off as something hidden, as something he'd only ever speak of in confidence when he was alone with Bobby. Robert didn't take offense to his brother's fascination with you, if anything he found it humorous at first. He never saw his brother as a threat to your relationship, he knew Jack would never dare to attempt to take you away from him. He knows his dear brother. He knows he'd have a different idea in mind.

As your relationship with Bobby progressed, you began to get used to receiving regular compliments from Jack. The compliments started off tame and could never be mistaken as being anything other than friendly praises. He'd compliment a dress that Bobby gifted you on a date night, dragging his eyes up and down your body before commenting, "you did good, Bobby. The color suits her." Then, the friendly compliments turned into even friendlier physical contact. Bobby would always have a strong hand on the small of your back or a muscular arm looped through yours in an effort to keep you close. Eventually, Jack would copy his brother's movements and swiftly move to place his hand dangerously low on the small of your back, bracketing you between him and Bobby.

One night, everything truly closed in on you.

Bobby lead you up to his bedroom after a enjoying a hearty dinner with his family, leaving everyone under the impression that the two of you were going to catch up on some sleep. However, as soon as that bedroom door shut, you found yourself grinding down onto Bobby's lap with an insatiable hunger. The ferocity in which your hips moved caused the delicious ache between your plush thighs to deepen, you hoped that if you bounced on his clothed lap just a little harder, you'd eventually be able to feel his bare cock against your flushed pussy. you didn't want to stop, you wanted to feel his bare skin on yours and revel within the mind numbing noises of skin on skin, you were already drooling at the mere thought of it ‘clap, clap, clap,’ but you swore you'd die if you pulled away from him for even a second.

Bobby wrapped his strong arms around you in an effort to swiftly pick you up and place you beneath him, however, the sudden click of the doorknob made him halt his movements. He could've sworn he locked the door behind him how could someone open the door-

Suddenly, he was met with a pair of striking blue eyes that belonged to his dear brother, Jack. Then, his entire frame came into view and you immediately fled from Bobby's grasp. Surely, his brother knew what the two of you were up to. Your hair was messy as a result of Bobby's hands gently pulling on it, your tits threatened to escape from the delicate fabric of your cotton sundress, and your eyes were blown with arousal. However, the words of disgust that you were waiting to leave Jack’s lips never came.

"C'mon, get back over there, sweetheart. Whaddya say, Bobby? You wouldn't want her to stop, would you? She was havin' so much fun."

You were already so close with the Kennedy family. You never thought there would be a chance you'd get any closer.

a/n: this is my first time writing explicit smut, so I hope it wasn’t too rusty. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist: @fortheloveofjos @bobbykennedyswife @summerrivera777777 @divinedelusional @bluelancergirl @h-l-vlovesvintage @romanticismboop @tomriddlethefinest @vixenihy @darcyspirits lemme know if you’d like to be added 🌷.

dedicated to: @unmarlou once again 💌🐻.

idk why im sending this to you specifically but i cant stop thinking about james being on top during sex and his glasses just falling off every two seconds. and like he refuses to take them off bc he "wants to see you" but also sir, im getting hit in the face by your glasses.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Metal hits the bridge of your nose for the fourth time since James hooked one leg on either side of your waist, and you reach up to snatch the spectacles off of your face.

"That's it. You're done."

"No!" James grabs for the glasses, gentle but insistent as he tries not to crush them, "No, darling please, I want to see you!"

"You want to see me, James?" You huff, an insistent ache between your thighs at the perpetual friction against your clothed crotch as James lazily grinds down onto you, "I'm sure there's a big bruise on my face now, you want to see it?"

"They haven't bruised your face," James has managed to snatch his glasses back and he balances them precariously on his nose once more, the nosepads already sliding down his sweat-beaded face, "You look lovely darling. You look pissed, but lovely."

"If those things fall onto my face one more time, I'll snap 'em-" The rest of your sentence is lost to a moan that you can't fight back as James rolls his hips hard against yours.

"Yes, yes, you'll snap them and then I won't be able to find my way to the front door," James gripes, latching his lips onto your jaw in a suctioned kiss, "Let's settle down darling, hm? Your threats are really killing the mood."

one thing that has been all over my fyp is this girl basically babying her bf when hes sick. but ! im imagining reader doing this to bestfriend!james and sirius and remus watching like ???!!!

In your opinion, it's perfectly acceptable to spoon-feed James soup while he's sick. After all, his limbs are achy from being bent at awkward angles throughout the night due to his restless tossing and turning, so repeatedly bringing spoon after spoon to his mouth would only wear his joints out more.

It is, perhaps, only a little silly because you are using an actual baby spoon. It's green silicon with white plastic around the handle that grows warm beneath your steady touch. requested specifically by James who always has an aversion to the feeling of his teeth scraping against metal cutlery, but especially can't handle it when everything else in his body feels wrong.

He lets the hinge of his jaw open weakly as you press another spoonful of soup to his lips, humming warmly as the broth slides down his dry throat and rehydrates it. Remus's eyes flicker over at the sound, but dutifully return to his book.

Sirius is the shit-stirrer, as always.

"Remus," He whines, tucked into his own blankets, though not for sickness as much as for laziness, "I'm feeling ill. Would you heat me up a ba-ba?"

"Yes dear," Remus hums, attention still firmly on his book, "Would you like me to burp you afterwards as well?"

Sirius lets out a belch from beneath the blankets, then snickers at it, "Nah, I've got that one down m'self."

"Vile," James's face crumples into a grimace, and you very kindly don't bring up the countless burping contests the two have had with each other over their years of friendship, "Sirius, I'm already nauseous enough as it is, you don't need to make things worse."

"Oh," Sirius gushes, "Baby's tummy hurts."

"Leave him alone, Sirius-" You marvel at Remus's intrusion, a sudden flare of gratefulness warming your chest, until, "-It's not fair to antagonize infants."

"You are awful friends," You decide, eyeing the pair disapprovingly as you pat away sweat that's accumulated on James's forehead from the strain of simply breathing, "The poor man is sick, and he has no appetite, he's not been able to breathe through his nose for days, he's got a constant headache-"

"-he needs a diaper change, he's missed his naptime, and Mummy won't take him to the playground," Sirius croons in faux-sympathy, "James, my heart goes out to you, mate."

"You'll see," James croaks, only rejecting the spoonful of soup that you hold to his mouth in favor of ribbing Sirius, "I'll cough on your toothbrush Pads, then we'll see who's being dramatic."

its literally like midnight and my brain has shut off

— — — — — —

hear me out!! being house’s controversially young gf ?? (aka my fucking dream)

• the first time people found out? TOTAL MASS panic.

• everyone assumed it was some weird fling, a dumb rumor.

. . . until you actually showed up in his office, sitting on his desk, swinging your legs, all casual while house is leaned back in his chair, grinning like a smug bastard.

• cuddy 100% nearly had a STROKE.

“you—you—house—you can’t just—??”

• “I can’t just what, lisa? Have a hot, young girlfriend who’s way too good for me? yeah, I know. tragic.”

• foreman thinks it’s insane and he would totally be the biggest hater. Cameron is lowkey jealous. chase is just fascinated. taub? oh, he’s taking NOTES

• Wilson, bless his soul, literally sits you down like a concerned dad and tries to have The Talk™.

• “you know he’s… house, right?” wilson spoke carefully, leaning his forearms on his desk looking you straight in the eye with a frown.

“I just mean, he’s difficult, he’s complicated, he’s older—”

“You forgot rude and insanely sexy.” we all know house. where did he just come from? who knows. but he’s ALWAYS going to be there to annoy wilson.

“Right. Those too.” and poor wilson is traumatised, exhausted, and fucking confused?? i mean- who wouldnt be??

• everyone assumes you’ll break up with him in a few months, but joke’s on them—you’re just as unhinged, just as stubborn, and you get him in a way no one else does.

baby trapper wilson... oh i'm unwell, oh take me to the hospital

you're wilson's pretty young thing. you're the arm candy he carries around, the kind of girl that gets stared at wherever she goes. and he's him, he's the sweetest man ever, the most caring, gentle, kind man you've ever dated. you're young and naive and he's divorced thrice, that's not lost on him. or you. but you like it, you like that he's older. but for how much longer? how much longer will you let him subliminally make all your decisions? even when you think you want something, you scarcely realize that he's the one who put the idea there in the first place. you're so fucking naive, so fucking stupid, he thinks sometimes. and he loves it. you don't talk taxes or bills or medicine or divorces. he likes that. you talk about inconsequential things that you'll grow out of a month or two later. he's always afraid he's one of them. he's so afraid of you growing up or changing or anything because he knows deep down that he's alone at his big age and you've got the whole world wanting you, if only you stopped seeing him, if only you stepped outside to the world he's shielding you from.

it starts that way. it starts with that fear.

that's why he doesn't let you take birth control. he strictly advises against it, purely his medical opinion of course. he'll wear a condom, he doesn't want your hormones to be so imbalanced, that's dangerous. and god forbid your taste in men changes and suddenly you feel stupid for wanting this old man as much as you do. so you shouldn't take pills. and iuds are too scary. he pledges to always wear a rubber, for your sake and his. you don't doubt him once. why would you? james wilson, doctor james wilson, is the most responsible, sensible and well adjusted man you've met. you trust him, always, to be good to you and only want the best for you. so you agree, and he tells you that he loves you. because he does, the guilt is caught like rheum in the back of his throat.

you're all over him, giddy at his touch and so wet and pliable under him and he knows you're ovulating. even if he wasn't tracking your cycle, he saw you were in your best mood. so hungry for him, and he intended to give you exactly what you wanted. but to break the promise he made, the one he never intended to keep, he had to make you cum as many times as possible. till you became a weak puddle of desire and need. till you became incapable of responsibility. he devours you. his tongue and fingers work tirelessly to bring his plan into fruition. he's fucking you like he knows he'll be missing out on nine months of this. and you're begging him to be inside you, fill you up. it's till you're tugging at his hair and pleading inside, please james, inside... me till he thinks you're ready. or he is.

he kisses you, tasting of you, smelling like you. you taste like nothing, just yourself; clean, pure, just the way he likes you. his tip ghosts your entrance and you're quick to buck your hips to meet his. that is, until god knows who reminds you to be responsible. you gesture at the drawer next to the king sized bed. you don't trust yourself to be coherent. wilson sighs, it's the silent kind of sigh he does when he knows his patient is dying or house is going to do something stupid and reckless. for a moment there he really hoped it would've been that easy.

he began rubbing circles on your clit. you looked away teary eyes, overstimulated, overwhelmed. you pleaded, you begged. he shushed you, he shushed you like a crying child. he placed small, soft kisses on your body, almost as if he was afraid. he opened the drawer, took out a condom. he tore the wrapper and watched you exhale, relieved. you spread your legs instinctively at the sound.

wilson enters you, bare. and fast. so you don't dwell on the feeling of his tip for too long. his hands run along your sides to soothe you, as him. his head falls forward at the sensation of your tight, spasming cunt and he sees reason in doing this all over again. his forehead touches yours. it's all so tender, you think, all so sweet and beautiful like james himself. you open your eyes to look at him. his graying hair sticks to his forehead, glued by the sweat. there's a sheen around his mouth from where it once was. he has these fine wrinkles that seem more prominent in the low light. he has those rough, experienced hands that hold you in place, because you need to be held in place. you need to be pinned down where you belong because you're restless and young and hungry for more more more. you touched his hair, his cheeks, his face, his lips. all of it.

"i love you," you told him, your voice small.

and that fear dissipated into the steamy, sex-smelling air. it was his fucked up way of thinking you wanted this. his strokes were deep, hard and punctuated with grunts, just the way you liked. he took things slow, promising to make you feel every inch of him. you clenched around him in that painfully delicious way that made him cum in minutes. he muttered a string of profanities.

he looked down at your messy, glistening cunt and thought, this is what it will look like. this is the sight he'll see in a few seconds when he fills you up and lets it drip out of you. he lets his eyes rake over the rest of you, all changed and plump in due time. and then he'll have you, he'll have baby wilson and all the people in the hospital to brag to. he'll take you wherever he goes, conferences, talks, medical stuff you never had to attended before. he imagines being seen with you and your creation in the hotel lobbies. "doctor james wilson," he'll introduce "and my wife." he'll say with a loving, doting smile. it could all be so perfect and sappy and comforting.

his hand now pressed your thighs into a gruelling mating press. he had to go as deep as he could. he was close, he could feel it. his paced switched from slow caresses to hard smacks. your body pained in this new position for a while, but you liked it so very much. you arched your back, you moaned so loud the walls reverberated them back to you. god, he fucked so good when he wanted to. you wonder why he never pushed you this far before.

"i'm gonna cum. baby, i'm gonna cum." he left inside you unspoken.

you nodded, feeling yourself close for the hundredth time today. his cusses turned into i love you's. he threw his head back, his hot, white seed spurred inside you. comfortably. like that was where it belonged anyway. you came seconds later, on the verge of passing out. he stayed perfectly still inside you. he exhaled, almost like a sigh. he couldn't pull out of you, not until he's sure you're going to get pregnant.

your lips utter a silent thank you, almost like a prayer. wilson shakes his head, telling you there's no need. he kisses you on the cheek before finally pulling out. you fall asleep in seconds. so peaceful, so oblivious.

dry humping with Jake Peralta x reader + slight somno vibes.

the soft sunlight filters in from the thin curtains in your apartment you sleepily stretch the best you can with Jake's arms pinning your hips close to his body. you wiggle to try and free yourself but you receive the opposite reaction of what you wanted. his grip tights as a soft sleepy whimper comes out of his mouth, the sound shoots right down to your core.

"Jake?"

"mm?" he huffs

"Jake" you shake him softly." I need you please. "

" mm. " you grind your hips down against him again and his grip loosens allowing you to sit up straight, the tip of his dick brushes your clit through his boxers drawing a lazy soft moan out of you you feel Jake's hips shift under you as you keep trying to make yourself cum.

" mm." he groans again to get your attention your eyes flutter open to peek down at him he's staring back with half lidded tired eyes "just put it in, Honey."

Like a fucking dream i’m living in

jake peralta turns into a thief for you.

Perv!peralta x reader. When Jake and reader temporarily live together, reader’s things suddenly begin to go missing. Mdni; 18+

you first noticed the lingering glances.

you tried your best to avoid peralta in the late night, walking on tip-toes and staying confined in your room for as long as you could bear. You had already done him a huge favour by inviting him to live in your apartment while he searched for his own, so you figured it was best to keep things at least somewhat professional.

Still, the apartment wasn’t that big (it was New York, after all), and despite your best efforts, you encountered him more than you would’ve liked.

You’d often catch him in the kitchen late at night, pouring himself a glass of water while you awkwardly approached to grab a quick snack. The interaction is silent, and yet you were always uncomfortably alert. You didn’t need to look over at him to feel his gaze falling down your body, his gaze focusing primarily on the mound of your chest peeking through the thin pyjamas.

you took note of his loose grey sweats and the casual white tee he wore so well, but you were careful to not show your interest— even if he was obvious with his. The interaction would end almost as quickly as it started when he’d awkwardly raise a hand in greeting before retreating back to his guest room.

then, it was the persistant touching.

You’d be struggling to grab a cookbook perched on the top shelf of the cabinet, and before you could even ask for help, Jake is behind you, lowering the book with a soft hand on the small of your waist. “Thanks,” you’d mutter, eyes fluttering all over his face, and he’d say nothing except flash you a crooked grin.

Once, you were heading out for drinks and right before you could reach the door, he called your name with a tone of rushed urgency.

“wait, uh, you got a little…” he pointed to the corner of his own lips.

You quickly reached up to wipe away whatever was on your face, but after multiple attempts, he insisted it was still there, and so he walked over and slyly swiped it away with his hand. The pad of his thumb stayed on your lips longer than necessary, his eyes on yours longer than needed, and when he finally pulled away, you swear his fingers were squeaky clean.

your last straw was when your things began to disappear.

They were small things at first— the pen you used for all your police paperwork, the bowl you used every evening for dinner. Then, the casual robbery escalated to your bedroom.

The lace bra you wore on special occasions, the skimpy pair of panties you had hidden away deep in your drawer. There could only be one culprit, you knew that, and yet, you didn’t feel a need to confront him.

Instead, you began to wear the bra you normally wouldn’t wear on a random Tuesday, making sure the delicate lace trim was visible through your low-cut tank top. You reciprocated the endless touching; a light touch on his bicep as you laughed at his joke, or a press of your ass against him as you reached for a spatula.

You were more on edge than you had ever been, but there was always a delicious thrill that ran down your spine the second you both came home to resume the unspoken game.

You had almost forgotten about everything tonight, coming back late from a meeting that had drained the energy out of you. But on your way to your room, you couldn’t help but take an extra step towards the guest room. A sliver of dim light was visible through his half-closed door, and while you couldn’t see him, you heard him.

You hadn’t gotten any for longer than you’d like to admit, but you were still able to recognize the sounds of sex, all sloppy and dirty and wild. Except there was only one voice, one tone in the string of moans that escaped through the cracks and into your perked ears.

“Uh- fu- fuck, yeah, just like that.”

You remained frozen in shock for just a moment, staring at the door, then, through a sudden burst of adrenaline, you shifted your head until Jake finally came into view.

He was sat on the edge of the guest bed you had meticulously made that very morning, except now the sheets were wrinkled and undoubtedly covered in his sweat. Jake’s head was thrown back in a fit of indulgence, his eyes squinted closed as if the pleasure was painful to even think about. Your quiet breaths hitched as your eyes trailed down his open button-up, soft abs decorating his torso.

Then, you saw it. A pair of pink panties, your panties, scrunched up in his left hand as his right pumped up and down his length. Rather than feeling disgusted or relieved that you had finally caught the thief using your expert detective skills, something much more dangerous was growing in the pit of your stomach.

You found your breaths linking up with his as they got more frantic, more hungry for a release that could never be matched to that of his imagination. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as he vocalized his thoughts, muttering your name as he pleaded, “please, just give it to me,” and “show me how much you want me, baby.”

You almost gasped when he loudly groaned one last time, his whole body shaking stiffly as he came, short spurts of white falling where your panties were now wrapped around his cock. You were carefully observing the way the aftershocks came over his body— heaving breathing, faltering hands, when suddenly, he turns his head.

He looks directly at you, and for a moment, panic flashes over his eyes as if he’s waiting for you to yell, to scream, to burst into the room and ask him what the hell he’s doing. But you don’t do that, and soon, any signs of anxiety dissipates from his eyes. There was only desire in his gaze, a heat that was dark and brewing and matched the one between your legs, begging to spill over.

As a corner of his lip lifted up casually, yours did too, and you knew, if you didn’t make the first move now, he was about to.

-

A/n: officially on winter break from school so I’m locking in on this acc (I’m lying.)

moves.

MINORS DNI 18+

JAKE PERALTA can't believe his stroke of good luck. Of pure, unadulterated good luck. He had entered the crime scene with you mere moments ago and after a heated exchange of bouncing off of each other with observations— your voices gradually raising at the same level as you near the climax of the conversation— you'd given him the look. Focused eyes watching him through your brows, the curl of your parted lips, panting through them. How you assessed him, scanned his figure like he was edible, sharing a silent moment with him as you calculate exactly what you wanna do to him. Next thing he knew you were excusing you and him saying you'd be going out for coffee, when you'd pulled him into the nearest cleaning closet of the apartment complex that wasn't crawling with cops. Now he's balls deep inside you, clothes having hastily been moved aside to accommodate it.

"Jakey," you whine, dragging out the word. He loves it when you call him that. Gets him all hot and bothered, afraid he'd give you whatever you asked for when you invoke that pretty petname off those pretty lips. "you fuck me so good..."

His teeth bite hard into the skin past his lips, brows creased in concentration so as not to bust to early. It's a quickie, a fucking hot one, but he's still got manners. The sound of your voice has his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he's fucking you from the back, big hands on your hips to keep pulling you back onto his cock while you brace on the wall. A brief moan hums through his nose as he directs you closer to him, talking shit in your ear, "Do I fuck you good? Yeah? Yeah, baby? 'I fuck you good?" breathless, and dizzy with pleasure, he can't believe someone like you is this into him.

Jake Peralta + "controversially" younger partner (16 year gap)

ok but imagine you're 20 at a club, you used a fake id to get in and you're scared shitless. and then the fucking police show up questioning people about a drug case so you definitely decide: it's time to go.

you pack up your cute little mini backpack and say bye to your friends and you bump right into detective Jake Peralta and you see the badge and expect him to be angry and instead he just smiles at you as he helps you find your footing and you adjust the tiny skirt that suddenly doesn't feel like enough fabric. "are you ok?"

imagine you've been dating for about 8 months before you meet the squad and they start in on the jokes. "don't you have school in the morning?" "is it almost bed time?" Terry LITERALLY calls you " kiddo" and Jake doesn't understand why they're joking.

"dude they're like a college sophomore, youre 36."

"they are not a college sophomore 😮"

que an awkward conversation later that week after scheme after scheme have failed and trying to see your driver's license or birth certificate 'naturally' you're laying next to each other in his bed he just turns and says "how old are you?"

"20" you shrug and keep scrolling on your phone.

"oh my God, I'm a cradle robber."

"that is actually such a wild thing to say right now."

make a wish, huh? i wish i wish with all my heart for reader to have pissed off her daddy dom in the field. so as a punishment she has to sit on this big man’s shoe while he does paperwork. cockwarming him with her mouth until he decides no matter how bad she’s whining and needing him, that she can rock and get herself off. but only if she listens to him. if not? if she’s a brat and she’s being really really needy?? i do believe that causes for a spanking, don’t you? over his knee, skirt rolled up.. you know. just a wish 😈🙏🏻

Knees | Dom!Aaron Hotchner

The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Blurb

Pairing: Dom!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/sub!Reader

Words: 2k

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.

Tags/warnings: master!hotch, bunny!reader, established D/s relationship, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), pet names (bunny).

a/n: when Morgan asks for something, you give it to her.

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.

You swallowed and his entire body tensed up under you. He hissed in disapproval, his darkened gaze almost searing a hole through yours. You couldn’t help it, saliva had been pooling in the corners of your mouth for a few minutes and it was either swallow or let it drip down your throat. And let’s be honest, the latter did not sound as naughty as the former. You knew how he’d react, knew that his cock would twitch at the slight change in pressure, knew that he would know what you were doing. 

You didn’t let his stare scare you. Instead, you returned your own — round, innocent eyes that glistened with tears. It wasn’t that he was hurting you, on the contrary, he was giving you something that you craved yet it was a punishment that he knew was sure to make you lose your mind. His cock in your mouth, warm and heavy on your tongue, thick and hard against your throat. Unmoving, still, agonizing. 

He’d asked you into his office the second the last agent had left for the night. You knew what it was about, knew what awaited you the second he locked the doors and closed the blinds. And fortunately for you, it had not been the professional reprimand that you’d thought.

Unfortunately for you, he had made you strip completely, only allowing you to keep your panties. The cold air made your nipples hard and your skin erupt in goosebumps. He led you down on your knees, your pussy landing on his expensive leather shoe. He was calm and collected as he rolled his desk chair further into his desk, caging you against the wood at your back and his wood at your front.

“Open,” he commanded, and fearing any more repercussions after your major, his words, mild, your words, fuck up in the field, you eagerly did as he asked. A hint of a smile graced his lips as he watched you, an overwhelming sense of pride and satisfaction burning through his body as he unbuckled his belt. It was painfully slow and you were overly eager as you realized what he was commanding you to do. You were about to reach out to help him speed along the process when his eyes darkened in warning, your hands immediately falling against your sides. 

“Color?” he asked, a hint of cockiness in his voice startled you.

“Green, sir,” you replied, the implications of your consent not yet clear.

“Good,” with that he sprung his cock free from his underwear. He was already semi hard, the tip glistened with pre cum and you couldn’t help but salivate at the excitement. “This is not a treat, bunny,” your eyes met his again before he continued. “You are going to take me in your mouth but you may not make me cum, am I understood?”

Oh no. Aaron knew how much you loved to give him head, how you reveled in watching him come undone by your skilled tongue. It was one of the first things he’d learned about you, one of the things he couldn’t believe you liked doing. Which is why he knew that every fiber in your body would light up in protest. You wanted to scream, argue, throw a tantrum — but you didn’t. Instead you simply nodded solemnly. You had done this to yourself and there was no one else to blame.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he praised and the excitement in your lower belly went up in flames again. “You will be a perfect, still angel until I finish my paperwork, and then we’ll see if you’ve earned the right to get yourself off on my shoe.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And with that he rolled his chair all the way into his desk, one hand around his cock, the other grabbing your chin and pulling you where he wanted you. The movement made your pussy graze against his rough laces and you had to stop yourself from moaning. You could already feel your wetness start to pool and he’d literally done nothing yet. His fingers pressed against your cheeks and your mouth opened on its own, wide and eager, as he placed a third of his length on your tongue. 

You could’ve started crying right then and there, but you didn’t. You would not let him break you that easily. 

“Do you remember how to safe word, bunny?” He asked, he always asked.

You nodded, making your tongue rub against the underside of his length. You tapped his leg once. Yes. “How do you tap out?”

You tapped his leg twice and he rewarded you by patting your cheek, gently at first, but then his pats turned into soft smacks, right against the tip of his cock inside your mouth. He groaned loudly, the sounds slowly making you lose all sense of self as you felt him twitch inside your mouth. 

“Fuck, bunny,” he moaned. “This is going to be a long night.”

And long it was. You had lost track of time. At first you decided to count the seconds, minutes, hours, whatever to distract yourself from moving, from what you actually wanted to do. But it was impossible. Your arms had wrapped around his leg to hold yourself steady, your legs had started to wobble and so you’d given up and fully sat yourself down on his shoe.

You were gone, your brain wasn’t working anymore. All you could think about was the weight of his cock in your mouth and how much you wanted to move. Move your tongue, move your head, move your hands to wrap around his base, move your hips to give yourself some kind of relief.

You swallowed again, this time accidentally, and because of your miscalculation, your flat tongue grazed against his length, making you roll your eyes back in euphoria. You didn’t register as your hips started moving, as your pussy made contact with the rough, uneven surface of his laces, as your wetness drenched his shoe. Your clit grazed against a buckle and you moaned, loudly. That was the final straw. 

Without a word of warning he rolled his chair out, his hands quickly grabbing you under your armpits and effortlessly lifting you from under the desk. Your mind snapped back to reality in an instant. Glazed eyes turned sharp, numbness turned responsive, daze turned into realization. You were about to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to let the tears fall when he sat you down on his lap, your legs on either side of his own. 

“Sir—”

His palm landed with a smack on your ass, the sting making you whimper. You had learned early on that there were times when he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t bring himself to verbalize his commands. Instead, he’d gotten into the habit of turning them into action. A single spank was a warning to be quiet, to save whatever groveling — he wasn’t going to listen to it. 

“When I give you a command, I expect you to follow it,” he said, anger lacing every word.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, your head hanging low avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t mean it—”

That made him snap, his right hand landing another smack against your reddening ass as his left tightly grasped your jaw, pulling your head up to face him. 

“Like you didn’t mean to go into that apartment without backup?” 

He was concerned, so much in fact that it was the easiest you’d ever been able to read him. You knew he’d been concerned for you. As your boss, you knew he cared for you. But as your Dom…that was a whole different story. You’d done your best to compartmentalize, to trust the other in your skills and training, to accept that you would both be put in scary situations when out in the field. But right then and there, you knew, you saw. He was terrified.

“Yes,” you breathed, the heavy understanding of your punishment washing over you like ice cold water. “It will not happen again. Sir.”

His eyes bore into yours, searching, but you knew what he would find. You cared too. It wasn’t like you had planned on going in without backup, it was that you both understood that the job came first, that whatever instinct made you follow through, no matter how reckless, had probably been for the best of the case. And as much as you both knew, if it made him feel more comfortable to remind you to be careful in this way, you would let him do it every single time.

“Good girl,” he praised, his lips hovering over yours teasingly. “I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

You nodded rapidly, making him smirk. You reveled in it, in his smile, in the warmth that was seeing him experience happiness in whatever form it might take. He gently guided you back to your knees in front of his chair and your eyes lit up.

“Make me cum, bunny,” he sat back down, legs spread open like inviting you to a buffet, chest rising and falling, his white button up straining with each breath.

You wasted no time getting to work, your hands quickly wrapping themselves around the base of his cock. He was still a little slick from your saliva, but it wasn’t enough, so you reached one hand down your panties, fingers eagerly collecting your slick before you slathered it all over his rock hard erection.

“Jesus Christ, bunny,” he groaned as your hands started to move up and down his shaft. Moves calculated, perfectly pressured, expertly avoiding his needy tip. Pre cum started to leak once more and that’s when you couldn’t hold back any longer. Your tongue darted out on its own volition, eagerly rolling around his tip, hungrily drinking him all in. He moaned loudly, his hand wrapping around your hair and pushing you further down against his length. 

You let him, flattening your tongue and opening your throat as you swallowed more and more of his length into your mouth. He stopped at your hand, letting you work your magic then. You wanted him to cum, needed to feel his spend down your throat. Your hands sped up their movements, meeting your mouth sloppily as you bobbed your head up and down to meet them at the base. You continued to roll your tongue around his length as you sucked in your cheeks, tightening around his cock. You could feel him tense, his moans becoming louder and louder, his breathing uneven, his heartbeat aggressive.

“I’m close—” he didn’t even manage to finish his sentence as you removed your hands and took him the rest of the way down your throat. His chest erupted in an animalistic groan as the tension snapped and he spilled down your throat. You moaned at the feeling, at the power that you had over this beautiful man in front of you. As much as you wanted relief of your own, there was nothing more satisfying than having him spill down your throat, than having him come undone by your tongue. The tears finally spilled as you kept him there, patiently waiting for him to finish before you pulled yourself off him. Your eyes locked onto his as you swallowed, making a show of it. 

You were both breathing rapidly, both stuck in a pocket of time where nothing else but the two of you existed, both completely satisfied in your own ways. He ran his hand over his face then, breaking the spell, knowing that if he stayed any longer, he’d say something he’d regret. Instead he took in a sharp breath and placed himself back into his pants before he reached out to help you to your feet. He led you back on his lap and this time he cradled you, warm hands running all over your cold body. You hummed against his chest, your own hands tightly grabbing a hold of his suit jacket. 

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“Yes, Master.”

idk if i'm "back" yet, but here's my offering to you on this saturday. but mostly bc i wanted to fuck with morgan while she's busy and can't do anything about it.

tags: @ssamorganhotchner, @criminalskies, @callm3c0nfus3d, @xladyxdreamer, @gr3enflowers, @lilyviolets, @howabouticallyou, @shadowmemory, @simp4f1, @honeylovemoon, @powerlvr25, @formulapierre, @spenciesprincess, @extra-trash77 (if i missed anyone please let me know!)

I could request the double life of the reader, one as an agent and the other as a camgirl. Hotchner is a follower but they won't realize it until they travel on a case to an area where it's hot and they see a familiar brand.

By the way, I love your writing. 💖😊

anon i love you. take my hand in marriage RIGHT NOW.

It's You | Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner

introducing--

The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Part One

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/cam girl f!Reader

Words: 3k

CW: mutual masturbation, sex work (is real work), power imbalance/play.

Tags/warnings: master!hotch, reader works at the bau and is a secret cam girl, hotch is a customer, pet names (bunny, sweet girl), perv!hotch, mutual masturbation, hotch being a little mean.

a/n: yes, oh god yes will this become something I can already taste it. catch me writing another insanely long D/s series about these two because I AM IN LOVE.

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.

The first time that he noticed a similarity he thought he’d officially lost his mind. 

Maybe the sleep deprivation, insurmountable amounts of stress he was under, and the fact that he had yet to have his morning coffee were all working in tandem against him. 

It had been a complete accident. You’d been walking towards your desk in the morning, in a foul mood and you didn’t care who saw it. You’d set your bag down on the wooden counter but accidentally miscalculated how close you were to it and slammed your foot into the metal leg that separated them.

A yelp escaped your lips, high pitched, painful, sexual. His ears had perked up immediately, his brows scrunching together as he tried to remember where he’d heard that sound before. Realization struck him like a truck running him against a brick wall. 

No, there was no way, his brain was being absurd, he was being absurd.   

The day wrapped him up in a tornado of meetings and he’d almost forgotten about the incident earlier in the day, but then he received a notification late at night, after he’d returned home from a long day at the office. She was online, his favorite, perfect girl. 

Aaron had never been one for porn, never really saw the appeal of overly produced, almost veering on fake sexual content. He’d met his wife in high school, he was never in need of searching for something that he already had. 

But after Haley passed away and he became increasingly frustrated with the idea of having to put himself out there and date someone else to get the intimacy that he desired, he’d bitten the bullet and signed up for one of the many sites that Morgan had not so subtly been recommending for the past few months. 

To think that his colleague could tell he was so sexually frustrated to the point that he’d began dropping hints about it had made him more embarrassed than signing up for the site. 

The first few times that he used the site were…interesting. Getting past that wall of righteousness he’d put up around himself was difficult. He wanted, no, needed release, craved it in a way he’d never felt before. 

He’d go from stream to stream, curious, trying to keep an open mind. But nothing really spoke to him, nothing really made him excited to engage, to stay longer than a few minutes, to touch himself. 

And then he’d found her, bouncingbunny1, or Bunny as she went by for the customers that paid enough to be in her inner circle. 

She was beautiful in that girl next door who was secretly naughty way that he hadn’t realized he was so attracted to. Always clad in delicate pink lingerie, never showing her face, even when he’d finally gotten over his fear and paid for a private session.

It was easy to fantasize, easy to let himself go and allow the soft cadence of her voice, the filthy sounds of her moans as she touched herself for his pleasure and his pleasure only, making him come undone in minutes. 

He’d learned something dangerous about himself then, a desperate need to dominate, to control, to have power over someone in such an intimate way. Watching this delicate woman come undone by his orders, his commands, his instructions on how he wanted her to pleasure herself was more satisfying than anything he’d experienced before.

Now, months later, he could confidently accept that this had been one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Sure, he spent as much money on her as he did on rent every month, but it was honestly worth it. He had an insurmountable amount of access, she’d told him as much on their nightly conversations. 

It wasn’t just about release anymore. He found himself talking to her, texting and calling, whenever she was online and he needed her. There had been a few instances where they’d closed a particularly tough case and all he needed was to hear her voice, but she was unavailable. 

But she made up for it with messages filled with those silly kissing face emojis, telling him that she’d make it up to him later that night. And he never questioned it, never even found it odd that sometimes those moments happened to coincide with them being stuck on the jet or pulling a late night of paperwork at the office. 

He had no reason to think anything of it, no reason to ever even begin to think of the possibility that it was you…that it could ever be you on the other side of his screen. You, his subordinate, his teammate, his friend who he adored and cherished and thanked the universe every day for your patience, kindness, love.

Even with the slightest possibility, the smallest sliver that it could be you—

user1102: Bunny.

bouncingbunny1: hiiiiii Master 🤭🥰🩷💖😚

user1102: Can we play?

Bouncingbunny1: yes sir

He smirked to himself, immediately calling. He never showed his face or his body. The only indication that he was real was through what he allowed you to hear. That was another thing that he’d noticed about himself, how deep and sharp his voice could get when he allowed himself to be free. 

You answered the call immediately. You knew he didn’t like to be kept waiting and you couldn’t contain your excitement every time he called you. He was the only reason you were still doing this, even after finishing college (debt free), after getting through the academy and getting the job you’d been desperately working towards all your adult life – he had come in and kept you wrapped up in his orbit. 

You’d started working at the BAU almost a year ago. They were down an agent and you’d been brought in to train for the position. The transition had been stressful, something that you were accounting for but not to this degree. 

You had taken a break from camming in preparation for the adjustment period, taking your time to see if you would even want to return to it or if it was a closed chapter in your book. 

But you’d returned home one night after a particularly grueling case, with so much pent up energy, so much bratty energy that the only way that you knew how to get it out in a healthy way was to put on a show. 

You’d spent the next few hours with your bluetooth vibrator inside you, a pretty baby blue lingerie set over it, cumming over and over and over and over again as the people watching paid to make the device go faster and faster and faster.

That’s when you first met him, user1102. After the first hour was up and you were practically hanging on to your couch for dear life, he’d told you he’d pay five hundred dollars if you took a break, if you drank a full glass of water for him on camera to show him you were taking care of yourself. 

And so you did, everyone else in the chat respecting the decision, albeit annoying as it was, since they all understood that money spoke volumes and they were not in the market to try and outbid whoever he was.

You didn’t recognize him from your usual clients which meant that this was the first time he was seeing you, and what a night to start indeed. He kept coming back after that, every time that you were able to find the time or needed to find release, to clear your mind of the day’s events. 

He was always a big tipper, an even bigger flirt, always made sure to send public and private messages while you played live, always said hello and goodbye. 

You’d squealed loudly when he finally requested a private session and made sure you looked extra good for him. He was perfect, even if you had no idea what he looked like, and these sessions became more and more frequent to the point that you’d almost stopped performing for other people.  

You were sitting in front of your couch on the cold wood floor, a fluffy towel under you. He could see a few toys off camera and a large water bottle that he’d gotten you next to them, clearly just in frame for him.

“Hi bunny,” he groaned, his hand already wrapped around his cock. 

“Hi Master,” you whimpered, already feeling spacey and out of it. It was always like this with him, easy to slip, to submit, to simply allow your brain to think about following his instructions. 

“Someone’s eager,” he mocked and you immediately knew what he was talking about. It was crazy to think that you were so attuned to him, to where his mind was. It filled you with warmth every time that you could anticipate his thoughts, his needs, his desires. 

“Prepared,” you whined, offended. “I always make a mess when we play and I’m tired of having to mop my floor.”

He chuckled, hand tightening around himself. He never had to work to get hard when he spoke with you, the mere thought of getting to play, as you liked to call it, enough to get him going. 

That’s when he noticed it, a small band aid on the side of your foot. 

“What happened to your foot, sweet girl?” he asked, his heart beating uncomfortably fast, blood practically shooting up to his ears and his cock. 

“Oh…” you started, a little afraid that he’d punish you for not being careful. “I bumped it against a chair today.”

He came harder than he’d ever had that night just by the mere thought that you were the one letting out those addicting noises, that you were the one coming undone because of him, that you were the one writhing, shaking, panting, so completely at his mercy that you’d quite literally do anything for him. 

You were in god awful, swampy Florida. The summer sun was unforgiving, the cozy, long sleeve you had chosen for what you believed would be a long day at the office doing paperwork was definitely the worst clothing choice as the humidity practically clung to your body. 

You wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, wanted to take it off and not worry about flaunting your practically naked breasts to everyone around you. Anything to get rid of the burning heat that trapped your body. 

You were practically a walking puddle when you made it back to the station, practically bolting to the bathroom in a cloud of smoke. Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle, he’d been teasing you about it all afternoon, especially after he’d urged you to change and you had refused because you were sure you’d be staying inside with Reid in the comfort of the air conditioned building.

Aaron couldn’t help but notice your mood. You weren’t normally this grumpy. You were usually the one making sure he stopped frowning. He gave you a moment and then followed behind swiftly. 

You stepped into the women’s bathroom and immediately pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aggressively over the sink. You stood there, heaving, allowing the cold air to seep into your body, to have it calm you down, ground you. 

Aaron was about to knock when he saw the door slightly ajar and he immediately stilled, his eyes landing on your topless body. It was too similar, you were too similar, his brain now desperately trying to find similarities between you and her. 

You were wearing a cupless white lace bra, one that he could’ve sworn he’d bought you only a few days prior. You hadn’t worn it yet, at least not to his knowledge, which meant you must’ve just gotten it in the mail. 

It was overwhelming to say the least. He couldn’t continue going on like this. He needed to know. 

He pulled out his phone, discreetly lingering outside of the women’s bathroom, always glancing around to make sure no one could see him. 

user1102: Bunny, I need you.

The second his thumb pressed send his gaze shot up to you once more, waiting to see your reaction. As much as his Bunny would sometimes tell him that she couldn’t play right that second, she’d always, without fail, answer his messages within seconds. 

He could see your attention shift from the mirror in front of you to your phone for a second as you slid your new shirt over yourself. His gaze sharpened, his cock twitched in anticipation, his breathing hitched. 

But instead you pressed one key and brought the device up to your ear, your soft, steady voice muffled by the distance between you. He sighed deeply, in defeat as he looked back down at his phone, his message unanswered. 

“Are you okay?” he almost jerked back as he heard you address him, concern lacing your voice. You were right beside him then, those round, doe eyes of yours that he loved so much wide and worried. 

He could simply nod, enough to satisfy you and yet not give you even an ounce of understanding into what was really going on. 

You all made it to the hotel later that night. He had quickly checked you all in since you were all about to drop. It had been a very long day to say the least and all you really wanted was to take an ice cold shower and go to sleep. 

“Alright,” he addressed the group. “Rossi, room 702, Reid and Morgan, room 705, JJ, room 806, Emily and–” his eyes met yours and he immediately lost his train of thought for a second before he handed the key cards to the raven haired woman beside you. “Room 807.”

He stepped back. “I’ll be down in room 604 if anyone needs anything. Back at the lobby at seven.”

With that you all shuffled towards the elevators, like a horde of zombies. You had been true to your word, practically cold plunging yourself in the shower and proceeding to put on some shorts and a baggy t-shirt to sleep in. 

Emily took the shower after you were done, your plan being to throw yourself on the bed and pass out immediately. But as luck would have it, your stomach practically screamed at you to feed it. 

You sighed deeply, crossing the room to see if room service was still open at the late hour only to realize it had just closed. You groaned in annoyance, the brat peeking through, your body starting to crave a different type of relief. 

Luckily there was a vending machine down on the sixth floor, so that’s where you found yourself, irritatingly making the trek down. The elevator doors opened directly into the hall with the vending machine and you practically came face to face with an equally tired Aaron, clad in his own gray shirt and loose pajama pants. 

You bit down on your lip, approaching him slowly. He saw you the second the elevator doors opened and it made him angry that he just knew it was you. There was something so specific about the air whenever you were around, it always felt lighter, smelled sweeter. 

“Hungry?” he asked as you approached and you nodded. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you replied and he leaned down to pick up the prepackaged sandwich he’d just gotten for himself. 

Your hand wrapped itself around the almost phallic, plastic wrapped item, his gaze slowly falling down your body until it landed on your chest. To say he visibly tensed up was an understatement. 

You frowned immediately, stepping forward, into his personal space, your own eyes searching for his but they were glued to your shirt. You looked down at yourself, concerned that maybe there was something on it that had offended him. It was rowdy, but nothing to write home about which only confused you further. 

“My college friends used to be in a band,” you explained, trying to lighten the mood. “They made like three of these shirts,” you laughed, clearly remembering fond memories. “Anyway, it’s silly and stupid, I know, but I still have it.”

He knew, he knew all of that, because he’d once called her– you while you were still in your pajamas, wearing that very specific shirt. You’d told him that same story, with a few more details of course, but still.

There was no denying it now, no way to twist the truth, no way to unknow what he now knew for certain.

His own hand pulled on the sandwich and your frown only deepened, as if the gesture itself had cut you so deep, had broken your heart so painfully. 

“It’s…uh– option three, sorry, I have to…” he was down the hall in record time, his heart pounding, his cock practically rock hard against his abdomen. He needed to calm down, needed to take a minute to compose himself, needed to get back to grab his phone so that he could—

user1102: Come to my room. 

The message confused you even more than Aaron just had. You were in no mood to deal with anyone, even the man you had made you feel more alive than you had in years. That’s when you noticed you hadn’t replied to him earlier, but whatever guilt you were feeling quickly washed away as anger settled in.

Who the fuck did they both think they were?

bouncingbunny1: ???

user1102: 604

The color drained from your face in an instant. No, it couldn’t be. There was no way, your brain was being absurd, you were being absurd. 

user1102: Now, bunny.

You gulped loudly, shaky legs somehow managing to lift carry down the hall. The bright light of the hallways almost sobering you up. Were you seriously about to do this?

At worst you walked over to his door, knocked and he stared at you confused and you’d just have to live with the embarrassment of coming up with a lie. At best…at best he opened the door and dragged you into his room, pressed his lips to yours, and finally gave you the satisfaction of fucking ruining you like you’d wanted your boss and user1102 to do for so long. 

You didn’t even get to lift your hand to knock on the door before it swung open aggressively and he stepped into your personal space, his tall, broad frame towering over you. 

“Oh, bunny,” he hummed. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to go looking for the big bad wolf?”

“No, Master.”

this was TOO SATISFYING TO WRITE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. it was crazy to go from soft boy mr. hotchner to just...insanity and power and control and i love how this turned out.

y'all better fucking FLOOD my inbox with asks for them.

tags: @xladyxdreamer, @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

Please Look Back

Jannik Sinner x Reader An accompaniment piece to a previous break up blurb, the same, but in Jannik's POV.

---

He told himself it was the right decision.

It had to be. He needed to give everything to this—this version of his life where everything mattered, where every match had weight, where every margin could mean the difference between winning and fading. He had plans. Goals. A career on the rise, to maintain, and not a second to spare.

He loved you, he had for months. That wasn’t the problem.

It was that he loved you too much to do it halfway. And lately, everything outside of tennis felt like it had to come second tier. His schedule, his focus, the way his mind wandered in the middle of matches or practice to whether you’d landed your flight or gotten out that game or had a bad day that you'd tell him about later. He’d scroll through your texts before bed, smile at them before your hour-long calls. He’d wake up thinking about you, and he couldn’t afford to start his days already distracted. And you didn’t deserve to be deemed a distraction.

He decided before he even knew it, and he never truly wanted it to happen the way it did—to have the comfort of loving you feel like a leaden weight beginning to be too much to bear. But he couldn’t keep burying it. It wasn’t fair to you. 

He didn’t voice his uncertainties in the month that they had come up, didn’t discuss the dilemma with you. Selfishly, he knew you could convince him to stay without much effort at all, so, silently, he convinced himself he had to let you go.

Then he ended it—and you couldn't have seen it coming.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, and forced the words out with a steadiness he didn’t feel.

"I can’t do both right now. You and tennis. I need to give everything to this." It was a wonder his voice didn’t crack. It felt like someone else entirely was speaking through him.

He almost wanted you to fight him on it—he held his breath for it. For you to yell, cry, anything. But you just nodded. Even smiled. Told him you understood.

That was the part that gutted him. The grace.

You left his room like something hadn’t just broken for good between the two of you, and so he thought maybe nothing had—maybe not for you. 

He just sat there, staring at the door long after it clicked shut.

For weeks afterward, he kept waiting for it to feel easier. But the pain never let up.

He trained harder than ever. Played with a new kind of desperation, letting the training of the off-season take up all of his conscious space in his mind. Slept longer because all his waking hours seemed to be filled with missing you. The quiet in his room felt wrong. Your absence echoed in the smallest details—two toothbrushes still by the sink, the way he reached for his phone before bed, forgetting there was no longer someone on the other side waiting to laugh and drift off with him.

His phone lit up with notifications that weren’t from you. His victories felt smaller without your hand to squeeze after the last point. He scrolled through pictures he hadn’t deleted yet and told himself it was for the best. That he’d done what needed to be done.

Still, the ache didn’t dull. It just settled deeper.

And it threatened to rip out of him at Melbourne.

He spotted you from across the walkway to the warm-up courts. Even before your face came to view, he could read it was you from the way you walked. The way you carried your bag. The way the air stilled inside his chest, and the way your name sat just inside his lips.

You were walking toward him, with no clean way to avoid it. Not that he wanted to—not really—but he hesitated when he thought maybe you did. But you continued towards him, ever so casual.

And, god, you looked good. Strong. Steady. Like you hadn’t missed a step.

But when your eyes met, he saw a flicker. Just a flash of something soft and sad, the same thing he felt blooming low and constant in his chest.

You stopped in front of him and he offered a smile, though it felt foreign on his face.

"Hey." He started, afraid to hear your voice in response—he wasn’t sure he could take it, he clenched his fists in the material of his pockets.

With a polite, practiced smile, you replied easily. "Hi." 

And he did feel himself give out a bit when you spoke, he had to hold in a sharp exhale at the familiar sound. But he didn’t manage to hold back the way he stepped towards you after you spoke, though he opened his arms to cover up the action—hoping the offer of a casual embrace wasn’t going too far.

You accepted, and the hug was brief. Just enough to feel the shape of you again, to remind him how little time had done to lessen the pull.

He wanted to ask something, anything. About everything, maybe. But he didn’t know how to start the words, or if he had the right to at all. 

You continued instead. "How’s training going?"

"Good. Busy." Always thinking of you when I’m not, he nodded the thought away. "You?"

​​"Yeah, same here." And it sounded forced to Jannik, but he figured he couldn’t claim to know that anymore.

You looked composed. Confident. Even sounded cheerful. Like you’d rebuilt something in the months since. He didn’t want to knock that down or assume otherwise just to soothe the ache still sitting in his own chest.

Another pause. You glanced through him and behind him, and he resisted turning to follow your gaze and see what it was that held your attention—hoping it wasn’t going to pull you away from him too soon, no matter how stunted and awkward the reunion was. 

Then you sort of took a step back. "I should probably get back to it. First match tomorrow.”

The run-in was wrapping up too quickly for Jannik, but it seemed you’d decided it was over. He wasn’t about to keep you when you so clearly wanted to walk away, so he decided to let you go a second time and, impossibly, it felt just as hard. His response was brief and concise. "Yeah. I saw. Good draw."

And he hoped it didn’t come off rude and choppy, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. The truth of it was, he’d checked your line-up in the tournament before his own. The way he always used to.

You nodded pleasantly, and stepped to the side of him. "Good to see you, Jannik. Take care."

He breathed in deep as you walked past him to continue on, trying to soothe himself and catch the scent of you at the same time. And when he saw you were smiling at him as you passed his shoulder, he hesitated. He wanted to say, Wait. To ask how you really were. To tell you he missed you. That nothing had felt the same since you left.

But the words caught in his throat. What could he even say? That he’d made a mistake? That he would think about you every time he passed by the quiet corner in the player dining where you'd always steal five minutes the last year, when you had just met? That seeing you now only confirmed what he'd tried to deny? None of that would do. For so many reasons.

So he swallowed hard and nodded once more instead. "You too." 

And he had to wrench his head away from you to let you go.

Every step you took away from him felt like something was falling apart all over again. He turned back to look at you, hoping that maybe you would too. So he could at least get another look at you. 

But he watched you walk away all the way until you disappeared from his sight, and you never once broke your stride. Never once turned back.

And how could he stop you—just because he was still hurting watching you leave?

He knew he was the one who asked you to go in the first place, that you’d gone in peace, and—though he’d been stuck in a hurting battle with himself ever since—he knew wanting more and being justified in asking for it were two very different things. And, really, he wasn’t entitled to either. Not anymore.

---

Okay fast turn over, but I was feeling inspired for it. Lowkey don't think I've even fully written from Jannik's POV and it was fun—especially when having something to reference. Actually proud of how it pairs side to side with the other, so if you want to flip back and forth between them to check it out, feel free... xx

college art and patrick giving you oral at the same time ; mdni

when you first suggested the idea after a night out at a pub, art and patrick thought you were insane. there’s always been tension looming between the three of you, although the idea of acting on it never seemed like a possibility.

the next day, however, when the two boys were sitting on the bleachers and watching you stretch before your tennis match, they turned to face each other with knowing looks on their faces.

now, you’re sitting on the edge of your small dorm bed, your legs spread as far as possible.

“are you sure this is okay?” you breathe out, asking the two boys as they kneel between your legs, their shoulders pressed together.

“yes.” they reply in unison, their eyes lighting up with a sense of eagerness.

you place your right hand in art’s hair and your left hand in patrick’s hair, wordlessly signalling for them to continue.

art makes the first move, gently kissing up your thigh before sticking out his tongue and flattening it, licking a stripe along the folds of your wet cunt.

“fuck.” you gasp, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as art moves his tongue to your clit, tracing circles on the sensitive bud.

“art, move over a little.” patrick interrupts your moans with his sharp tone. “play nice, share with me.”

art keeps his tongue on your clit but moves over slightly, following patrick’s demands. unlike the blonde boy, patrick doesn’t bother slowly making his way towards your cunt. instead, he immediately darts his tongue out, flicking it along your clit, making contact with art’s tongue.

it takes the two boys a moment to work out a rhythm and get used to their tongues so close together, but once they do, it feels like paradise for you.

your back arches and you can’t hold back your desperate moans. “oh my, fuck! yes.” you swear you sound like a porn star, but the pleasure takes over any common sense you have about being too vocal.

art opens his eyes and shifts his gaze to sneak a look at patrick, who’s flicking his tongue on your clit even faster. the blonde was already hard as he licked your pussy, but now he feels like a teenager again, as if he could cum just from the sight of patrick devouring you like it’s his last meal on death row.

as if patrick could feel the blonde eye fucking him, he glances at art, still working on getting you to climax.

you look down at them, curiosity taking over your facial expression as art stops his movements on your cunt, simply panting while staring at patrick, his shallow breaths hitting your cunt and sending shivers down your spine. “what’s wrong?” you breathe out, your eyes glazing over as a knot tightens in your stomach.

just as you’re about to cum, patrick and art lock their mouths together, their tongues clashing on your clit as they start making out, eliciting even more pleasure from your body.

“patrick, art…fuck, i’m so close.” your words seem to only motivate the two of them as they pick up the pace of their tongues in desperation. “you’re both so fucking hot.” you moan.

the knot in your stomach gets even tighter and after a few seconds, your thighs shake and your mouth parts as the knot releases and you cum on their tongues.

patrick and art pull away from in between your thighs, still kneeling beside each other, a mixture of their spit and your cum left over on their lips and chins.

“i think we should do this again, hm?” you give them a small smirk.

they look up at you intensely, then they turn their heads to look at each other, “yeah.”

head full of pillow princess lover james, who cums in his pants just from eating you out or fingering you and has absolutely no shame in it 😵‍💫

fr tho bc making you feel good makes him feel good. hearing your moans and pleads for him to make you cum, and watching you fall apart beneath him, knowing that it’s because HE’S making it happen, just sends him over the edge. also heavily believe that that man could cum from the taste of his girl’s cunt alone and he’s never shy to remind you of it <3

giving gamer!james head while he is on the headset 🤭🤭

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You can't hear what James's friends are saying over his mic, but you catch staticky murmurs here and there. You think you hear the word 'headshot', which you allow yourself a little chuckle at considering your current situation.

James's cock, stiff and already smeared with a mixture of saliva and precum, is sitting heavy on your tongue, drool pooling by your teeth. You're stretching your jaw to take him in full, nose nestled into the patch of wiry hair at the base. It smells musky, makes you groan, and elicits a hair tug from James.

You're not sure how he's playing the game with only one hand, the other knotted in your hair, but you presume it's poorly. You hear his annoyed groan and then his hand leaves your hair, reluctantly returning to his controller. As consolation, you bob backwards to kitten lick the head of his cock, hoping to make him feel better.

If it doesn't make him feel better, at least it makes him feel good. His dick twitches on your tongue and you reach a red, raw hand up to cup his balls, massaging at them gently. The other hand aches as it holds you up on the hardwood floor, but you don't complain, choosing to give your all into the blowjob in hopes that you don't notice the pain. Instead you notice the deep, musky smell between James's thighs, a glistening mark still present on his skin from where you'd sucked a bruise only moments before. The more you fondle his balls the more worked up he gets, and he conveniently dies the second you trail the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, slipping it through his slit and smearing away the bead of precum that had accumulated there.

It does him in. He lets out a gruff, resounding fuck!' into his mic, and he's lucky that his friends all think he's just upset from dying. Cum spurts into your mouth in globs that paint the back of your throat, and you almost choke on it as your cheeks bulge. Some drips down your chin and you catch James's eye when you swallow, tilting your head up to let him wipe away the stain on your face.

"Better luck next time, Potter," Sirius gloats, "Keep practicing, I'm sure you'll get lucky someday."

I got lucky, James thinks, watching as you eagerly lick at the pad of his thumb to rid it of his cum, licking your lips soon after and leaving them shiny, Sirius doesn't know what he's missing.

mvm monday; bestfriend james Potter with a shyly horny-when-drunk reader!! just imagining him bluescreening n crashing when she mumbles out a gonna go touch myself now jamie, g’night

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You stand up at precisely 12:00 midnight, three hours into a party that you've drunk yourself silly at. James, who'd been sitting beside you, thigh happily pressed to your own, sends you a questioning glance, reaching out to grab the tips of your fingers as you sway slightly in place.

"Where you goin', love? Think you've had enough to drink." He looks up curiously at you, his own brain slightly fuzzy from booze.

"M'gonna go get in bed," You bend your thumb to squeeze his own fingertips, just barely not holding hands, "Gotta get up early tomorrow, 'n I wanna have enough time to masturbate."

James drops your hand. Then he goes back for it when you try to leave, lunging to catch you before you head upstairs.

"What?" He narrows his eyes, bushy brow scrunched, "What did you say, love?"

He must have misheard you, surely. After all, it's loud, the music is thrumming through his entire body, he's sure he's just mixed up your words.

"I'm horny," You whine, alcohol infecting the words that you'd never say sober, "I always get needy when I drink. So I've gotta touch m'self before I go to sleep, or I'll get all antsy."

"I- Alright..." James nods, dumbfounded. He blinks, once, twice, thrice, then lets your hand go, "Um- goodnight, love. Have a.. good time."

"I will," You giggle, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, "Hey, Jamie? Do me a favor?"

"Uh," James flounders, not sure what he could possibly ethically offer you at a time like this, "What do you need?"

"Call me pretty," You beg, eyes wide and shiny and imploring, "I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later."

"You," James stammers, heart stuttering in his chest as his hand instinctively reaches for your cheek. He feels like he's taking advantage of you, even though you're the only one benefitting from this, and you've asked for it all.

"Uh, you're pretty. Gorgeous," He murmurs, gaze transfixed on your hazy eyes, "G'night, love."

"Night Jamie," You gush, kissing the pad of his thumb where it hovers by your mouth, and turning to head up the stairs.

Sirius rams into his back a minute later, where James is still trying to comprehend the situation. He's sure he looks possessed, standing stock still and staring at your closed door, but he doesn't care.

"Jesus, Prongs," Sirius scoffs, "Just stand in the walkway, will you?"

"She thinks about me." James informs Sirius, his voice a faraway whisper that barely hits the other man's ears, "She- she thinks about me when she..."

"When she...?" Sirius looks expectantly at James, "Plan on finishing your sentences anytime soon, big guy?"

James finally snaps back to attention, eyes almost comically wide as he looks at Sirius, "I have to go."

"Okay," Sirius chuckles, confused as James rushes for their dorms, "Hey- Hey don't run into those people!"

"What's he on about?" Remus steps up behind Sirius, and the shorter man looks back.

"Dunno," Sirius shrugs, "Mumbling something about Y/N, I think."

"So nothing new," Remus snorts, "Where is she?"

"'Think she went to bed," Sirius nods at your dorm door, still closed, "Probably passed out the second her head hit the pillow, poor thing drunk herself silly."

"James too," Remus scoffs, raising his cup to his lips, "'Guess it's nice they're equally lightweight, means they both crap out at the same time."

There's more similarities between you and James than just that, though. You're mirror images of each other in your rooms, the waistband of your pants and undergarments pressing to your thighs as your hands delve between them. You're twin sinners, each replaying the other's voice in your heads while you touch yourself, 'You're pretty. Gorgeous.' and, 'I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later'.

youngest intern in the history of ppth's oncology. thats you.

"you're still here?" wilson calls out to the void seemingly. your head peaks out from the crowded shelves of the lab to give him a nod.

oh this is bad.

this is not what you need. you dont need you're hot boss to distract you when you're trying to conduct some tests he asked you to. especially not when you haven't slept in 2 days and have had copious amounts of coffee in your system making you jittery. you dont need him to increase your heart rate to the point where your capillaries explode. oh you're gonna fuck up somehow. you're tell him you like him. because lord knows you do. your boss. you have a silly schoolgirl crush on your pathetically gorgeous boss. the kind that makes you nauseous and unwell because he's just so, so pretty. and you'd end up telling him that you'd risk it all if he just gave you the chance.

but you like this job. you need this job. you can't let it go just because you've got a thing for older men with kind eyes whose soft lips spill praises like...

"you there?"

"mhm" you gulp. somehow your mouth is really fucking dry. good god, james wilson. good fucking god. you just want to rub your face on his chest like a cat. you need him to touch you. to pet you. to run his deft fingers refined from years of surgery and paperwork and everything else through your hair or something... what's wrong with you? there's a pit in your abdomen that needs him. you need him to praise you, like he always does. you need him to look at you, take you in, take advantage of you. just dear lord do something. not just stand there and express concern as your employer. just come closer, please, your mind whimpers to him.

"i really think you should rest. we've made considerable progress thanks to your good work and extra hours. you've really proved yourself."

but you don't want this to stop. he thinks you're good. useful. your boss, the intellectual, witty and beautiful man you work for, the best doctor you've met. the one who puts in the hours and effort to better himself in what he does... thinks you did a good job.

wilson does find you admirable. he likes your work ethic, your thirst to prove yourself. he likes your obsession, he compares it to house's sometimes. he like the way you talk, not much to him for some reason (maybe it's the "boss" thing or...) but everyone else in the oncology department. he likes that you're young and you hold him in high regard. you're always so attentive when he talks, so perceptive, so willing. among those things he commends, the ones he can tell his colleagues about, he also likes the tint in your skin when you stand under the dim lighting in the lab. some of it reflecting off your hair, slightly unkempt but beautiful. he likes you without the lab coat. he likes your keen eyes, your smile, your hands, your face, your tits, your...

he lets out a deep sigh. wilson likes you. admires you. maybe overstepping his place as your boss, as your mentor, as whatever that is you're making him in your head, the reflection of which he sees in your eyes sometimes. something desperate. aching. calling out his name, as if to say "come heal me".

and he knows what it is. it's the same look of admiration he gives you. the murky one. the slightly lustful one. he knows what you are. pretty young thing, final year med student, who'd rather flirt with house than chase or foreman. but he'd rather pretend he didnt. rather kid himself into thinking he doesn't care when chase of all people calls you young. that he doesn't feel guilty for wanting you to want him.

but maybe if he played into it long enough, played dumb long enough, made you feel like this is just how he is. just this sweet. if he made you believe that he had a reason to fold his cuffs to reveal his rather slutty forearms, loosen his tie on a late night, take off his coat complaining about the new jersey weather, gaze into your eyes at every occasion he got, all in pure innocence. this isnt flirting. this isn't an old man's desperation and desire permeating his professionalism.

no. this is okay. all he hopes for is that one day you'll give in. confess your love to him like cameron did to house. fight for him. shed a few tears. maybe then he could wipe then off your pretty cheeks and sigh. he could then reject you. just speak those words of "i'm sorry, it's inappropriate and your much younger than me" into existence. make them real, if only he could use all the rationality in the world to convince himself that he doesn't want you as despicably and carnally as he does.

he shuts his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. no. this isn't right. he'd be taking advantage of you. even if its what you want. even if it could be his little present to you.

"go home, doctor."

he leaves the door of the lab open on his way out.

1.1k words, cunnilingus, stressed out jimmy

hungry, horned up, stressed wilson can only cope with messy pussy eating. even when he wants to take, he's actually giving. for someone whose an amalgam of neediness and want, he was never good at expressing it, but one day he just breaks down.

"i- i just really need you right now" he basically sighs his words into the emptied glass. a few drops of water trickle down his jaw and chin. the singular kitchen light illuminates his sheer neediness.

"aww baby, of course," you say, as you gesture him to your lap. some semblance of pride swells up in you. you're taking care of wilson. and not the other way round like he always insists. you're proud of him for admitting that he wants you, needs you, for the first time ever.

he rushes near you, opting for the empty spot on the floor beneath your legs rather than the one beside you. he clutches onto your legs like a raft at first. like he's drowning and your the only thing keeping him afloat. something in your heart sinks seeing him like this. you smooth his soft brown hair, running your hair through his greying streaks. his puppy dog eyes, the gentleness in them.

he whimpers to your touch, nuzzling his face into your lap. shivers run down your back as the sound reverberates in your core. his hands run up and down your calves. you try scratching his back, his neck, his scalp with your nails. his hands start ascending up your legs, now grabbing handfuls of your thighs to knead and grope.

wilson shifts uncomfortably below you. you finally pay attention to his semi. seems a bit painful, honestly. some part of you just wants him to lose control. just this once. fuck whatever it is that bothered him so much into you with whatever energy he may have. god, you want him to use you so bad.

he starts planting wet, desperate kisses onto the inside of your thighs. you instinctively close your thighs around his head, chest heaving with this sudden wave of arousal flowing through you. as he works his way up, a small, almost inaudible "please" escapes his lips amidst the kisses. he's using more teeth now. you slowly stand up and let him undress your lower body. he takes off your shorts and panties in slow tugs and bundles them up to use as padding for his knees. he looks up at you, almost like he worships you, like you're some savior of his. something makes it hard for you to swallow.

wilson tugs you down onto the couch, maybe with a bit more force than he intended, really. his hot breathe makes your joints weak. thoughts of everything he's about to do make it feel like you've lost all control of your muscles.

"wet." he huffs the single syllable between your thighs like a caveman. "so wet."

remarkable observation.

that's all he can mutter out. the sight, the smell, the access; it all made him so hard it ached him. he yanks your cunt closer to his face and gives it a sloppy kiss. you writhe.

his tongue comes next, licking a cold strip on your heat. he buries his face in there, trying to savor your taste on his tongue before going at it again. he taste tests your cunt a couple of times to hear you groan.

but then an unknown devil possesses him. he moves the pace of his tongue from a gentle wine tasting to a rabid feast. god, this man was starved all of a sudden. you yelped in protest, he only moaned into you as a response. every beat resonating through you. he laps you up, tongue reaching front to back and prodding deep inside your hole.

"oh baby, james- i- slower-"

his lips only suckle at your bundle of nerves. your eyes now overflow with tears of burning desire. werent you supposed to help him relax? his nose presses against the hood of your clit, jittering with his exhales that seemed to shake through his jaws too. he was really panting like a dog. all you could do was moan in desperation, your volcanic orgasm burning inside your core, waiting to erupt.

"need it. need you. thank fuck-" he groans into your pussy.

and then he does it. his iron grip on your thigh loosens as he brings his fingers perilously close to your cunt. james- cant- please baby, please rang through you. his sucking, licking and teasing rendered you incapable of putting out any cohesive sentences. you could simply beg. beg for an out, a release to tension building inside of you. his other hand is gone from your thighs too, moved down south to take care of the leaking tent in his office pants.

his little moans leaking out of his pretty lips, coupled with the two fingers inside you and the ever-steady tongue... oh you were about to explode.

"i'm so close, baby, fuckkk- i- i- please keep- ahhh"

a rush flowed through you. you tensed for a moment on his tongue. his fingers. then your spine decompressed. you let go. this felt so good, he felt so good. everything he did.

you tugged on his hair hard. he looked up. what a sight.

his eyes... bit glossy, much like his lips. you could kill him in this moment and he'd thank you, maybe even ask you to do it all over again. his jaw tensed. he looked up at you with an innocence you wouldn't expect from a man who still had two fingers inside you, you slick covering his lips like gloss. he licked them. as much as he hated you for pulling him back to reality in this moment, he could only stare at your flushed face, thanking him for his hard work between your legs with huffs and pants.

a stupid smile tugs at the corners of his glistening mouth. cocky. you like cocky. after all he deserves to feel this way after how he made you feel. he spills his seed in his pants. all after seeing your mouth wide open, cheeks flushed. he did that. he licks your taste off his fingers and wipes his jaw with his forearm. it drives you up the wall.

he gets up to clean you. you look at him with concern in your eyes for a second. is he okay? is this what he needed? certainly what you needed after those long nights being alone. he gets the tissues from the adjacent table.

"i- thank you"

you gape at him. did he just.... thank you?

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

Push of a Button

Day 16 → Remote-Controlled Vibrator 💋 Jenson Button

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Jenson leans back against the pit wall, arms crossed, his eyes locked on you. You’re standing just a few feet away, microphone in hand, talking animatedly to Lando Norris. Your smile is bright, your laughter effortless.

He’s seen it a thousand times, the way you light up around drivers, the way they light up around you. But today, there’s a twist in his chest, a quiet, insistent pressure that he can’t ignore.

Lando is leaning in closer than usual, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins at something you say. Jenson’s jaw tightens. He knows that smile, knows it’s not just friendly. Lando’s flirting, and you’re — what? Oblivious? Playing along? Jenson isn’t sure which is worse.

“Having fun?” Martin Brundle’s voice cuts through his thoughts, casual but probing. He’s always been good at that, at picking up on things left unsaid.

Jenson forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just watching the show,” he replies, his tone light, but there’s an edge to it. His gaze doesn’t leave you.

Martin follows his line of sight, then chuckles softly. “Ah, I see. Lando’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?”

“Too charming,” Jenson mutters, almost to himself. He’s trying to keep his cool, but it’s getting harder by the second.

There’s something about the way Lando looks at you, like he’s seeing something more than just a journalist, more than just a colleague. And you — God, you’re smiling back at him like you don’t notice a damn thing.

Martin raises an eyebrow. “Jealous, are we?”

“Not jealous,” Jenson says, a bit too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just … protective.”

Martin claps him on the shoulder. “Well, she’s yours, isn’t she?”

Jenson nods, but the tension in his chest doesn’t ease. His. The word feels heavy, like a responsibility, like a promise. He watches as you and Lando exchange a few more words, then you laugh again, this time reaching out to lightly touch Lando’s arm. It’s a brief moment, but it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Excuse me,” Jenson says abruptly, pushing off the wall and striding towards you.

You don’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Lando’s saying. But then he’s there, a solid presence at your side, and your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s a brief flash of surprise, then warmth, and you smile up at him, a smile just for him, but Jenson’s too wound up to fully appreciate it.

“Jenson!” You say, your voice a mix of surprise and happiness. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously,” he says, but there’s no humor in his tone. He turns to Lando, his expression carefully neutral. “Norris.”

“Button,” Lando replies, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “We were just talking about the upcoming race. It’s going to be a tough one.”

“Yeah, well,” Jenson says, his voice steady but firm, “she’s done her job for now. You’ve got a race to focus on, haven’t you?”

You blink up at him, a little taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. “Jenson, we were just-”

“I know,” he interrupts, his eyes still on Lando. “But I’m sure Lando here has better things to do than chat all day, don’t you, Norris?”

There’s a challenge in his voice now, a quiet but unmistakable one. Lando’s smile doesn’t falter, but his gaze sharpens, meeting Jenson’s head-on.

“Of course,” Lando says easily, but there’s a tension in the air now, something almost electric. “Good to see you, Y/N. Catch you later?”

You nod, still trying to make sense of what’s happening, and Lando gives you one last smile before turning and walking away, leaving you alone with Jenson.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. You shift slightly, turning to face him fully. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Jenson says, but it’s too quick, too clipped.

You give him a look, one eyebrow arched, calling him out without saying a word. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“Lando was flirting with you,” he says finally, his voice low but intense.

You blink, then laugh softly, shaking your head. “He was just being friendly, Jense. We were talking about the race, that’s all.”

“That’s not all,” he insists, his eyes locking onto yours. “He was flirting, and you-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “You didn’t stop him.”

The accusation hangs in the air, and you feel a flash of irritation. “So what, you’re accusing me of flirting back?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he snaps, then immediately softens, his hand reaching out to gently cup your elbow. “I’m just … look, it bothers me, okay? Watching him look at you like that, knowing how much attention you get from the other drivers. It’s-” He pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s not easy.”

You stare at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the concern in his eyes. “Jenson, you know I only have eyes for you, right? I talk to these guys because it’s my job, not because I’m interested in them.”

“I know that,” he says, but there’s still something unresolved in his tone, a lingering insecurity that he can’t quite shake. “But it’s not just about that. It’s about how they see you. How they think they have a chance with you.”

“But they don’t,” you say firmly, stepping closer, your voice softening. “They never have, and they never will. You’re the one I’m with. No one else.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, absorbing your words, then opens them again, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I just … seeing you with Lando, it got to me. I don’t like the idea of anyone thinking they can come between us.”

“They can’t,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. “And they won’t. But you have to trust me. Trust that I know where my heart is.”

He nods slowly, his grip on your elbow tightening slightly as if grounding himself in your presence. “I do trust you. It’s just — sometimes I get this feeling, this … fear, I guess. That maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize you could have anyone, and you’ll wonder why you’re with me.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you reach up, cupping his face in your hands. “Jenson, I’m with you because I love you. Not because of what anyone else thinks or how many people flirt with me. You’re the one I choose, every day.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away — the noise of the paddock, the pressure of the job, the endless demands on both of your time. It’s just the two of you, standing together in this moment, connected by something deeper than words.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “More than anything.”

You smile, a soft, tender smile that makes his heart ache in the best way possible. “Then stop worrying about Lando or anyone else. You have me, okay? All of me.”

He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. For a long moment, you just stand there, holding each other, the rest of the world forgotten. Finally, he pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll try,” he promises, his voice low and sincere. “But if Lando makes another move, I can’t guarantee I’ll be as calm next time.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “There won’t be a next time. Trust me.”

He smiles, but there’s still a hint of something unresolved in his eyes. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he admits quietly.

“You won’t,” you say firmly, your hands still resting on his chest. “You never will.”

He nods, his tension finally easing, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he whispers, and it’s like a promise, like he’s sealing this moment between the two of you. “Okay.”

***

Jenson zips up his travel bag, his eyes flickering towards the clock on the nightstand. You’re running late, as usual, busy with the final touches of your makeup in the bathroom. He can hear you humming softly, a familiar tune that brings a smile to his face.

“Five more minutes?” You call out from the bathroom, your voice slightly muffled by the closed door.

“We’ve got to leave in two,” Jenson replies, but there’s no real urgency in his tone. He’s used to this routine, knows you’ll make it out the door just in time. Still, something in him shifts as he glances at the bed, an idea forming in the back of his mind.

You emerge a moment later, your hair perfectly styled, lips a soft shade of pink that matches the blush on your cheeks. You’re stunning, as always, and Jenson feels that familiar stir of pride — and possessiveness. You’re his, but today, he wants to make sure you feel that, too.

“We should get going,” you say, grabbing your bag from the chair.

But Jenson moves faster, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. Before you can react, his hand is around your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you back towards the bed.

“Jenson, what are you-” You start to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you short.

“Sit down,” he says, his voice calm but authoritative.

You hesitate for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. But there’s something in his gaze, a mixture of intent and desire, that makes your pulse quicken. You let him guide you to the edge of the bed, your heart thumping in your chest as you sit down.

Jenson kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees, eyes searching yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, his voice low, “about what we talked about yesterday. About how much I want you, how much I need you to know you’re mine.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Let me finish,” he says softly.

You nod, the air between you charged with anticipation.

“There’s something I want to give you,” he continues, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “A reminder, something special, just between us.”

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but you don’t break eye contact, trying to read the intent behind his words.

Jenson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, elegant box. Your breath catches as he opens it, revealing a sleek, discreet toy nestled inside. Your eyes widen slightly, and you glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty. But there’s none — only a steady resolve and a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Jenson …” you start, your voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

He takes the toy out of the box, his touch deliberate and gentle. “Trust me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “I want to take care of you, make sure you feel me, even when we’re apart.”

You swallow hard, the implications of his words sinking in. “How …”

“I’ve got it all figured out,” he says, his voice soothing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine. “I control it from my phone. So no matter where you are, no matter what you’re doing, you’ll know I’m there with you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the idea both thrilling and nerve-wracking. “But the race-”

“We have time,” he interrupts, his voice firm but tender. He slides his hands up your thighs, his touch slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hands reach the hem of your skirt, and he pauses, giving you one last chance to change your mind. But you don’t. You nod, a silent affirmation, and he gently pushes you back onto the bed, his movements careful and deliberate.

“Relax,” he whispers, his hands deftly parting your legs. You do as he says, your body responding to his touch, the anticipation building with every passing second. Jenson is focused, his hands steady as he places the toy exactly where he wants it, his touch both tender and possessive.

You bite your lip, the sensation already making your heart race. Jenson watches you closely, his expression one of quiet intensity. He’s enjoying this, you realize — the control, the closeness, the way your body responds to him.

“Comfortable?” He asks, his voice a low murmur, laced with something darker, more intense.

You nod, unable to find your voice, your senses heightened by the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

He reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out his phone. He unlocks it with a swipe, his eyes never leaving yours as he opens the app. “You’ll feel me with you all day,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And when the moment’s right, I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a delicious mix of anticipation and trepidation. “Jenson,” you murmur, a mix of nerves and excitement in your voice.

He smiles, a slow, confident smile that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “Trust me,” he repeats, his thumb hovering over the screen.

And then, without another word, he presses down.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as the toy hums to life, a gentle vibration that sends waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You grip the bedspread, your eyes widening as the sensation builds, filling you with warmth and desire.

Jenson watches your reaction closely, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. “You like that?” He asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky but honest.

He shifts on the bed, leaning over you, his lips brushing your ear. “Good,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Because this is just the beginning.”

He adjusts the setting, increasing the intensity, and you arch your back, a moan slipping from your lips before you can stop it. The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, and you can’t help but cling to him, your fingers digging into his arms as he holds you steady.

“Jenson,” you gasp, your voice tinged with desperation. But he’s relentless, his control unwavering as he watches you writhe beneath him, his expression a mix of tenderness and possession.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, his hand caressing your thigh. “You’re doing so well, love.”

You try to focus, try to ground yourself in his touch, but the sensations are too much, too intense. Every nerve in your body is alight, every inch of your skin hypersensitive to his touch, to the vibrations that are driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Jenson shifts, his lips brushing against your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, grounding you in the moment, reminding you of his presence. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a low, possessive growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you in a rush, as much a plea as a declaration.

His eyes flare with satisfaction, and he lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath away. You kiss him back with everything you have, pouring all your love, your desire, your trust into that kiss.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with pride. “You’re doing so well. Just a little longer.”

He adjusts the setting again, and this time, the intensity makes you cry out, your body trembling with the effort to hold on, to ride the waves of pleasure crashing over you. But Jenson is there, his presence a steady anchor in the storm, guiding you, supporting you.

“Jenson,” you whimper, your voice trembling with need. “Please …”

But he only smiles, a slow, knowing smile that tells you he’s not done with you yet. “You can take it,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “I know you can.”

And you do, because he’s right — he knows you better than anyone, knows exactly how far he can push you, how much you can take. And right now, he’s pushing you to your limits, testing your resolve, your trust, your love for him.

The toy buzzes relentlessly against you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You can barely think, barely breathe, your world reduced to the sensations overwhelming you, to the man who’s controlling them.

“Jenson,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. But he’s there, his touch grounding you, his voice guiding you, his presence a steady, reassuring force in the midst of the storm.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, his voice rough with emotion, with need. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper. “Yours.”

And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he finally relents, his thumb sliding over the screen, lowering the intensity until the vibrations stop altogether, leaving you trembling and breathless in his arms.

Jenson pulls you close, his hand gently sliding down to fix your underwear, carefully smoothing it back into place. He takes a moment to pat over it, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he feels the warmth radiating from you.

“This is just the beginning,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with promise. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his touch lingering as if he’s imprinting this moment into both of your memories. “There’s a whole day ahead, love. And I’m not done with you yet.”

You shiver under his touch, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and the anticipation of what’s to come makes your heart race all over again. As he stands, offering you a hand to help you up, you know this day is going to be one you’ll never forget.

***

Jenson leans casually against the pit wall, his eyes fixed on the big screen broadcasting the live feed from the paddock. You’re on camera, poised and professional as always, a radiant smile on your face as you prepare for the post-FP2 interviews. The soft buzz of the paddock fades into the background as he watches you, the world narrowing down to just you and the screen.

He knows your routine by heart — the way you stand, the confident tilt of your head, the way you hold the microphone with ease. But today, there’s something different, a lingering anticipation that’s been building ever since this morning in the hotel room.

You catch sight of Charles Leclerc approaching, and your smile widens, eyes brightening with recognition. “Charles! A strong session today. How are you feeling going into qualifying?”

Charles grins back, his boyish charm in full force as he stops in front of you. “Feeling good. The car’s in a good place, and we’ve got a solid shot at pole.”

Jenson watches the interaction closely, the subtle way Charles leans in just a fraction closer than necessary, the playful glint in his eye as he responds to your questions. It’s nothing out of the ordinary — Charles is known for his easy charm — but to Jenson, it’s a reminder of how easily others are drawn to you, how effortlessly you command attention.

You laugh at something Charles says, a soft, genuine sound that Jenson feels in his chest. He sees the way Charles’ eyes flicker over you, lingering for just a second too long. It’s innocent enough on the surface, but Jenson knows better. He knows the effect you have on people, the way you light up a room just by being in it.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, your voice smooth and warm, the consummate professional. “There’s been a lot of talk about strategy — how much of a role do you think tire management will play tomorrow?”

Charles’ gaze doesn’t waver from yours, his smile widening as he leans in slightly, just enough that it feels intimate. “It’s always a factor, but I think we’ve got it under control. Of course, anything can happen on race day.”

Jenson’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, a flicker of something dark and possessive flaring up inside him. His hand slips into his pocket, fingers brushing against his phone. The control, the power, is right there, just a tap away. He can’t resist the temptation — especially not when Charles is looking at you like that.

You’re in the middle of another question when Jenson’s thumb hovers over the app. He watches you closely, the slight flush in your cheeks, the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the way Charles’ attention seems to linger a bit too long on the curve of your lips.

Without a second thought, Jenson taps the screen, the motion almost casual. He increases the intensity just enough to remind you of his presence, of the promise he made that morning. The toy buzzes to life against you, sending a jolt of sensation through your body that’s as unexpected as it is intense.

You falter, just for a split second, the question dying on your lips as your body reacts to the sudden stimulation. Your eyes widen slightly, the microphone trembling in your grip as you try to maintain your composure.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice the brief pause, still caught up in his answer, but Jenson sees everything. The way your breathing hitches, the way your posture stiffens as you fight to keep your cool. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it sends a thrill through him.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks, noticing the brief flicker of something in your expression.

You force a smile, nodding quickly as you scramble to regain control. “Yes, just — just a little tired from all the running around today. But I’m fine, really.”

Jenson smirks to himself, satisfied with the small victory. But he’s not done yet. He adjusts the setting again, this time dialing up the intensity just a notch, enough to keep you on edge but not enough to make it impossible to continue.

You feel the change immediately, the vibrations intensifying against you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to react visibly. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to stay focused on Charles, to keep the interview on track.

But it’s hard — so, so hard — when every nerve in your body is alight with sensation, when every word feels like a battle to keep your composure.

“So, Charles,” you continue, your voice slightly strained but still steady, “do you think Ferrari has what it takes to challenge for the win this weekend?”

Charles tilts his head, considering the question, his gaze still fixed on you with that easy, confident charm. “I think we’re in a good place. The team has been working hard, and we’re going to give it everything we’ve got. But we’ll have to see how things play out on track.”

Jenson’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches Charles, the way the younger driver’s attention never wavers from you, the way he seems so comfortable, so at ease. There’s no mistaking the attraction there, the subtle undercurrent of flirtation in every word, every glance.

And Jenson can’t help himself. He taps the screen again, the movement almost automatic, dialing up the intensity just a bit more.

This time, the reaction is immediate. You gasp softly, your eyes widening as the sensation overwhelms you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. The microphone slips in your hand, your grip faltering as you struggle to keep control.

Charles notices the change, his brows knitting together in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, his voice softer, more intimate now.

You nod quickly, trying to brush it off, but the effort it takes to speak, to form coherent sentences, is almost too much. “I’m — yes, just a bit … distracted. But I’m fine.”

Jenson’s smirk deepens, satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watches you fight to maintain your composure. He knows how hard it is for you right now, knows exactly what you’re feeling, and it drives him wild with a mix of possessiveness and desire.

But he’s not cruel — not really. He gives you a reprieve, lowering the intensity just enough to let you catch your breath, to finish the interview without completely unraveling on live television.

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of control as you wrap up the interview. “Thank you, Charles, and good luck tomorrow,” you manage, your voice only slightly breathless.

Charles smiles, still concerned but letting it go as he nods. “Thank you. And take care of yourself, okay?”

You nod, offering a strained smile in return as you turn away, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of sensation. You can barely focus, barely think, as you make your way off camera, the weight of Jenson’s control heavy on your mind.

Jenson watches you go, his heart pounding with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. He knows what’s coming next, knows that you’ll find him the moment you’re out of sight, knows the confrontation that’s brewing just beneath the surface.

But for now, he’s content to watch, to wait, to let the anticipation build as you navigate the pit lane, trying to keep your cool while knowing that he’s the one pulling the strings.

You make it to a quiet corner of the paddock, out of sight of the cameras, and lean heavily against the wall, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. You know he’s watching, know he’s aware of every reaction, every tremor in your body.

And then, as if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out with trembling fingers, already knowing who it’s from. The message is simple, just one word: Mine.

You swallow hard, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest — desire, frustration, love, and something darker, more intense. You know you’re his, there’s no question about that, but the way he reminds you, the way he exerts his control over you, leaves you breathless, craving more.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching, and you look up to see Jenson walking towards you, his expression calm and collected, but with that same spark of intensity in his eyes that you saw this morning.

“Jenson,” you start, your voice shaky but filled with emotion.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “You did well,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with pride. “But you know this isn’t over yet.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the promise of what’s to come making your pulse quicken. You nod, unable to find the words, but he sees the understanding in your eyes, the acceptance of what he’s done, and what he’s going to do.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

With that, he pulls back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t need to say anything else — you know what’s coming, and the anticipation is enough to make your knees weak.

“Let’s go,” he says finally, his voice firm but gentle as he takes your hand, leading you away from the paddock. The noise of the crowd fades, replaced by the quiet hum of the facility around you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to, and the silence between you is thick with anticipation. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, each step forward amplifying the tension that’s been building all day.

He stops in front of a bathroom door, glancing around to ensure you’re alone before pushing it open and guiding you inside. The door closes behind you with a soft click, the lock sliding into place with a finality that makes your pulse quicken.

The room is small, sterile, with white tiles and a large mirror above the sink. The only light comes from the overhead fluorescent bulb, casting sharp shadows on the walls. Jenson doesn’t waste any time — he turns you around, hands gripping your hips as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter.

You gasp as the cool surface meets your skin, the contrast with the heat radiating from your body almost too much to bear. He stands between your legs, his presence overwhelming as he leans in close, his breath hot against your neck.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “So eager, so ready for me.”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. His hands trail down your thighs, fingers brushing against the edge of your skirt before pushing it up, exposing the thin fabric of your underwear.

He pulls out his phone, the app already open, and you can see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he turns up the intensity again. The toy inside you comes to life with a sudden, powerful vibration that has you gasping, your hands gripping the edge of the counter for support.

“Jenson-” you manage to breathe out, but the words are lost as the sensations overwhelm you. Your legs tremble, your body straining against the relentless stimulation, but he doesn’t relent. Instead, he steps back slightly, his hands on your knees, gently but firmly pushing your legs apart.

He watches you, his gaze dark and intense, as you struggle to keep yourself together. The toy pulses inside you, every nerve ending on fire as you fight to stay on the edge, to hold on just a little longer. But it’s too much — everything is too much — and you can feel yourself starting to unravel, the pleasure building until it’s all-consuming.

“Don’t hold back,” Jenson murmurs, his voice calm but commanding. “I want to see you fall apart for me.”

Your head tilts back, your mouth falling open as a moan escapes you, loud and desperate. You’re so close, teetering on the brink, and when he presses just a bit harder on your legs, holding you open and exposed, you finally lose control.

The orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless, your entire body trembling as you cry out, unable to stop yourself. You fall off the edge, utterly consumed by the sensations coursing through you, and Jenson watches every second of it, his gaze locked on you, unblinking, taking in every reaction, every shudder, every gasp.

When you finally come down, your body weak and spent, he steps closer again. His hand trails up your thigh, fingers hooking around the edge of your underwear before gently pulling it aside. The toy slips out easily, still buzzing faintly, coated in the evidence of your pleasure.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he brings it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness that lingers on it. The sight alone is enough to make your heart skip a beat, the intimacy of the act making your breath catch in your throat.

“Delicious,” he whispers, the word sending another shiver down your spine as he licks the toy clean, his eyes never leaving yours. When he’s satisfied, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before sliding the toy back inside you.

The sensation is different now, your body still sensitive, and you gasp softly as he adjusts it, making sure it’s nestled perfectly against you. He steps back, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he looks at you with a mixture of pride and desire.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “You’re ready for the rest of the day now, aren’t you?”

You nod, your breath still coming in short gasps as you try to regain some semblance of composure. But it’s hard, especially when he’s looking at you like that, his eyes filled with the promise of more to come.

He helps you off the counter, your legs still shaky, but his hold is steady, grounding you as you smooth down your skirt and try to collect yourself. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle now, almost tender.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re mine.”

And as he leads you out of the bathroom, back into the world, you know that no matter what happens, you’ll always be his, and he’ll always be yours.

Simon Riley who never gets mad at his wife. No matter how angry he is. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon was practically fuming. First he'd been ordered by Price to train a group of new recruits, then, the young recruits decided to be a colossal pain in the ass, and to top it off, he'd missed his lunch break where he would normally have some respite by calling you.

So now, he was shouting at the recruits. More than usual. The recruits all looked dead on their feet. But Simon didn't care, they decided to be annoying little pricks. They needed discipline or they'd never make it in the military.

"For fucks sake, you mongrel! Run ten laps!" Simon roared at a recruit, the others looking nervous. Not wanting to be the next one to face Simon.

"Uh, sir?" One of the recruits squeak.

"What?!" Simon roared, the recruit pointing behind Simon.

Simon turned with a low growl, clearly not in the mood for anymore antics, only for him to look down and see you. His wife, in a pretty little sundress and holding a Tupperware container full of something. It didn't matter what was inside, his stomach was growling at the thought of your cooking.

"Swee'heart" Simon sighed in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing and his arms wrapping around your waist. He relished in the squeak that came from you as he lifted you up and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"You alright, big guy?" you giggle. Simon grumbling in agreement. Making you laugh again.

Simon set you down, barking at the recruits to find Price and that he'll be taking over the training, before walking behind you with his hands on your waist to guide you to his office.

"Si, if you're busy I can go" you offer, and Simon can barely handle how fucking sweet you are to him.

Simon shook his head, taking off his balaclava and sitting in his office chair. Pulling you to sit on his lap.

"Made you some cottage pie" you grin, opening the container in your hands and handing it to Simon. God it was still warm. "I thought you were gonna yell at me with how mad you were at the recruits"

"Would never yell at you, princess" Simon said, rubbing your hips as you fed him a forkful of the cottage pie. He groaned at the taste, making you giggle.

"good?"

"so fucking good, lovie. Needed your cooking after how shit today has been" Simon smiled, bringing your left hand to his lips and kissing your wedding ring gently.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

btw guys I pulled white lily cookie and dark cacao cookie while writing this :p

more bombshell reader and maybe jealous hotch!!

Something in the Way She Moves

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell Female Reader||Word Count: 20k!!

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, spoilers/mentions of past character's death(s), hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, breakups, forbidden romance, smut, sex without protection, yearning Hotch, Reader is Hotch's Boss, holidays, Reader has hair, cheating if you squint (not on each other; not Reader on/by Hotch), mentions of alcohol at social setting, bombshell reader, possessive Hotch, jealous reader

Sypnosis: As the new section chief of the BAU, you’re determined to lead with professionalism—despite an undeniable connection with Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who understands you like no one else. When your growing romance draws scrutiny from the Bureau and threatens both your careers, breaking things off feels like the only choice. But resisting your feelings is easier said than done, and navigating the fallout proves more complicated—and personal—than either of you anticipated.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in rules. They provided structure, a way to ensure order in the chaos of the world he inhabited daily. He lived by them—until you walked back into his life.

When you first stepped into Erin Strauss’ old office as the new Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron had already known you would get the job. Not because you were an excellent candidate, though that was undeniable, but because he had written the letter of recommendation that tipped the scales. He’d been the one to argue your case, to convince the higher-ups that your tactical mind, people skills, and years of leadership in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit made you the right choice.

He knew he couldn’t take on the job himself. He didn’t want to sacrifice his time in the field or more time away from Jack. Things with Beth had just mutually ended, and he knew now wasn’t time for a big change in his career. His team needed stability, too. He knew where to find it for them. He couldn’t think of a better boss for himself or his team. 

But what Aaron hadn’t expected was how your presence would shift the ground beneath his feet.

From day one, you were everything he remembered—commanding, intelligent, and stunning. But there was a new energy to you now. Your style was impeccable, all sharp lines and elegance, yet undeniably bold. You wore heels that clicked purposefully against the tiled floors, and your perfume lingered just long enough to be distracting. Every room you entered turned its attention to you, though you never seemed to revel in it. You worked hard—harder than anyone—but also knew how to treat yourself. Aaron admired that, envied it even.

And then there was the personal side, the one you didn’t show many. The way you smiled when you spoke about your niece’s upcoming recital. The way your laugh, a warm and genuine sound, filled the briefing room when someone cracked a joke. You were extra, yes—extravagant even—but never entitled. You could be sharp-tongued and exacting, but you were also kind and humble. You never asked anyone for anything you wouldn’t provide for yourself.

You were a paradox, and Aaron found himself drawn to you more every day.

The first time the two of you crossed the line, it had been... unplanned.

It was late, the kind of late where the bullpen was empty except for the faint hum of desk lamps and the rhythmic clicks of Aaron typing. You had come down from your office, a mug of tea in your hand and a softness to your expression he rarely saw as you popped into his opened door.

“You’re still here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, looking up from his laptop as you perched on the edge of his desk.

The conversation started as work but soon meandered. Aaron had always valued your opinion, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to linger over cases. But that night, as the hours stretched on, there was a shift.

“I’ve always admired your dedication,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on him. 

“Thank you,” Aaron replied, his throat tightening.

“And the way you fought for me to get this position... Aaron, it means more than you know.”

There was a vulnerability in your voice, a crack in the armor you so carefully maintained. Aaron wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could second-guess it, his hand covered yours where it rested on his desk.

That simple touch was all it took to change everything.

Weeks passed before either of you acknowledged what was happening. It started innocently enough—a lingering glance across the briefing room, the brush of hands when passing files, the way your voices softened when it was just the two of you. But it didn’t take long for the connection to deepen, slipping past the professional boundaries you had so carefully constructed.

Aaron would find himself texting you late at night, ostensibly to discuss case details, but the conversations often veered into personal territory. It wouldn’t take long until you crossed the boundary, deciding the messages weren’t enough phone calls were needed. He learned that you hated mornings but loved the ritual of your complicated coffee orders, that you missed the simplicity of fieldwork but thrived in your new role because it gave you a broader sense of impact. You learned that he still struggled with guilt over Haley, that he missed spending more time with Jack but refused to let his son see his father falter.

The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. The way you looked at him during meetings lingered too long, your gaze softening when you thought no one else was watching. The way he always stood a little closer to you than necessary, catching your perfume—an elegant mix of jasmine and citrus—that lingered long after you walked away. The stolen moments became something he craved, something he couldn’t ignore.

Aaron knew it was wrong—or, at the very least, complicated. But the way you saw him, truly saw him, made it impossible to stay away. Aaron had met a lot of people in his life, nobody who completely saw him. It was almost as if he spent his whole life searching for it, for it to be looking him in the face all of these years. 

The first time he kissed you, it was in your office.

You were pacing, heels clicking against the polished floor, your tailored suit jacket hanging neatly on the back of your chair. The soft silk blouse you wore glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching his attention more than it should have.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered, gesturing toward the papers on your desk. “A dozen forms to approve before tomorrow, as if I don’t already have enough to do. And the Director wants an update on—”

“Stop,” Aaron interrupted gently, his deep voice cutting through your frustration.

You froze mid-stride, turning to face him. Your expression softened slightly, but your eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes that could read anyone in a heartbeat—searched his face for answers.

“What is it, Aaron?” you asked the edge in your tone melting into something warmer.

He stood from the chair opposite your desk, his broad shoulders and crisp suit making him seem even taller in the small space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering across your features. “Do what?”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

“Pretend that I don’t want more.”

For a moment, the air between you stilled, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with the same intensity you reserved for interrogations.

And then your free hand moved, reaching up to curl into his tie, the silk fabric slipping easily between your fingers. You tugged gently, pulling him toward you, your breath mingling with his.

“Aaron,” you murmured, a faint warning still lingering in your tone.

But he didn’t stop. His hand rose to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so grounding.

The kiss started tentative, almost hesitant, but the moment your lips met, it shattered whatever walls remained between you. You leaned into him, your other hand finding its way to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip, steadying you as you deepened the kiss.

You tasted like mint and something sweet, and Aaron thought he might be losing his mind. The world outside your office door ceased to exist; there was only you, your warmth, your intoxicating presence.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and your breathing uneven. His tie was slightly askew, and your fingers still clutched it loosely as if unsure whether to let go.

“Well,” you said, your voice teasing but laced with something raw, something real. “That’s one way to solve a bureaucratic nightmare.”

Aaron chuckled softly, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t look it. He certainly didn’t feel it. 

“Don’t be,” you replied, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady.

And he meant it. Whatever came next, whatever complications or consequences arose, Aaron knew one thing for certain: this—you—was worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one to let himself indulge—not in anything that wasn’t for Jack, at least. His life revolved around necessity and function, keeping his head above water while ensuring those around him could do the same. Haley and Beth had been simple…these minor things didn’t appeal to them. But with you, indulgence didn’t feel frivolous. It felt... right.

The kiss had been a turning point. It wasn’t just the line crossed—it was the invitation to something more. After that moment in your office, there was no going back. Within days, the two of you had quietly shifted from colleagues to something undeniably personal. By the end of the first week, Aaron had asked you out, and to his surprise, you’d agreed without hesitation.

Your first date had been dinner at a small but elegant restaurant nestled in the heart of Georgetown. Aaron had chosen the spot carefully—upscale enough to meet your polished tastes but intimate enough to keep prying eyes at bay.

“I have to admit,” you’d said over a glass of sauvignon blanc, “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to keep up with me.”

Aaron had raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep up with you how?”

Your expression had turned playful, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of having... expensive taste.”

Aaron had leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey casually. “You think I don’t know that by now?” he teased. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who insisted on a specific brand of bottled water for office meetings.”

“That’s called maintaining standards,” you countered with mock indignation.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t worry. I might be frugal, but I’m not struggling. And I like to spoil the people I care about.”

The admission had caught you off guard, he could tell. Your confident demeanor had faltered just enough for him to notice, and for a moment, you’d looked down at your glass, your smile softer. “Well,” you’d said finally, meeting his gaze again, “I won’t complain about that.”

By the time you’d gone on a few dates, Aaron found himself more at ease with the idea of what you were becoming. It wasn’t just the shared dinners, the quiet moments in the corners of bars, or the back seats of dimly lit movie theaters. It was the way you fit into his life so seamlessly. Despite your differences—you with your love of extravagance and meticulous planning and him with his pragmatic approach and quiet restraint—you balanced each other.

You worked well together, too. Surprisingly well. If anything, your meticulous attention to detail and unrelenting standards had only strengthened the BAU. Aaron had always considered himself by the book, but compared to you, he realized he could be downright lenient.

“You’re more Type A than I am,” he commented one night after a case briefing, leaning against the doorframe of your office.

You glanced up from your perfectly organized desk, where every file was stacked at precise right angles. “Is that your way of saying I’m bossy?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m saying you’re by-the-book to a fault. It’s impressive, really.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Says the man who color-codes his case files.”

“Touché,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t panic at the thought of bending the rules when necessary.”

Your expression sobered slightly, and Aaron noticed the way your hands stilled over the papers in front of you. “I just... I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question me—or us.”

Ah. There it was.

“You’re worried about telling the Director,” Aaron said, stepping further into the room.

Your silence was answer enough.

Aaron sat on the edge of your desk, his presence grounding. “Things are going well,” he said firmly. “The team respects you. Cases are running smoothly. We work together seamlessly. There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with this—unless we give them one.”

You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “But what if they do? What if they say it’s inappropriate or unprofessional? I could lose this position, Aaron.”

He reached for your hand, covering it with his. The touch was gentle, but his grip steady, reassuring. “You won’t lose it. You’ve earned this. No one can take that from you.”

“But what about you?” you asked quietly. “If this affects your place on the team...”

“I won’t let it,” Aaron said with conviction. “We’ve handled worse than bureaucratic red tape. Besides, I think the Director has bigger problems than two senior members of the BAU in a consensual, functional relationship.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Functional, huh? That’s romantic.”

Aaron smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

You shook your head, your laughter soft but genuine. “I don’t know how you stay so calm about this.”

“Because I’ve spent my life trying to control everything,” he admitted. “And I’ve learned the hard way that some things are worth the risk.”

Your gaze lingered on his, the weight of his words settling between you. And for the first time since this all began, Aaron saw the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “We’ll tell the Director. Together.”

Aaron nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Together.”

In that moment, as the two of you sat in the quiet comfort of your shared understanding, Aaron knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, you were worth it. Every risk, every consequence—you were worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had walked into more high-pressure situations than he could count. Interrogating unsubs. Negotiating with armed suspects. Delivering heartbreaking news to grieving families. But as he sat outside the Director’s office with you beside him, he felt a knot in his stomach that rivaled even the most tense of standoffs.

You sat with your legs crossed, your polished heel bouncing ever so slightly—a nervous tick Aaron had come to recognize. You were dressed impeccably, as always, your tailored blazer sharp enough to cut through steel. But Aaron knew you well enough to see the tension in the way you smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from your skirt or adjusted your necklace.

He reached over, his hand brushing yours lightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.

You turned your head, offering him a small smile, but the doubt in your eyes was unmistakable.

Before he could say more, the assistant opened the door. “The Director will see you now.”

The Director’s office was a testament to order and authority. Every book on the shelves was carefully aligned, the awards and commendations behind the desk displayed with precision. Aaron Hotchner had sat across from this desk many times, but today, the air felt heavier. He wasn’t just representing his team or defending a decision. Today was personal.

The Director greeted them with a curt nod, gesturing for them to sit. Aaron glanced at you as you settled into the chair beside him, your posture immaculate, your gaze steady. He knew the nerves beneath the surface were hidden behind that calm, polished exterior.

“You wanted to discuss something... personal,” the Director said, leaning back slightly, his hands folded on the desk.

Aaron cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Yes, sir. We wanted to inform you about our relationship.”

The Director’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. He waited, prompting Aaron to continue.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time now. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure it doesn’t interfere with our work or the team’s performance. Cases continue to run smoothly, and morale remains high. We believe—”

The Director raised a hand, signaling for Aaron to stop.

Aaron exchanged a brief glance with you. The air seemed to grow heavier.

“I appreciate your honesty,” the Director said, his voice even, almost sympathetic. “But this isn’t acceptable.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone measured but firm. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve maintained professionalism at all times. There has been no impact on the team’s dynamics or efficiency.”

The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but resolute. “This isn’t about professionalism or efficiency, though I trust that both of you believe you’ve kept those intact. It’s about perception. The BAU is already under a microscope. The media, oversight committees, politicians—they’re all waiting for any reason to scrutinize this unit further.”

Aaron shifted in his seat. “Sir, we’ve handled public scrutiny before. We’ve worked under immense pressure and still delivered results. I believe—”

“You believe,” the Director interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “But this is not about what you believe or how well you perform. It’s about how this looks. Two of the highest-ranking members in the same unit, in a romantic relationship? It opens doors for questions about bias, favoritism, and poor judgment.”

You stiffened slightly, and Aaron could feel the tension radiating from you.

“We’ve had to address optics before,” the Director continued, his tone less stern and more weary. “When Erin Strauss was here, we allowed too much to slide—her personal struggles, her decisions that created friction within the team. It put the BAU in a precarious position, one we barely recovered from. And now, with our history, with every move under scrutiny, I can’t let this slide. Not again.”

Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to remain composed. “Sir, neither of us would let this compromise our responsibilities. Our records speak for themselves.”

The Director nodded slowly. “They do, Hotchner. Both of you have impeccable records, and I trust your intentions. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about precedent. If I allow this, what message does it send? That personal relationships among senior staff are acceptable? That the rules don’t apply here?”

You spoke next, your voice calm but resolute. “We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re asking for acknowledgment that this doesn’t interfere with our ability to lead.”

The Director exhaled, his tone softening. “I understand what you’re saying. And if the world operated on logic alone, I might agree. But the reality is perception matters. The BAU is too visible, too scrutinized. I can’t allow this.”

“What are you saying?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’m saying one of you has to transfer, or this relationship ends,” the Director said evenly. “Those are your options. I won’t dictate which path you choose, but this arrangement cannot continue while you’re both in these positions.”

The finality in his tone hit like a cold wind. Aaron’s fists clenched in his lap, though his face remained impassive. Beside him, he could feel you bristling but holding yourself together.

“Is there any room for reconsideration?” you asked, your voice level but tight.

The Director shook his head. “I wish there were. I respect both of you immensely. But this is a line we can’t afford to cross.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“I can draft up some reccomendsations for units to transfer,” he continued, “But I’d warn you, that may put a bigger target on your back with the brass.” 

“Is that all, sir?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you likely intended.

“That’s all,” the Director replied, his tone tinged with something almost regretful.

The Director’s words still echoed in Aaron Hotchner’s ears as you stormed out of the office, your heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Aaron trailed behind you, his thoughts spinning, barely registering the brisk pace you set.

When you reached the bullpen, you didn’t stop. You headed straight for the stairs that led to the upper offices, bypassing your usual elevator ride. Aaron hesitated for a moment before following, his long strides catching up to you as you pushed through the door to your private office and let it slam shut behind you.

For a moment, Aaron stood outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could hear you moving inside—papers rustling, a muffled sigh, the creak of your chair as you sat heavily into it. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared at your desk, your hands resting on its polished surface as if grounding yourself. Your jaw was tight, your expression unreadable, but Aaron had known you long enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“This is ridiculous,” you said finally, your voice low but trembling with barely contained frustration. “We’ve done everything right. Everything. And it still doesn’t matter.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. What could he say that wouldn’t feel hollow? That he agreed? That he hated the situation just as much as you did? None of it would change the reality bearing down on both of you.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, though the words felt inadequate even as he spoke them.

Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing as they met his. “How, Aaron? How do we figure this out? Do I transfer? Do you? Do we just pretend we’re fine with throwing everything away?”

Aaron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He’d been in impossible situations before—ones where no option felt right, but he had to choose anyway. This time, though, the stakes felt different. He wasn’t deciding a case, balancing strategy and risk. He was standing on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed until it was almost too late.

When you finally looked away, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the conversation, Aaron allowed himself a moment to think. To really think.

He imagined what it would mean to leave. Retiring from fieldwork had crossed his mind before—Jack was growing up fast, and Aaron had often wondered if he was missing too much. But the idea of stepping into a more conservative role, away from the pulse of the work, left a hollow ache in his chest.

And then there was you. He thought of you sacrificing your position, giving up this incredible opportunity that you had earned through sheer determination and talent. The thought twisted his stomach.

Aaron couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t let another person give up so much of themselves for his job. He had promised himself, after Haley, that he wouldn’t let his work consume anyone else. That was why he had let Beth go so easily when she wanted more for herself and her career.

But you weren’t Haley or Beth. You were different. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And yet, the guilt and shame of letting you make that kind of sacrifice—for him, for them—was unbearable.

“You shouldn’t have to leave,” Aaron said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss.

You looked at him sharply. “And you think you should?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t ask you to give this up. I won’t.”

Your hands curled into fists on the desk, and Aaron saw the flicker of pain in your eyes before you looked away. “So what? We just... stop?”

Aaron exhaled slowly, his heart aching at the rawness in your voice. “I don’t want to,” he said honestly. “But maybe it’s what’s best.”

Your laugh was bitter, your head shaking. “Best for who? Them? The optics? Certainly not us.”

Aaron stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of your desk. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze. “None of this is. But if we keep fighting this, it could hurt the team. It could hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”

Your eyes glistened, but you blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. “So that’s it? We just... agree to walk away?”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we have to.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating as if the weight of what you were agreeing to was pressing down on both of you at once.

Finally, you stood, your movements slow and deliberate. You rounded the desk, stopping just in front of him.

“Do you really think this is the right thing to do?” you asked, your voice cracking just enough to betray the strength you were trying to hold on to.

“No,” Aaron admitted, his own voice hoarse. “But I think it’s the only thing we can do.”

The words hung in the air like a final verdict, sealing something neither of you wanted to face.

When you stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Aaron’s heart broke a little more. He covered your hand with his, holding it there for a moment as if trying to memorize the feeling.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his one last time. He didn’t miss the tears beginning to well in them. It was instinct to want to look away, it was a sight too painful to unsee, but he found himself still looking through to you.

“So do I,” he replied, his voice raw.

And then, as you stepped back and let your hand fall away, Aaron felt the loss like a physical blow—a kick to the knees. You walked past him, your steps unsteady but resolute.

He didn’t turn to watch you leave. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, alone in your office, knowing that this decision—the right one, the necessary one—was going to haunt him for a long time.

The weeks that followed were some of the hardest Aaron Hotchner had endured, and that was saying something. He had always prided himself on compartmentalizing, on keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. But this—you—made that impossible.

The day after the decision, you had returned to work with the same polished professionalism you always displayed. Your suit was impeccable, your tone measured, and your focus sharp. But Aaron saw the cracks beneath the surface. He saw the way your eyes avoided his during meetings, the way your smiles—rare as they were now—never reached your eyes.

And it wasn’t just you. Aaron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a constant ache in his chest that no amount of distraction could dull. He would catch himself looking at you across the bullpen, remembering how it felt to have you close, to hear you laugh in those unguarded moments. The memories were like splinters—small, sharp reminders of what he’d lost.

He wondered if it were some sort of sick joke. That once again, here he was, Aaron Hotchner choosing the job over what was right in front of him. 

The team picked up on it quickly, though they didn’t understand the cause at first.

“Something’s off,” Morgan said one afternoon, leaning against Aaron’s office door.

Aaron didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “What do you mean?”

Morgan shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the concern in his eyes. “You and her,” he said, nodding toward your office. “I don’t know... You two used to be so in sync. Now it’s like there’s this... distance.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’re fine. Just busy.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Still, Aaron knew the others had noticed it too. Reid’s hesitant glances during meetings, JJ’s subtle attempts to smooth over the tension, and even Garcia’s uncharacteristic silence when she addressed the two of you.

The pain of working together was a constant, gnawing ache. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope, balancing professionalism with the unspoken emotions neither of you could completely hide.

During briefings, Aaron found himself hyper-aware of you. The way you avoided sitting too close. The way your voice would falter, just slightly, when addressing him directly. It was subtle, so subtle that no one outside the team would notice. But Aaron noticed.

You rarely joined the team in the field, but you were more present than Strauss’ constant absence due to her dislike of fieldwork when in your role. Even in the field, the strain was palpable. The easy rhythm you had once shared was gone, replaced by clipped exchanges and a formality that felt wrong coming from you.

“You’re clear on the approach?” Aaron asked during one such mission, his voice firm but hollow.

You nodded, your tone equally curt. “I am.”

It was efficient. Professional. Everything it needed to be. But it wasn’t you. At least not the you he knew.

The worst moments came in the quiet, in the spaces between the chaos. Late nights at the BAU, when the rest of the team had gone home and the building was quiet. Sometimes, Aaron would catch a glimpse of you in your office, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across your face. He wanted to go to you, to break the silence and bridge the gap, but he never did.

One night, as he packed up to leave, he saw you sitting at your desk, your head in your hands. You didn’t notice him watching, and for a brief moment, he considered walking in, saying something—anything. But then you straightened, brushing a hand through your hair, and the moment passed.

Aaron turned away, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each step he took toward the exit.

The team never said anything outright, but Aaron could feel their unease. They didn’t know the details—didn’t know that the two of you had once been something more, or how close you had come to risking everything to stay that way. But they felt the shift.

JJ tried to smooth things over with small acts of kindness—bringing coffee, lightening the mood in meetings. Morgan watched both of you with quiet curiosity, his usual teasing replaced by a patience Aaron hadn’t expected. Even Garcia, ever perceptive, gave him a long, searching look one day before sighing and saying, “You know, you can talk to us, right? About anything.”

Aaron had nodded, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks, Garcia.”

Months passed, and the ache dulled, but it never went away. Aaron learned to live with it, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibilities. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision, but there were moments—late at night, when the silence was deafening—when he let himself imagine what could have been.

And you—he could see it in your eyes, the way you carried the same weight. You were just as professional, just as efficient, but there was a sadness in you now that hadn’t been there before. It mirrored his own, and that was perhaps the hardest part of all.

You were both doing what you thought was best. And it was killing you.

The bullpen was unusually quiet when Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his office. His team was gathered around JJ’s desk, their conversation hushed but animated. The moment his presence registered, they all straightened slightly, trying to appear busy.

Aaron didn’t buy it for a second.

“Morgan. JJ,” he said, his tone even but curious as he descended the steps. “What’s going on?”

JJ exchanged a quick look with Morgan before speaking. “Oh, uh, nothing, Hotch. Just catching up on some... Quantico gossip.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow. Gossip wasn’t something his team typically indulged in—not during work hours, at least. “What kind of gossip?”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flash of discomfort crossing his face. “The kind that probably shouldn’t leave the locker room, but since it’s about someone we all know... it didn’t sit right with me.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few feet from the group. “Who?”

Morgan hesitated, glancing at the others. Emily crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued, while Penelope fidgeted, clearly torn between curiosity and concern.

“Look,” Morgan started, his tone careful, “it’s about…You know—”

Aaron’s stomach sank. He didn’t need Morgan to say your name to know exactly who he meant.

“Go on,” Aaron said, his voice clipped but controlled.

Morgan sighed, leaning against the desk. “JJ and I were at the gym downstairs yesterday. I was in the locker room, and I heard some guy—one of the suits from Finance, I think—talking about her.”

Aaron’s chest tightened as Morgan continued.

“He was bragging about how they’ve been... seeing each other,” Morgan said, his expression darkening. “But the way he was talking—man, it was gross. Like, disrespectful. He was sexualizing her in a way that made my skin crawl.”

JJ chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. “He called her a ‘great ass with brains’—as if that’s all she is. Then he made some comment about how lucky he was to have caught her attention.”

Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I told him to knock it off,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “Told him it wasn’t cool to talk about her like that—especially in a damn locker room, where anyone could hear.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open, her indignation bubbling to the surface. “You’re kidding me. He said that in the locker room? What kind of—ugh! Men are the worst sometimes.”

Emily smirked faintly, her voice dry as she added, “Not all men. Just most.”

Rossi, who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “So she’s seeing this guy? Or is he just running his mouth?”

Morgan shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. But he seemed pretty confident.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel the team’s eyes on him, but he refused to let his expression betray the storm brewing inside.

“Hotch,” JJ said gently, her voice pulling him back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron said curtly. “But I need to remind all of you that gossip—about anyone—isn’t appropriate here. If there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed through the proper channels.”

The team exchanged glances, but no one pushed further.

Aaron returned to his office, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. He sank into his chair, staring at the stack of files on his desk without really seeing them.

The idea of you seeing someone else didn’t sit well with him. Not because you didn’t deserve happiness—you did, more than anyone. But because the thought of you with someone who didn’t appreciate you, who reduced you to nothing more than your appearance or used you as a bragging point, made his blood boil.

He hated the way that man in the locker room had spoken about you. Hated that it had happened at all.

And yet, there was something else eating at him. Something sharper, more selfish.

Jealousy.

The idea that you might have moved on—might have found comfort in someone else’s arms—cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He had no right to feel this way. The two of you had made your decision, painful as it was, and he had to live with it. But knowing you might be with someone else, hearing those crude words about you... it was unbearable.

Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not ever.

But as he sat there, the words from the locker room replaying in his mind, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had let you go too soon. Too easily.

And it was killing him.

Time had a way of dulling pain, or so Aaron Hotchner told himself. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The ache of what had been and what could never be dulled into something he carried silently, like an old injury that flared up when the weather changed. But it never went away.

And then he found out for certain.

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation—it was the kind of thing he normally tuned out. But as he passed by the kitchen in the Quantico building, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two agents from a different unit, their voices low but not low enough.

“Yeah, they’ve been going out for a while now,” one said, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of smugness. “I can’t believe he managed to lock her down. She’s way out of his league.”

The other laughed. “I heard she’s really something. Smart, gorgeous, the whole package. Lucky bastard.”

Aaron didn’t need to hear your name to know exactly who they were talking about.

He found himself sitting in his office later that day, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his focus shattered.

You were seeing him—the man from Finance. The one Morgan had overheard in the locker room, the one who had spoken about you like you were nothing more than a conquest.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, and his chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to regret. He hated the thought of you with someone who didn’t truly see you—who didn’t appreciate the sharpness of your mind, the strength in your character, the way you carried yourself with grace and confidence even under the heaviest burdens.

And yet, what right did he have to feel this way?

You had every right to move on. Every right to find happiness where you could. It wasn’t your fault that he couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what the two of you had shared—or what might have been if things had been different.

As the weeks dragged on, Aaron tried to bury himself in his work. He tried not to notice the way you laughed at something someone said in the bullpen or the way your eyes lit up during a briefing when an idea struck you. He tried not to think about the nights you spent with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

And then Beth called.

It had been months since they’d last spoken, her name long buried in the recesses of his mind. But there she was, her voice warm and familiar, asking how he was, how Jack was if he might want to grab coffee sometime.

Aaron hesitated.

He thought of you—of the distance that had grown between you, the way your conversations were now stilted and professional, the warmth that used to linger between you replaced by a polite coolness. He thought of the man from Finance, the way his name had crept into conversations around the office, always tied to you.

Maybe it was time, Aaron thought. If you had moved on, maybe he should too.

He met Beth for coffee and then for dinner. She was as kind and understanding as he remembered, her smile easy, her company pleasant. But something was missing.

With you, there had been a fire—a spark that made every conversation electric, every glance charged with something unspoken. With Beth, it was different. Comfortable but muted.

Still, Aaron told himself it was the right thing to do. Jack liked her, and she was good to him. Maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of what it felt like to let someone in, to have a life outside the walls of the BAU.

But no matter how much he tried, Aaron couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going through the motions. He couldn’t stop himself from comparing every moment with Beth to the moments he’d shared with you.

When Beth laughed, it wasn’t your laugh. When she reached for his hand, it didn’t feel the same as when you had pulled him close in the quiet of your office.

And every time he saw you in the hallways of Quantico or across the table during a case briefing, that ache in his chest flared anew.

Aaron knew he had made his choice. He had chosen to let you go, to protect the work and the team, to do what he thought was right. And now, he was trying to live with that choice, even as it slowly unraveled him from the inside.

But as he sat in his office late one night, the bullpen quiet and empty, Aaron allowed himself a single, fleeting moment of honesty.

He had moved on.

But not really.

Because a part of him—the part he tried to bury beneath duty and responsibility—would always belong to you.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the head of the conference table, scanning the stack of case files in front of him as the team settled into their usual seats. The murmur of conversation drifted around the room—Morgan and Emily debating the odds of another late-night call, Penelope slipping a fresh report to Reid, Rossi sipping a coffee that smelled distinctly stronger than the usual bullpen brew.

You entered last, heels clicking sharply against the tile floor as you carried yourself with the effortless confidence Aaron admired. You placed your tablet on the table and glanced around the room, your polished demeanor demanding attention without a single word.

“Before we get into case updates,” you began, your voice calm but firm, “I wanted to bring something to everyone’s attention.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, already anticipating the shift in focus. You had a way of setting the room’s tone that even Rossi respected, and your next words proved no different.

“As most of you know,” you continued, your gaze sweeping across the team, “the Bureau’s annual holiday party is coming up. And while I’m well aware that the BAU has a reputation for... skipping it, I feel this year it’s important that we all make an effort to attend.”

That got their attention. Emily’s eyebrows lifted, Morgan tilted his chair back with an incredulous grin, and Penelope froze mid-sip of her elaborately decorated coffee.

“Come on,” Morgan said, his tone half-teasing. “You can’t be serious. You know those parties are all stiff handshakes and bad speeches.”

You smiled faintly, unruffled. “I’m very serious, Morgan. This isn’t about the party itself—it’s about the message it sends.”

Aaron noticed the way you paused, your gaze flickering briefly in his direction before continuing. “After the last few years, it’s important that we show the brass that we’re aligned with their expectations. It demonstrates that we care about appearances and that we’re just as invested in maintaining relationships as they are.”

There it was. A subtle but unmistakable reminder of why things between you and Aaron could never be, woven seamlessly into a broader point that the rest of the team couldn’t grasp fully.

Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re going to this thing to rub elbows with suits who don’t know what we actually do out here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” you replied, your tone calm but edged with authority. “Appearances matter. And it’s our job to ensure those appearances align with the professionalism the BAU stands for.”

Aaron watched as the words settled over the team, their expressions shifting from mild amusement to begrudging understanding. You had a way of cutting through their resistance without belittling them—a skill Aaron had always admired.

“Plus,” you added, a faint smile tugging at your lips, “I’ve been assured the band will be better than last year’s.” You paused. “And an open bar.” 

That earned a soft chuckle from Penelope, who set her mug down with a small shrug. “Well, if it’s formal attire and a better band, I suppose I could make an appearance.”

“Attire is black-tie,” you confirmed, your gaze sweeping the room. “And yes, plus-ones are welcome. But I expect every one of you to be there. No exceptions.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Guess that means we all have to dust off our evening wear.”

“I have a tux,” Reid offered quietly, drawing a chuckle from Rossi.

Aaron remained quiet, his focus trained on you. He could feel the weight of your words—not just the direct ones, but the subtext you didn’t need to spell out. He knew why you were pushing for this, why it mattered so much to you. And he hated that he understood.

As the meeting wrapped and the team began to filter out, you lingered behind, gathering your tablet and a small stack of papers. Aaron stood as well, pausing briefly near the door.

“Formal wear suits you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up, your expression unreadable but your eyes betraying the smallest flicker of something softer. “I expect to see you there, Hotchner. On time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.

But as he left the room, his chest tightened with the familiar ache that came every time he was near you. Formal appearances, aligned expectations—he understood all of it.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

The Bureau’s holiday party was exactly what Aaron Hotchner had expected: polished, overly formal, and steeped in thinly veiled networking. The grand ballroom at the hotel downtown was decorated in muted gold and deep red, elegant but impersonal. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music adding to the ambiance without drowning out the hum of conversation.

Beth stood beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that flattered her in every way. Her brunette hair was swept into a low chignon, and her smile was warm as she introduced herself to the occasional colleague who passed by. She looked stunning, and Aaron knew that anyone in the room would agree.

But when you walked in, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

You entered the ballroom on the arm of Jeff from Finance, a name that Aaron had come to resent more than he cared to admit. He was wearing a garish plaid tuxedo jacket that screamed “trying too hard,” and his broad grin made Aaron’s jaw tighten. But none of that mattered—because you were radiant.

Your gown was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that made your eyes seem brighter, your skin glow. It hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly under the chandelier light as you moved. Your hair, styled elegantly but effortlessly, framed your face in a way that made Aaron’s chest ache. You looked... otherworldly.

Aaron had always known you were beautiful. It was an undeniable fact, one that had never gone unnoticed by anyone who crossed your path. But tonight, you were something else entirely. You weren’t just beautiful; you were extraordinary, like a rare phenomenon that people spend their entire lives waiting to glimpse.

When you stepped into the room, it was as though the world tilted slightly, every sound dulling, every light dimming except for the one that seemed to follow you. Aaron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange, almost childlike awe settled over him. He felt like a boy again, staring up at the stars for the first time and realizing just how vast and infinite the universe could be.

You were that kind of beautiful. The kind that made time seem to pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath just to take you in. You were the kind of beauty that inspired poetry and music—the kind artists yearned to capture and always failed to do justice.

And in that moment, Aaron finally understood why men wrote poetry, painted masterpieces, composed symphonies, and created entire films in honor of women like you. It was all a desperate attempt to grasp something fleeting, something divine, and pin it to the earth long enough to keep.

It wasn’t just your gown, though the deep emerald green shimmered like it had been made for you, highlighting the curve of your shoulders and the elegance of your frame. It wasn’t just the way your hair fell, soft waves framing your face in a way that seemed almost unfair. It was something deeper, something impossible to put into words.

Aaron felt it in his chest, a deep, aching yearning that he’d never experienced before. It was amazement, pure and unfiltered, like seeing magic for the first time and realizing it wasn’t a trick. It was real. You were real. And yet, you didn’t feel like something he could ever touch.

He couldn’t stop staring, and for a brief, dizzying moment, he didn’t care who saw. The logical part of his mind—the one that always kept him grounded—was overruled by something more primal, more human. How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look like that? To exist in a way that felt so rare and unattainable and yet so deeply, painfully familiar?

He thought of how easily you commanded the room, not by seeking attention but simply by being. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t deliberate. It was just you—this singular, dazzling presence that made everyone around you seem to fade into the background.

Aaron had never felt this way before, not even with Haley. Not even with anyone else he’d allowed into his life. This was something else entirely, something more profound and unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration or attraction. It was belief. Belief in something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

And then he saw Jeff beside you, his tacky plaid suit clashing with the elegance of everything you were. The man who didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was, who treated your presence like a status symbol rather than a gift.

Aaron’s stomach churned, his skin crawling as jealousy flared sharp and unrelenting. He hated it—hated the way it burned, the way it clawed at the edges of his composure.

But what he hated more was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.

You weren’t his. And yet, watching you from across the room, Aaron couldn’t help but think you never truly belonged to anyone. You were too rare for that. Too extraordinary.

And God, how it ached to know he had let you go.

He forced himself to smile at Beth as she laughed at something Rossi said, but his attention kept drifting back to you. He hated the way Jeff hovered near you, his posture possessive and his grin smug. He hated the way Jeff’s gaudy suit jacket clashed with the elegance of your dress, as though he didn’t understand how lucky he was to be standing beside you.

More than anything, Aaron hated the feeling crawling under his skin—the sharp, searing jealousy that he couldn’t shake. It was worse than anything he had felt before, even when Haley had been unfaithful right in front of his face. This was different.

Haley’s betrayal had stung, yes, but it had been rooted in a relationship that had already begun to fracture. What Aaron felt now was raw and consuming, made worse by the knowledge that he had no claim on you. You weren’t his.

You never would be.

Beth touched his arm gently, drawing his focus back to her. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Aaron nodded quickly, plastering on a polite smile. “Of course. Just thinking about the week ahead.”

Beth gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. She turned her attention back to Rossi, leaving Aaron with his thoughts.

He glanced toward you again, catching the way you laughed at something Jeff said. It wasn’t the laugh he remembered—the soft, genuine sound that used to fill his office late at night. This one was polite, reserved, a laugh you gave when you were being kind but not necessarily amused.

It was a small comfort but not enough to quiet the jealousy raging in his chest.

When you caught his eye from across the room, Aaron felt his breath hitch. Your gaze lingered for a moment—just long enough for him to see the flicker of something in your expression before you turned away, a polite smile on your lips as you greeted someone else.

He had made his choice. You had made yours. But standing there, watching you with someone like Jeff, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he had made the wrong one.

And yet, there was nothing he could do but endure it.

So Aaron turned back to Beth, his expression carefully neutral, and let the music and the hum of conversation fade into the background. But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

It never did.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his order. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the holiday party continuing around him like static. Beth was across the room, talking animatedly with one of the Bureau’s administrators, her glass of white wine nearly empty.

He had volunteered to get her a refill, partly because he wanted to give her a moment to network uninterrupted, but mostly because he needed a moment to himself. Maybe Beth would sell a painting or two with the amount of stiff suits in the room thought, he thought. 

The sight of you with Jeff—laughing politely, your hand resting lightly on his arm—was wearing thin on his composure.

The bartender slid a fresh glass of wine and a scotch across the counter, and just as Aaron reached for them, he heard the unmistakable click of your heels behind him.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply sidled up beside him, so close that he could feel the faint warmth of your body through the fabric of his suit. The scent of your perfume—something soft and alluring, with notes of jasmine—drifted over him, making his pulse quicken.

Aaron didn’t turn his head, but he felt the air shift between you. His grip on the glass tightened as he fought the urge to look.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I hate you here with her.”

The words were quiet but sharp, cutting through the hum of the party like a knife. Aaron froze, his breath catching as he turned to look at you.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the row of liquor bottles behind the bar, your expression calm but your eyes betraying the storm beneath.

He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “And you think I like seeing you here with Jeff?”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, finally turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity in the small space that separated you.

Then you leaned in, so close that Aaron could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear.

“Do you know what I do?” you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.”

Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of your words knocking the air out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at you in stunned silence.

You straightened, your expression unreadable but your lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. “I thought you should know.”

His throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

Before he could gather his thoughts, you stepped back, your gaze flickering briefly to his hands, still clutching the glasses. “Your drinks,” you said softly, the faintest hint of something unspoken lingering in your tone.

And just like that, you were gone.

Aaron watched as you crossed the room, your hips swaying, your gown flowing gracefully behind you as you returned to Jeff and the group of section chiefs. You slipped back into the conversation effortlessly, smiling and nodding as though nothing had happened.

But Aaron knew better.

He stood there at the bar, the scotch and wine forgotten in his hands, as the weight of your words settled over him. His pulse still raced, his skin prickling with the memory of your closeness, your voice, your confession.

For a man who had always prided himself on control, Aaron felt anything but. You had shattered the careful walls he’d built around himself, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded room, completely undone.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the table, his back straight, his hands loosely clasped around the tumbler of scotch in front of him. The room was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the murmur of conversation, but to him, it all blurred into a distant hum.

Beth was seated beside him, engaged in an animated discussion with Penelope. Her warm laugh punctuated the conversation. Aaron nodded occasionally when prompted, but his focus was elsewhere.

Across the room, you swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, your body close to Jeff’s as he held you gently, one hand on your waist, the other resting lightly on your back. Your head tilted slightly, your cheek brushing the fabric of his shoulder. The two of you moved easily, almost effortlessly, to the soft melody of the band.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes found his across the room, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away.

Aaron froze, his breath catching in his chest as your gaze locked onto his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something unspoken but deeply familiar, that cut through the noise and the lights and the meaningless chatter around him.

It wasn’t just eye contact. It was a connection—a thread pulled taut between you, invisible to everyone else but impossibly strong.

He couldn’t look away.

Your eyes held his, and in them, he saw everything that words couldn’t convey. Longing. Frustration. A quiet, desperate ache that mirrored his own. It was as though every emotion he’d buried, every feeling he’d suppressed, was reflected back at him in your gaze.

And then there was the tension—the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed between you but felt even stronger now. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, the kind of thing that made time seem irrelevant.

Aaron didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand or the way his heart began to pound. All he knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You swayed gently in Jeff’s arms, your movements fluid and graceful, but your gaze never wavered. The music, the people, even Jeff himself—all of it faded into the background. There was only you and him, locked in this moment, this silent conversation that neither of you could end.

It wasn’t just attraction, though, that was there, simmering beneath the surface. It was something deeper, something raw and unspoken. It was the weight of every choice you’d made, every boundary you’d set, and every word you’d left unsaid.

Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe like the space between you was both infinite and nonexistent. It was a cruel paradox—feeling as though you were so close he could almost reach out and touch you, yet knowing you were untouchable, unreachable.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain; it was a deep, hollow yearning that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a fleeting wound—it was the slow, relentless ache of loss. Of knowing exactly what he was missing and yet being powerless to reclaim it.

He missed you in ways that felt impossible to quantify, in ways that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. He missed your touch—the way your hand had lingered on his arm during late-night conversations, grounding him in moments when he felt untethered. He missed the warmth of your presence, the quiet reassurance that came with simply having you near.

But it wasn’t just the physical things. It was everything about you, the parts of you that no one else seemed to notice or understand the way he did.

He missed your laugh—the genuine, full-bodied sound that lit up a room and chased away the weight of even the hardest days. It was rare, but when it happened, it was like the world itself paused to listen.

He missed your softness—the way you could be so strong, so unyielding in your convictions, and yet offer a kindness that made even the most jaded person feel seen. You had a way of making people believe they mattered, a way of making him believe he mattered.

And he missed your fierceness—the fire in your eyes when you were fighting for something you believed in, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, never backing down from a challenge. You inspired him in ways he didn’t even realize until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

Most of all, he missed your presence. That quiet, steady support that had become such a part of his life he hadn’t realized how much he relied on it until it was gone. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And now, you were just... gone.

The ache in his chest deepened as he sat at the table, staring at the empty doorway where you had disappeared. He didn’t just miss what they had shared—the stolen moments, the quiet confessions. He missed you. The person who had seen him at his worst and still stood by him. The person who had understood him in ways no one else ever could.

And as the weight of that realization settled over him, Aaron knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter what choices either of them made, the space you had left in his life would never be filled.

And then, just as suddenly, you broke the spell.

You blinked, your gaze faltering as you looked away, your expression unreadable. Flustered almost. Aaron watched as you gently stepped back from Jeff, your movements deliberate but hurried.

“Excuse me,” you murmured to him, your voice just audible enough for Aaron to hear over the music.

You crossed the room with purpose, your gown flowing behind you like liquid emerald. Aaron’s eyes followed your every step, his heart sinking as you reached your table and grabbed your clutch.

Jeff, caught off guard, trailed after you, his expression confused but compliant. He said something to you, but you barely acknowledged him, your focus entirely on leaving.

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the empty space you left behind, his chest tightening as he watched the two of you disappear through the ballroom’s double doors.

The world slowly returned—Beth’s voice beside him, the hum of the music, the clinking of glasses—but none of it felt real.

Aaron took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the door as though willing you to return. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Because whatever had just passed between you, whatever that moment had been, was too much for either of you to bear.

The drive to Beth’s apartment had been quiet. Too quiet. She had smiled softly at him when he pulled up in front of her building, the warmth of her expression filled with an affection that he knew he couldn’t return—not the way she deserved.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked, her tone light but hopeful.

Aaron hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day.”

Beth studied him for a moment, her disappointment subtle but evident. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Drive safe, Aaron.”

He nodded, waiting until she disappeared into the building before exhaling a shaky breath. He should have gone home. He should have driven straight to his house, poured himself another drink, and buried the night in paperwork or sleep.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Aaron found himself driving through the quiet streets, the sound of the city outside his car muffled by the relentless echo of your words in his mind.

Do you know what I do? I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.

The words played on a loop, relentless and consuming. He could see the way you had looked at him, the softness in your voice, the sadness and longing that mirrored his own. It unraveled him.

He loosened his tie, tugging at the silk knot with a sharp, frustrated motion as if it were choking him. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind—your gown, the way you moved, the way your eyes had locked with his in a silent confession across the room.

He didn’t even notice his speed, the way the city blurred around him as he drove. All he knew was where he needed to go.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he hesitated only briefly. Jeff could be here. That much was obvious. But Aaron didn’t care—not tonight.

He climbed out of the car, his footsteps quick and determined as he approached your door. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind was clear.

He knocked, his knuckles rapping firmly against the wood.

The seconds stretched endlessly until the door opened, and there you were.

You were wearing a silk robe, its soft fabric clinging to your frame and catching the light. Your hair was loose, framing your face in soft waves, and your expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable when you saw him.

“Aaron,” you said softly, your voice tentative.

“Is he here?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest felt like it might explode.

You blinked, startled by the question, before shaking your head. “No.”

“Good,” he said, stepping forward and into your space.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. 

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot. The kiss was fierce, dominating, raw, filled with all the pent-up tension and longing that had been building for months.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as you stumbled slightly, the force of his kiss pushing you backward. He guided you with purpose, his body pressing yours against the wall just inside the entryway.

His hands moved to your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection. It was raw, desperate, and consuming.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The silk of your robe brushed against his suit, the contrast of textures only heightening the sensation.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with something unmistakable—desire, relief, and a trace of vulnerability.

He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.

You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you pulled him back into another kiss, and Aaron let himself surrender to the moment, the weight of everything else fading away.

For once, nothing else mattered.

Aaron’s breath was ragged as his lips moved against yours, his hands still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. Every ounce of restraint he’d held onto for so long had snapped the moment you’d opened the door, and now, the thought of stopping felt impossible.

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, and he responded in kind, his body pressing firmly against yours. The silk of your robe was impossibly soft under his hands as he slid them from your face to your waist, his fingers gripping you like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

Aaron knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew this was a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. But every logical thought dissolved under the weight of your kiss, the way your lips moved against his with a hunger that matched his own.

“God, we shouldn’t—” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but tinged with something desperate.

“I know,” he whispered back, his hands trailing along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your robe. “But I can’t stop.”

Your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze nearly undoing him. It wasn’t just lust that burned in your expression—it was longing, the same yearning that had been simmering between you for months, the same ache he’d carried every time he saw you.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming up your back as he felt you relax into him. Your hands found the knot of his tie, tugging it loose with a deliberate pull that sent his pulse racing. The silk slipped free, and you tossed it aside, your fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt with a sense of urgency that mirrored his own.

Aaron let out a soft groan as your hands brushed against his chest, your touch igniting a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as you tilted your head to give him better access.

“Aaron,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine.

His hands found the sash of your robe, his fingers hesitating briefly as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only want, only need.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but tender, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I’m sure.”

The robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight of you, so beautiful and bare before him. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch reverent but firm, as though he was committing every detail to memory.

He kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, savoring the taste of you, the softness of your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood.

Every touch, every kiss, felt forbidden, a line crossed and recrossed with every passing second. But neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.

Aaron guided you gently toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours as you moved together. You sank down onto the cushions, pulling him with you, and he let himself get lost in you—the way you smelled, the way your skin felt against his, the way you whispered his name like it was the only thing that mattered.

As his hands roamed over you, exploring, memorizing, Aaron felt a pang of guilt buried beneath the passion. He knew this was dangerous, that there would be consequences. But for now, in this moment, he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were his.

And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

Aaron’s mind was a storm as he pressed you against the cushions of the couch, his lips moving with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. The weight of his body pressed into yours, grounding him in a way that made everything else—Beth, Jeff, the consequences of this moment—fade into the background.

Your hands slid under his shirt, your fingers grazing his skin with a touch that sent shivers through him. He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to shrug out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, buttons undone hastily by your hands, and he barely registered the faint sound of fabric hitting the hardwood before his mouth was back on yours.

This was wrong. He knew it with every rational part of himself. But it didn’t stop the way he kissed you, dominating, claiming like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else who had touched you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your back—pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch of you against him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost a growl. His fingers found your bare skin so inviting. “I’ve wanted this… you… for so long.”

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Aaron felt like he might lose his mind at the way you responded to him.

“Do you know how hard it’s been?” he asked, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers grazed your bare shoulder, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “Watching you, wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The intensity in your gaze was enough to undo him, filled with the same longing, the same desperation he’d been carrying for months.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve felt it too.”

That was all it took for Aaron to give in completely. His lips crashed against yours again, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts. He shifted, lifting you slightly as he moved you further onto the couch, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t hold back.

You were his. At least in this moment, you were his.

His hands roamed over you with purpose, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His lips continued their relentless exploration of your body. He kissed you like he was starving like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe you were.

The air between you was thick with tension; each movement laced with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s hands framed your face as he paused to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but intense. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, your fingers brushing over his jaw as you pulled him back to you. “Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

Aaron didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The way you looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered—was enough to silence any doubts. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch, every sigh that escaped your lips.

It was forbidden. It was reckless. But in that moment, it was everything.

Aaron’s control, the control he prided himself on in every aspect of his life, was slipping through his fingers. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. The feel of your body beneath his was intoxicating, and for once, he allowed himself to surrender to the moment.

But you weren’t passive. No, that wasn’t who you were.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you shifted beneath him, a movement so deliberate it nearly undid him. You pressed up against him, your strength and confidence matching his in a way that sent his pulse racing.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath heavy as his eyes roamed over you. The sight of you—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire—was enough to make his chest tighten.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned in close.

You smirked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him toward you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with intent.

Aaron’s response was immediate. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He wanted to mark you, to leave a reminder of this moment, of him, as if to stake a claim neither of you would ever admit aloud.

Your hands moved to his belt, the boldness of your actions sending a jolt through him. He let out a low growl, gripping your wrists gently but firmly to still you.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone a mix of command and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging. “Afraid you can’t keep up, Hotchner?”

That did it.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and possessiveness into it. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you that went straight to his core.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough as he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest with deliberate slowness. “I think I have some idea,” you replied, your voice low and filled with heat.

The push and pull between you was electric, a constant dance of dominance and surrender that neither of you fully gave into. When you shifted, pushing him back with a surprising strength that only made him want you more, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, his hands gripping your hips as you straddled him, your robe slipping fully off your shoulders, completely bare to him. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?”

Aaron’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you down against him, his voice a growl. “Not at all.”

The heat between you was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and desire as your lips met his again, both of you fighting for control even as you gave into the pull of each other. It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a collision of two forces that had been held back for far too long.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement spoke volumes, the unspoken words of longing and frustration spilling out in the way you claimed each other, over and over again.

Aaron had always been a man of control, a man who measured his steps and chose his words with precision. But here, with you, that control was unraveling, slipping away with every kiss, every touch. The months of tension, the stolen glances, the unspoken words between you had built to this moment, and now, neither of you seemed capable of holding back.

Your nails dragged along his chest, leaving faint, red lines in their wake as you leaned into him. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to anchor himself. Aaron couldn’t stop his hands from exploring, feeling the heat of your skin under his touch.

“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was fierce, almost punishing, a testament to the months of restraint that had finally snapped.

You didn’t shy away. You met his intensity with your own, your lips moving against his with a hunger that left no doubt about how much you wanted this—wanted him.

“Good,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Aaron chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, earning a gasp from you that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you from the couch effortlessly. The action earned a surprised laugh from you, but it was cut short when he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hands roamed your body. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and desire. “If you want me so badly, Aaron, prove it.”

Something snapped in him at your words. His hands tightened on your thighs as his lips found yours again, the kiss rough and consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who you belonged to in this moment. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave faint impressions, a silent mark of his claim on you.

Every movement was deliberate, every touch a blend of dominance and reverence. Aaron’s hands slid beneath the loosened fabric of your robe, his fingers exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. 

Your body arched against his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you met him with equal fervor. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way you moved together; it was raw, fierce, a collision of passion and pent-up frustration that neither of you could contain.

“Aaron,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it undid him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, his grip on you firm and steady.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a growl as he tightened his hold on you.

Your eyes locked with his, dark with desire and unspoken emotion. “Aaron,” you repeated, your voice softer this time but no less commanding.

His lips crashed against yours again, his hands roaming freely, claiming you in every way he could. There was no hesitation, no room for second thoughts—only the overwhelming need to have you, to show you exactly what you meant to him, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. What he saw there—desire, longing, and something deeper, more vulnerable—unraveled him completely.

“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, filled with the weight of months of suppressed emotions. “Tell me you want this.”

Your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his jawline as you looked at him with a gaze that left him breathless. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all he needed.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming as his hands slid up your thighs, securing your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, the roughness of the plaster against your back contrasting with the heat of his body against yours.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with urgency, a desperate need to make up for all the time you’d spent denying yourselves this moment. His hands roamed your body, possessive and reverent as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

Your hands tugged at the rest of his clothes, pushing them further off him as your lips moved from his mouth to his jawline, trailing kisses down his neck. The soft, breathy sound you made against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, his control slipping further.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

He groaned in response, his name on your lips undoing him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and raw as his lips found yours again. “No one else’s.”

Your response was immediate, your arms tightening around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The way you moved against him, the way you whispered his name between gasps, left no room for doubt—you were his, and he was yours.

The tension between you reached its breaking point, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood. Aaron’s movements became more deliberate, his hands gripping you firmly as he gave in completely to the moment.

It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a culmination of months of longing and frustration. Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with a passion that left you both breathless, the line between control and surrender blurring as you claimed each other fully.

When he reached between you, he found you wet and wanting. Bucking your hips against his hand. He circled his fingers, warming you up--not that you needed it. Savoring the little responses he got from you. His other hand reached for your breast, caressing and cupping it with achingly slow motions. 

“Aaron!” It was almost a demand, telling him you needed him now. He understood as you pushed yourself up, wrapping one leg around his waist. His pants and belt pooled at his ankles--it wasn’t the most practical scene, but was anything about this situation? 

He entered you swiftly, an open-mouthed kiss with a shared groan between the two of you. Your hands found his hair, tugging on it as your eyes rolled back. His mouth moved to the hollow of your neck, his hands exploring you all at once, but still not enough. 

He imagined the angle was physically more demanding for you as he lifted you, holding you up against the wall, bringing him impossibly deeper now. He rocked into you with a rhythm that was unmatched. The sound of his metal belt buckle shifting on the floor with every swift slap of his hips against yours filled the room.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, basically melting in his arms. It was like a domino effect, taking him down with you. He released deep inside of you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he groaned your name. 

Something deep was released inside in this moment, too, more emotionally than any sexual release. He knew in this moment he couldn’t not have you again. 

You unwrapped your legs from his hips, the two of you slowly separating with a whimper. 

Aaron held you against him, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what you’d just done hung in the air, but so did the undeniable connection that had brought you to this point.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough as his fingers brushed lightly against your side.

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

Aaron exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. For now, there was only you.

The intensity between you had cooled slightly, replaced now by a quiet tenderness that neither of you knew how to navigate. Reaching down, he pulled his boxers, pants and belt back up, leaving them still undone.

The silence was thick, and as Aaron stepped back, his gaze flicked to the disheveled state of both of you. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven as the realization hit him like a jolt.

“We didn’t...” he started, his voice low and gravelly. “We didn’t use protection.”

Your lips parted, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Then, with a softness that caught him off guard, you said, “I know.”

Aaron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. “And you’re... with Jeff.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out, needing to understand. He watched as you turned away.

“We haven’t had sex,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron froze, the weight of your words sinking in slowly. “What?”

You turned to face him, your expression vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “I couldn’t,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to... be with him. He’s—” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “He’s been an accessory. Something to keep people from asking questions.”

Aaron stared at you, his mind racing. Jeff’s smug comments in the locker room, the way he’d hovered near you at the party—it had all been an act, a performance. You hadn’t been with him. You’d been pulling him along to keep up appearances, just like you’d said.

“I thought...” he began, but his words faltered. He took a breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re with him, and I’m with Beth. Or at least I thought I was.”

You studied him, your eyes searching his face. “Have you?” you asked, the question hesitant but pointed.

Aaron shook his head, his voice quieter now. “No. I haven’t been able to.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he met your gaze. “She’s not... she’s not you.”

For a moment, the weight of that truth hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you moved, the air between you thick with something that felt too fragile to name.

Eventually, Aaron stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours before gently taking it in his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You followed him without a word, the quiet between you more comfortable now, though still heavy with everything unsaid. In the dim light of the small bathroom, Aaron found a clean towel, dampening it with warm water before turning back to you.

He worked in silence, his movements careful and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion. His touch was tender, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

When it was your turn, you took another face cloth, your hands steady but your expression unreadable. You dabbed at his face, his neck, his chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long as if memorizing the feel of him.

Neither of you spoke, the quiet filled only with the soft sound of water and the unspoken tension that neither of you knew how to address. Aaron watched you, his chest tightening as he saw the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you concentrated on your task.

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. So he let the moment stretch, allowing the silence to say what neither of you could.

When you were finished, you folded the towel and set it aside, your hands brushing his one last time before you stepped back. Aaron caught your wrist gently, his touch lingering just long enough for you to meet his gaze.

But still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, you turned away, pulling your robe tighter around you as Aaron let his hand fall to his side. The weight of everything you’d shared pressed heavily on both of you and for now, neither of you had the courage to face what came next.

Aaron stood in the quiet of your bedroom, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The events of the night weighed heavily on him—what they meant, what they would lead to—but before he could sink too deeply into his own mind, you reappeared.

Your silk robe was gone, replaced by his button-up shirt, which hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You looked both effortless and intimate, like you belonged in it.

“I missed this,” you said softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, as though savoring the feel of it. “I missed the smell of you. I missed you. Everything about you.”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest, and he exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. He knew the feeling all too well. He had missed you, too—more than he could admit, more than he had allowed himself to feel until now.

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you gently tugged him toward the bed. Aaron followed, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding him even as his heart raced. Removing his dresspants, folding them, and placing them on a chair nearby. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body taut with hesitation, but you didn’t let him linger there. You climbed onto the mattress, settling in on your side and motioning for him to join you.

Aaron hesitated for a moment, then slid under the covers, lying on his side to face you. The moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, silver glow. It cast delicate shadows across your face, highlighting the vulnerability in your expression as you looked at him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s gaze traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of your cheek, the softness of your lips, the way your eyes held his with an intensity that made his chest ache.

“Love me,” you whispered suddenly, your voice trembling but insistent. Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, your touch hesitant but desperate. “Please, Aaron. Love me.”

The vulnerability in your voice, the way you said the words like they were both a demand and a plea, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. This was almost uncharacteristic for you. Your presence never demanded attention, yet here you were, asking him to love you. Aaron’s heart twisted painfully, and he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to ask me to do that,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. But there was no doubt, no hesitation in his gaze. He loved you—he always had, even when he couldn’t say it, even when it felt impossible.

“But we can’t,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You know that. If we do this, we risk everything—our jobs, the team, the work we’ve both sacrificed so much for.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears shining in your eyes. “I don’t care about any of that, Aaron. I just care about you.”

Aaron closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing through him. He hated how complicated this was, how the world seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.

“I hate it, too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how complicated this is, how much we have to give up just to be together. But I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing everything that makes you... you.”

Your hand cupped his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “Don’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

Aaron exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes closed. The thought of giving you up, of walking away from this, was unbearable. And yet, the thought of losing everything you had worked so hard for was just as devastating.

“I’d give it all up,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “The job, the team—all of it. I’d give it up to have you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling over you. He had reached a point where he couldn’t even get to with Haley--ready to put the job and whatever else behind him. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise.

Aaron kissed you back, his hands cradling your face as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the connection. And as the two of you lay there in the quiet, the moonlight casting its gentle glow over the room, Aaron realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as Aaron woke to the warmth of your body next to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of forgetting everything outside this space. But the weight of reality settled quickly, and he knew there were choices to be made—choices that couldn’t wait.

You stirred beside him, your head turning slightly on the pillow as your eyes fluttered open. When you looked at him, there was a quiet understanding in your gaze, as though you’d already been thinking about what needed to happen next.

The day was spent in quiet, focused conversation. You sat together at the kitchen table, steaming cups of coffee in front of you, as you laid out the possibilities. Aaron admired your methodical approach, the way you analyzed every angle every consequence, even as he felt the heaviness of the discussion pressing down on him.

“What if we went to the team first?” you suggested your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “If they’re on our side—if they don’t have any reservations—it might give us the leverage we need when we talk to the Director again.”

Aaron considered your words carefully, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s risky,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “But it might be the only way to prove that this won’t affect the team’s dynamic. If they can support us, it could make a difference.”

You nodded, your hands wrapped around your mug as you leaned back in your chair. “And if the Director still refuses?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. “Then we don’t give him a choice. We go in together and tell him it’s either this—or we both walk.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding of the enormity of what you were discussing. Neither of you had ever walked away from anything lightly, but the thought of giving each other up again was unbearable.

Later, as the day stretched on, the two of you made the decisions you’d been avoiding for weeks. Beth deserved the truth, as did Jeff, no matter how difficult those conversations would be.

Aaron made the visit to Beth first. She was tinged with confusion at his sudden need to talk. He kept his words measured and respectful, explaining that he couldn’t give her what she deserved—that his heart had always belonged to someone else. Beth was hurt but graceful, her acceptance tinged with sadness.

When he returned to the your house later on after also attending to fatherly duties with Jack, you were finishing your call with Jeff. Your expression was unreadable, but the way you let out a soft sigh as you set your phone down spoke volumes. “He didn’t take it well,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug. “But I couldn’t keep leading him on. It wasn’t fair.”

Aaron placed a hand over yours, his touch grounding and steady. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “Now we move forward.”

That evening, as you sat together in the quiet, the weight of the day’s decisions settled over you both. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential challenges and risks, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

The two of you had a plan—a united front—and whatever came next, you knew you’d face it.

The BAU conference room felt smaller than usual as Aaron Hotchner stood to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were seated at the head of the table, your posture poised but your hands clasped tightly together—a rare sign of nervousness that only someone who knew you well, like Aaron, would notice.

The team filtered in one by one, their expressions curious but light. Emily had a cup of coffee in hand, Derek was chatting with JJ about some recent Quantico gossip, and Penelope trailed behind with a bright, questioning look. Reid sat toward the middle, already flipping through a notepad, and Rossi took his usual spot near the back, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Derek asked, his grin playful as he pulled out a chair and settled in. “This doesn’t feel like our usual meeting vibe.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze sweeping across the table before landing briefly on Aaron. He gave you a small nod, his expression calm but supportive.

“Thank you all for coming,” you began, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. “I know this isn’t our usual meeting. Aaron and I asked you here because we need to discuss something important—something personal that affects the team.”

The lighthearted chatter died down instantly, replaced by a palpable curiosity and concern.

You continued, your hands tightening slightly around each other as you spoke. “Over the past few months, Aaron and I have realized that we want to pursue a personal relationship. I know this might come as a surprise—or even a concern—to some of you, given our roles and the nature of our work.”

Aaron watched as the team processed your words, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and, in some cases, quiet understanding.

You straightened, your tone firm but earnest. “We’ve thought this through carefully. We understand the gravity of this decision, not just for ourselves but for all of you. This team is a family. It’s been my honor to work with each of you, and I don’t take lightly the idea of doing anything that could disrupt that dynamic.”

Aaron stepped forward then, his voice calm and measured as he added, “That’s why we wanted to be upfront with all of you. We respect your opinions, and we’re here to listen if any of you have reservations or concerns.”

There was a beat of silence before Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement. “The two of you want to be together, but the higher-ups don’t approve?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Correct. The Director has made it clear that our relationship is considered inappropriate given our positions. He gave us two options: end it or find roles outside the team.”

JJ frowned, her concern evident. “And what are you planning to do?”

Aaron glanced at you, and you gave a slight nod before he spoke. “We’ve decided to pursue the relationship despite those orders. But we’re not going into this without a plan. We believe the best course of action is to go to the Director with the support of this team. If we can demonstrate that our relationship won’t compromise our work or the dynamic here, it may give us the leverage we need.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Reid asked quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.

You hesitated, and Aaron stepped in. “If the Director won’t budge, we’re prepared to leave. Together.”

That admission hung heavy in the air, and Aaron could feel the weight of the team’s reactions pressing down on him.

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a big gamble. But you’ve always been a risk-taker, Hotch.”

Emily smirked faintly, her tone more teasing than judgmental. “Never would’ve pegged you for a rule-breaker, though.”

Penelope, wide-eyed and fidgeting with her bracelets, finally spoke up. “So… does this mean we’re, like, the deciding vote? Because, no pressure, but this feels like a really big deal!”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your posture easing slightly. “It is a big deal, Penelope. But we trust you. All of you. That’s why we wanted to have this conversation first.”

Rossi, who had been quietly observing, finally leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I’ve seen a lot of things in this job. Relationships, breakups, people falling apart under pressure. But I’ve never doubted the professionalism or dedication of either of you. And I don’t see that changing now.”

Aaron felt a flicker of gratitude as Rossi’s words hung in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the discussion.

One by one, the team voiced their thoughts. JJ expressed some concern about how this might look to the brass but ultimately supported you both, trusting your judgment. Reid, after asking a few logistical questions, nodded thoughtfully and said he believed the two of you could handle it. Penelope gave an impassioned speech about love conquering all, which drew chuckles around the table, and Emily and Derek exchanged a look before both offering their backing with only a bit of playful ribbing.

By the end of the discussion, Aaron felt a weight lift from his chest. The team’s support wasn’t just a relief—it was a validation of the respect and trust you had built with each of them over the years.

You stood, your hands resting lightly on the table as you addressed them one last time. “Thank you. Truly. This means everything to us. And I promise, no matter what happens, the integrity of this team will always come first.”

Aaron stepped beside you, his gaze sweeping over the team with quiet gratitude. “We’ll take this to the Director together. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

As the team began to disperse, Derek clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day, Hotch. You breaking rules for love? Guess there’s hope for all of us.”

Aaron chuckled softly, but as he turned to look at you, his expression softened. This wasn’t just about breaking rules—it was about finally choosing the person who made it all worthwhile.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the hallway outside the Director’s office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze steady. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between you, but he felt none of the apprehension he might have expected. Instead, he felt a strange calm bolstered by the resolve that radiated from you as you stood beside him.

You turned to him, your expression set but your eyes soft. You had dressed sharply for the meeting, your tailored suit immaculate, projecting the authority you carried so effortlessly. Still, there was something in the way your fingers brushed against his as you reached for him that made his chest tighten.

“You ready for this?” you asked, your voice low but steady.

Aaron looked at you, taking in the determined set of your jaw and the quiet strength in your posture. “With you? Always.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, the tension between you softened. You stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both grounding and electrifying.

“Let’s do this,” you murmured against his mouth, and he nodded, his hands lingering briefly on your waist before you pulled away.

When you entered the Director’s office together, the atmosphere shifted. The room was large and imposing, the walls lined with awards and photos that told the story of the Bureau’s successes. The Director sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

Aaron stayed standing beside you as you took the lead, your voice calm and authoritative as you began. “Thank you for meeting with us, sir. We wanted to address the situation between Agent Hotchner and myself directly.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m listening.”

Aaron watched as you laid out your case with precision and confidence, detailing how the two of you had handled your relationship with professionalism, how you had sought the team’s support, and how they had expressed their trust in your ability to maintain the integrity of the BAU.

“We understand your concerns, and we don’t take this lightly,” you said, your gaze steady on the Director. “But we also know the value we bring to the Bureau, both individually and as a team. We’re here to ask for your trust, just as we’ve earned the trust of the people we lead.”

Aaron stepped in then, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve always put the mission of the BAU first, and that won’t change. But if this is a line you believe we’ve crossed, we’re prepared to accept the consequences. Both of us.”

The Director’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you both. “You’re telling me you’re willing to walk away? Both of you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “We believe in what we’ve built here, but we won’t compromise our integrity—or the team’s—by pretending this relationship doesn’t exist.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Aaron could feel the tension coiled in his chest, but he didn’t waver. He stood beside you, unflinching, as the Director considered their ultimatum.

Finally, the Director let out a slow breath; his fingers steepled under his chin. “This is highly irregular. You both know that. The Bureau doesn’t operate on personal exceptions.”

You nodded, your posture unyielding. “We understand that, sir. But losing both of us would be a significant blow to the BAU, especially given our track record and the current demands on the unit.”

The Director’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking for a lot.”

Aaron stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “And we’re offering a solution. Put us on a review period. Watch us closely. If there are any issues—any compromises to the integrity of the BAU—you’ll have our resignations. No questions asked.”

The Director’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his expression inscrutable. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled sharply. “Fine. A review period. But understand this: you’ll both be under intense scrutiny. Any sign that this relationship is affecting the team or your work, and it ends. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you said immediately, your voice steady.

Aaron nodded. “Crystal.”

When the two of you left the office, the tension in the hallway was palpable, but it quickly gave way to a quiet sense of victory. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself a small, relieved smile.

“That went better than expected,” you said, your voice light with a mix of relief and determination.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “I’d say we make a pretty good team.”

You stopped then, turning to face him fully. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows cast a soft glow over your face, and Aaron felt his chest tighten at the sight of you—strong, confident, and absolutely unshakable.

“With you?” you said, echoing his earlier words. “We can do anything.”

Aaron smiled, his hand finding yours and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. And as the two of you walked away from the Director’s office, united in purpose and resolve, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Days later, the grand estate was already alive with warmth and light as Aaron Hotchner guided you up the stone steps to Rossi’s front door. The crisp New Year’s Eve air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he glanced at you, wrapped in a deep burgundy coat that highlighted the glow in your cheeks.

“Rossi doesn’t do anything halfway,” Aaron remarked quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile as you reached the top step.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand finding the small of your back as the door swung open, revealing Rossi himself. Dressed in a sharp suit, his expression was one of genuine delight as he welcomed you both with open arms.

“Ah, my two favorite rule-breakers,” Rossi said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, come in. There’s champagne waiting, and plenty of people to charm.”

The party was every bit as grand as Aaron had expected. Rossi’s expansive living room was filled with colleagues, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving seamlessly through the low hum of conversation.

Aaron scanned the room instinctively, cataloging familiar faces—Emily and JJ chatting near the bar, Penelope gesturing animatedly to Reid, and Derek leaning against a nearby column, his easy grin drawing a small crowd of admirers.

But his focus always returned to you.

You were by his side, your coat now replaced by an elegant black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the neckline just daring enough to make his chest tighten. You smiled at someone who greeted you, your laugh soft but genuine, and Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you commanded the room.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him as you handed him a glass of champagne.

He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “I’d say that depends entirely on you.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smirk, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded, leaving only the quiet connection between the two of you.

As the evening wore on, Aaron found himself drawn to you again and again, his gaze seeking you out even when you were across the room. You had a way of grounding him, even in the chaos of a room full of people, and he felt a quiet thrill every time your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you.

When the two of you found yourselves alone on Rossi’s terrace, the night sky stretched out above you, Aaron couldn’t help but steal a moment. The cold air bit at his skin, but the warmth of your presence was enough to chase it away.

“You look stunning tonight,” he said softly, his voice low as he leaned on the railing beside you.

You glanced at him, your smile softening into something more intimate. “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing tone in your voice made him chuckle, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made his chest ache in the best way.

The sound of the party spilling onto the terrace broke the moment, and the two of you turned to see Rossi stepping out, his hands raised theatrically.

“Two minutes to midnight, folks!” he called, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s make it count!”

Aaron glanced at you, his heart pounding as he saw the faint blush on your cheeks. Without a word, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently closer.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as the first sounds of the countdown began to echo from inside.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a small, private smile as the world around you blurred.

And as the clock struck midnight and the room erupted in cheers, Aaron kissed you, his hand cradling your face as the noise and the cold and everything else faded away. It was just you and him, standing together at the start of something new, something strong.

Together, you could conquer anything.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

𝗔𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗡𝗘𝗥 — 𝗣𝗔𝗚𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘

Hotch and his busy doctor girlfriend pregnant!you and Hotch have a spat Hotch comes home to a new pregnancy Hotch rescues you at low blood sugar Hotch takes care of you after a baby you cheer Hotch up with your bump you confess mutual love to a pining Hotch you, Jack, Hotch, and the baby go to bed you fail to mention a bad concussion Jack calls you mom, to your guilt you take your new baby to the store you have terrible morning sickness your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time you get your wisdom teeth removed Hotch is flustered by your glasses Hotch rubs your back when you cry after a fight Hotch is the only one who can calm the baby Hotch pulls you aside when you’re sad you’re extremely new to dating you’re stressed about being pregnant Hotch saves you from torture Jack misses your attention you have a baby, and Jack comes to meet her you don’t notice Hotch’s crush on you Hotch meets Spencer’s older sister

Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher Hotch helps and flirts with teacher!you Hotch crosses a line with Jack’s teacher

Hotch and his bombshell in hot weather you faint, to Hotch’s horror you insist a hug is the only cure you and Hotch hide your relationship Hotch takes your makeup while you doze

hihihihi! 🥹💕 i want to let you know that i adore your hotch fics! and i wanted to ask if you’d be ok—but no pressure!!!— to write one with bombshell!reader waking up from anesthesia and forgetting hotch and her are already together and starts flirting with him the way bombshell!reader absolutely would lol? thank you!

thanks for requesting lovely! fem, 1k

You don’t remember waking up, but you’re sitting against a pillow with a yoghurt in your hand. You must’ve been on some sort of auto-pilot… Are you in a hospital gown?

You put your yoghurt down on the table that’s been wheeled over your lap and stare at the white-blue chequered gown creased between your thighs. Your head feels heavy. 

“You okay?” 

You drag your gaze to the source of the voice. 

Agent Hotchner sits in the chair next to your bed. He has one leg crossed over the other, but he notices your confusion and his nonchalance turns to concern. “You need help?” 

“With the yoghurt?” you ask. 

“Yeah, honey. I can help.” 

You roll that over in your mind. Stern Agent Hotchner just called you honey. 

You’ve been trying to convince him for a while that you’re someone worth being sweet to. Trying to sway him, because there are parts of him you can’t get out of your head when he’s not around. He has not yet been swayed. Honey is a hand held out you’re going to snatch. 

Hotch stands. He goes to pick up your yoghurt. 

“What, are you gonna spoon feed me?” you ask, a clumsy drawl to your voice.

“I was going to… but I don’t like your tone.” 

Is he flirting back? You must’ve hit your head. “Coward,” you murmur. Speaking of hitting your head, there’s a throbbing behind your eyes, and a dryness to your throat bordering on uncomfortable. The yoghurt was there for a reason, clearly, but you don’t have the energy in you to eat seductively. 

“My head hurts,” you say quietly. 

You close your eyes. 

“I know.” A hand touches your face. You stay very still, though your heart doesn’t. “You don’t feel too hot. Do you want a drink? I can get you anything.” 

“Your hand is so big…” 

“Not so much bigger than your own,” he says. 

“Prove it.” 

He says your name like he knows you well, which sets your racing heart off all over again. But, used to hiding from him, you open your eyes to watch him and wipe all surprise from your face. You raise your hand, and he raises his, and you press your fingers together. Your fingertips don’t reach his, his palm wider, warmer. You thread your fingers carefully into the gaps between his, your lips curling into a satisfied smile. 

Less satisfied when he closes his hand around yours. 

“You’re teasing me,” you say. 

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you lay back properly?” 

“Super, super forward.” You lay back under the pressure of his hand, stricken by the feeling that he’s done something like that before. You rest your head against your elevated pillows and have to give up —you can’t hide how surprised you are at his open touching, his face so close to yours you can see every warm fleck in his dark eyes. 

“You look startled,” he murmurs. 

“I think you’ve been bodysnatched.” 

“I have?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “I can’t keep up. And I’m usually pretty great at that.” 

“At what?” 

“Flirting.” 

“Oh,” he says, taking your hand again, pulling it toward his mouth, “you think I’m flirting?” 

“Is there something wrong with me?” 

“Not beyond the usual. You’re more lucid than they suspected you’d be, actually.” He kisses your knuckles. 

“I’ve hit my head.” 

“No, honey, you were under anaesthesia. Everything’s fine.” 

“You’ve hit your head.” 

He breathes out a laugh. “I don’t remember any injuries, but I’d love to know why you think so.” 

“You’re kissing me.” 

He pauses, lowering your hand. “Yes?” he says cautiously. 

“Would you want to do it again?” 

Hotch puts your hand on your chest. He cups your cheek in one hand, takes your shoulder into the other, and leans down to see you eye to eye. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks. You can feel the love he has for you in each word. 

Weirdly, you can feel it in yourself, too. Like, more than a crush. More than wanting him to spin you around or play with your thigh under a desk. You really love him. 

“I think I forgot you,” you say softly. 

“Amnesia is a very common symptom of anaesthesia, don’t worry.” He pulls your face up to peck you, quick but not without a gentleness that has your hands thrumming with pins and needle. “I thought you were acting strange, but I put it down to discomfort. Sorry, I imagine it’s very disconcerting to feel you don’t know me.” 

He just kissed you. “No, I know you, I just… I think I love you, but you don’t usually want me back.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I’ve always wanted you,” he says, his dulcet tenor another comfort entirely. “And I love you, whether you remember it or not. Should we try to finish your yoghurt?” 

“You really love me?” 

He turns your face to press a kiss into your eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” 

“I do–” You begin before thinking about it, and realise that you’re telling the truth. You remember that he loves you. Agent Hotchner loves you. He’s in your hospital room handling you like thin glass.  

“Well, is there much else to remember?” 

You practically smirk at him. “I can think of some things.” 

“Wow!” He leans down for another kiss. “You’re awful,” he murmurs, his smile soft on your lips. 

Hi love your work. I was wondering if you could do a role reversal of the bombshell!reader under anesthesia? One where Aaron woke up and has forgotten he's married to reader so is shocked at her affection (not in a bad way), he just can't believe this beautiful woman is flirting with snd comforting him?

thank you for requesting! fem

Aaron is woken by a soft, displeased hum. 

He pries sticky eyes apart to peek at the source, a woman his junior with a tray table wheeled in front of her. You have neat hands, clipped nails painted softest pink, a ring on your marriage finger, and a little pearl necklace that’s fallen free of your collar to swing as you pen a letter. No, not a letter. A case file. 

You’re a police officer? 

He turns the other way, hoping for a more familiar face, but the only inhabitants of the room are you, him, and his pounding headache. A groan slips past his lips unbidden, Aaron watching in real time as you look up like he’s shocked you. You turn sympathetic and softer, somehow, your face plucking a weird string in his chest. It’s almost like deja vu, but Aaron would remember being looked at like this. 

“You okay?” you ask quietly. 

He clears his throat. “What happened?” he asks hoarsely. Clearing his throat a second time proves more successful. “What happened?” 

“You were struck hard in the back of the head with a rifle. A few times, actually. Luckily nothing broke, but you have a cut and a bruise like nobody’s business. Try not to touch.” 

“What about the team?” 

He realises with a start that he can’t remember who he means. Were the team actually with him? Dave had been there, right? Derek? 

“Reid sprained his wrist. Everyone else is fine.” 

Reid, you said, and not Dr. Reid. Aaron frowns deeply, the headache a full, eye-deep pain that worsens when he props himself up on his elbows. 

You watch him carefully. After a moment, you push the table away from you and get up, turning to sit on his bed. He doesn’t let his eyes widen, not even as you place your hand on his stomach, imploring in your gentleness, leaning in to see him better. In that moment, you might be the most beautiful woman Aaron has ever seen; his heart does a great whirl, picking up its pace. He has just enough capacity to recognise how lucky he is to be detached from any observational tech. 

“What’s worrying you, Aaron?” you ask, thumb rubbing a line into the skin just below his stomach. A butterfly like a hawk beats behind your touch. “You have that strange pinch between your eyebrows.” You draw a line up his stomach, showing him how they’re pulled up. He must look near tears as you go. “You only get that when you’re scared, but everyone’s fine, I promise.” 

He must know you. You clearly know him, your tone alone settling his heart while his mind races. 

“You won’t be out of the field long, and you know I can do it for you while you’re gone. I’m capable,” you say. 

“You are,” he says. He’s telling the truth, though he doesn’t know how. 

You shuffle further up the bed. Aaron sits properly, forcing your hand to fall. You clasp his thigh on instinct, and that tumultuous zing of deja vu washes over him again. 

“You have the worst luck, handsome,” you murmur, rubbing at his leg, soothing him without thinking. 

“I…” He trails off as he catches sight of your wedding band. Silver-gold, a pear-shaped 3.00ct diamond. He chose it on a whim. Aaron nearly swallows his own tongue as he looks up, the memory of it not quite connecting to you. You. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You’re being so quiet,” he asks. 

“Well, you gave me a bad scare,” you say, leaning in further, unafraid to breathe his air. “I thought I lost you. It was terrifying.” 

The breathlessness in your confession is a barb. He grabs your hand where it lays and squeezes accordingly. “That won’t happen,” he promises. 

You turn your hand into his, slotting your fingers together deftly. “Do you remember me now, Hotchner?” you ask. 

He looks you straight in the eye. He doesn’t remember you, not really. But he remembers the size of your fingers threaded through his, and he remembers how nervous he’d tried not to be when he bought that ring, and he remembers your hand warming his thigh in the car every morning. 

“Almost,” he says. His breath catches. “You’re beautiful,” he says. 

“You said something similar the first time you woke up. I blamed the morphine for your puppy-eyes, but…” You smile at him fondly. “I don’t think you’re drugged enough to say it and not mean it, now.” 

“I mean it,” he says, nodding. “Of course I mean it.”

“I know.” You kiss his cheek. 

“Will you tell me your name?” he asks. 

You do, and Aaron falls in love with you all over again. 

hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up

Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 

You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.

I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 

Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.

Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 

You do your very best. 

“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 

You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 

“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 

How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 

He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 

“A good one,” you promise. 

You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 

“You made a couple of things clear.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 

“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 

“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”

“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 

His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 

His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 

He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 

But he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 

“Really?” 

You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 

He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 

You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat.