High Lady of the Night Court

24 || ✨Queenie ✨lover of fandoms, author and fanfic writer. Requests are OPEN. MDNI ||

[queenofvelaris]

Queenie’s Navigation

Disclaimer: This blog is an +18 and up only blog due to the adult content in my reblogs and fics. Minors DNI.

My requests are ✨OPEN✨

Who I write for:

• Aaron Hotchner (Criminal Minds)

• Elijah Mikaelson (The Vampire Diaries/The Originals)

• Steve Rogers (Marvel)

• Rhysand (ACOTAR)

Other characters tbd!

What I write:

• Blurbs

• Headcanons

• Fics

Rules for requests:

• Be kind and respectful with your request. I lead a very busy life so requests may vary in length and when they’re posted!

• All requests will be interpreted and written as x fem!reader.

Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly encouraged and appreciated! Much love xx

[deerfawnn]

drunk confessions, tender hearts

pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: craig tells you things about his family and you gradually realize how much you don't fit in. how much you don't fit in with pope. so you get drunk and pope's left to deal with the mess craig made of you content warnings: reader's drunk & dizzy, pope's abandoment issues, reader's very insecure, mention of reader braiding her hair, craig slander, shirtless pope bc i love shirtless pope, pope carries reader for a bit a/n: hai my lovelies! i am back with another bambi!reader and pope fic that is also sort of a pope cody character study!! also my favorite trope ever!! bc i love it when reader gets so drunk she says and does things she really shouldn't. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 wc: 5.9k

Pope didn't plan on showing up at Craig's bar. 

He wasn't up for it, but he had nothing else to do, and you were nowhere to be found. He tried texting you, just checking on you (or so he told himself; in truth, he really just wanted to talk to you because he felt so inexplicably lonely in Smurfs house), but you didn't respond to any of his messages.

So he decided to pay a visit to his brother and ask him if he had any fresh information on the job they were currently working on. When he stepped in, the bar was packed. Obviously, at 10pm no one would anticipate anything different. 

Pope looked around, examining each face. No threat, no threat, no threat.

This is why he disliked going places without you. When you were with him, all he felt the need to was to focus on you, think about you, and hope that you were okay and feeling safe. He didn't have to think about hundreds of people crammed into a tight space, drinking and yelling right in his face. 

Pope headed to the bar and waited for Deran to notice him. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the counter, his ears ringing from the loud and drunken sounds around him. It felt like his brain was buzzing from the volume. It almost hurt, and as much as he envied Deran's bright future sometimes, he despised being in here. 

He quickly withdrew his hands, noticing how dirty the counter was, a scowl forming between his brows. Disgusted, he looked at his fingertips, briefly considering going to the bathroom to wash them. But the bathroom was much filthier, so Pope just dropped his hands to his sides, fingers twitching with discomfort. 

"Pope!" Deran sounded surprised as he finally spotted his older brother. It wasn't too often that Pope showed up around here, especially on busy Friday nights.

"Hey," Pope was still distracted by the filth on the counter and his hands. "You really have to get this cleaned." He grumbled, and Deran just shrugged. 

Pope was usually unhappy with the state of his bar when he came in. He was accustomed to it by now.

"Did she call you?" Deran asked, having finally grabbed a small towel to mop off the mess that Pope was pointing at with a frown.

"Did who call me?" now pointing at a different stain, and when Deran said your name, Pope's head shot up, his attention finally on his brother. "She's here?"

Deran's eyebrows furrowed. "Has been. For hours, actually."

Pope's head turned, how did he miss you? He'd practically looked at everyone when he walked in. Deran pointed at a corner, and without missing a beat, Pope was off in that direction. 

You were sitting in a booth opposite of Craig, pushing a tiny glass back and forth back and forth across the table, leaving a water stain. Craig had been talking for a while, Pope could already tell from this far. You only acquired that spaced out look, after Craig had spoken to you for more than five minutes. He'd seen it your face several times, as well as on his own. 

Pope stepped up to your table, announcing himself simply by standing there, mute. Craig lifted his head from where he'd been staring at you intensely while talking. "What are you doing here?" was the first thing he directed at his brother. 

But Pope wasn't even looking at him, eyes locked onto you, worried.

You weren't meeting his eyes. At all. It's like you didn't even hear him. Pope continued to ignore his brother and bent down to your eye line. "Hey."

You turned your head slowly from where you'd been staring at the table. "Andrew!" you sounded surprised, but not unhappy as you finally locked eyes with him.

Craig hit the table with a groan, startling you. "Thanks dude, really." He shot his brother a look that held thousands of insults for ruining his 'game', but Pope didn't even glance at him as he slid in next to you and grabbed your glass, looking into it.

"Beer?" he asked with a frown, setting it back. 

You shrugged and lifted your legs, bending them until your kneecaps hit the table. There was sweat at your temple, shining, and your eyes weren't really focusing on him. 

"Hey," he said, trying to get your attention back on him. You barely raised your head, vaguely looking into his direction. "Look at me." He felt you startle by the sound of his voice, your eyes lifting to him. "Did Craig do something?" 

"No." The way you weren't looking at him, again, exposed your lie.

"I'm taking you home." Pope wanted to storm up to his brother and drag him to a corner, until he finally told him why you were this upset, and why you had seemingly not stopped reaching for more beer since the second you've stepped foot into this bar.

You stared at him for a second, really staring in a way you had never had before. Pope allowed you to, subtly dropping his gaze to check if you had any marks on you, if you were actually okay. 

His mind was always believing in the worst case scenarios since they were typically true in his life. In his instance his biggest nightmares always came true, so he learned to anticipate the worst, to give himself time to react rather that to process.

"'S'okay." You turned your head away. "Crag will take me home."

Pope's lips formed a frown, and the rejection settled hard in his heart. This was the first time ever you'd chosen his brother over him. Anytime, Any place, you always chose him. Car ride? You're going with Pope. Couch empty? You were still choosing to sit next to Pope. 

His hand twitched against his sides and curled it into a fist, trying to get control of his body back. "Craig won't be out of here for at least a few hours, and you're tired."

"I'm not tired," you mumbled, now drawing a heart in the condensation over and over again.

"Yes, you are," And you wanted to object even though he was right. "Get up."

You stared at him and you seemed taken aback by his insistence. You glanced back down at your glass, considering, and Pope waited, because he'd wait all night. Even if you decided to go with Craig, he'd still wait. You were drunk, too drunk. He'd never seen you like this. You'd never been like this. 

Pope was itching to get his hands on Craig, forcing him to spill out the words that had clearly led you to gulp down so many drinks.

You finally stood up, shaky and when Pope reached out his hands, he felt you flinch, and he felt sick. His hands shot back to his sides, straightening by his sides as he stared at you. Craig said something about him.

There was no other explanation for your rapid switch in behavior. You'd never flinched away from his touch. Never. 

You supported yourself on the edge of the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When you appeared to be okay, you finally glanced at him. He was looking at you patiently and extended his hand, pointing towards the exit. And you stepped ahead of him without another word. 

Pope looked back over his shoulder back to where his youngest brother stood, but Craig was already distracted by another girl, and Pope's sole justification for not stomping over there and punching him in the face was you. 

He hurriedly opened the door for you and you muttered a brief thank you, still incapable of ignoring etiquette.

Pope led you to his car, which was conveniently parked nearby. He wasn't sure how you'd have walked over there with your unsteady legs. 

He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, just barely, still incredibly inebriated. You then sat there with your hands politely in your lap like you usually did. Even your drunken state, you were polite. 

Pope was almost irritated by it. You never let your guard down. He wanted you to be comfortable, to just be yourself, let yourself loose, move your hands the way you wanted them to. To just do something…. stupid.

"Buckle up," he mumbled, still holding the car door wide open. 

You grabbed the seat belt and attempted to buckle yourself, but you didn't have the strength. Your arms were too weak, so Pope stepped closer, gently removed them from your hand and strapped you in. All while he felt you back away from him as much as you could, your back pressed firmly against the seat, head up right up against the headrest. 

He pulled back quickly, not giving you one more look, not wanting to see your facial expression anymore. It hurt him too much. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, why you didn't want to look at him or touch him, and he didn't want to know.

The car ride was quiet. It wasn't until five minutes, at least, had passed that Pope couldn't bear the silence anymore. "What did Craig say to you?"

You turned your head slowly towards him. "A lot." At least you'd changed your answer to something truthful this time.

Pope curled his lips into a straight line, almost angry. But he didn't bother saying anything else, he knew he wasn't getting anything out of you now. 

When you arrived, you swiftly unbuckled yourself and sought to exist the car, but he locked the door immediately. "Don't get out. You're drunk. I'll help you," he said quietly, waiting for you to take your hand off the handle. 

You withdrew your hand to your lap slowly, still not looking at him. He unlocked the doors, hurrying to your side, before you'd try to get out on your own again. When he opened the door, you locked eyes with him for the first time tonight. You stared at him for a while, as he extended his palm waiting for you to take his hand.

"You're nice to me," you whispered. 

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if he was nice to you, but he knew he treated you differently than he did other people. He was glad to know that you considered it to be nice. But the sentence appeared rather random and anxiety flooded his veins.

"Everyone should be nice to you," he replied quietly, as you gently grabbed his hand, your hands slowly capturing his big one. He helped you out until your feet were on the floor, at which point your other hand came out and held onto his waist. Your finger wrapped tightly around his shirt, nails digging into his waist, and you forced your eyes shut. "Sorry. Dizzy," you whispered.

"You're fine." 

It took you a while, but you finally weakened your grip before dropping it altogether, followed by the other. Pope clenched his fist and then opened it again, missing your warmth. He gently grabbed for your waist, moving you away from the door, before swiftly abandoning the contact as he shut the car door. 

You were still standing there watching him with your big eyes, when he turned around, pocketing his car keys. 

"Do you have your keys?" he asked, trying to stop you from staring at him this intensely. It was scaring him, almost like you were staring right into his soul.

"No," you mumbled, shaking your head with genuine sadness. "I lost them." 

Pope glanced down at your bag. "They're in your front pocket." 

You looked down, eyebrows furrowing. "How do you know?" 

Pope didn't respond, allowing you to search through the bag yourself, until you finally heard the clinking of your keys and lightened up. "Oh! Not lost."

"Not lost," Pope repeated, as he slowly stepped towards you, palm on your back, and led you towards your apartment door. You followed without another word. 

Pope wasn't sure if this was your typical drunk self; you'd never been drunk around him, so he didn't know if your lack of words and smile were normal.

It took you a bit to get the keys into your lock, but Pope was patient, spending the wait, just watching you. 

You looked pretty; You were more dressed up than normal. Your hair was in two braids on either side, and you were wearing a white dress. You looked beautiful. 

He wished he'd arrived earlier, hung out with you, spent time with you and mustered up the courage to tell you how pretty you looked. He knew Craig had gotten the privilege of that first, Deran may have as well. He would've given anything to see your shy smile.

When you managed the door open, you glanced back. "Thank you for driving me."

It sounded like a goodbye, so Pope shoved his foot into the door. "You're drunk," he said, and a guilty expression immediately formed on your face. 

"I know," you whispered, ashamed.

"You shouldn't be alone." 

You opened the door further without another word. It appeared like you opened the door to avoid arguing with him rather than to actually welcome him into your apartment as you usually did. 

Pope hesitated, it felt almost like he was trespassing, despite the fact that your apartment had always seemed more like a home than his own ever had.

He stepped in, locking the door behind him before looking at you. "You should change." He walked past you towards your kitchen. "I'll get you water."

You walked past him without a word, wobbly and slow, heading towards your bedroom, leaving the door open. Pope remained in the kitchen, hands twitching nervously. He could still feel your warmth lingering on his fingers and he felt jittery and uncomfortable in his own flesh. He had never felt this way about you before; you soothed him like no one else. His head only quieted down when you were around. The buzzing in his brain ceased as soon as your vanilla scent struck his nose.

But tonight, something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't you simply being drunk. Something was seriously wrong.

He filled your favorite cup, a small blue one with seashells all over it, with water and carefully headed towards your bedroom. "Are you dressed?" he called out, halting just before he could see inside.

You hummed, and he came in to see you seated on the side of your bed. This time in a tank top and some shorts, your dress from earlier on the floor. He stared down at it, before setting the water on your nightstand. He bent down and retrieved the dress, before placing it in your laundry basket, which was already beginning to pile up. He frowned; perhaps he should do your laundry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw you rub your eyes tiredly, smudging whatever makeup you'd been wearing.

You rubbed again and again, until Pope finally turned to you, bending down lightly, and gently encircled his fingers around your wrist. "Don't do that," he muttered, and you looked down at him. Eyes shining brightly despite the dim nightlight on your nightstand. It was silent as you stared at him, not uttering a single word.

"Why are you here?" you finally whispered after a while.

Pope stared back, lips still curled into a frown. He just wanted to take care of you. "You're drunk." 

"I know that," you retorted, almost angrily, but still in a quiet voice. "Why are you here?" Your eyes were filled with desperation, like there was a right answer to the question. 

Pope didn't know it. He didn't know what the right answer was, and he felt panic creep up on him.

"I—I'm making sure you're okay." He decided on the safest answer. It sounded like the most reasonable to him. It sounded better than I don't like being away from you. I don't want you with with Craig. I'm scared you'll leave me for him. I'm scared he'll tell you about the things I've done. I'm scared you'll leave.

You stared down at him for a long time, before your eyes fell back into your lap, staring there for a while, fingers twitching nervously. "Craig said stuff." 

Popes ears perked up. Finally. "What did he say?" He had to bite down hard on his tongue to not let the angry tone escape him, but you noticed it anyway.

You waited, almost doing it on purpose, like you knew this was what he needed, and you wanted to take it and keep it from him. This was your version of cruelty. This is the worst thing you'd ever do to him, and he hated to tell you that this was nothing. That he considered this to be grace, because at least he was in your home. At least you were letting him touch your knees gently. At least he was allowed to look at you. That whatever you considered to be his punishment was mercy to him.

"He told me about—" you pinched your eyes tight as if recalling something awful, like it hurt you. And Pope couldn't wait to get his hands on Craig. "Just—" you couldn't get the words out and your lips were pressed so tight together that Pope was terrified you were going to start crying.

"Come on," he said, making you finally look up, and he was right, your eyes were wet. "We have to get your make up off," he muttered, and you seemed grateful for the escape, nodding, as you stood up and headed to the bathroom.

You immediately reached for one of your drawers, grabbing the wipes, but Pope gently took them from your hand. "You're shaking."

You lowered your hands to your side, turning to face him, and he motioned towards the counter. You turned your back on it, and Pope placed the wipes on the counter, before placing his hands on your waist, helping you up. You could hardly stand let alone get on your bathroom counter, so you were grateful for his warm hands assisting you. The moment you were seated, he let go as if burned.

Opening the box, he hesitantly grabbed the first wipe. But you were already scooting farther on the counter, opening your legs, and he carefully stepped between them before slowly reaching for your face. One hand rested on your while while the other began cleaning your face. You stared at him and with your bathroom light, his hazel eyes were nearly green, and he looked so pretty, your chest ached.

"I don't know why we're friends," you whispered, and Pope froze, his brain just catching on to the word friends. His hands dropped from your face as he stared at you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" was all he managed, almost breathless with hurt. His voice cracked. He didn't even bother to hide how much that question hurt.

"I just—" you realized, even in your drunken state, that you might've phrased this in the most horrible way possible. "Craig told me so much. "

You leaned forward slightly, causing his hand to travel to your hips and push you back on the counter so you wouldn't fall off. He held it there, desperate to know that you didn't despise him, and you wouldn't push him away.

You didn't. Instead, you reached down, gently grasping it and turning it over in your hand, as if you needed to hold onto him as well.

You stared down at his palm. "He said a lot," you repeated. "And I just—I don't know why you're here." 

It sounded like a rejection of him, of who he was, and Pope felt cold and warm all over his body. Nauseous too. 

Here it was. Of course, he couldn't have you. Of course, you'd be taken away from him. He didn't expect it to be Craig to take away the most precious thing in his life. He'd thought it would be Smurf, crawling her way into your life, gripping you with her demon like nails, hurting you like she hurt everyone he's ever cared about before damaging you in a way that made you never want to look at him again. He figured in a way it was her fault anyway. She made him like this. He could've been a guy you liked.

Pope stared down at your soft hand that was brushing his with gentle fingertips. 

"We're so different," you whispered, and Pope squeezed his eyes shut. Right, like he didn't think about that every day. It hurt him to have you say it out loud.

Pope brushed a thumb over the back of your hand and then closed his hand around yours, almost desperate to hold on. Please don't leave me. Please. Please. Please. He wanted to beg so badly, the panic curling in his chest, making him sick with desperation for you to keep holding on.

"I don't want to get hurt," you whispered, and Pope looked up finally, to see you biting your lip hard. You were close to bleeding.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered back, practically pleading. He really wouldn't. He needed you to know that.

"You can't know that," you said quietly, now watching his big hand engulf yours. "Craig said so many things. You like— you like so much stuff that I'm not." you whispered, hurt making your voice crack.

"You're not what?" he asked, confusion replacing the sadness in his face. "Not what?" he asked again, face tilting until he caught your eyes.

You allowed his eyes to meet yours and you waited. Once again, torturing him with the wait, and this time he did think of it as cruel.

"Craig talked about the girls he liked, told me about every girl he's ever hooked up with," you replied slowly. "And he told me about your parties, the strip clubs, the bars. He wouldn't stop talking, it was like I—I was there." Frustration crept into your voice. 

You went quiet again, looking down at your lap. "Talked about you too," and it was as if a bomb went off.

Pope couldn't be sure what his youngest brother had said, but based on your reaction, he knew Craig had opted to go with the crudest version imaginable, perhaps even in the hopes that would deter you from liking Pope and instead go for him.

There'd been lots of times in the past, before he met you, where he did what his brothers wanted him to. He followed them around, prayed that they'd stop calling him strange and weird, and hoped that if he acted the way they wanted him to, they would stop paying so much attention to him and his behavior. That perhaps he might convince himself too, that he enjoyed these things. That drinking beer, getting high and picking up a girl at the bar, was what he wanted. Reminding himself that this was what he should want. That he certainly didn't dream about a girl choosing him, liking him, and sticking around. 

None of his brothers did that and neither should he. He needed to be like them, so he wouldn't feel like he was going out of his mind half of the time.

Pope stayed silent, and you huffed a weak laugh, now removing your hand from his, making it lay in your lap empty and cold. "I just— I guess I'm too drunk, but i just figured—" you shook your head. "I don't know."

You stared over his shoulder at the wall. "I know I don't exactly fit in. I mean—" you gave him a weak smile. "I don't even know why Craig approached me in the first place." Pope knew why, but he didn't want to tell you, hoping you'd never really ask. "I just— i thought maybe— you'd—" and then you stopped talking. 

Like me. 

That's what you wanted to say. You hoped one day he'd like you. But you'd said too much, and you weren't ready to expose yourself this much, just yet.

Pope stared at you. "I'd what?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head, regretting having started the sentence.

When you didn't say anything else, he lifted his hand again and started wiping your make up off. He brushed gently across your eyes, whispering for you to close them. He was gentle, too gentle, making the cleaning take longer than it should have.

"I like that you're not like—" he wanted to say me but he wasn't sure if that would be just too much. "Us."

You opened your eyes slowly, face finally bare, and you looked prettier than ever, making Pope just want to stand here forever and look at you. "Craig is friends with you because you're not like us." he said, throwing the wipe he was using away and setting the box away. He went back to standing between your legs, staring at you. "You're—nice. That's why he likes you."

You huffed a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's not all," you said quietly, and Pope made a small grimace, lips frowning, eyebrows raising. 

"Never is with Craig," he mumbled, and you giggled, and he felt his shoulder fall with relief. He can still make you laugh. That's good.

When your giggles subsided, you glanced back down at your hands, seemingly the most interesting thing today. To be quite honest Pope did think your nail polish was interesting. It was pink today with brown dots.

"What about you?"

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. "What about me?"

You stayed quiet and it's like the question was forced out of you, like you didn't mean to ask it, but your drunken state forced you to. "Do you like me?" 

Pope froze. The moment he allowed you to know how much he truly cared about you was the moment you'd be in danger. Whether that was because of him or Smurf.

Despite all of it Pope couldn't help but give in. You were looking at him with such big and trusting eyes, like deep in your heart you knew he'd say yes. So he did. 

"'Course i do," he responded, watching your face light up, like you'd still had doubts. Like you hadn't known the answer before. 

He hated that. He thought he'd shown you enough how much he adored you. 

"Good," you whispered, and before he knew it your arms were around his neck, and you were pulling him in hard, in a way you'd never done before. 

You'd never hugged him before and his hand hovered above your waist in fear. He stared at himself in the mirror behind you, but as he felt you pulling him even more, he finally wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his cheek against your shoulder, refusing to look in the mirror anymore and see how soft you had made him. Your arms were soft. You were soft. And warm. And you smelled really nice and Pope turned his head to the other side to drown himself in your scent. The vanilla in your hair was the only thing he could smell as his nose pressed against your shoulder and his lips touched your collarbone. 

Pope worried you'd let go, because he really needed this. So badly it almost hurt. But you didn't.

You just stayed there, and Pope tightened his hold around your waist. Eventually, you gradually shifted closer, until one palm was just barely in his hair, and he hummed the moment your fingers got entangled with one of his curls. Even in your intoxicated state, he could feel your senses come alive, the senses that knew everything about him. You entwined all of your fingers in his curls and scratched once to see how he'd react. When he pressed closer, you repeated the movement again and again, until Pope practically melted like butter in your arms.

Pope wasn't sure how long he stood there holding you and letting you hold him, but eventually he loosened his hold and only then did you let go, your hands removing themselves from his hair. Your hands went to his face and you gently brushed a thumb across his cheekbone. 

Whatever beer did to you, he didn't dislike it, and he felt awful for thinking it. He knew there was a reason you didn't enjoy drinking. But you touched his face so lovingly he fought the urge to cry. 

He wasn't sure when, or if ever, he'd received such a tender touch from someone. He wanted to be in your arms forever; it made him feel like nothing could reach him there. Not his mother, not his nightmares, not his jobs, nothing. Everything was so far away when he was close to you. There was only ever you and he always wanted there to only be you.

When you pulled back, you looked tired, really tired. You rubbed your eyes again, letting a yawn escape you before looking up at him and asking quietly. "Will you stay?" 

Pope didn't hesitate. He just wanted to be close to you. 

"I'll take the couch," he mumbled, reaching for your waist and helping you off the counter. 

When you were on the floor again, you looked up, frowning. "No," you said. "Can't you sleep in my bed?"

Pope's teeth ached from how hard he gritted them against each other. He guessed drinking also made you want to make decisions. He was certain he didn't dislike that either, just the contrary. 

He looked down at himself. "I don't have clean clothes," and he most certainly wasn't getting into your bed with these dirty ones, the ones that have lived and experienced the filth that was Deran's bar.

" 'S'okay." you mumbled. "You sleep in your boxers, don't you?" 

You reached for his hand, pulling him back to your bedroom. He followed without another word, watching you slip under the covers and, almost immediately, turn to your side, exhausted, but well aware of how a drunk person should sleep.

Pope watched you, and for a second, just for a second, he thought you might've turned around for him, knowing well the privacy he'd been stripped of by his mother all his life. That you were turning, to let him know that he didn't have to ask you for privacy, that you'd always be here to give it to him. But then he shook his head, getting rid of the thought. He couldn't handle this much kindness in one night.

He slowly lifted the bedcovers and, without a word, you scooted further, not turning around until he was under the covers and only then did you turn around. 

You didn't turn around on purpose. 

"Hi," you mumbled, eyes barely open.

"Hey," he mumbled back, feeling you entangle your legs with his.

"You're not cold, are you?" you mumbled, glancing down at his collarbone peeking out from under the bed sheets. 

He shook his head. "No." You're here to keep me warm. I can't feel any cold when I'm with you.

You nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Hold me?"

Another request you would've never dared to ask had you been sober.

And Pope was terrified of doing it. Even in your drunken state, you saw the hesitation. "'It's okay," you mumbled, but Pope let out a startled "No," making you flinch.

"I just—" he hesitated, looking at you. "Yes. I can hold you," he said in such a detached tone it almost made you smile.

You slid closer, til your head met his bare chest, and you let out a relieved sigh. "You're warm," you whispered, and Pope wanted to tell you how he was never warm, always cold, how everyone complained about it. How he had never felt genuine warmth until you.

His arm slowly went down to your back, pulling you closer, palm resting on your hip. 

Your hand lifted to his chest, resting it there. "Okay?" you whispered, and he slowly nodded.

He could feel your eyes watching him, but he didn't dare meet your gaze, afraid you'd see something in his eyes, like too much love, too much emotion that was allowed for a moment like this, and move. 

Maybe this was nothing for you, maybe he was making a bigger deal of this than it actually was. He hoped he wasn't.

Pope stared at the ceiling before he spoke, fingers tightening around your hip like announcing that he was going to speak, and you tiredly opened your eyes, waiting.

"I—" he started, before starting over. "Don't listen to Craig's stories," he said quietly, still staring at the white canvas above him, while your fingers curled at his chest, fingernails now grazing his chest. He could feel you getting nervous and he rushed his next words, hoping to get rid of that emotion. "Those things they—they did happen, but not the way he told you."

He stared upward, before carefully letting his eyes drift back down to you. You were watching him with such patient eyes, it almost hurt. He wasn't sure he'd ever had someone wait for him so patiently to get his words out. Never had anyone wait for him to explain himself and his behavior. Everyone just ran with whatever they wanted to believe he'd said, not even bothering for him to start explaining.

"I didn't—" he thought about it. He wasn't sure he should actually tell you, but your fingers softly traced his collarbone, and he thought, why not? He'd already given you everything he had. His soul and his heart.

"I didn't want to do those things," he finally admitted. "I did them because I thought I had to." 

It was his way of telling you he liked you a lot, and that whatever you heard and made you insecure was nothing to worry about. That he only ever wanted to be with you, and that you didn't fit in with the Codys, but you fit in with him and he fit in with you.

You looked back down at his chest, staring right where his heart was. "I wished you didn't have to," you mumbled quietly. "Do things you didn't want to," you explained quietly, and Pope's heart ached. 

He couldn't believe that the stranger Craig had introduced oh so long ago, was seemingly the only person in the world who had put in the effort to hear him out and understand him. He stared up at the ceiling, trying hard not to just let tears spill.

"It's fine," he managed out in a rough voice, but you shook your head, against his chest.

"'S'really not." you whispered. You stayed quiet for a while and Pope thought he'd lost you to sleep. "I hope you know you never have to do anything you don't want to with me." 

Pope looked down at you, watching you tap your fingers nervously on his chest, and he gathered the courage to squeeze your hip lightly, watching you smile to yourself.

"I know," he whispered against your hair. 

[queenofvelaris]

Oh my god they’re so sweet on each other I wanna die

[mariasont]

SUMMER’S IN THE AIR AND BABY, HEAVEN’S IN YOUR EYES ✺

when you end up drunk and alone on a beach, pope drops everything to bring you home and tries very hard not to want more than he should.

bet u wanna MEET THE READER! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX

PAIRING pope cody x bunny!reader

WARNINGS 18+ MDNI dark themes, obsessive behavior from pope, stalker like behavior (tracking location), morally gray relationship dynamics, pre-relationship pining, pope has thoughts of killing people, alcohol usage, drunk!reader, reader has shitty friends, sexual tension, implied nudity, reader wears a bikini and a dress, erection mention, inappropriate thoughts, caretaker!pope, coercive attachment undertones, boundary issues, reader is a ditz!, romantic if you ignore the psychological warefare

WC 2.9k

You were never the type to make friends easily. And you’d never been quite sure why, exactly. 

You were friendly. You smiled at strangers in grocery store lines and remembered people’s coffee orders and laughed when you were supposed to, even when you didn’t always understand the joke.

But somehow girls your age always seemed to know something you didn’t, some secret rhythm to being casual and clever and wanted in groups, while you lingered at the edge of things with your lip gloss in your pocket and your hands folded too neatly in your lap.

Most of the time, people liked you in passing. They liked your clothes, your laugh, the way you listened with your whole face. They liked you best in small, shiny pieces. 

So when a couple of girls you’d met in the boutique dressing room downtown, squealed over your sandals, asked for your Instagram, and invited you to their beach party, you said yes before you could talk yourself out of it.

You didn’t have any work to do for Smurf tonight and even though you aren’t really the party type, the thought of sitting alone in your apartment on the Fourth of July just seemed pathetic.

Now you’re standing on the beach with your bare feet half-buried in the cooling sand, drawing idle, uneven patterns while the tide breathes in and out somewhere ahead of you.

The party had spread out around you in noisy, glittering bits: someone laughing too hard near the waterline, music crackling from a speaker, fireworks popping somewhere down the coast.

You’re perched on the low wooden stoop of the lifeguard tower, knees tucked close, a melting liquor-infused red-white-and-blue bomb pop dripping steadily down your left hand and into the crease of your wrist.

With your right, you try to type Pope’s contact name into your phone. This is a much larger undertaking than you expected. Herculean, even. Pope was only four letters and, frankly, you have managed harder things. Probably.

But your vision blurs every time you look down, the letters doubling, then swimming apart.

Alcohol, you decide solemnly, is not the friend to women that those girls made it out to be. 

When you finally manage to find his name, it only takes two rings for him to answer.

The line crackles, wind and distance swallowing the first half of his greeting.

“Yeah?”

You picture him blinking at the ceiling, sheets still tangled around his hips, and at once feel terribly small for plucking him out of whatever peace he’d managed to find. 

“Oh. Hi, Pope.” Your voice comes out rounded at the edges by the cold and the awful, floaty feeling behind your eyes. “Were you sleeping? I hope you weren’t sleeping. Well, no, actually, I hope you were sleeping because you don’t sleep enough and that’s bad for your brain. I read that somewhere. Or maybe Smurf said it. Wait, no, Smurf said a woman sleeps better when somebody wears her out first, which I thought meant, like, exercise, but she laughed at me, so maybe not —”  

“Where are you?” Pope cuts in.

Something shifts on his end of the line: sheets, you think, then a rough little bed-creak, then breathing harder through his nose. 

“At a party,” you say, then hiccup, then wince like he can see it through the phone. “At the beach. I was with some girls, but I don’t… I don’t really see them anymore. So I thought maybe you could come get me? I was gonna walk, I promise, but I wore those wedges with the little bows, and they’re cute, but they hurt to walk in.”

There’s silence for a long second. You chew at your bottom lip to compensate.

“You telling me nobody’s with you right now?” His tone is ice-cold, all the softness ripped out. A door slams on his end. “Listen carefully to me, please. Stay put. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in ten.”

It takes him five. 

It might’ve taken three if he hadn’t spent the first two tearing through his apartment in a blind fury, shoving his feet into boots without socks, grabbing the wrong keys, then the right keys, then patting himself down for a phone already pressed hot against his ear.

If worst-case scenarios hadn’t kept unspooling in his head faster than he could outrun them. You on the beach at one a.m. You at a party with people you barely know. You drunk, which he could hear plain as day in every hiccupy little detour your voice took. 

You don’t drink. Which means your tolerance is low, your judgement’s lower, and you’re out there with fucking strangers. Strangers who might look at a sweet tipsy girl alone on the beach and see opportunity. 

He would kill someone for less. Anyone who touched you. Anyone who followed you. Anyone who smiled too long and stood too close and mistook all that sugary softness for permission.

He thought it while pulling up your location, that you don’t know he has, on his phone.

And he thinks it now while cutting across the beach, while fireworks split open over the water, while people move past him in flashes of red cups and flip flops and cheap cologne. 

Continues to think it until he sees you sitting where you said you’d be.

You’re wearing a tacky little red gingham sundress. One that makes you look a little like a holiday decoration someone forgot to bring inside. 

His boots sink and crunch in the sand as he gets closer, close enough to see the blue bikini straps peeking out beneath the dress where the neckline gapes. 

Your name comes out rougher than he intends it to when he calls out for you, scraped low from the back of his throat. 

You look up with a delayed little flinch, eyes unfocused before they find him. Drunk, his mind supplies. Too drunk. But then you light up, and the whole beach seems to tilt around it.

You hop down from the stoop, nearly catching your foot wrong in the sand, and he’s already moving, already reaching, already annoyed with you and everyone else and the impossible fact of distance. 

You crash into him with arms wide open, pulling him into a hug before he can decide whether to grab your shoulders or your face or shake sense back into you.

His body locks around the impact. 

Candied pears and vanilla rise from your hair, pretty and familiar, ruined slightly by the bite of vodka on your breath. 

He closes his eyes, lets one hand unclench, then the other. When he finally touches you, it’s with a restraint that feels violent, palms spread over your back, nose buried at your crown. 

Fine, he tells himself, breathing you in until his lungs hurt. You’re fine. 

When you pull back, there’s a lopsided smile on your face.

“Hi,” you say, like the two of you have bumped into each other at the grocery store and not after he drove through three red lights to get to you. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. “I’m so happy to see you. Like… sooo happy. I’m always happy to see you. D’you know that?”

Your lipstick has slipped into a red half-moon near the corner of your mouth, and his thumb twitches with the sudden need to wipe it clean before anybody else notices. Before anybody else gets to think about your mouth at all.

There’s also glitter freckling your temple like spilled sugar, catching the firework light in sharp little flashes, disappearing and returning every time the sky blooms over the water. 

He sees you in pieces: mouth, cheek, lashes, throat, the blue string at your shoulder. Each piece intact. Each piece his mind checks and checks again. 

His expression doesn’t change, his hands do. One tightens at your back. The other catches your wrist, careful around the sticky mess of what he assumes to be leftover popsicle drying between your fingers.

“Don’t say shit like that.” His eyes flick over your face again. “Makes it hard to stay mad.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“No.”

And he means it. Mostly. He’s mad you came here with girls whose names he doesn’t know, girls you must not know well either if you’ve never mentioned them before.

He’s mad the world keeps proving him right for wanting to keep you close. For wanting to shrink your life down to manageable dimensions: his truck, his apartment, Smurf’s house, the short walk between places where he can see you. It would be so simple, really, to make everything the size of his reach. To make himself the first call, the last stop, the wall at your back and the lock on the door both. 

“Good,” you sigh, shoulders dipping in visible relief. “Your mad face is scary, and I like your normal face. Let’s stick with your normal face.”

“Let’s get you —”

You barrel over him.

“And you have such a nice face, Pope.” 

Your sticky fingers rise before he can dodge, thumbs skating across the hard shelf of his cheekbones. He ought to flinch at the tacky feeling, should mutter about germs, but all he feels is the lightning of your touch detonating under his skin. Twenty-thousand wings beating stupid fast in his gut while the world shrinks to the warm smudge of your palms.

His eyes drop to your mouth again.

Bad idea. Bad, bad fucking idea. 

Christ he really wants to fucking kiss you. Wants to bend, gather the sweetness off your lips, swallow every sloppy little giggle you’re trying to hold back. He wills himself against it.

Because right now, you’re loose-limbed and glass-eyed, floating in the aftermath of other people’s bad decisions, and he refuses to make the next one.

So he breathes, counts to four, lets the want settle into a promise instead of an action: another night, another version of the two of you where you’ll remember exactly how it felt when he finally let himself kiss the innocence away. 

“Truck,” he mutters finally, voice stripped to the bone.

One arm bands around your waist to keep you steady while he stoops, plucks your abandoned wedges from the sand, and shoves them under his elbow.

You sway against him, and he has to half-lift you the last few steps to the passenger door.

The hinge groans and he sets you on the seat, then decides to buckle you in himself — click, pull, tug — because he’s not sure your coordination is cut out for it.

“Keep this on,” he instructs. 

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, smoothing the webbing flat against your dress. “I’ll be the best seat-belt wearer you ever saw.”

You offer him a solemn thumbs-up, eyes bright with earnest pride. 

Pope’s mouth twitches. Barely. So small it could pass for annoyance if anyone else saw it. 

Then he knocks the door shut with his hip and rounds the hood before the sight of you smiling at him through the window can soften him any further. 

He ends up taking you to his place.

The thought of you drunk and alone three blocks away is worse than the thought of you under his roof, he decides. For your own good, he thinks.

But the second you cross the threshold with bare feet squeaking on the laminate and humming some pop song under your breath he regrets it.

His apartment has always been plain enough to disappear into. Blank walls, old couch, a singular chair, curtains that don’t let in much light even in the middle of the day. It’s a place for sleeping. For nothing else, really. He doesn’t need much else. And even that, he doesn’t get much of here.

Bad for his brain, you had said. You were bad for his brain. All this worry you cause. The wrinkles that now overtake his face since he’s met you.

You belong where color has somewhere to go. In gardens gone slightly wild. On porches with chipped paint and too many potted plants. In bright, warm places where things climb and bloom and turn their faces to the sun. 

You don’t belong in the stale dark of his apartment, where everything feels like it learned long ago to survive without light. 

His regret multiplies tenfold when you reach for the straps of your dress.

At first, he thinks you’re just fussing with them, your fingers clumsy at your shoulders.

Then one slips down.

Then the other.

The gingham loosens around you in degrees, revealing flashes of skin he has no right to look at and every reason to turn away from. His jaw snaps.

The dress slips lower, a slow collapse of red cotton and white trim, and he catches pieces of you in the corner of his eye before he can make himself look away. A shoulder. The curve of your hip. 

What’s left is cobalt swim fabric and miles of soft body, the damp seat of your bikini practically winking at him as you wander deeper into the apartment. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, turning his back. “Put that back on.” 

You twist, one hand braced on the doorframe, and peer back at him over your shoulder.

“It was sandy, Pope. It’s driving me crazy — here, feel.” You scrape your nails along the back of your thigh like proof, then lift the leg toward him, all generous sweep of skin and reckless trust.

Pope’s head tips skyward as if the ceiling might hand down mercy. Wishful thinking.

“M’not touching you,” he grits out. “You can use the shower to wash off.”

Though he knows you’d probably hate the experience of using his shower.

There’s nothing in there except a military-grade bar of soap and some shampoo he stole from J’s bathroom months ago because his own had run out and he couldn’t be bothered to buy more.

There’s no soft towels. No good smells. None of the little things women seem to collect in bathrooms, the bottles and jars and razors and foamy stuff with names he never reads but still notices when they’re yours. 

You probably have all of that at home. A whole routine. Something sweet-smelling. Something you rub into your legs after, standing on that little bath mat in your apartment with one hip cocked and your hair dripping down your back. 

His cock twitches in his pants.

“Don’t wanna shower,” you mumble, already disappearing into his room. “Just wanna sleep.”

A moment later the triangle of your bikini top tumbles back into view, tossed to the ground with a wet thump. It’s followed by the matching bottom scrap that had covered so much less than it should. The mattress groans.

He can’t see anything else but the fabric on the floor, but that’s more than enough. Enough to picture the rest, and the implication that comes with it.

You.

Naked.

In his bed.

The floor tilts beneath him as adrenaline and hunger vie for dominance in his gut.

He exhales through his nose, forces every muscle into a calm he does not feel, and walks to the kitchen. One glass, ice-cold tap, aspirin bottle from the medicine cabinet. Keep your hands busy, keep your eyes forward, keep your thoughts off her skin. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.

He turns to walk down the hallway and when he gets to the doorway he pauses, counts three, then four, then five, as if numbers can blunt the sight of you warm and bare beneath his blanket. 

Before he can step inside, your voice floats out from the dark, soft and slurred around the edges. 

“Your bed’s really nice,” you murmur. “I thought it was gonna be hard because you’re all…” A pause. The blanket shifts. “You know. Like that. But it’s cozy.”

He clears his throat. “That’s great. You — uh — you decent in there?”

“I think so,” you say after a second. “Most of me is covered. Probably the important parts.”

The room is mostly dark enough that most of you are mercifully hidden, the blanket dragged high, the shape of your body blurred into soft suggestion.

But not all of you. Your bare collarbones catch the dim spill of light from the hall. One arm lies loose over the sheet, hair fanned wild across his pillow like the bed had been waiting all along for something prettier to happen to it. 

“Got you water,” he says. He sets the glass and aspiring on the nightstand without looking too hard, then straightens, spine rigid, refusing to let his gaze drift lower than your throat.

You look too pretty for a night like this, too soft for a bed that’s never held anything but nightmares and empty hours, and part of him hates that the first person to see you here, sunk into his pillow and sighing like you belong, is him. 

He forces his hands to his pockets. “Aspirin’s by the glass. Drink all the water. You’ll thank me in the morning.” 

He starts to turn towards the doorway, but your hand snakes out of the dark and closes around his wrist.

The blanket sags with the movement, sliding off your shoulders, and he lunges to catch it with his free hand, fingers splaying across the warm slope just above your breast. 

“Could you… maybe sit with me til I fall asleep? Please?”

He makes the mistake of looking at your face. One soft plea blooming in those eyes and every argument he’d rehearsed goes slack. A smarter man would draw a line right here. He’s not a smarter man.

“Five minutes,” he warns, easing himself into the chair beside the bed.

“Five minutes, promise,” you echo, voice sing-song as you shift.

You avert your gaze just long enough to settle onto your side, blanket clutched in one fist, then peek back through your lashes. Both hands disappear beneath your cheek, the coverlet resting scant inches above the peaks of your nipples.

Your eyes drift half-shut, lashes heavy against your cheeks. “Wish I could sleep in your bed every night.”

Pope doesn’t move.

A second later your mouth softens, your breathing evens, and he’s left alone with the sentence like a knife he has to pretend isn’t in him. 

A lone firework bursts beyond the window. Silent through the glass but bright enough to paint pyrotechnic petals across the ceiling, for an instant crowning your form in color.

Pope exhales, lets the echo of that light fade, and settles in to keep watch until morning.

MARIA NOTE this was my attempt a 4th of july fic and somehow there are no pool parties, no wholesome firework kisses, just bunny getting tipsy off hardly any alc and pope having to fight for his life in a sad man apartment. whoops. thank u 4 reading ily!!! 🌀🍓💌

YOU CAN FIND MY POPE CODY MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ

[queenofvelaris]

Bunny girl deserves the world and so does popey 🥺

[yourmanatethispuss]

Everyone is talking about Fourth of July post and I’m just thinking of the Big Three. The only Men I would ever let run a train on me fr. Pope Cody. Sammy Bryant. And of course Jack Abott. Ughhhh my mouth is literally salivating right now at the thought. I'm so mad that I cant fucking be with any of them fr. Anywho. Sorry for the late post I've been so busy, hope yall like!

~Pope~

The Cody's go completely overboard for the Fourth of July.

The second the sun started setting, Craig and Deran would already be hauling out boxes of fireworks that were definitely illegal, arguing over whose were bigger and who got to light theirs first. J would pretend he wasn’t interested, only to immediately start helping set everything up, while Smurf sat back with a drink, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile.

Meanwhile, you would be tucked securely against Pope’s side on a blanket spread across the sand.

The beach would be loud. Music playing somewhere down the shoreline. People laughing. Fireworks already popping off in the distance. The smell of smoke hanging in the air. Yet somehow, wrapped up in Pope’s arm, everything felt quiet. You’d watch as Craig lit another massive firework before taking off running.

“Craig!” Deran would yell. “Move your ass!”

“I’m moving!”

“No, you’re not!”

The firework would explode a second later, sending both brothers into fits of laughter as they shoved one another.

You’d laugh too, shaking your head.

“They’re idiots.”

Pope would grunt. “Yeah.”

As another firework shot into the sky, you would instinctively lean closer to him. Not because you were scared. Just because you liked being close. His arm would tighten around your shoulders immediately.

Like second nature. Like he hadn’t even thought about it. A loud crack would sound from somewhere down the beach. Pope’s eyes would immediately narrow.

“Too close.”

“They’re fine.”

“They’re too close.”

And before you could even argue, he’d be glaring at Craig. “Back it up.”

Craig would throw his hands into the air.

“Back it up.”

“We are backed up.”

“Craig.” The warning in Pope’s voice would be enough.

Muttering under his breath, Craig would drag the next firework farther down the beach. You’d smile into your cup. Protective didn’t even begin to cover it.

Pope spent most of the night acting like everyone was one bad decision away from blowing themselves up.

Especially when it came to you. The second a spark landed too close to the blanket, he was brushing it away. The second someone suggested lighting multiple fireworks at once, he was already telling them no.

And every time a firework exploded overhead, painting the beach in flashes of red, blue, gold, and green, you found yourself looking at him instead. The colors caught in his eyes. Across the sharp line of his jaw. The small smile he tried to hide whenever he caught you staring.

“What?” he’d ask.

“Nothing.”

“You keep looking at me.”

“So?”

His hand would slide up your back. Warm. Heavy. Possessive. Absolutely obsessed with you.

You’d grin before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his mouth just as another firework burst overhead. The explosion would illuminate everything for a brief second.

The beach. The ocean. The smoke drifting through the air. How Pope would wrap you in his arms as he deepened the kiss, keeping you safe and warm in his embrace knowing damn well the minute you both got home he would devour you whole.

Which he absolutely did. Once home he waisted now time to have you face down, ass up. His big hands gripping your hips, pounding into you, balls slapping against your ass. His gaze remaining transfixed on your pouting, mumbling face through the mirror positioned in front of your bed. You were beyond fucking spent, the small little thong you had worn now torn and tossed across the room.

His chest shiny with a coat of sweat from all the work he was putting in. Your hands weakly gripping the sheets as your sickly sweat moans filled the room. He loved how pathetic you looked taking his fat cock. Loving how you just took him so fucking good.

"P-pope, i-its too much!" you cried, literal tears falling from your eyes as he fucked you. And he didn't wear condoms, so you could feel every little thing. Every little twitch and fucking vein in your pussy.

You felt so stuffed it made you feel dizzy. "Your okay sweetheart, just give in to me, come on," he grunted as he let his hands travel down to your puffy sensitive clit. Rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves. Your legs shaking profusely. "Cum for me, let me feel that tight pussy strangle this cock," he moaned. Fucking your poor pussy faster.

By the time he was done abusing your poor cervix with his bully of a cock, you remained on your stomach, legs no longer working as he had fucked out all your energy. Not that he cared much. He was too busy admiring how your pussy had to stretch and accommodate him. Loving how your pussy always had a small gape leaking his thick creamy cum.

He always felt so proud. Felt so acomplished.

“Happy Fourth of July, sweetheart.”

~Sammy~

Sammy had been stressed about the Fourth of July for weeks.

Not because he cared much about the holiday itself, but because he knew exactly what it meant for LAPD.

The streets would be packed with idiots doing dumb shit. Drunk drivers. Illegal fireworks. Fights. Calls stacked on top of calls. And if things got bad enough, gang violence.

The Fourth was never a quiet shift.

Which meant there was a good chance he'd be working.

Years ago, that wouldn't have bothered him. After Tammi, holidays had become just another day on the calendar. He'd spend them alone, maybe order takeout, watch whatever was on TV, and enjoy the silence of his empty house.

He'd gotten used to being alone.

Then you came along and ruined that. Now he hated coming home to an empty house. Hated waking up without you. Hated spending days away from you.

Somewhere along the way, every holiday and every ordinary Tuesday started feeling like something he wanted to spend with you.

So about a week before the Fourth, he started asking around.

At first casually. Then not so casually. Then downright shamelessly.

He traded favors. Covered shifts. Asked supervisors. Asked coworkers. Asked people who probably had no authority to help him at all.

By the end of it, he was pretty sure everyone at the station knew he was desperately trying to get the holiday off.

And still, it wasn't looking good.

Every answer seemed to be the same.

"Sorry, Bryant."

"We need everybody."

"Maybe next year."

Eventually he forced himself to accept it. He was going to work. There wasn't much he could do about it. Then, at the absolute last minute, everything changed. A schedule adjustment. A shift swap. A miracle.

Sammy didn't even care what happened or who he owed.

All he knew was that suddenly he had the Fourth off. The second he got home, he spotted you sitting outside on the grass.

You were stretched out beneath the evening sky, watching the first fireworks bloom overhead. Reds. Blues. Golds. Reflections dancing across your face as you looked up. Sitting peacefully on a small beach towel.

And just like that, every bit of stress from the past week disappeared.

Before you could even react, he was crossing the yard.

Fast.

A little too fast.

You barely had time to sit up before he dropped down on top of you, grabbed your face, and kissed you hard enough to make you laugh into his mouth.

"Sammy—"

"I got it off." His grin was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

"I got the whole day."

The smile that spread across your face made every favor, every conversation, every embarrassing amount of begging worth it.

Because he knew you. You would've never complained if he'd had to work. Never guilted him. Never made him feel bad about missing the holiday.

You would've told him it was okay. Told him to be safe. Waited for him to come home.

That was just who you were.

Patient. Understanding. Grateful for every little thing he gave you, even when he wished he could give you more. It was one of the many reasons he loved you. So as another firework exploded overhead, painting the sky in bright streaks of color, Sammy couldn't help himself but to kiss down your neck excitedly.

"Sammy..." you giggled softly, while also tilting your head giving him more space to kiss. "Twenty minutes—" he begged. You giggled again knowing that he was dead serious too. Not that it was much of a issue either, knowing that deep down you wanted the same thing.

Which is how you both ended up in the hallway to his room. Too hot and impatient to even make it to the room. Deciding the floor would just have to make do.

You on top, bouncing like a little bunny on his fat cock. Loving how he bullied your poor little pussy. How he would also thrust into you, eyes stuck on your bouncing tits. The perky-sensitive buds practically calling out his name to come suck them. His hands were gripping your ass as he helped move you on top of him. Your hands perched on his bare chest as you whined at how deep inside he was. It practically felt like he was in your throat. Which he was, not long before this.

The wet sounds of your combined bodies fill the house. The slick of a mess just leaking everywhere. It was so fucking filthy, both fucking on the floor, and how many times he had made you squirt on him, but both of you were too lust-filled to give a fuck.

Now, when you were both close to orgasms. “I-I— Sammy your too deep!” you cried out. “Just take it, baby. I k-know you can, come on, b-bunny, just hop on this dick. T-there you go, g-good bunny!”

Your face fell into a small pout, growing tired, but your orgasm was so close, closer than you even anticipated. Before you even knew it, you were cumming all over him, walls clenching around his fat cock as your legs shook profusely.

Your cries and moans sounding one of a pornstar. His orgasm followed quickly behind yours. His lips fell open as he thrust one final time deep into your small little cunt.

When you were both coming down from your highs, he looked up at you with a small, crooked smile as he tucked a frizzy strand of hair behind your ear. “Happy Fourth of July, Bunny.”

~Jack~

You knew there wasn't a chance in hell you'd actually get to spend the Fourth of July with Jack. Not all of it, anyway. Not when he worked in an emergency department.

If anything, holidays like the Fourth practically guaranteed he'd be at the hospital. People were stupid on a normal day. Give them alcohol, fireworks, and a day off work, and somehow they managed to become even worse.

It was disappointing at first. Truly.

You would've loved nothing more than spending the day with him. Laying around together in the morning, grilling food later in the afternoon, and watching fireworks paint the night sky in bursts of red, blue, and gold.

But that wasn't reality. Jack would be working. Still, that didn't mean you couldn't find ways around it. Which was exactly why you found yourself awake before sunrise. The apartment was still quiet as you slipped from bed and padded into the kitchen. If you couldn't spend the whole day with him, then you could at least start it with him.

So you got to work. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. The good kind, too. The fluffy ones. You even warmed up the syrup. By the time you were finished, the kitchen smelled amazing. You were just setting everything on the table when you heard movement behind you.

His eyes immediately landed on the food. Then on you. Then back on the food. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What's all this?"

"Breakfast."

"I can see that."

You rolled your eyes. "Happy Fourth of July."

Jack glanced down at the spread before looking back at you. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pressed a kiss against the side of your head.

A quiet thank you. The kind that meant more coming from him than a hundred words ever could.

When he finally pulled away, he grabbed a plate and immediately started loading it up. You couldn't help but smile. Because if there was one thing you knew about Jack Abbott, it was that the man absolutely loved a good breakfast.

Which is exactly why he immediately had to go for seconds. Which just so happened to be you on your back, lying on the bed as your legs dangled over his back while he lapped hungrily at your very sensitive opening. Soft moans and cries leaving your lips as your stomach tightened in pleasure.

Then came the afternoon.

Jack still had a shift later that evening, but there were a few hours left before he had to head to the hospital, and the two of you were determined to make the most of them.

So you wandered. No real destination in mind. Just enjoying the warm weather and the energy that seemed to fill every street. People were outside decorating porches with flags and streamers. Families hauled coolers out of their cars. Music drifted from open backyards while the smell of barbecue carried through the air.

Everywhere you looked, people were preparing for the holiday. But what caught your attention the most was the children.

Kids ran up and down the sidewalks with sparklers that hadn't even been lit yet, pretending they were magic wands. Others chased each other through sprinklers set up on front lawns, their laughter carrying halfway down the block. Little poppers snapped against the concrete as excited squeals followed immediately after.

You watched all of it with a soft smile. Jack noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always noticed. His gaze shifted from the children to you. "You've been staring at them for like ten minutes."

You looked over at him. "They're cute."

"They're sticky,” he corrected. 

You just laughed. "They're having fun."

"They're loud."

"They're children."

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes before looking back toward the group of kids racing across a lawn. One little girl couldn't have been older than five. She was running around waving a tiny flag with so much enthusiasm that she nearly tripped over her own feet.

The sight made you smile even wider. You'd always had a soft spot for kids. Jack had figured that out pretty quickly. You were the type of person who waved at babies in grocery stores. The type who offered to watch a friend's children without being asked. The type who somehow knew how to get shy kids talking within minutes.

You genuinely liked being around them. Especially during holidays. There was something about the way children experienced the world that you loved.

Everything was exciting. Everything was magical. The decorations. The food. The fireworks. The anticipation. They felt it all with such genuine enthusiasm that it was impossible not to get swept up in it.

Jack glanced over and saw the way your eyes followed the children. The way you smiled whenever one of them laughed. The way your entire face seemed to soften. And suddenly a thought crossed his mind. A dangerous thought.

One that had absolutely no business being there. You with a child on your hip. You sitting at a backyard barbecue helping a little girl untangle a ribbon. You kneeling down to tie a little boy's shoe. His child. The thought appeared so suddenly that it caught him completely off guard.

Which is exactly why, when you two had gone home, he pumped and pumped loads of his cum into your small tight little hole, each and every single time nuzzling as deep as possible into your cervix. Not that it would do much of anything in reality, you were on birth control. But it was fun to think and pretend like you could get pregnant. Belly round and swollen with his child.

How he would collect all the leaking cum from your small pussy and shove it back inside of you. Admiring how puffy and pink and just perfect your pussy was. He could honestly stare at it all day.

"I want you plump and round, so I need you to keep this in baby," he would tell you as he would put the cum in you again, only making it leak back out from how over stuffed you were.

By the time there were only two hours left before Jack had to leave for work, the mood had shifted.

Not dramatically. Not enough that anyone else would've noticed. But you did. You could see it in the way he kept checking the time. In the way his smile didn't linger quite as long. In the way he seemed just a little quieter than before.

He was dreading it. Not because he didn't want to work. Jack was a doctor. He understood that people needed him. He understood that holidays didn't stop emergencies from happening.

That didn't mean he had to like it. Because if he had it his way, he'd be spending the evening with you.

Curled up on the couch. Sitting outside together. Watching fireworks burst across the sky while arguing over which colors were the best.

Anything but spending the night in a crowded emergency department full of burns, broken bones, and people who thought lighting explosives in their hands was a good idea.

But wishing wasn't going to change reality. So instead of dwelling on it, you decided to do what you did best. You distracted him. The moment he asked what you were doing rummaging through the pantry, you simply pointed toward the living room. "Go sit down."

His eyes narrowed immediately. "That's never a good sign."

"Go."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason."

"It is today."

Jack stared at you for a moment before shaking his head and walking away. "You get bossier every day."

You smiled to yourself as you pulled ingredients onto the counter. Truthfully, it had worked out perfectly. The little cookie jar you'd bought him a few weeks ago was nearly empty anyway. Which meant it was the perfect excuse to bake. A fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies quickly became the plan.

Then, because you knew him far too well, you decided to make a few glazed cookies too. Just a small batch. His favorites. The kitchen soon filled with the smell of butter, vanilla, and warm sugar. And, unsurprisingly, Jack found his way back in. You didn't even have to look up to know he was standing in the doorway.

"I'm supervising."

You laughed. "Supervising?"

"Making sure you don't burn the apartment down. You almost melted a spatula last month." You rolled your eyes and pointed your spoon at him. "Get out."

Instead, he walked closer. His attention immediately landed on the cooling rack. "Are those glazed?"

You gasped. "They're not done yet."

"So?"

"So stop trying to steal them."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were." The corner of his mouth twitched. Neither of you believed that for a second. A few minutes later, you caught him reaching for one anyway.

And despite the shift hanging over his head and the fact that he'd be leaving soon, seeing him standing in your kitchen trying to steal cookies somehow made everything feel a little lighter.

It especially helped that you had given him a small reward in return for being so patient and not stealing the cookies.

Which was you on your knees cock deep in your mouth, as tear streaks ran down your cheek. Him now wanting to give you his own special recipe for a homemade glaze. His hand in your hair as he gripped your scalp, pushing you a little bit deeper as you gagged at the feel of his so deep down in your throat. 

You looked up at him with those same beautifully desperate eyes, core dripping with want. Mouth none stop working on him. Saliva dripping down your chin. Making a absolute mess of him.

Just the way he liked it. Messy and beautiful.

“Best fucking Fourth of—shit—J-july,” he moaned as he came in your mouth, your hand squeezing his leg tightly. Nails pressing into his thick thighs, definitely leaving marks later.

[queenofvelaris]

Gimme all three of em

[cherryambition]

If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power

~18+, MDNI please~

Titus Danforth x Fem!reader oneshot

Summary You were the bride. The one being chased. You would do anything to stop running. Stop being hunted. Titus accepted your marriage proposal. Now it's time to take your place.

or

An alternate ending to the movie, where you don't immediately kill Titus, and try to make peace with your new life at his side.

W.C. 13.3k (bruh)

Tags Angst, smut, Dubcon (in the sense of like Stockholm syndrome and slight coercion), enemies to lovers, slow burn, mentions of blood and violence, attempted SA, implied murder, Titus being douchey, cuck if you squint, oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, dom Titus, the goat pit is mentioned but no one gets thrown in

Author's Note The whole prospect of a marriage to Titus was kinda giving me Persephone and Hades vibes, I think, and I hope I communicated that well. Like I said, I apparently can't just write smut, I have to build emotional depth (sue me). I almost feel like I could continue on with their relationship after this point, it would be so interesting to explore.

Slightly ooc because let’s be honest, Titus probably wouldn’t wait.

xoxo

"I do."

As soon as you said the words. The pit in your stomach calcified into something heavier. You were almost trembling too much to put the ring on.

Titus was overjoyed. As much as someone like him could be. And of course he was. With his twin dead, and you legally linked to him, he was on top of the world. Literally. There was no one in his way. Titus told you the moment the hunt started, that it would be he who got you. And he was right.

Blood was drawn from the goat. Sacrifices made. And you were pushed aside in the revelry. You didn't want to enjoy any of it. Not that you could have. You were an afterthought, swept away in the crowd of cultists and freaks, standing along the fringes by yourself while they all drank and celebrated.

Titus didn't spare you a second glance when you left for your room. He had what he wanted. And you knew that your nightmare was just beginning.

You’re in your room when there’s a knock on the door. You tighten the silk robe around your waist and answer, nearly shaking too much to hold the door handle.

"Hello Mrs. Danforth," a man in a white button up nods pleasantly at you. "I have been sent to tend to you."

"Ah- what do you mean?" you ask as he makes his way into your room, opening up the bag that he carried with him. Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Tend to you? Take care of you? Is he here to kill you?

As he unpacks his tools, you realize very quickly that they’re just medical supplies. Gauze, alcohol pads, needle and thread.

The man looks at you, and gestures to the bed. "Please, relax Mrs. Danforth. This won’t take but a moment."

The name still feels foreign to your ears. Mrs. Danforth. Your new title. It’s going to take a while to be able to wear that completely, without it feeling like a mask.

They had done some basic patchwork before the wedding. Bandages and gauze. Barely holding you together at the seams. Enough to make you presentable for the ceremony, that’s it. 

But this is real medical care. You needed it. Every stitch, every swipe of a wound made you bite your tongue, holding back screams. But at least you’re being tended to, and you can only hope that you never have to endure this kind of pain again.

When he’s done, you stay laid out on the bed. He packs up his medical kit, collecting the bloodied rags and wiping away the surfaces, leaving no trace.

"Who-who sent you?" you ask.

"Mr. Danforth," he smiles at you. He said it so calmly, as if the answer was obvious.

He’s out of the room without another word. 

You’re finally alone. Tears well in the corners of your eyes. Tears that you didn’t even realize you were holding in all night. Dawn breaks through the curtains, thin streaks of light fighting their way into the room. A new day, a new beginning. The start of the rest of your life. 

You let out a shaky breath and sit up in the bed, running a hand through your hair. You extend your left hand in front of you, catching the light on your wedding ring.

You hear Ursula's voice in your ears.

I tried looking for the goodness in him. I found nothing.

We can control him, together.

Maybe she was right, there is no goodness in Titus. But maybe she was also right, that he could be- well, not controlled- but gently steered in the right direction.

Hades and Persephone. Death and his wife. Two sides of the same tarnished coin.

The door opens. No knock, of course not. He owns everything, including you, and he’s entitled to whatever he pleases. Whoever he pleases. 

You rise to your feet immediately, wincing at the sudden movement and trying to bite back the discomfort.

"I see you're looking better. All stitched up?" Titus grasps his hands in front him. He looks pleased with himself.

"Yes," you say, giving no emotion away.

He twists the rings on his hand- both the wedding band and the family heirloom- and steps closer to you.

You flinch slightly, taking a half step back. It’s more reflex than anything, conditioned by multiple nights of being chased and hunted. Those hands, one ones innocently twisting at his wedding band, were around your neck not too long ago.

Titus notices. He takes a beat and nods. "I owe you my gratitude," he says. 

There is something strange behind his eyes. The feral bloodlust from last night has faded into something almost human. "I obviously didn't know about the loophole," he continues. "Rather convenient."

"Yeah, convenient," you deadpan. "For you."

"We both win, right? You're still alive. I have what is rightfully mine." His fingers linger on the council ring. His priority.

"Are you here to consummate the marriage?" you spit, venom laced in your words.

"No," Titus shakes his head.

You allow yourself a breath of relief. A small victory in a night of horrors.

"When I have my way with you,” he mutters, voice low, “you'll be asking for it. Begging for more. And I won't touch you until then. You have my word."

The small victory was short-lived, obviously. This is a challenge. To see how long you can last. 

"Then you'll be waiting for a very, very long time," your voice is even, though you’re almost visibly trembling.

"We'll see about that," he nods. Not a threat, just a fact.

There's something in the air between you two. Heavy, and almost tempting.

Without another word, he leaves you in your room to sleep by yourself. You let out the breath you were holding, and collapse onto the bed. Every cell in your body is begging for rest.

And you have your first full night’s sleep since before your first wedding. 

When you wake, the sun is strong and high in the sky. It must be mid day by now. You have no idea how long you slept, but you feel like you’ve been hit by a train. 

There’s a knock at your door. Who knows how long they’ve been waiting for you to gain consciousness. 

"Come in," you grumble. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see white spots, trying to wake up fully.

A very perky young woman opens the door, stepping in with a stack of clothes.

“Mr. Danforth would like you to come down for a meal before you depart,” she says, her tone much too light and airy for the setting. 

“Depart?” you ask, yawning. Just the simple act causes you to wince, your body still aching and sore. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” she smiles.

It’s unsettling, how pleasant everyone here is. Don’t they know what just happened? What you’ve been through?

Titus clearly has terrible taste in clothing. You realize this when you put on the clothes he has chosen for you. Just bleak, drab, business casual. You wince a little when buttoning the pants, your stitches crying out for sympathy. 

When you go downstairs, Titus is nowhere to be seen. You’re quietly grateful for the opportunity to eat in peace. Again, your first full meal since your first wedding. You don’t realize how weak you’d become until your belly is full again and your senses are renewed. 

A dark escalade pulls up to the front, and you are ushered out the door. Titus is standing outside, talking with the driver. He spares you a sideways glance before climbing into the back seat. You sit next to him, staring out the window the entire time.

“I’ll have your belongings brought to the house,” Titus says as the car peels away, still not looking directly at you.

“I don’t have many,” you say. 

Which is true. The clothes in your dresser. Your favorite books. And the necklace that your mother left you before she died. You were cursing yourself for not bringing it with you. But then, how could you have known that a weekend wedding getaway would morph into this?

Otherwise, there wasn’t much to want. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t shock me.” Titus replies.

You glance at him sideways, and his smug attitude makes you seethe. After everything you’ve been through this week, you should feel relieved that you’re still alive. And yet, you’re chained to this man.

You won’t feel any relief until you’re free from him. 

The house in Newport is not a house. It’s a sprawling estate, of course. Inherited by Titus after his father’s death, the house’s upkeep is its own operation. There’s more people working on the property than were on staff at your last job. Every need is taken care of, so that the Danforths don’t have to lift a finger.

Titus has probably never had to work for anything in his life. And now, you’re going to make him work for your favor. 

“Someone will show you to your room,” Titus says as the front doors open for you. Again, never lifting a finger, these Danforths. 

“What am I supposed to do here all day?” you ask, looking up at the foyer with curiosity. It’s grand and heavily decorated, paintings and lavish accents touching every corner of the space.

“I don’t care,” Titus replies, voice flat, already walking down one of the hallways.

“I’m just supposed to stay locked up in here?” you call after him, tone incredulous.

Titus stops dead. He turns on his heels and stalks back to you. 

Your chest tightens, the image of Titus running after you replaying in your head. 

“Upset with the lodgings, darling?” he says, voice low. “Remember, a golden cage is far more preferable to a goat pit.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to settle the emotions building in your chest. 

“Now,” Titus continues. “Anything you should desire can be taken care of. Want to try horseback riding? Go to the stables. Want to rot your fucking brain all day? The theater room is on the first floor. Go online shopping. Do whatever you want. I don’t. Fucking. Care.” The last sentence is emphasised, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Whatever I want,” you reply, eyes narrow, “except leave.”

Titus relaxes slightly, a smile forming that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. “Now you’re getting it. I knew you had some sense.”

He wraps a firm hand around the back of your neck. Your breath stills and eyes widen, just barely, worried that something in him snapped. That volatile temper of his has decided to just kill you right there.

But he brings you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Without another word, you watch him walk away. This time, keeping your mouth shut. 

It occurs to you that he could, actually, kill you at any time. Decide you’re not worth the trouble anymore. All of this would have been for nothing if you still end up dead by the end of it. And then Titus will have gotten everything he wanted, like he always has. 

It’s time to make yourself more valuable.

-

The forest on the edge of the property is secluded, just like you want it. You needed somewhere to practice without the prying eyes of the staff. You line up the shot, taking a deep breath. Almost ready, when you hear a branch snap behind you. 

Your arms fall to your sides, head turning to the sound. The tightness in your chest does not ease when you see Titus walk towards you. The only thing keeping you calm is that this time, you’re armed. Just in case.

“When they told me you were out here,” Titus stops just a few feet from you, “I thought I misheard.”

“Nope,” you say, turning your attention back to your practice.

“Of all of the hobbies you could have chosen, and I do mean all of them,” he walks closer, stepping around a fallen branch, “should I be worried that this is what you picked?”

You take a deep breath, fingers light on the blade. You bring the knife behind your head, other arm outstretched in front of you, finding your target. After steadying yourself, you launch the knife. It sinks into the tree. Not into the target, but also not on the forest floor. You take the victory. 

“I don’t know,” you turn to him, wiping your hands on your pants. “Should you be?”

“What’s the matter, nothing good on the television?” he asks.

“Don’t you have some small children to bring to tears or something?” you reply.

“Where did you even get the knives?”

You walk by Titus, jutting your chin out. “Like you said, I can get anything I want here.”

After collecting the knives from the bark, you find your starting point again, with every intention of practicing as if Titus isn’t standing there, watching you.

“You’re choking it,” Titus says. 

You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“The blade.” Titus approaches you and takes your wrist in his hand, turning it over in his grip. You have the knife in your grasp, fingers gently wrapped around the base of the blade. He gently slides the blade down, so that your fingers are resting at the tip. 

“You have more leverage this way,” he says, voice low. 

Without explaining further, Titus moves his hands to your hips. You still, just barely, breath hitching in your throat. Based on the way his eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth twitches, Titus notices.

He gently positions you, moving your hips so that you are facing him straight on, perpendicular to your target. You wait for his hands to fall away, but they linger just a little bit longer. You can feel his fingers twitch lightly against your hips.

“You will push through with this back leg,” he taps your thigh.

You watch his hands, eyes narrow.

“Now,” he murmurs. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. “Try again.”

Titus brings his hands behind his back and takes a few steps back. He nods, waiting for you to make your move.

You don’t hide the disdain in your face, but square up anyway. Blade behind your head, other hand out towards your target. One deep breath in, and out, and let the knife fly.

It lands right on the target. Not the center, but closer than you’ve been all afternoon. 

Titus flashes you a smug grin. “Good,” he nods, and you hate the way the word runs through you. “Maybe now you’ll be able to hit a sleeping elephant.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, readying your next blade. 

You throw again, remembering what Titus said, and hit closer to the center of the target. Titus’s smug grin permeates your periphery. You roll your eyes. 

“Alright, time to come inside,” Titus extends a hand. 

“I’m not a dog,” you spit. 

“No, and you’re not a child either. You’re going to come with me. Now.” His tone is flat, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Unsettling as always. 

You collect your knives and walk by Titus, leaving his extended hand hanging in the air.

Titus directs you to your bedroom, keeping a respectable distance as you make your way through the halls. Even after moving to your permanent residence, he doesn’t have you to sleep in the same bed as him. Chivalrous, maybe. More likely, though, his clear disdain for you would ruin his sound sleep.

When you open the door, you realize why he brought you back in.

Your belongings have been delivered. Four boxes, stacked neatly on the floor, with your name printed on the front. Your entire life, reduced to this. You would be ashamed, but you worked for everything in those boxes. It’s all yours.

“Your apartment has been paid off. Furniture sold, and personal effects packed,” Titus walks in behind you. “I’m not sure how you managed to live in such a tiny hovel, though,” he adds, nearly under his breath.

You glare at him, unamused.

“Anyway,” Titus clears his throat, “Let me know if anything is missing.”

“Okay,” you approach the boxes, gently kneeling on the ground to open them.

Old concert shirts, a few pictures, and some well loved novels. You pick up your worn and very annotated copy of The Portrait of Dorian Gray, grateful that it made the trip.

You move to the second box. Then the third. And the fourth. Your movements become more haphazard with each box, hope fading fast. You check the excess packing material, thinking it must be hidden somewhere. Not missing, though. It can’t be.

“It’s not here,” you mutter. Not wanting to believe it, you rifle through the boxes again. 

“What is it?” Titus asks, stepping up behind you. 

“My necklace. The- the heart pendant. It’s not here,” your voice is rising. 

Titus looks at your possessions with near disgust. “I can buy you another necklace-”

“No,” you cut him off, tone harsh. You turn to him and try to decide how much you’re willing to share with Titus. “It was my mother’s.”

For the first time, something softens behind Titus’s eyes. You almost don’t notice it, but there is definitely something different in his expression. Something like empathy, if that’s even possible for him.

“I- I understand,” he nods, tone noticeably softer. “I’ll send someone out to see if it was missed.”

You sit on your bed, arms wrapped around your stomach. “She was a single mom, and tried to give me the world. It was the only thing of value she had to her name. When she died-” your voice catches in your throat. You look up at Titus. His hands are heavy at his sides, clearly not sure what to do at this moment. 

“When she died,” you continue, “it was the only thing I had left of her.”

There’s a heavy silence, a lengthy pause. You retreat into yourself, any bravado you had cut short. Any quips you may have for Titus die on your tongue.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Titus nods and folds his hands behind his back.

He leaves you alone in your room, your whole life reduced to four measly boxes and a broken heart.

-

Titus decides to throw a dinner party. He says it’s to honor the new marriage, and to celebrate the Danforths remaining at the high seat of the council. But this is clearly just a way for the wealthy to live in their wealth. Spending money just to spend. Luxury for luxury’s sake.

Your outfit was chosen by him, of course. You half expected it to be some tacky, gaudy display of horrendous opulence. It’s not like he has proven to have exceptional taste.

But the dress is surprisingly lovely. Lush, deep blood red fabric hugs every curve from your breasts to your hips, then drips down to the floor. Off the shoulder straps leave your collar bone exposed. With minimal beading, it’s much more subdued than you would have expected from him. Not that his wardrobe is particularly flashy, but these events have a way of bringing the tackiness out of people.

The maids finish preparing, leaving you at the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look beautiful. And you can feel your will starting to erode. You hate how much you like this gown on you. You hate how perfectly your hair is pinned. You hate how your skin is glowing, how well this life fits on you, like the ring on your finger. 

Titus enters the room without knocking. The vest he’s wearing has an ornate pattern on it, blood red, matching your gown. 

“You look beautiful,” he says. 

“Way to compliment yourself,” you roll your eyes, “since you’re the one that picked this out.”

“The dress is nice,” Titus says, standing behind you now, hands behind his back. “You look beautiful. Now, close your eyes.”

“Why,” you glare at him through the mirror.

“Just do it,” he squints at you, patience thinning.

You stare at him for a moment, but he’s unmoving. Finally, you relent.

“You aren’t particularly trusting,” Titus says, voice low. “Then again, neither am I.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter, eyes still closed.

You feel a chain drop down around your neck, and his fingers clasp it behind you. You can only imagine what kind of garish jewels Titus has picked out for you. Without waiting for him to release you, your eyes open, and your gaze falls immediately on the necklace.

Your mother’s necklace. 

A thin, gold chain and heart pendant, etched with an ornate design. Simple, but beautiful. You thought you’d never see it again.

Tears well in your eyes. You blink them away quickly, careful not to ruin your makeup, or let on how moved you are by this gesture.

“How-” you start, but you bite your tongue.

“The servant who collected your things tried to pawn it. Idiot. He has been killed for his treachery." Titus says those words so plainly, and even smiles at you. Like taking a life is as mundane as taking out the trash. 

Your painted fingers move to the pendant, touching it gently, making sure this is real. There is a pang of guilt at the thought of someone dying for this. But you think about what you would have done just to get it back, and suddenly your disdain doesn’t feel as strong.

You look at Titus through the mirror. “Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the rest of his face remains unchanged. Something flashes behind his eyes. Not smugness, but maybe pride. 

“Our guests will be arriving soon. Be sure you are in the foyer to receive them.”

And he leaves as quickly as he entered. 

Dinner is a chore, to say the least. These people, having no real lives or ambitions, have no personalities and no interesting things to say. They comment on the state of the world- which, seeing how far removed they are from it, leads to very shallow discussion. 

You remain silent, picking at the courses set in front of you. Any appetite you had vanished the moment you were seated and were forced into such mindless discussion.

Titus sits at the head of the table, and you at the other end. Every so often, he steals glances at you, and the necklace. But he otherwise does not acknowledge you or your presence at the table.

Somewhere near the end of the meal, you feel something nudge your leg. 

The cousin seated next to you, Jonathan or something, catches your attention. What you thought was a mistake proves to be very intentional when he drops his hand under the table, resting right on your thigh. His gaze is heavy, daring you to make a sound.

“Titus lucked out with you, didn’t he?” Jonathan’s voice is low, lost in the many conversations happening around the table. 

Your entire body goes stiff, unable to decide on what to do. Nothing in your brain materializes on your tongue, and for once, you are stunned into silence. The sheer audacity required to hit on you at a dinner party in your own house, when your psychotic husband is on the other end of the table.

“That is not a good idea.” Your words are weak, but it’s all you can think to say.

Jonathan gives your leg a rough squeeze. “Titus is all talk. We both know he’s not man enough to do what needs to be done,” his eyes drag over you, lingering over your chest and the deep breaths you’re taking. 

You look down the table at Titus, who doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s locked in a conversation about who knows what. Oblivious to the disrespect happening right under his nose. 

Jonathan removes his hand and settles back in his chair, continuing on as though nothing happened. Your breath finally returns to you. Stupidly, you think that is the end of it. 

When the dinner party winds down, and the men gather in the drawing room for scotch and cigars, you excuse yourself. 

“I’m going to bed,” you murmur in Titus’s ear before slipping away. He gives a silent nod in understanding. 

In your room, you start by taking down your hair and removing your accessories. Your fingers once again linger on the necklace. Your heart squeezes in your chest, thinking of your mother, what she gave up for you. And how much you wish she was here to guide you. The necklace stays on.

There’s a knock on the door. Instantly, you know it’s not Titus. 

He doesn’t knock.

“Come in,” you say, thinking it’s one of the maids sent to help you undress.

The door creaks open, and Jonathan saunters in. He’s holding two glasses of wine in his hand. 

“I figure we pick up where we left off, what say you?” He sets the glasses down on a nearby table. 

“I say you should leave,” you say, backing away slowly. 

Jonathan loosens the tie around his neck. 

“You’re a woman with needs,” he says, stepping closer. It doesn’t take many strides for him to cross the room. “I’m sure you understand that a man has needs as well.”

His gaze appraises you again, dragging over your figure and practically licking his lips. 

“He will kill you,” you spit. 

“He won’t,” Jonathan shakes his head. “Because you won’t say anything, will you?”

Your back finds the wall, trapping you. Jonathan reaches out and tucks some hair behind your ear. “Pretty little wife,” he murmurs. “Pretty little trophy.”

Jonathan bends down and plants a kiss to your collar bone. Testing, to see how you’ll react. He looks up at you, searching for signs of betrayal. 

“Don’t,” you say, voice small. Your hands find his shoulders, and you start to push back. 

When you do, fury flashes in Jonathan’s eyes. This is no longer a game. At least, no longer a fun one. He captures your wrists in one hand and pins your arms above your head. 

“You’re going to take this like a good little whore,” he spits.

His other hand palms your breast roughly.

“I’ll scream,” you bite.

“I’m family,” Jonathan’s eyes are dark, “you’re just some gold-digging slut. We’ll see what happens. Who is believed.”

“Jonathan,” a voice cuts through the air. Angry, uneasy.

Never in your life have you been relieved to hear it. Until now.

Jonathan goes still. He releases you from his grip, and smooths the fabric of his shirt before turning. 

“I was wondering where you went off to. Only to find you groping my wife.” The words are venomous.

“Titus,” Jonathan nods. “Your wife has quite the insatiable appetite, doesn’t she?”

Jonathan’s voice is light, almost jovial. But there’s a tremble in it, and you can see the panic in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting to actually have to answer for this. “She asked me up here,” Jonathan continues, stepping closer to Titus.

Titus’s eyes move from Jonathan to you, looking for something, anything, to validate what Jonathan is saying. A quiet anger simmers below the surface, ready to explode with any excuse.

With everything you have gathered about the Danforths, specifically about Titus, you know what will happen if you out Jonathan and his true motives. His fate will be sealed. And right now, you couldn’t care less about him or his life. You give a near imperceptible shake of your head that Titus understands immediately. 

“Come with me,” he says to Jonathan, turning on his heels and moving quickly from your room. 

Jonathan turns to you, flashing a smile as he walks away. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and you know that he can feel how the air shifted. 

The door closes. You hear hushed voices for just a moment, before the loud bang of a gunshot cuts through the air. 

A heavy thud, then nothing.

Titus enters the room again. You see Jonathan’s legs on the ground on the other side of the door, his lifeless body already worthless, dead weight. The blood splatter blends in with the color of Titus’s vest, but you still see small specs around his collar and on his neck. The gun is still firm in his grasp. 

“Blood is not easy to wash from silk,” he nods to you. “And it’s easier to clean the floors than an entire room, anyhow.” The way he says it so calmly, so rationally, shocks you more than the killing itself.

At this point, after all you’ve been through, the violence should be second nature to you. There have been many sleepless nights spent reliving the lives you’ve taken. Their faces, bloodied and screaming, calling out to you. Asking why. But it was self defence. It was all in the name of survival. That’s what you say to their decaying bodies in your nightmares, at least. 

As horrifying as it is, you hope that you never one day grow numb to these careless acts of violence. 

You haven’t moved away from the wall yet, but your pulse has noticeably steadied. Titus sets the gun down on the table next to the glasses of wine and makes his way to you. 

“You should know,” Titus says, “I will always protect what is mine.”

You take a deep, steadying breath.

“And like it your not,” his voice drops low, “you are mine.”

Titus reaches out for you. This is the first time that you don’t flinch. The first time that Titus has reached for you, and your first thought is not of the possible and very likely damage he could inflict upon you. And has. 

There is no ire in his words. You slide your hand in his. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, pulling you to the center of the room. 

You don’t argue as Titus turns you away from him. His hands drag from your hips, to your waist, up to your shoulders. 

“No,” you say, voice thin. 

“Good,” he says. 

His fingers find the top button of your dress, undoing it quickly. Your body stills. 

One of his hands lingers on your waist, while the other drags the zipper down your back. Slow and controlled. Your breathing shallows. 

Titus leans in, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, then your bare shoulder. He pushes the straps of your gown down, the fabric giving way easily under his touch. The satin slips down your body, pooling at your feet. 

You’re left standing in front of him in your undergarments. Compared to the fear coursing through you when Jonathan touched you, this is different. You aren’t afraid, not of Titus. Not now. This feeling is harder to name. It’s almost curiosity. Almost.

Titus’s hands grip your bare hips. The touch shoots up your spine. It’s not bruising, but firm. He’s reminding you that he can, and will, do what he pleases. His mouth moves up your neck again. You don’t realize how long it’s been since anyone has really touched you until now. Not your ex-fiance, not anyone. 

Your body leans back to him without you realizing it, your back meeting his chest. 

One of Titus’s hands moves slowly from your hip to the front of your panties. Just resting, not moving between your legs yet. Titus sets his chin on your shoulder, looking down at how your body reacts to him. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Feeling needy, are we?” Titus’s voice is low and gravelly right at the shell of your ear. 

“N-no.” You don’t even believe yourself when you whisper it.

“Don’t lie to me, darling,” his fingers toy with the lacy seam. 

As much as you can feel the heat growing between your legs, you can’t get the context of this situation out of your head. What almost happened just 10 minutes ago, the dead body outside your bedroom door. The hands on you, and what else they have done to you.

“I’m-not-” you breathe.

Suddenly, Titus pulls away. You almost fall backwards, jolting back to yourself.

You turn to him, your face burning.

He can’t meet your eye as he smooths the front of his vest. You can’t quite read his face, but he looks almost disturbed, embarrassed.

“Good night,” he gives you a curt nod.

You watch him walk out, dazed. You have no idea what just happened, and you’ve stopped breathing entirely.

As soon as the door shuts, you drop to your knees, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Your hand presses to your chest, heart clenching, pulse racing. Everything from this evening collides in your brain. 

Jonathan’s leering, greedy gaze. The way Titus looked at you, angry, protective. How vulnerable he looked when he left. How your body eagerly accepted his touch. It’s all too much.

There’s no sleeping soundly tonight. 

Hours spent tossing and turning, you finally give up. Anxiety fills you all over again. Every sound, every creak in this god forsaken house, sounds like someone entering your room. You sit up, sleep deprivation pulling at your sanity. There’s no way you’ll get any rest like this. Feeling alone and unsafe. 

There is one room that you know no one will enter. 

Until now, neither have you.

You pad down the dimly lit hall, a few lights guiding your way. 

A large painting of the late Chester Danforth watches you walk by. His face is somber, stoic. You pause for a moment, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Titus’s eyes have the same look when he’s focused. You shake off the eerie similarities and push on.

You hold your palms to the heavy wood of Titus’s bedroom door, pressing your ear to try to hear any movement inside. All you hear is the racing pulse in your ears. 

Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open, just enough for you to slip through. 

You see Titus’s sleeping figure illuminated by the moonlight. He’s on his back, one arm resting on his chest, and one arm splayed out next to him. You approach slowly and quietly, just in case he’s a light sleeper. 

It’s almost strange, seeing him like this. Completely disarmed. There’s a softness in his features that you haven’t been able to appreciate, what with his personality ruining it. You want to lean in and memorize him like this. The sharpness of his jaw, the slight curve of his nose, his long lashes.

Titus’s chest rises and falls steadily, clearly in deep sleep. You move quietly to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers, head resting over his outstretched arm. 

For a few moments, you just watch Titus sleep. Like this, you can pretend. You can pretend that he’s not who he is, and that you married into a normal life. That Titus is a loving husband. That you are not constantly unnerved by him and confused by his motivations. 

It lulls you to sleep.

Morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains wakes you softly. It takes you a moment for you to remember yourself and your surroundings. Everything comes back to you when you see Titus’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you flush to his chest. His face is pressed against your hair. 

Annoyingly, this was probably the best night’s sleep you’ve had these last few weeks, which pains you to admit.

One minute. You allow yourself one minute like this. To feel Titus’s arm around you and again, pretend this is normal. You want to melt into his embrace, and forget what he’s done.

But you don’t want to risk him waking up like this, with his arms wrapped around you. There’s no way you would willingly give him that satisfaction.

You hold your breath and try to slip out from his grasp without waking him, almost tripping trying to contort yourself in such a way that makes as little noise as possible. When you straighten yourself out, Titus appears to still be sleeping. Thankfully. 

You quietly sneak to his door and pull it open without another glance. 

“Sleep well?” his groggy, deep voice calls out to you. 

You press your forehead to the door and curse quietly to yourself. When you turn around, Titus has one arm tucked behind his head, eyes on you. His mouth curves into a smug grin.

“Don’t.” The word is a curt warning. 

“Come back to bed, darling,” his voice is dripping with condescension. 

You remember why all of that softness from last night was not real. The fact that you were able to pretend this was remotely normal was not real. It was all in your head. You will never have a normal life with Titus, not as long as he is who he is. 

Face hot, you leave without another word.

-

“Pernilla,” you look up from your book, “where is Titus?”

“The guest room in the west wing,” she nods. Her eyes shift back and forth, and she looks uncharacteristically nervous.

“Okay,” you say, dragging out the end of the word. “Why is he in there?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

“You know what,” you hold a hand up. “Don’t worry about it.”

It takes you a second to even figure out where the west wing is- this house is far too big for normal people- and find the guest room.

You lean your head to the door and are immediately confused. All you hear is the sounds of sex. Whines, moans, and the animalistic grunts that can only come from your dear husband. 

The door creaks when you open it, and falls heavily shut behind you. 

“Darling!” Titus smiles when he sees you. 

The girl, whoever she is, is bent over in front of him. Her hands are tied behind her back with thick satin bindings, face twisted in pain or pleasure, you're not sure. Then again, the line between them is thin, anyway. 

Titus is thrusting into her at a dizzying pace, surely chasing his own release, not worried about the girl in front of him. His bare chest is glistening with sweat, biceps pronounced as he grabs the bindings of the girl in front of him, hauling her up and pressing her back to his chest. 

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Titus asks, looking at you with amusement. He drags his tongue up her neck, gathering the sweat. She whimpers, leaning her head back to his shoulder.

Titus forces her face forward towards you. “Meet my wife,” he says into her ear. 

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” You ask, crossing your arms. “That would suggest I want you in the first place.”

You can’t help your gaze from falling down to the girl’s poor pussy, where Titus moves in and out. It’s the first time you’ve seen him. All of him. You swallow hard, trying to keep your face flat.

“You expect all of us to take a vow of celibacy, just because you have?” he smirks. “Sit down,” Titus nods to the chaise across the room, “if you want to watch.”

The girl in front of him starts whining again. Titus covers her mouth with a firm grip. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he growls. 

You narrow your eyes. This was a no-win scenario. Leaving would imply that he got to you somehow. He could stay in here, fucking this girl in peace. Staying and watching would mean he could put on a show, and you would be subjected to whatever happened next. Or, worse, let him think you were turned on by this display. You wish you never walked in.

Arms still crossed, you walk towards the bed. Titus’s hips stutter slightly, clearly confused by this course of action. You grab the girl’s face with one hand, bringing her gaze to you. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask. 

“Mhmm,” she whimpers. 

“Did he let you come?” you push the hair out of her face. 

“N-no,” she whines. 

Titus looks down at you, smile faltering. 

With your eyes locked on Titus, you drag two fingers into your mouth, and press them against her exposed clit. She lets out a loud yelp. 

“Wha-what are you doing?” Titus groans, feeling the effects of your actions on his cock.

“Come on, come for me, let go,” you coo at the girl, caressing her clit as Titus continues to move inside. 

His pace has slowed, too busy watching you. 

You’re not sure how long he has been using this poor girl’s cunt, but it doesn’t take long for her to reach her peak.

“I’m coming,” she whimpers. “Oh my god.”

You help her ride through it, watching Titus’s face as she squeezes him. He drops her down onto the bed face first, his face twisted. 

“What’s the matter?” you smirk. “You gonna come now, too?”

He looks at you, breathless, as it dawns on him. He can stop now, stave off the climax he’s right on the edge of, or find his release, and end this charade.

“Bitch,” he mutters, moving inside the girl again. 

“Your bitch,” you spit. 

Titus is so sensitive at this point, that it takes three more thrusts for him to finish off inside the poor girl. 

“Show’s over,” you shrug, turning to leave. “And make sure you clean her up before you send her away. Please.”

-

Two can play at this game. 

Not that you want to hire an escort to fuck. Titus would clearly enjoy that. 

In true Titus fashion, you saunter into the study, unannounced. In your clothes. Not the ones Titus bought for you. The ones he turned his nose down at when they were delivered in boxes. 

Soft, dainty panties and a flowy nightgown that is far too short to be considered PG. It was your go-to sleeping outfit when you were trying to seduce your now dead ex-husband. Worked every time.

Titus's eyes rake over you, not even trying to hide his leering.

"Comfortable?" he asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Very," you smile. You lie on the couch on your stomach, your ass almost completely out, and feet waving lazily in the air. You flip open a magazine, and try to pretend like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in the last two months.

Titus clears his throat and moves the paperwork in front of him to the side of the desk. He leans back in his chair and just…watches you.

You continue leafing through the pages, feigning ignorance. The quiet is unsettling, though. Every so often, you steal a glance at Titus, to find that sure enough, he’s still just watching. 

Deciding to take it up a notch, you roll over onto your back. Your legs drape over the backrest of the couch, and the soft satin falls even further, exposing the entirety of your legs. Very little skin is left covered.

Titus clears his throat.

“You have something to say to me?” you ask, not looking up from the page.

“Just that you are incredibly predictable,” Titus drawls. 

One of your legs falls to the edge of the couch, completely exposing your panties. “What’s the matter, dear? Can’t stand to look at what you can’t have?”

Titus rises from his desk and moves towards you. The magazine falls from your grip. He just stares down at you at first, almost appraising you. When he reaches down, you think he may break his word, you think he may have snapped. He may take you right here on the couch.

But he grips the front of your panties, dragging the fabric firmly between the folds of your pussy, rubbing right against your clit. 

Your jaw drops in a surprised, silent moan, eyes wide.

“You think you can tempt me?” he says, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes aren’t crazed. Intense, yes, but otherwise Titus is surprisingly calm. His grip on your panties tightens, increasing the friction on your clit. 

A low whimper escapes you before you can stop it. 

“That’s not-”

“You’ll have to try harder, my dear,” he says, finally letting go. The fabric hits your skin with a sharp snap. 

You yelp. Against your better judgement, and the soul still thriving in your heart, you are ashamed to admit how wet you are. 

“Satan knows I want you,” he caresses the side of your face.

You have to will your eyelashes not to flutter, and your heart to stop beating so fast. 

“But like I said,” Titus’s gaze is heavy, eyes boring into yours, “when I have you, you’ll be begging for me.”

You swallow hard, trying to get a fucking grip. This should not be turning you on, and yet.

And yet.

-

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Titus storms into the kitchen. The arguing, he ignored. It was when he heard your voice cut through the hall that Titus knew he needed to see what the hell was the matter.

He finds you standing there, thoroughly chastised by his tone.

“They won’t let me cook,” you cross your arms. 

The cooks look at Titus, eyes wide, not knowing what to do. 

Titus takes a beat, closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Leave,” his voice booms through the kitchen. 

They vacate without another word. The entire kitchen leaves, a fury of kitchen clogs scurrying out of the room.

“Of course they listen to you,” you mutter.

“They would listen to you,” Titus says, moving closer to you, “if you didn’t ask them for things that directly contradict me. Now, what is this about?” 

“I wanted to make dinner,” you shrug. “They wouldn’t let me, kept offering to do it for me.”

“Really?” Titus’s eyebrows raise. “An entire team of expertly trained chefs, and you think you can cook better than them?”

“It’s not about better,” you snap.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he scoffs. 

“Like you would even understand,” your voice rises. 

“I don’t!” his matches.

“I need some agency, Titus!” You’re yelling now. The only person (alive) to dare raise their voice at Titus Danforth. “I don’t understand how you live like this. I need to know that I can still do something for myself. That I can still take care of myself.”

“You don’t need to take care of yourself,” he hisses.

“It’s not a matter of need, darling,” you spit out the pet name. “You obviously don’t get it. I’m sure Titus Danforth can’t even make a fucking grilled cheese!”

He narrows his eyes at that. You think you may have angered him, struck a nerve, but you don’t care. At this point, more than two months in, Titus has proven that he won’t lift a finger to you with the intent of causing pain. At least, not anymore.

“Sit,” he points to the stool in the corner.

“Titus, I’m not-”

“Sit. Down.” He hisses. “I won’t say it again.”

You settle down on the stool, arms still crossed. 

Titus takes a moment to orient himself before searching around the kitchen. He opens and closes multiple cabinets, not finding what he’s looking for. 

“This is painful,” you groan. 

“Shut up.”

“You don’t even know where anything is in here,” you roll your eyes.

He finally finds a skillet, and glares at you pointedly. 

“Congrats,” you scoff. 

He sets the pan on the burner and pilfers for everything else. Butter, sliced bread, cheese. 

“Cheddar, gouda, or havarti?” he asks over his shoulder, looking at the offerings in the fridge.

“Cheddar and gouda,” you reply.

“Of course,” he mutters.

You watch as he builds the sandwich, the actions clearly foreign to him. Nearly tearing a hole in the bread as he spreads the butter, and cursing to himself when he realizes that he let the pan get too hot. You watch as the man who walks with his head high, all the confidence in the world, stumbles through the kitchen. For you.

“My mother was a lot like you,” he says without removing his attention from the skillet. “She married into the family. What she wanted was security, what she got was my father.”

He flips the sandwich, wincing slightly when he sees how dark this side is. You listen to him silently. “In the end, she wouldn’t let this life consume her. Until it ended her. And my father saw her as weak for it.”

When Titus turns the sandwich out onto a plate, the second side is much lighter than the first. He seems pleased with himself, sliding the plate down the counter to you. 

“It’s a little well done,” you grumble. 

“Satan help me,” he sighs, eyes cast towards the ceiling, flexing his hands at his sides.

You take the plate in your hands, looking down at it, and back up to Titus. “So what you’re telling me is that your humanity died with your mother? That’s it? You are the way you are because she was the light? And then your daddy put it out?”

“What I’m saying,” he grits his teeth. “Is that the world is not black and white. We are all good. We are all evil. You have to be the strongest in the room. You have know how to play the game.”

“I’m tired of your fucking games,” you take the plate and storm out of the kitchen. 

“And by the way,” you pivot back for the last word. Apparently, you can’t help yourself. You raise the plate. “This is still not what I wanted. The grilled cheese was a joke. I was going to make myself a chicken quesadilla. So. Thanks for that. You proved that you can burn bread and that you don’t listen.”

Titus just blinks at you. “Incredible.”

-

This cat and mouse is exhausting. You don’t know how much longer you can do this, how much longer you can keep being the petulant, defiant bride.

One day, Titus is surely going to snap. He seems on edge as it is. When he gave you his word, he probably didn’t think you’d last as long as you have- three months now. The teasing and taunting from both of you has gotten to be pathetic and draining. 

Some days, you can almost feel your humanity eroding. Being locked away in the gilded cage, seeing no one, caring for nothing. It has a way of steeling you to the outside world and its problems in a way you swore wouldn’t happen.

But then, you’ll catch a glimpse of a story on the news. Or Titus will take you with him to the resort for a day of meetings. Being around people again, it reinvigorates you, grounds you, reminds you that there is something outside of the Newport walls.

“We should come out here more often,” you look at him over your sunglasses. 

“Why, are you bored at the house?” he drawls. 

You just stare at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You sit out by the pool of the penthouse suite at the Danforth Casino and Resort, while Titus paces back and forth on the phone. Every so often, his voice raises at whoever is on the other line. Eventually, you try to tune him out and lean your head back on the lounge chair. 

“You have a short temper,” you say when you feel his shadow cast over you, eyes still closed. “You should consider therapy.”

“I’m in therapy. It’s called a cigar club, very effective,” he responds. “I need to take care of some business down at the casino.”

You wave him off. “Okay,” you say, uncaring. 

You expect him to stalk off, like he always does. But instead, he bends down and presses a rough kiss to your head. You wave him off.

“I’ll be back shortly.” 

You mumble a response.

As the time passes, you get bored fast. After an hour, you decide you’ve had enough. With the entirety of this resort at your fingertips, Titus thinks you’re going to stay locked up in this room? 

Laughable.

You pull a sundress over your swimsuit, slide into some sandals, and take the elevator down. 

There’s people everywhere. You wander the lobby, watching the uber wealthy fret over luggage and take pictures by the front entrance. You wonder, if they knew of the blood spilled in order to keep this thing afloat, would they still come? Still make their reservations, host their bachelorette parties? Or would they turn their heads, somber for a while, mumbling about thoughts and prayers, and still come back for more?

You move on, knowing the answer.

You see the cinnamon sugar curls of your dear husband, his back to you, talking to someone you’ve never met. They’re standing in the doorway of the casino, having a heated discussion. You try to stay on the fridges, watching without looming, but it doesn’t last long. 

The man sees you, and immediately his demeanor changes, lightening up to something worthy of a show.

“Ah, the wife,” his face lights up dramatically at the sight of you. You try not to roll your eyes at the address.

Titus’s head snaps in your direction. The heat behind his eyes fades, brows knitting together into something akin to concern. You step closer, plastering on a smile of your own.

“Mrs. Danforth, lovely to make your acquaintance.” The man bows his head and kisses the back of your hand. It’s not exactly inappropriate, but it still confuses the hell out of you. 

“Likewise,” you reply, still unsure of what to make of him.

“I’m Jones, your husband’s favorite business partner.” Jones flashes a mouth full of tacky veneers. 

“Remains up for debate,” Titus deadpans. 

“I hear you hold the humanity of our man Titus, here,” he grabs Titus by the shoulders, shaking him a little. 

Titus clearly does not like that.

“Wha- what do you mean?” you ask, your gaze flickering between them.

“Enough-” Titus starts.

“Apparently,” Jones continues, “Titus has been making all kinds of changes with his new seat. And people seem to credit all of it to his marriage to you.”

In an instant, his smile is no longer joyful. Jones drags his gaze down your body, sizing you up, deciding what to make of you. 

Titus’s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when you drape your arms over his shoulder. He brings a hand to your waist as you press your body to his side. 

“Well, if you know anything about my husband,” you say, “you know that he doesn’t do anything on anyone’s behalf. Afterall-”

You look Titus dead in the eye, your noses almost touching.

“He’s not a man that can be controlled.”

Titus’s jaw works again, eyes refusing to lift from yours. 

“Right,” Jones nods. “Of course.”

“Go away, Jones,” Titus grits, still not looking away from you.

Jones lingers for a moment longer. 

“Now,” Titus raises his eyebrows and flicks his wrist in annoyance.

As soon as Jones is gone, you remove your hands from Titus. But he keeps his grip securely around your waist. 

“I thought I told you to stay upstairs,” he mutters. 

“You didn’t, darling,” you smile. 

“It should go without saying at this point.”

A hand firmly at the small of your back, he leads you back to the elevator. You grumble under your breath the entire way.

“What was that about, anyway?” You ask as soon as the elevator doors close. 

“Don’t speak to me right now,” he says without looking at you, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a long ride to the top,” you say, “plenty of time.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Titus snaps. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

Titus moves quickly. His hand wrapped around your jaw, not hard but forceful, pushing you against the shiny, opulent wall of the elevator. Your eyes widen.

“I have been very patient with you,” he spits. “Any other slut would have been bent over my knee a hundred times already. And still, you push me.”

“Titus,” your voice is thin. It’s the only word you can get out. 

He’s completely pressed against you, and you feel every muscle and hard outline of his body.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Higher, holier, cleaner” he continues, “but I’ve seen what those pretty hands are capable of. The violence, the destruction. You were one of us before I put the ring on your finger. Before our blood mingled on the page.”

You want to argue, but Titus is right. Whether or not it was self defense, you still did those things. You still hurt people. And lived to not regret it at all.

“You want me to tell you that I want you? Huh?” Titus’s pupils are completely blown, voice harried. “You want me to tell you that when I fucked that girl, I pretended she was you? What difference would it make?”

“Titus,” you croak again. You bring your hands up around his biceps. The action is small, but it does something to him. At the very least, it snaps him out of it. He presses his lips together, and with a frustrated growl, Titus releases you from his grip. 

Your breath comes back to you all at once. 

“Do not mistake my restraint for anything other than that,” he spits. 

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the penthouse. Titus storms out without another glance at you. 

You’ve completely lost it. There’s no other explanation for what you are feeling. This man has chased you, threatened you, and tried to kill you- multiple times. He’s made you fear for your life. 

But now, when you watch him pace the length of the patio from the other side of the sliding glass door, you twist the ring around your finger. You think about the serenity of his sleeping form. The way he protected you from his own family. The lengths he went to for the one thing in your life you held dear. Even that stupid, nearly burned grilled cheese.

Ursula was wrong when she said there was no goodness in him. She just wasn’t looking in the right places.

Titus has won. Again. It doesn't bring you any joy. But what's worse is knowing you are trapped either way. And you are so tired of fighting, of pushing, of making your life harder. Wouldn’t it just be easier to acquiesce? To give in to the part of yourself that isn’t repulsed by any of this?

And really, how bad can selling your soul really be? In the grand scheme of things?

The sun dips down below the horizon. Room service has brought up your meal, and you sit in silence with Titus. 

The sound of cutlery hitting against the plates is interrupted by Titus’s deep breath. Your attention snaps to him immediately.

“I…” he starts

You look up at him from behind your glass. The sip of wine turns into a full gulp.

“I dismantled a terrorist organization in the Middle East.”

You set your glass down, nodding, trying to absorb this information.

“That’s what Jones was referring to. He had an arms deal with them that is now…void.”

Titus does not look proud or pleased. You try to catch his gaze, but he won’t look at you directly. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask carefully.

“You asked,” he says.

After a beat of silence, you continue. “You don’t have to do anything on my behalf.”

“I don’t.” Titus finally looks at you, his words heavy. “It’s hard to invigorate economic growth when those people are being slaughtered, so.”

Titus shrugs. He isn’t eating anymore, silverware set down on his plate. 

“Of course,” you nod. 

You don’t know what to make of this information. Would Titus have always made that decision? Was Jones right, are you somehow swaying him? It’s something you’ll probably never know.

Titus still won’t sleep in the same room as you. Now you realize, it’s not disdain, it’s temptation. The best way for him to ensure that he keeps his hands to himself is to make sure there is a physical wall between you. 

It’s late, but you can’t stop thinking. The time you spend undressing, your thoughts are with Titus. Trying to figure out how you feel, how to move forward. What the right choice is in this impossible situation. Sleep isn’t even an option right now.

You tighten the robe around your waist, wringing the straps in your hands. Your body and mind are at war with each other, fighting over control. But really, the choice is simple. Keep fighting, keep resisting, or take your place. Accept your fate. Make this system work in your favor.

And you’ve come too far to remain a prisoner. 

Your knuckles hit the door lightly, almost sheepishly. It’s like you’re giving yourself an out if he doesn’t hear. 

“Come in,” Titus’s voice calls from the other side.

You slip in quietly, shutting the door behind you.

Titus’s hungry eyes watch as you cross the room. He’s standing by the fireplace, stance wide, top buttons of his shirt open. The dim lighting of the room and low fire highlight his features, the ones you came to appreciate in the moonlight.

You twist the tie of your robe again, trying to steady your heartbeat. 

“What is it?” TItus asks, crossing his arms. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, just looking around the room. The entire Newport house, and even the lodge, have Danforth written all over them. Old, ancient money, collections that would put a museum to shame. But this is the first time you are surrounded by Titus’s things. What he holds with value.

“I thought maybe we could sleep in the same bed tonight,” you say, meandering towards his desk. Titus’s eyes track your movements, but he doesn’t stop you.

“You thought?” Titus narrows his eyes at you. 

You gently push a stack of books aside, fanning them out to read the covers. Most of them are ancient-looking notebooks, or books on finance. But one catches your eye.

The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. The same edition as your very well-loved copy. He’s been reading it, you can see the tabs and dog ears as evidence.

“Yes,” you whisper, gaze meeting his. 

When you finally approach Titus, he drops his arms to his sides. You reach for his shirt, carefully undoing the rest of the buttons. The fabric falls open, exposing the lightly freckled skin that you’ve only seen once before. Titus watches your face as your eyes drop to his chest. 

You raise your hands towards him.

Titus grabs your wrists. Your breath catches in surprise, but not fear.

“Don’t toy with me.” His voice is a low warning. 

“I’m not,” you reply. You are not trembling, you are not confused. There is not an ounce of mischief in your actions. Not this time.

He releases his grip, and you bring your hands to his shoulders, gently pushing his shirt down over his shoulders to the ground. You don’t hide your appraising stare. His broad chest, his strong arms. Every move is slow and deliberate. You’re taking your time, and Titus is taking you in. 

"Say it," he says, still not raising his voice.

You chew on your bottom lip. 

“I need to hear you say it,” his voice is still strong, but laced with less venom. Almost desperate. Almost.

"Titus," you look him in the eye, "I want you. Please.”

Titus’s eyes- though already dark- cloud over with something forceful. He clamps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His eyes move between yours and your lips, like he’s trying to make his mind up. Decide if you mean it, or if this is just a trick.

He takes you for your word.

His mouth presses against yours. Just like on your wedding night. Forceful, eager. Only this time, you kiss him back. Your mouth opens for him, taking his tongue against yours. This is the first time he’s kissed you since the wedding night. And that was completely one sided.

This time, you whimper into his mouth, and it spurs him forward.

It’s not sloppy. Titus is many things, but not sloppy. He’s eager, ready to take what he believes is his. 

And as of now, you are. Completely.

He grabs at the tie of your robe, undoing it and letting the soft fabric fall, leaving you in your delicate lingerie. Your exposed skin prickles in the cold air. It’s not the first time Titus has seen you like this. But it’s the first time he’s been able to drink you in, knowing that it’s all for him. 

“On your knees,” his voice is gruff, catching his breath.

The command runs through you.

You lower yourself to the floor, looking up at him through your lashes. Titus’s breath comes out heavy as he loosens the buttons at his waist. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes the waistbands down, discarding both his pants and underwear at the same time. 

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready. You think back to when you saw him fucking the escort. That was different. Now, you’re seeing him fully, right in front of you. Embarrassingly, your mouth waters a little. 

When you think he’s going to come closer, Titus actually steps away from you. He looks smug as he settles back into an arm chair by the fireplace. 

He watches you, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Come here,” he waves. 

Heat rises in your cheeks. You know what he wants. After a deep breath, you move to your hands and knees, and slowly crawl to him. He watches you cross the room, hungry and waiting. You push your face against his knee, resting your head on his leg. 

“Good girl,” he smiles. The praise courses through you. You should be embarrassed. This should be upsetting to you. But for some reason, your panties are completely soaked. 

Titus looks down. “You know what to do.” 

You swallow once, bracing yourself. When you reach for him, and wrap your fingers around his length, Titus’s inhale sharpens. His smile falls fast. It makes you remember that he had been waiting for this, too. Even if he wasn’t completely without sex in the meantime.

With your mouth wide, you look up at Titus and drag your tongue up his length, gathering the salty precum at the tip, watching for his reaction. 

Titus’s mouth opens slightly, feeling your tongue against him. He reaches one hand behind your head, threading his fingers through your hair, and holds you steady. 

“Come on,” he says, “take it.”

You open your mouth as wide as you can, and he pushes your head down. One of your hands rests on his thigh, and when you take him as far back as your throat will allow, you squeeze gently. It’s involuntary, like a muscle reaction.

And he stops. 

Titus’s eyes close for a moment, feeling your wet mouth tight around him. “That’s it,” he groans. 

You gag slightly, and after a moment, Titus lets you up for air. Saliva drips from your lips onto his lap. He lets you take a moment before pushing your mouth back around him. 

It’s equal parts strength and trust. Titus pushes you down further and further each time, only stopping when your fingers curl gently at his thigh. 

Eventually, Titus releases his grip, giving you autonomy. You don’t relent, bobbing your head up and down, hand stroking the length your mouth doesn’t reach. Titus’s fingers grip the arm of the chair, growing more and more restless the longer you work him.

“Enough,” he says. His voice is strong, but he’s slightly breathless. You try not to get too smug, knowing that you can elicit this reaction from him.

“Enough?” you ask, resting your cheek on his thigh again.

He motions for you to stand, and you slowly rise to your feet.

He rises along with you, capturing your mouth with his again. His hands grasp as much of you as possible. It’s a frenzied kind of contact. After months of depriving him, Titus finally has you. And he can’t stop touching you.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he mutters into your mouth. 

You reach behind you for the clasps at your bra.

“No,” he grips your arms and pulls away, “I want to do it.” 

“Okay,” you roll your eyes, just a little, and drop your hands, letting Titus reach behind you. 

His eyes don’t move from yours until the fabric falls away, exposing more of you. He takes you in, and can’t help himself from reaching up and palming your breast, catching a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

You hiss, the sensation shooting through you.

“Sensitive?” he asks, dipping his mouth down to your chest. 

You gasp and thread your fingers in his hair, holding him close. Titus holds you, hands splayed out on your waist and ass. 

“Please,” you whimper, running your hands down his arms. 

“Please what?” he mutters, standing over you again.

“Please,” you breathe, “I need you inside me.”

Titus smiles, the tone of your voice clearly exciting him.

He kisses you, pushing you towards the bed. When the backs of your legs hit the mattress, you collapse onto your back.

“Let me see her,” he mutters, pushing your legs open. He presses his mouth to your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s formed.

“Don’t make it weird,” you writhe under him.

“What’s the matter?” Titus looks at you from between your thighs. “Embarassed?”

“No,” bite back, but you feel heat rush your cheeks. 

Titus pulls at the straps of your underwear, tugging the fabric down your legs. 

He starts on your thighs, biting down on your skin, soothing the marks with his tongue. He pushes your legs up, knees towards your stomach to get a better angle. You are completely open and exposed to him, everything on display.

“Fuck,” he hisses, licking his lips before kissing the skin just around your cunt.

“Titus,” you whine. 

“Look at how wet you are,” he mutters against you. “Who is all this for?”

You whimper, desire clouding your thought processing power. His tongue slides quickly over your folds, just tasting you for now.

“Say it,” he grunts. 

“For you,” you gasp, back arching off the mattress. “It’s for you, Titus.”

“That’s right,” he growls. Two fingers slide over your pussy, teasing, before slipping in easily. “Mine.”

Your jaw drops at the sudden thrust. 

“Oh shit,” you hiss.

“I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding,” TItus says, slipping a third finger into you.

You can’t think of anything remotely intelligent to say. The combination of Titus’s mouth on your clit, drinking you in, and his fingers sliding in and out, brings you to the edge faster than you wanted. It has been months, after all.

“Titus, I’m so close,” you bring your hand down into his hair, pushing your hips closer to his mouth, chasing the release.

“No,” he pulls away. “Not yet.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “What the fuck?”

“The only way you get to come,” he stands upright, looking down at your desperate form, “is wrapped around my cock.”

You stare daggers, but open your legs for him anyway, as he slowly fists himself, moving closer. 

Titus bends over you, a glint in his eye. He presses a firm kiss to your lips again, tongue sliding against yours. He swallows your gasp when you feel his tip graze over your pussy, teasing you. 

“Titus,” you moan. 

“What, darling?” he drops his mouth to your jaw, trailing wet kisses to your neck.

You buck your hips slightly, seeking out any kind of friction you can get. 

“Words,” Titus growls, nose brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.”

You kiss him, taking his bottom lip in your teeth as you pull away. “Enough with the teasing. Fuck. Me,” your eyes narrow.

“That’s more like it,” Titus smiles. 

“I told you,” he says, lining himself up with your entrance, “when I take you, you would beg for it.”

Any smart quips die in your throat when he suddenly thrusts inside of you. You take him all the way in all at once, pushing you to your limit.

“Fuck,” Titus grunts. “Look at that. You take me so well.”

“Titus,” you breathe, voice wavering. “It’s too much. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he says, holding your legs up over his shoulders. “You’re going to be a good girl and take it.”

He starts moving, and your vision immediately starts fading at the edges. You’re completely overwhelmed, voice already ragged. 

“You feel so good,” Titus says, pressing his face to your leg. He kisses your calf as he slowly pulls out before pushing all the way back in.

Titus watches your face, watches for the moment that your whines change from pain to pleasure. Only then does he start to pick up the pace. 

“Talk to me, darling,” he pants. “I want to hear you.”

“You’re splitting me apart,” you moan. 

“You want me to stop?” his mouth curls up into a sly grin. 

“No.” The word slips out quickly. Too quickly. 

Titus presses a smug smile to your leg. 

“Don’t,” you snap, but the word is not as threatening as you want it to be.

Titus moves his hand down between your legs, pressing gentle circles over your sensitive clit. 

Your hands find purchase on the sheets, gripping them so tightly you almost cramp. It’s impossible to keep your body still, arching and writhing under him. 

The climax you were so cruelly denied just moments ago builds back up in your belly.

“Please,” you look up at Titus. This is as close as you will let yourself get to literally begging him. 

“How could I deny that face,” Titus smiles down at you. The mischievous glint is gone, his eyes only focused on your and your breath. 

Broken, desperate sounds claw their way from your throat as you finally feel the euphoric release you were chasing. The orgasm washes over your entire body, all the way down to your toes. 

Titus feels it, too. His jaw goes slack and his hips stutter, feeling your walls squeeze around him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, fucking you through it. 

“You need- ugh- Titus please,” you press your hands on his hips, completely over-stimulated and overwhelmed. 

He pulls out of you, but not without a sly grin plastered over his face. 

“Too much for you?” Titus bends over you and kisses your neck.

“Don’t,” you groan. But your legs wrap around his hips, holding him close. 

“I think I’ll say whatever I please,” he kisses you hungrily. “After all this time, I’m going to enjoy this.”

You drag your nails down his freckled back, pulling small noises from Titus. 

“We need to set some rules,” you whisper into his ear. 

Titus pulls away, propping himself up over you. 

“Excuse me?” He raises an eyebrow.

You grip Titus’s shoulders and push him, rolling the both of you over until you’re straddling him. Based on his expression, Titus is surprised, but not upset. 

With the new position, and your senses finally coming back to you, you smile down to Titus. 

“I want to sit in on council meetings,” you say, rubbing your cunt over Titus’s dick. 

“That’s not-”

“I will.” You cut him off, leaving no room for an argument. “You don’t have to include me in every discussion, but I will be there.”

Titus rests his hands on your hips, helping you hold yourself up on shaky legs. 

With Titus’s dick in your grip, you try to sink down on him, only able to take a few inches at first. 

“That’s it,” Titus mutters, squeezing your leg reassuringly. 

Unable to control your whimpers, you lower yourself further and further. 

With one final push, you arch your back over Titus, taking him all inside of you. He brings a hand up to your breast bone, dragging all the way down your stomach before gripping your hips.

You move above him, slowly and intentionally. The fervor of moments ago has melted into something almost religious. Two bodies becoming one, meeting each other where they are. 

“I will not be your pet.”

Titus just moans, looking up at you with those pathetic eyes. For a split second, you see his bravado drop. He looks completely at your mercy as you ride him. Your hips move back and forth, grinding against him.

“I will not be your trophy. I will not be your silent arm candy. I am your wife, and you will treat me as such.” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders for stability. 

“Yes,” is all Titus manages. His voice is beginning to thin, the same pleasure in you finding its hold on him.

“And in return,” you bite your lip, letting yourself feel this without shame or embarrassment. “I will truly be your partner. Completely. Body and mind.”

Titus’s eyes flash dark, the aggression taking hold again. “Yes.”

He looks up at you, licking his lips, moving his hands to grip your ass. His hips buck upwards, picking up your slow, deliberate pace. It catches you off guard, your grip tightening on his shoulders and leaving small half moons under your nails. 

You lean forward over him even more, allowing him to control the pace. You are almost completely overwhelmed by pleasure, feeling him hit that spot deep inside you that makes you squirm. 

“Titus,” you moan right into his ear. “I’m gonna come again.”

Titus brings a heavy hand down onto your ass, pulling a yelp from you. 

“Yeah?” Titus grunts. “Greedy, greedy girl. Gonna come on my cock again?”

“Mhmm,” you nod your head, eyes closed.

“Go ahead,” Titus brings his hand down again, squeezing your ass roughly. “I’m going to fill that greedy cunt. Claim you once and for all as mine. Forever.”

When you fully collapse on top of him, face buried in the crook of his neck, Titus presses a kiss to your shoulder before sucking a bruise to your skin. The feeling of his teeth grazing you, leaving little marks, pushes you over the edge. 

You come again, hard, with his name on your lips.

The second you clench around him, crying out for him, Titus loses himself inside you. He buries himself deep, not letting up until he’s sure he’s completely spent. 

Your body is almost completely useless, just dead weight on top of Titus. He presses another kiss to your shoulder before carefully rolling you off him, pulling out of you slowly. 

You lay on your back, trying to regain control of your breath, watching Titus sit up against the headboard. You reach your hand out, gently dragging your fingertips against his leg. He takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Is this what love is supposed to feel like?” he asks.

The question catches you completely off guard. You blink, trying to understand. 

“This is the closest we are going to get,” you say, curling your body around him.

“I love you,” Titus says, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

Something foreign blooms inside of you. It can’t be love. You have felt love before. For your mother, your friends, and your ex-fiance- before he tried to kill you, obviously. 

This thing with Titus is different. Everything that has led up to this moment compiles together into something like attachment. Your souls are linked forever. When you look at him, you just feel like he’s a part of you. 

The woman you were a few months ago is no more. She’s had to adapt to her surroundings.

“I-” you start, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

You can’t be sure, but you think you may mean it.

[queenofvelaris]

Titus Danforth one chance I beg

[deerfawnn]

bruised knuckles

pairing: pope cody x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're dragged to pope's boxing match, not having ever been told that he does this in his spare time and now you have to confront your fears and the fact that your boyfriend spends his time doing such a violent activity. content warnings: established relationship, reader is implied to have had a bad past slash childhood, reader has a fear of yelling + anger, mention of blood and cuts, tw smurf!!!!! a/n: hai my lovelies! i am back with my second pope fic!!! i haven't had this much fun writing for a character in ages <3 also i couldn't decide on whether i should refer to him as pope or andrew so now there's a mix of it. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 credit to @cursed-carmine for the divider <3 wc: 4.9k

You hated the word naive, despite that, it felt simply too suitable for the person you were.

You were naive when you never asked Pope why he came home with bruises, and you were naive when you let it go after he blamed the job. When you chose to enter Smurf's vehicle, you were particularly foolish. You appeared to be, just like all her kids, susceptible to falling for her manipulative tactics.

And now that you were standing next to her chair, you figured that the only important thing to her right now was making you uncomfortable.

Unsure of your purpose in the hall of loud, angry men you turned your attention to the group around the boxing ring. This wasn't your scene in any shape, way or form. You didn't like loud noises, boxing and especially loud irate boxers.

Smurf knew that, which is why you made an effort to look normal, despite the men next to you cursing like they'd never been allowed to before. Like a baby you wanted to press your hands to your ears and hide in the corner.

"What are we waiting for?" you asked quietly.

"You'll see baby, you'll see," Smurf tilted her head as she observed the crowd with sharp eyes. Baby. That's how you knew something was wrong. She only ever used her saccharine voice combined with that nickname when she was out to get you.

Pope kept you far far away from her for precisely this reason. Why you and Pope almost never came to visit unless it was necessary for a job. You'd tried to tell him that he didn't have to go back to Smurf, that he could just work with his brothers, but he was adamant. So you let him, because you weren't one to tell Pope what to do.

You felt something stare into the side of your face and when you glanced to your left, you saw a disheveled man with a beer in his hand and a sick smile. You quickly straightened your back and moved closer to Smurf's chair, praying this would all end.

Andrew will be furious when he finds out, you thought, as you repeatedly started snapping your hair tie against your wrist over and over again. You shook your head to yourself. He won't have to find out...right?

This was all a mess. A mess Smurf was more than happy to create as she took a look at you. Nervous, uncomfortable and scared — she had you exactly where she wanted.

Your hands were itching to grab your earphones from your bag as soon as the first boxers were announced. When the first boxer entered the ring, men cheered and you turned your head away from the man's terrifying expression.

You, instead resorted to checking out the crowd. There was a small group of women, but they appeared to be just as bloodthirsty as everyone else. No one seemed as out of place as you did.

You pulled the edge of your shorts down, wishing you had brought a jacket with you. Who would've thought a boxing ring would be this chilly? Goosebumps were rising everywhere where your white sweetheart neck top wasn't covering your skin.

"Baby," Smurf said, and you felt your stomach turn at the nickname. "Look."

You felt the world tilt around you the moment you spotted Andrew sitting in the corner, hands covered in his boxing gloves. You watched him get to his feet, and move toward the center of the ring. He didn't see you, and you were glad for it. You were especially glad for it when you watched Andrew start beating his opponent.

Hit after hit after hit.

The crowd kept cheering, fists pumping in the air while your hands started shaking more by the second. It was when the opponent hit Andrews' face, that you turned and walked out of the ring. Not hearing Smurf's snake-like voice calling after you mockingly.

You walked and walked and walked, not even caring that Smurf had driven you here. She'd practically begged for your help on something, coming by you and Andrew's apartment. Sweet naive you thought, yeah, I'm sure she needs actual help. She hardly ever begged beg for anything. God, you had been so wrong. This was a sick, twisted game. Of course, it was.

You had no idea how or when you'd ended up in your apartment. You kicked off your ballet flats to the opposite side of the apartment, before sliding down the door.

Andrew was boxing in his spare time. Naturally the jobs had nothing to do with the bruises you spent all of your free afternoons tending to. He'd never been this hurt before. Why would he be now? You would've never thought he spent his free time raging and hitting people. That he was capable of this much force and anger. You could still see his face behind your eyelids, and you pressed the bottom of your hands harder against your eyes until stars replaced your boyfriend's bruised face.

Your head dropped to your knees as you sat there for ages and ages. Andrew lied to you. He has been lying to you for god knows how long.

You felt sick and even more, you felt guilty. Because you were terrified. Not only had he lied to you, but he'd also lied about being this violent. You hated how much that scared you. How much you wanted to cry.

You were aware that Pope wasn't a man of the most gentle nature, but he tried to with you.

In fact, he was at his most gentle with you. Sure, you'd seen a different side of him when he was with Smurf. In fact, that was seemingly his most aggressive side, but otherwise? Otherwise, he was the man who was so nervous on your first date, he didn't say a single word besides hello. The man who'd spent the first sleepovers at your place, lying on the edge of the bed, afraid of touching you, terrified of making you uncomfortable. You had spent so much time caring for Lena together, taking her out on ice-cream dates and getting to know what he was like as an Uncle. He spoiled you rotten.

You had never once uttered a dream of yours, without having it fulfilled promptly. Not only that, but you knew his most significant sacrifice had been his temper. He knew how much you struggled with raised voices, how you'd immediately shrink the moment someone directed their anger at you.

The first times, you'd somehow ended up in the same room as the Cody boys while they planned jobs, Andrew would just stand up and leave the room the moment someone disagreed with him. You still remember Craig's perplexed "What's up with him?" You'd questioned Andrew about it later that night, because as far as you'd been concerned, Craig had been rather unpleasant to him, you'd expected your boyfriend to fight back.

Andrew had simply pulled you closer to his chest in bed, brushing his palm along your waist. "Didn't want to make you sad." he'd muttered against your hair.

"What?" you'd asked puzzled, lifting your head off his chest.

"You don't like yelling. It makes you sad."

"You did that for me?"

"Of course." he'd said, eyebrows furrowed, because who else would it be for? For who else would he change such an integral part of himself? He'd been the brother with the temper since he could think. Pope, the boy who hit and yelled at everyone.

He'd changed himself for you,and not only that, he'd taken a jab at his pride for you, allowing his brother to corner him in front of everyone, and he had just let him. For you.

It made you feel horrible that he had to change himself for you, but he'd told you that he felt better about himself, like he was actually worthy of you. Your life was peaceful and domestic, interrupted by the occasional job which usually went down flawlessly.

It wasn't until Lena was back from the foster home and then put back in, that Andrew was different, and you'd just assumed it was because of him missing Lena. But it was all weird. He was different, came home with bruises and was more quiet than usual. But never ever any less gentle with you.

You hated that the sight of him in the boxing ring managed to erase every single tender touch of his. All you could hear was the shattering of the man's face as your boyfriend continued to hammer him.

Your boyfriend punched someone until they were bleeding raw on the floor, and he did it with such vehemence that you weren't sure you'd ever be able to get rid of the image. You'd heard chatter about his violent side from his brothers, and he'd told you about it himself, but witnessing it for yourself was different.

You slowly rose up on unsteady legs and walked towards the shower. The shower calmed you down. Hot water streaming down your body, helping you forget about Andrew for just a few minutes.

That was until you stepped back into your shared bedroom and instinctively reached for his clothes. You grabbed a shirt and his boxers, and when Andrew's scent hit your nose, you flinched. You stared down at his shirt, and you wanted to pull it off. Crack crack crack was all you could hear. The yelling of the men in your head cushioned the sound of Andrew opening the door.

You were about to pull his shirt off, grab one of your own pajama shirts instead, when Andrew gently tapped on the door not wanting to startle you. You still flinched, turning to see his face. And terror was written large there.

Smurf had told him.

You managed a tiny "Hi." but there was no smile or kiss. You merely stood next to the drawers, your hand returning back to your hair tie, snapping it against your wrist over and over again.

You knew Andrew was just as scared, his fingers were twitching nervously, as he stared at you. "Hey," he gently approached you and when you didn't step away, he drew even closer. He cautiously placed his bag down on top of the drawer, before turning to you.

There was a small band aid on his right cheek, and you felt your heart break when you realized it was the one you usually kept in your car in case of an emergency. He had clearly attempted to fix most of the wounds before entering your apartment so you wouldn't see how severely the other guy had injured him.

The fear was written big in his eyes. You almost wanted to just give in, but your mind didn't let you. Fear was gripping your body just as much as it was his. Seeing what he was capable of was freezing your body. It's like it never mattered that you loved him more than anything else in the world; your mind just insisted on replaying the boxing match on loop.

Andrew could tell you weren't going to come any closer to him anytime soon, so he closed his hands into fists, turning towards the bathroom. And you just let him. You could practically hear his heart breaking as he turned on the water, and you knew he had his head pressed against the tile, because that's what he always did when someone wrecked him.

You padded towards the kitchen, opened your freezer and grabbed some ice. Your brain was both empty and full, but it was largely packed with cruel words at yourself. You were horrible. You were terrible for shutting him out like this when he hadn't done anything to you.

But you couldn't help it. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and you leaned your head back, trying to suck it up. You weren't supposed to be acting like this. You were a grown woman, not a child. You weren't supposed to resort to childish habits, making yourself small and shut down, stop talking. God, he didn't do anything, you kept telling yourself as you shut your eyes tight.

You didn't hear him approach you. "You want me to make you dinner?"

You turned, ice in hand and shut the freezer with your back. "No, not hungry," you replied quietly. You stepped closer, and could see Andrew's body freeze up as he waited for you to do something. You stretched out your hand with the ice. "For your bruises."

Andrew stared down at your hand before taking it carefully. "Thank you," he murmured, eyes glancing back up at you.

When he saw your hands trembling, he wanted to cry. He swiftly turned and walked back into the bedroom, before he could hurt you any further. You remained in the kitchen for a few minutes, before gradually following him. Sleeping on the couch was too much. You're safe with him, nothings wrong, he won't yell at you, you kept thinking, slowly padding back into the bedroom.

That's until you spotted his wet curly hair in the corner of your shared room, reaching inside his bag. "Are you packing?" you asked, confused.

Andrew straightened up, turning his body towards you. "I know what you saw today. And—" You could see him thinking about Smurf, anger rising in his throat. "And I'm sorry," he added, deciding not to acknowledge Smurf's existence.

"It's your hobby," you replied quietly. "I wish you'd just told me about it."

Andrew shook his head. "Not a hobby," he muttered, and then provided the only answer you needed. "Smurf," and it clicked. Of course, Smurf forced him into it.

Your gaze dropped back down to his bag. "You don't need to leave."

"I scared you."

"You didn't," you whispered.

"Don't lie to me." he scoffed, and you pursed your lip. Right.

You didn't look at him as you slipped beneath the covers of the bed. It was your only way of proving to him, and yourself, that you weren't scared.

He stared at you for a while, and you didn't glance at him. Instead, you pulled the covers up, reaching for his side and pushing the covers back. He stared at his side of the bed before he slowly slipped under them and pulled them up too. The two of you laid on your backs for a while, staring at the same ceiling.

There was no sweet touching, no shared gentle kisses, no Andrew listening to you ramble about your day, nothing.

You missed him, and you glanced down at his hand, lying above the cover, twitching nervously. You wanted to touch it, press a kiss against every bruised knuckle, but then you heard the groans of his opponent again and you shuddered against the bed sheets.

"The — the other boxer is fine," he said quietly. "I know it looked bad." He turned his head, the sheets rustling as he looked at you.

"It was bad." slipped out of your mouth, and you bit your lip hard.

You could practically feel the panic rise in him. "I know, but— he just had a couple bruises. He— he didn't even have to go to the hospital." He knew it was a low bar. So terribly low, but he needed you to come back to him. He couldn't lose you.

You stayed quiet and Andrew wanted to cry. This was bad. Of course, Smurf wouldn't even let him keep you. She'd take everything from him, this would always be the way his life would work. He thought maybe this time it would be different. This time he could change for you, And he did. He tried so hard to be different, but it was never enough. Nothing ever would be. It seemed there was something in him, something evil and dark, that scared everyone off.

"Did you win?" you asked, even though you knew the answer. Andrew stayed quiet and you knew. "You're good at what you do," you whispered.

What he does. Punch people? Hurt people? Make people bleed? Cause pain? Andrew didn't reply, staring at the ceiling.

He wanted to leave, and so he pushed the covers away, but you reached for his arm immediately, gripping his still-wet bicep. "Don't leave," you whispered, and he turned to look at you.

"You don't want me there."

"I didn't say that."

Andrew leaned his back against the headboard, and you sat up slowly, crossing your legs. He waited as he stared at you, expecting some explanation for your disorienting behavior.

"You scared me," you whispered, and you could see Andrew's finger twitch in his lap. You could see him itching to disappear. He'd scared you. He'd scared you.

He felt sick. "You just kept hitting him. Even when he was on the ground," you whispered. "And I know that's—that's how boxing works, but I'm just — I've never seen you like that," you stared at your hands in your lap, before looking up again, and this time you almost seemed mad at him, an emotion he'd almost never had directed at him from you before." You lied to me, Andrew." you gritted out through your teeth. "You've been lying to me for months."

Andrew looked away at that, feeling disgusted by himself. Foreseeing what was about to come he looked down at the soft covers under him, felt your warmth, that he could sense despite the space between you. His eyes glanced towards you, in your sweet and pretty pajamas, and he wished he'd appreciated this more.

Not that he hadn't before, but fear had always lingered in the background. Fear that he'd hurt you and that you'd leave him. That Smurf would take you. He wished he had just taken hours to just sit there, and live in the moment with you, push everyone away and just appreciate that you were here with him. He wanted to cry.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly again, avoiding your eyes.

You stared at him, and then you bit your lip, counting to ten. You could do this. This was your sweet Andrew. He'd never raised his voice at you, never. This is what you kept repeating over and over again to yourself, as you pushed the covers away.

Andrew watched you pad into the bathroom, heard you open drawers and close them, before you came back into the room, rounding the bed until you were on his side. There, you grabbed the ice he'd left on the night table, and handed it to him.

"Press it to your right temple," you murmured, and then you just climbed into his lap. One knee on each side of his thigh. His thigh twitched under yours nervously, and you had to hold yourself on his left shoulder to not fall off.

You carefully opened the first aid kit, keeping it on the bed. Your hand on his shoulder lightly traveled up to his face, turning it towards you, like he wasn't already staring at you. Andrew's hand fell limp against the bed, ice too. The bed sheets turning dark, as the ice melted.

Before he knew it, he was desperately reaching for your hips, pulling you closer. You were touching him. You were in his lap and you were taking care of him. You didn't leave. He felt his breath quicken, like he was about to cry.

Meanwhile, you wordlessly grabbed a cotton pad, applied some anti septic on it and pressed it lightly to his cheek. He could feel your hands shaking and how much strength it was taking you to not succumb to your fear. To not let your mind convince you to get into your car right now and just drive away.

Andrew let his hands travel up and down on your waist and under your shirt, squeezing your soft waist. You squirmed, when you felt his cold hands, but then relaxed into the oh so familiar touch. His calloused fingertips tapped your ribs restlessly as he watched you with his big hazel eyes.

You were so gentle and he was sure there were tears in his eyes. His eyes felt really warm and his throat felt tight. You stopped cleaning for just one second, eyes darting to his face, and you gave him such a sweet smile, that the tears dried immediately. You weren't leaving. You weren't leaving.

Once you were done, you set everything aside, and just slumped down in his lap, hands resting on his hard stomach.

"I'm sorry for letting Smurf drag me there." You avoided his eyes, ashamed of letting her manipulate you. You stared down at his stomach, wondering how blue and purple his ribs were. You'd probably hear him wince in his sleep all night. You never told him about this habit, worried about scaring him off.

"Not your fault."

You stayed quiet for a while, taking the chance to properly see how truly in pain he was. He was good at hiding it, but you knew Andrew. He wasn't going to wince, or cry out. He'd live in the pain and say he deserved it. That it's fine. That he hurt you and his opponent which meant he deserved to suffer.

You watched his big hazel eyes as they scanned you, watching you for every shift in your face. You felt sick that you'd done this to him, that you let Smurf do this to the two of you. Andrew had tried so hard to keep away from her twisted traps and yet you fell in anyways. Of course you did. You were vulnerable and sensitive and she knew that. You wanted to cry for the fact that he had to put up with her, and with you.

"I know I'm not easy," you whispered after a while, your voice breaking. "I'm sorry you had to—to change so many things about yourself because of me. And I'm sorry for all of this." You brushed a tear from your face. "I know it's not easy to deal with me and my -" you waved a hand in the air. "My sensitivity." You grimaced.

"I like dealing with you." Andrew said after a long pause, where he'd waited to see if you wanted to say anything else. He knows you hadn't always been heard by the people in your life, so he tried hard to give you the space you needed.

You chuckled wetly, and his lips lifted for a second. "I didn't change things about me." His eyebrows furrowed because he wasn't sure how you'd gotten there. "I'm just trying to be good. For you," he titled his head, trying to catch your eyes. "You don't like yelling, so I don't yell. You don't like fighting, so I don't fight." You shot him a look then, and he guiltily added. "In front of you."

He paused, finger tapping restlessly against your waist, making you squirm for a second. "I like being good for you. I can sleep better, and it makes waking up easier," he sounded so earnest, and you wanted to cry then and there. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he said slowly, as if also now comprehending how much you meant to him.

He squeezed your side anxiously. "I—I don't want you to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you, and what you saw today was just— it's not who I am when I'm with you."

It was silent for a while. You could hear an owl outside, waves washing against the shore and a dog barking. The waves calmed Andrew down, helped him sleep. Or at least that's what he told you. You weren't so sure now. He sounded so very sincere when he said he slept better with you.

You fixed a curl for him, lightly pushing it aside, before you dropped your hand again. "I don't want to see that again," you said in a low voice. "If you want—you can keep doing it, but I don't want to see it,"

Andrew shook his head. "I'll quit," he said, hands traveling up your waist again. "I'll get my money tomorrow, and I'll— I'll get you whatever you want, and I'll never do it again."

You didn't say anything and Andrew worried that he'd been too eager, too much. But then you finally spoke. "Do you like boxing?" You jabbed a finger into his chest. "Don't lie."

Andrew pressed his lips tight together. "I like—" he glanced up at you, worried that'll make your fear worse, make you scared of him even more, but you seemed so open to anything he had to say that he spoke the truth. "—hitting stuff." He finished the sentence. "I don't like to hurt people."

You nodded slowly as if you'd expected that answer and brushed a hand over his shoulder. "We'll use the money to get you a boxing set again. Punching bag, gloves, the whole thing," you pondered. "I think there's a great shop downtown for boxing equipment. I walked past it a bunch of times. We can set everything up in the backyard. That way you can hit stuff, but not hurt people,"

"That doesn't scare you?," he asked, already thinking how intense he got when he was allowed to hit stuff.

"I don't know," you went quiet again, toying with his neckline. "Maybe." Your eyes flickered up towards him. "I just—I don't like all that hitting stuff, you know?"

You looked terrified to be telling him this. So far, throughout your relationship, he's always had to pick up on it, never had you outright tell him. "And that combined with yelling?" You shook your head, already getting scared at the idea. "Just—just reminds me of bad stuff." You whispered. "And I know you won't hurt me like ever." You reassured him noting the way he was getting progressively nervous about the image you had of him in your mind.

"But it scares me that you could." It sounded so stupid to you. Like a child. But Andrew understood more than he let on. "That—That all this anger could one day be directed at me, that one day you'll just want to be this angry and violent with me." You brushed a tear away, before Andrew had the chance too.

He straightened up a bit, pulling you closer, as his hands traveled down to your hips. He was unsure how to say what he wanted to say. "I—I love you," he said, and your eyes shot to his.

You knew he did, but he oh so rarely ever did say it. He made you feel loved regardless, so you never had the desire to hear it constantly. It made it even more special, when he'd whisper it in bed after a rough day, and you were half asleep. So for him to say it so outright while you were staring him right in the eye, was special to say the least.

"I would never hurt you," he pressed his fingers harder into your hips, not enough to hurt you, as he thought about his next words. "You don't have to believe me, i just—I want you to know that I wouldn't."

He hated that he wasn't capable of saying more, that he didn't know how to, but when you smiled at him, all teary eyed and a soft smile, he knew he had done well enough. That his best, was always enough for you. That he never had to reach this impossible bar with you. That all you asked of him was that he minded your fears, the way you minded his.

"I love you too," you whispered, before your arms came around his neck, and you pressed your face into his warm body. His arms tightened around your waist, as he squeezed his eyes shut. You smelled like vanilla, and he finally felt his heartbeat slow down, as you scraped your fingers lightly against his still wet hair.

You were still worried you were being possessive, ripping him away from things he loved. That you were like Smurf, so you spoke, breath hitting his collarbone.

"You—you won't hate me for this, right?" you whispered. Andrew squeezed your waist.

"You're doing me a favor." he whispered, and he meant it. No boxing meant less guilt, less disgust for himself. He wouldn't have to lie to you anymore, and he wouldn't have to live in fear that you'd find out. He'd see Smurf less, and have to stop listening to her talk about what a bad influence you were on him. How he was getting soft with you, how his loyalty should always be with his family first.

Now he'd be able to hug you without hiding groans of pain, he'd be able to feel your gentle kisses across his face without having you be worried about his bloody cuts.

He could just— rest.

[queenofvelaris]

Pope being soft for his girl is my kryptonite

[mariasont]

── .✦ JACK ABBOT who loves to correct your posture

★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT 18+ mdni manhandling, lowkey authority kink?, implied age gap, doggy style sex, bratty banter

MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX

Simply thinking about Jack Abbot correcting your posture. 

He’s a doctor, so sure it starts there, in the territory of alignment and strain and long-term damage, all the tiny indignities a body absorbs when nobody’s paying proper attention to it.

And he worries about you, of course. Worries about the set of your neck and the rounded drag of your shoulders, about how you curl in on yourself over your charting like the screen might swallow you whole, about how you hunch over your phone texting those ridiculous little emoticons and memes he glances at with visible suspicion. 

So he makes an effort to fix it.

A broad hand behind your chair, angling it closer to the desk until your spine has no excuse but the lengthen. Two fingers slipped beneath your chin when you’re bent out of shape around your phone on the couch, tilting your gaze upward until the vertebrae stack properly and the ache in your neck eases. Even in transit — plate to sink, fridge to stove — he stops to cup your shoulders, easing them from your ears with a downward glide of his thumbs. 

A silent reward hums through the touch: a silent good girl, there you go.

“Sit up, sweetheart.” “Uncross your legs.” “Laptop higher.” “Relax your jaw.” 

He knows he’s a perpetual nuisance, aware he sounds like someone’s dad, can practically hear the eye-roll you swallow every time. 

He also knows it embarrasses you, especially at work, where your face goes warm when he corrects you within earshot of other people. And it isn’t that he sets out to make you squirm, though he’d be lying if he said he got nothing out of that quick little fluster he can pull from you with a word, a hand, a look. 

It’s just that once he notices you folded in on yourself for too long, something in him firms. His voice drops into that clipped, authoritative register, flipping a switch to brisk certainty and command, and by then it’s already too late to pretend you’re not going to listen. 

So when he catches you slouched at the station again, practically kissing the monitor, he doesn’t hesitate.

Steps in behind you. His palm fits against the ridge of your upper back, heat seeping straight through the thin cotton.

“Up.”

You mutter, “I hate you,” eyes never leaving the vitals grid, and Jack takes it as the green light it is.

His thumb glides from back to shoulder to nape. The opposite hand curves under your jaw’s hinge, guiding your head until your spine clicks back to neutral while the entire nurses’ station pretends their screens are riveting. 

Public proof that your posture, and maybe the rest of you, answers to Dr. Abbot’s touch far faster than to your own irritation. 

“There’s a whole skeleton under all that,” he observes dryly. “Try using it.”

You bat at his hand, a half-hearted slap. “Stop manhandling me at work.”

He ignores that, drops the chair one notch (ignoring your surprised squeak too), angles the monitor to proper eye level, then squares your shoulders with both palms. A measured squeeze follows, equal parts reassurance and warning.

“Better,” he decides. “And if I catch you bent over that phone again, I’m taking it.”

He likes the line of you best when he’s the one arranging it. 

You figure that out later, breathless and flushed, forehead buried in his sheets while he kneels behind you, two sure hands repositioning your ass in the air like he’s smoothing kinks from an instrument only he can tune.

“Uh-uh,” he grunts, and you’re too far gone to know what he means until his palm presses between your shoulder blades and eases you down, down, down, your hips staying high as your face sinks into the pillow. “Arch for me — c’mon, deeper bend, don’t cheat your lower back.” 

Your breath catches when he palms the dip he’s just created, fingers splaying and then he’s sliding his cock in your folds slow. It earns a pleased mewl from you, angle perfect because he’s engineered it that way. 

Every push has a tiny corrective tap — shoulders down, knees wider, perfect girl — until your pussy clenches and drips all over his rigid stomach and he finally lets you break form, hips snapping while his palm settles, triumphant, at the very spot that first straightened you hours ago.

MARIA NOTE hello this is my trying out little blurbs/drabbles bc this random thought rlly evoked something in me... don't know how to feel it ab. it feels naked without my fun graphics but alas! and the tiny text??? what do we think?? yes or no i'm in the middle right now so feel free to share opinions... it looked a little strange as regular but idk i'm lowkey having an existential crisis over this ok bye

YOU CAN FIND MY JACK ABBOT MASTERLIST HERE⭑.ᐟ

[queenofvelaris]

Oh noooo I’m slouching 👀👀 I hope Jack Abbot doesn’t see me and correct it oh noooo 👀👀👀👀👀

[fangirl-dot-com]

Pin me down

tags: brett richards, jack abbot, grant riley, andrew "pope" cody, titus danforth, charlie reid, terry mccandless, sammy bryant, reader is their significant other, pet names, fem!reader, this one is significantly more mature than my other ones so 18+ MDNI

notes: another expansion of my hatosyverse! my other works for this are in my pitt masterlist, so please check those out if you enjoyed this! if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!

Brett Richards

The idea of roughhousing with Brett came from way too many hours scrolling through TikTok and way too many hours of staring at his biceps and wishing he'd put one of them around your neck. However, you'd also grown up with brothers, and the itch to just tackle someone was getting too much to ignore for long.

You knew Brett could take it; he had carried men twice his side before over his shoulder. He could definitely handle you pushing him around with hopes he'd give it back.

Your chance came two days later. Brett, the un-expecting victim, was lazily watching a football game on the TV while simultaneously running a hand up and down your stretched out legs. Your back pressed into the harder part of the couch arm wrest.

Brett had been so focus that the first time the tip of your foot dug into his side, he didn't even flinch, eyes unwavering from the screen. But when you did it again, and then a third time, and then a fourth, his eyes flickered over to where you were currently acting innocent, phone in front of your face.

On your fifth try, Brett's hand gripped around your ankle firmly enough to halt your action.

"You gonna quit it?" he muttered.

"Quit what?" you asked, finally looking over your device. "I'm not doing anything."

His hazel eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent before letting go of your ankle.

You waited a few moments before your toes found that plush spot at his ribs again. Brett's hand shot out again, catching your ankle more firmly. He shifted until he was more turned toward you.

"Do you want to change your answer, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, eyes alight with mischief. "Nope. Cause I'm not doing anything. You're feeling things, old man."

"Old man?" Brett echoed. "You're playing with fire, kid."

"Good thing you're a fire captain, Pee Paw."

That did it. One moment you were still against the couch, and the next Brett had yanked hard enough on your foot that your butt slid across the couch. Yet, years of training had you twisting and rolling off the couch in attempts to get away. A loud giggle left your lips when Brett's hand let go of you, giving you the perfect opportunity to scramble across the rug.

However, what you didn't expect was for Brett to follow right behind you. He leapt off the couch, arms winding around your waist, body weight coming crashing down on you enough that a rather loud oomf pushed from deep in your chest.

Brett fought the grin on his face as you struggled in his grasp. For a moment, he thought he might have gone too far, but the squirms and squeals and laughs that followed had him holding onto you tighter.

You only froze when his lips grazed across your ear.

"This Pee Paw took you down in five seconds, sweetheart." His breath was hot across the side of your face. "Thought you might have done better, but by the way you were squirming under me, I think that you wanted this."

You raised your chin, back of your head pressing into his shoulder. "This went better in my head."

He pressed a chaste kiss to your temple and hummed. "I'm sure it did. Now, are you going to behave and watch the game with me, or do I need to teach you a lesson?"

His voice had dipped into that timber that always brought a shudder to your body. You tried shifting one more time, plotting that if you got an inch you could get away, but Brett was one step ahead. He ground his hips into the back of yours, right arm slithering from your waist to rest around your neck. The breathy moan he pulled out of you had him devilishly grinning.

"Lesson it is."

Jack Abbot

You should have known better to mess with Jack on his first day off in weeks.

But you were antsy, wanting, and struck with the bug to do something.

Now, you were rarely a brat for him, always wanting to please especially since his job was already filled with people who just didn't listen. However, that didn't mean you had the urges to act out. Most of the time it was all harmless fun, harmless teasing that ended well for the both of you. Other times, when Jack was more prepared, you pushed his buttons and danced on the line.

Today though, you erred on the side of caution, already planning not to take things too far.

You were sitting up against the headboard while Jack was sprawled across his side, tummy down and face smooshed into his pillow. You already knew he was awake, his breathing had told you that much.

"What the fuck," you whispered, eyes pretending to trail the screen of your phone. "Huh?"

Jack moved his hand to rest on the top of your thigh. "What?" he sleepily murmured, the word muffled slightly.

Blatantly, you ignored him, choosing instead to mutter something else. "There's seriously no way."

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he had finally opened his eyes. The hazel hues were still glossed over with sleep as he looked up at you. His fingers squeezed the budge of skin.

"What?" he repeated, voice a bit more awake than the first time.

You waved him off. "Nothing."

That earned you a scoff. "You're acting like it's not nothing. Lemme see."

Your following silence irked him, you could tell. Jack used one hand to push him up so that he could lie on his side and craned his neck slightly as to possibly see what was getting you so "worked up."

Yet, the moment you caught him, you pulled your phone to your chest, the screen going dark.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What are you hiding?"

"I told you it's nothing," you snarked with a roll of your eyes.

Strike One.

He didn't believe that one bit. He pushed himself up a bit more, torso bent to the point he was already semi-hovering over your side. His free hand reached out to grab the device, but you were quicker, and the phone was jerked out of his reach.

Strike Two.

His head tilted. "Baby, I paid for that phone. Give it here."

"Nope," you responded, lightly popping the p at the end.

"I'm not playing around."

"Fuck off."

Strike Three.

In an instant, Jack was over you with his left knee pressing into the meat of your thigh while his left forearm pressed into your upper chest. You tried your best to keep the phone out of his reach, but he easily wrangled it out of your fingers with one hand.

When Jack finally opened yours phone, his face morphed from annoyance to confusion when he saw that no tabs had actually been opened. He looked past the screen and noticed the small smirk you had splashed across your face and the rapid rise and fall of your chest below his arm. You watched a lightbulb go off in his head.

You were enjoying this.

"Aw, did my baby want attention?" he mocked, lips pushing into a pout and eyes glossing with something unreadable. "Is that's why you're being a brat?"

Jack threw the phone haphazardly behind him, and you winced at the sound it made when it hit the floor. His head then dipped to the point that not even an inch separated yours and his face.

"Well, even if you didn't want it, now you have it." He licked a hot stripe up the side of your neck. "But I don't know if you'll like the outcome."

Grant Reilly

Grant and you had your places in his house. The kitchen was and always would remain his while your office-turned-home library quickly became your small paradise. However, there were times that you ventured into the kitchen for a small snack whenever you got hungry.

You couldn't help but eye the high-grade kitchen appliances as you walked toward the fridge. Each one had been perfectly curated by Grant throughout the years. You knew better than to touch any of it, but when the fridge failed to give you a snack, and the ingredients for cookies just happened to be stocked, you quickly broke rule number one.

No using the kitchen unless Grant was present.

That rule had been instated the moment you accidentally almost set fire to the whole house. But honestly, how were you supposed to know olive oil didn't have the correct "heat tolerance" while avocado oil did.

But the cookies were calling, and suddenly, you were elbow deep in flour and butter and sugar. You knew Grant would be coming home soon from the store, but cookies took time, effort, and love, and you wanted these done before he got home.

Which is why your stomach dropped down to your toes at the sound of the front door unlocking.

"Honey! I'm home!" Grant sang as he stepped through the threshold. When you failed to answer, his brows pinched tightly. "Honey!"

His footsteps echoed, each one sending a wave of worry through you. Your body froze with your hands all covered in batter when he paused right as he walked into the place between the entryway and the kitchen. You swallowed thickly when his eyes widened with shock.

"I can explain," you said.

He crossed his arms, shoulder coming to rest against the wall. "Can you?"

You bit your lip. "The fridge was empty."

"No it's not. Try again."

"There weren't any snacks."

"Nuh-uh."

You winced. "There weren't any snacks that I wanted?"

Grant sighed loudly, pushing off the wall to stalk toward you. Feeling like a prey animal, you took a small step backward. Yet, he kept going until your back pressed against the chill metal of the fridge. He was slowly getting closer, and with nowhere else to go, you darted fast to th right with a squeal.

But Grant was faster.

In one liquid motion, his arm caught your middle, pulled you to his chest with your feet kicking in the air.

"Grant!" you yelled. "Put me down!"

"Nuh-uh," he replied, already walking back over to the kitchen counter where your mess seemed to be the worst. "We have rules for a reason, honey."

You stayed airborne until he pressed you up against the counter, the marble digging into your pelvis, your feet swinging between his legs. Grant pushed his chest into your back, effectively folding you down until your cheek was resting against the cold stone. His large hand gently held you down by your hair.

"And," he continued, "you deliberately disobeyed them, yes?"

"I just wanted cookies," you whined, but a firm slap to your butt had you jolting into silence.

"I don't care if you just wanted cookies," he said right into your ear. "So, what you're going to do is start counting, and then maybe I'll let you finish making your snack."

Andrew "Pope" Cody

Your eyes raked across Andrew's large freckled arms each time they extended in order for his fist to dive deep into the punching bag.

His biceps bulged with each hit, and the grunts that followed had your thighs pressing together as you stretched out on the pool chair.

The sun was at a high UV, and summer in Oceanside was just beginning. Needing to at least get a start on your tan, you had quietly asked Andrew if you could come over to Smurf's to make good use of their pool. It had only taken a small pout and soft whine from your lips before he was agreeing, but only if he could be outside with you while you slowly cooked under the bright rays.

However, you thought that Andrew would take the hint that you wanted him next to you, also suntanning. But a few moment after getting you settled, he waltzed right over to the punching bag and started the rhythmic workout, leaving you alone and now pent up from all his noises.

You needed him over by you.

A thought quickly took over before you could think of anything else. Your feet swung over the side of the chair while your hands pushed you up into a vertical position. Your movement made the chair squeak, and Andrew's attention quickly shifted from the bag and over to your direction. .

"Where you going?" he gruffed when you stood.

Your brows picked. "I'm getting in the pool?" you said like he should have known. "I'm hot."

He almost glared at you. "Put on more sunscreen and wait before you do."

"No. I want to get in the pool now."

Andrew turned fully towards you. "You've been sitting there for almost an hour and a half. You need more sunscreen or you're going to burn. Put it on."

"I'll be fine," you reassured. "It's going to turn into a nice tan."

That didn't settle him one bit. He all but ripped the gloves off. "The risk of skin cancer rises if you don't use proper sun protection. So, put the fucking sunscreen on or—"

"Or what, Andy?" you shot back, crossing your arms. "You going to make me?"

His left eye twitched at your attitude.

Fine.

He could play this game.

Instead of answering, he started to stalk towards you with heat in his eyes. You didn't shy under his advantage, knowing that whatever he was going to do wouldn't end with you hurting. But what you didn't expect was for him to walk right past you, wrap his arms around your middle, lift you up, and place you back belly down on the chair.

"What are you doing?" you questioned, arms pushing you back up, only for Andrew to push you right back down.

Without care for the weight limit of the chair, he swung a leg over your hips and quite literally sat on your backside, meaty thighs caging you in.

You stayed put, and Andrew quickly popped the cap of your sunscreen. The scent of coconut filled his nose as he lathered the cream between his palms. Once they were white-coated, he leaned over and massaged it into your shoulders.

The need for him was gone in an instant while his fingers pressed into your soft skin. He was going to get you sunscreened up if it was the last thing he did. Yet, he didn't expect the moan that pushed through your lips once his reached your lower back. He cocked his head at the noise.

"You like this, hm?" he asked softly while his palms grabbed at your ass. "Getting all hot and bothered? It's just sunscreen."

You squeaked when he squeezed hard, and it was absolute music to his ears.

Once your back was completely done, Andrew stood just enough to flip you over before he was settling back down. He knew his swim shorts did little to hide what your noises had done to him, but getting you covered and safe was more important.

He squirted more sunscreen on his hands and went back to work. Yet, you seemed to grow louder under his mitigations, especially when his hands lingered on the sides of your breasts next to the small bikini that did little for his imagination.

"Andy," you whimpered with an upward thrust of your hips. "Want you."

Andrew leaned forward, chest pressing against yours, and smirked. He scanned your face, as though committing your pitiful and wanting expression to memory, before straightening and standing. He stepped over the chair and started to walk back to the punching bag.

"Thirty minutes!"

Titus Danforth

The words on the page blurred the longer you stared at them.

Fifteen minutes ago, you'd been blissfully reading in a small corner of Titus's study, legs bent underneath you while you sat in a sage green glider. The chair had been a present, something Titus bought to give you a place in his life. You'd sat through numerous calls and even a few meetings while patiently waiting for him to finish up.

Today, you had thought he'd be out longer; you'd seen a special block for a game of golf for the afternoon. But just as you'd turned to page 179, the doors opened to reveal a rather agitated-looking Titus with his phone pressed against his ear and face nearly red with frustration.

"No, I'm not talking about the Latvian exchange, I'm talking about the Columbian one, you insolent fool," he raged into the device.

Normally, you could have blocked him out and kept reading. Yet, every time you tried to go back to the characters, Titus's voice would cut through like a hunting knife.

"You should have known the fucking difference."

"This is why we didn't choose to go with the first contract, because obviously you can't do anything fucking right you piece of shit."

"I'm not asking you; I'm telling you that I needed the papers on my desk by tomorrow."

Normally, Titus would have thrown you an apologetic glance for the shouting, but as he continued on, he didn't even give you once look.

And somehow this irked you greatly to the point that you slammed your book closed and haphazardly threw it onto the side table with a thunk.

The noise finally caught Titus's attention, and his hazel eyes ripped from his desk and over to your corner. You sat back, arms crossing, waiting for him to mouth a sorry or roll his eyes at the voice on the phone. But all he did was look back down without a second glance.

That had you rising from the glider, and your heals clicked with every step you took over to his desk. Your hands splayed across the dark wood, nails scratching lighting against the grain. When he didn't even look at you, you continued on and around the desk.

"Absolutely not!" Titus shouted. "I'm a Danforth for fuck's sake and—" he paused at the feeling of your hands on his shoulders.

Yet, instead of being grateful for an opportunity to just hang up, he shrugged his shoulders up harshly in an attempt to get you to remove your hands.

A simmer of your own irritation bubbled beneath your skin. You were his wife, damn it, and you would not have your husband brushing off your advances. So, you did what any sane woman would do next: you put your hands back on his shoulders and slowly ran them down his chest.

This time, Titus actually stuttered out his next sentence. "N-no, that-that's not what I w-want."

He reached out and gripped one of your wrists; a silent quit it hanging between you. But you kept on going, palms running the length of his torso, and chest lowering the farther your hands went down to the point your chest dangled above his shoulders.

He glared up at you, phone still next to his ear. "Do you even know who you're talking to? Our name is on the fucking building—oh." He quickly covered the deep moan with a cough when you squeezed between his legs.

Your breath was hot against the unoccupied side of his face. You only stopped when his hand grabbed both your wrists and held them a few inches away from his body.

"We'll have to continue discussing this later," he finally said. "I have something to deal with."

Titus hung up the phone without an answer from the line and placed it screen down on the desk. His chest was now heaving with left over anger and something hotter.

"You have ten seconds before I catch you, little dove."

When your hands were free, you took off running. But even you should have known that Titus Danforth would never play by the rules. Not even five seconds later, he was bursting from his chair and taking heavy thuds after you. He gained on what little ground you'd been able to find in a matter of moments.

Titus said nothing when he caught you, not even taking the time to carry you to his bedroom. He swiftly pinned you to one of the walls, both your hands trapped in only one of his.

"You know I don't like it when you interrupt me, little dove," he panted into your ear. "You should have just stayed put in your chair, because now, I need something to take my frustration out on, and you've just volunteered yourself."

Charlie Reid

"Deputy Chief?" you asked with a small knock on Charlie's open office door. "Can I ask you a quick question?"

Charlie's hazel eyes behind the black frames lifted from the report in his hand to you almost bashfully standing in the doorway. He waved one hand in a come-forward motion. "Sure. Just close the door behind you, sweetheart."

You swiftly walked through the threshold, the door clicking shut behind you.

The bullpen behind the door had been long emptied with each detective and officer leaving after a long day. However, you'd accidentally had fallen behind with a report and found yourself staying after hours to get it done. Yet, right as you were about to complete it, something wrong had jumped out at you, hence the reason you were now sitting across from your deputy chief.

Charlie could tell that you were already nervous in his presence, and it almost made him smile at how mousy you looked with your bottom lip caught between your teeth and your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper you held and the light blush dancing across your face, probably a result from the pet name he let slip.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, brain running a million miles an hour, trying to come up with a respectful way to ask your question. You guessed Charlie must have picked up on your hesitation, because in the next moment, he took off his glasses and placed his own report down.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Um," you began. "I know it's late, b-but I was trying to finish this report, and something isn't adding up?"

The way you ending on an uplift like a question had something wicked stirring in Charlie's gut.

"Oh? Want me to take a look?" he offered, hand already outstretched.

You nodded and gave him the paper while you talked about what exactly was wrong. "Well, you see, the report states that the victim in this shooting was killed as a result of a .40 S&W."

Charlie nodded along. "I see that. What's the issue here then?"

You sucked in a deep breath. "Sir. I was one of the first ones on sight, and the injury looked more like a 9mm; probably a semi-automatic, exactly what our department uses."

Again, that awful, tight feeling clenched in Charlie's gut. Not because you were wrong; quite the opposite. He had personally paid one of his men to take out the victim you were discussing. Charlie personally ripped him a new one and taken him out of the equation when he realized he'd used his personal state-issued weapon.

Charlie thought he'd covered everything. Yet, here you were with a report that could damn his entire operation. He had to do something.

He placed the report down. "Great catch, sweetheart," he muttered, eyes boring into yours.

"Really?" you squeaked out.

Charlie smirked. "Really. This could have been missed; and that would have been detrimental to our crew here."

He pushed back from his desk, leather chair shifting as he stood up. His leather shoes clicked against the tile until he stopped right in front of your chair, body casting a towering shadow across your face. His hands rose slightly to grip onto the armrests, and his face lowered until it was just a few inches away from your face.

Charlie reveled in the slight hitch of your breath at the sudden closeness.

"Here's what we're going to do, sweetheart," he started, tongue running across his lips. "I'm going to finish up your report for you. You're going to go home, relax, sleep the night away, and when you come back tomorrow, you're not going to speak to anyone about this little error. This stays between me and you." He sent you a small wink. "It'll be our little secret, yeah?"

His words should have set off alarms in your mind, but the sheer closeness had you spinning to the point that all you could manage was a nod. Charlie clicked his tongue, and his right hand trailed up until it rested right against your neck.

"I need your words, sweetheart," he whispered. "Tell your chief exactly how you're going to be a good girl who knows how to follow my commands."

Terry McCandless

Blinding blue and red lights that danced with the distinct wail of a police car had you huffing and putting on your hazards.

The car behind you had nothing familiar to the cop cars that flew down the highways, so it must have either belonged to an undercover or a detective. You truly hoped for the latter since you knew most of them through your boyfriend.

Once your car was safely off the empty road, you placed your hands on the steering wheel. A wave of guilt rushed over you, but it also tangled with one of annoyance; you were barely going over the speed limit, and yet this one guy decided to pull you over.

Your finger tapped rhythmically against the wheel while you waited, mentally going over where exactly your license and registration was in your purse. You were so focused on not messing that part up that the two knocks against your window had you jumping with a small squeal. Your window quickly rolled down, and the face grinning back at you had you sighing in relief.

"Terry, thank God it's you," you puffed. "But why the hell are you pulling me over?"

Terry just kept grinning. "License and registration, ma'am," he sang with that southern salt.

Your brows pinched. "You're seriously doing this? You're not even a patrol officer."

"Ma'am if you're not going to comply, I'm going to need you to step out of the vehicle," he replied with a shrug, his hand resting against the place his gun sat.

"You've got to be kidding me," you shot back.

"Fraid not, ma'am." He reached through your window and unlocked your car before yanking the driver's door open. "I'm going to need you to get out."

You crossed your arms, refusing to move. "Fuck you, Terry."

Terry watched for a moment with a cocked eyebrow before he sighed. "If this is how you want to be."

He leaned in over you and unbuckled your seatbelt. His hand tightly gripped your upper arm and yanked hard, your body slipping from the seat in no time. The South Carolina sun beat down on the two of you as Terry maneuvered you until he had you pressed against the hood of your car.

"This would have been much easier if you complied, ma'am'," he muttered.

"What's next? You gonna read me my rights?" you spat with a hollow chuckle.

Your eyes widened when the cold feeling of metal tightened around your wrists and the sound of cuffs sliding into its teeth filled the air.

"Terry!" you sputtered. "What are you doing?"

He hushed you gently. "All you had to do was listen. Now, spread your legs."

In another act of defiance, you failed to follow his words. He sighed even loudly and kicked at your feet until they were spread to his likeness. You tried to lift off the car, but his large hand just pushed you right back down.

Following order, Terry started patting at your shoulders, hands trailing down in smaller pats at your sides. "Am I going to find any weapons on you?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're the one with the weapon, or are you just that excited to see me?"

"Quiet!" he ordered. "I've had enough of you mouthing off." His left hand went back up and swiftly covered the entirety of your mouth while his right hand dipped below the waistband of your pants. "Seems like I'm not the only one excited to see me, ma'am. Now hold still; I'm trying to find your license and registration."

Sammy Bryant

"Do suspects normally get caught? Or do they sometimes manage to outrun you?" you asked between bites of dinner.

The thought had been boiling in your curiosity since you happened to see Sammy running down the street, chasing who you could only guess to be a local gang member once you spotted the multiple tattoos. Sammy had actually managed to tackle the guy down to the concrete before swiftly cuffing him. However, from the multiple stories he's told you, sometimes the suspects trip or get caught by a partner in a car; none of them ended with the suspect getting away though. You wondered if it never happened or if Sammy was too embarrassed to admit it.

But now that it had been almost a week since that takedown, you couldn't keep the question in any longer. So, you decided to spring it on him during spaghetti night.

Sammy paused with a full fork hovering right in front of his mouth. "What brought this on, baby?"

"I saw you tackle that guy in front of Walgreens last week. Made me wonder."

He put the bite into his mouth. "I mean . . . sure, some of them do. Ben's had lots."

"Have you ever lost someone?" you quizzed with a smile.

Sammy shook his head. "No. Cause that's embarrassing."

You hummed, and the table went back to being quiet. Sammy's fork scraped across his plate for the last bite, his hazel eyes looking across at you.

"I know that face," he muttered.

"I don't have a face," you argued. "There's no face."

Sammy smirked. "You totally have a face. Common. Just tell me what you're thinking."

You cocked your head. "I think I could do it."

"Do what?"

"Outrun you."

That earned a disbelieving laugh. "Sure, baby."

Your fork clinked against your plate as you set it down. "Listen; with all your gear holding you back, I feel like I have a good shot. You know I did track in high school."

"Still doesn't mean you can outrun me, baby." He paused before adding, "But you could always try."

So, that's how you found yourself outside with Sammy, in all his police gear glory, standing behind you waiting for you to dash down the street.

"Do I get a head start?" you asked while stretching.

"Sure, baby. Three seconds."

You didn't even wait for him to count down for you to go before you were dashing, feet eating the concrete. Mentally, you counted down to three, but the sound of Sammy's gear clinking behind you had you pushing to go faster.

Your legs pumped and burned the longer you managed to keep pace, but as the end of the street came into view, you could tell that Sammy was gaining. However, not wanting the fun to end, you quickly changed direction right as he was about to reach you, and you took off back toward the house.

"Fuck!" you heard Sammy curse, to which you responded with a loud laugh.

The house quickly came back into view, and you slowed, thinking that Sammy was further back. But the moment your feet his the start of the walkway up towards the door, you were lifted off the ground with a firm chest against your back.

"Caught ya!" Sammy grunted.

Your chest heaved under his arms as he carried you up the porch, foot kicking the door in.

"Almost had you," you panted.

"Keep telling yourself that," he responded, still not letting you down.

The cool of your bedroom blasted against your face, and the next thing you knew you were thrown down onto the bed with Sammy climbing over you. His thick hands gripped your wrists and pulled them behind your back, pinning you in place against the comforter you picked out months ago.

"Sammy," you whined over the click of his cuffs. "Lemme go."

"Nuh-uh," he tutted. "I caught you. Think it's only fair I get to have a reward for it."

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy @hoffmanfan13 @lostfallenangelsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @isuckcigbuds @kaorisakamotofan @alexaplayldr @mszeitxt @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @in-ky

[queenofvelaris]

Oh this is delicious. I need all of them

[mariasont]

HELL ON YOU ⋆˚࿔

at a sweltering cody family pool day, pope ends up with you in his chair. your squirming quickly turns into a private torment as pope tries to hide just how hard you're making him

PAIRINGS pope cody x bunny!reader

WARNINGS 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, pre-relationship pining, lap sitting, male arousal, internal sexual thoughts, male masturbation, semi-public arousal, dub-con undertones (naive reader, power imbalance), protective pope, obsessive pope, objectification, sheltered reader, reader wears a bikini

WC 1.3k

The sun is brutal today. Molten and punishing in the way it beats itself flush against the concrete, the pool water, the bright lacquered edges of the pool chairs until everything looks bleached out and overexposed.

Pope can feel it working at him, needling into the back of his neck, gathering sweat under the collar of his shirt, making the dark arms of his sunglasses burn where they hook over his ears. 

He’s not particularly fond of heat like this — bodies gone sluggish, thoughts slow-cooked to mush — yet he refused to budge from his corner.

Stubbornness is a religion, and today’s sole article of faith is you: sweet and oblivious and in need of a sentry. So he sits, muscles held in a punishing lock, letting the sun roast him alive if that’s the tax of keeping you in his sights. 

You hover in the sunlight wrapped in a frosting-white ruffled bikini, bows resting over the triangle top covering your breasts like little ownership tags he hasn’t signed yet. Fabric scoops and skims, herding his attention along curves he’s memorised only through clothing until now. 

A dull ache starts low in his belly, half-chub straining, but he holds himself rigid. Steel spine, locked jaw. Want is allowed; acting on it is not. 

You do that little lost-kitten swivel, glancing around as your pretty features twist with frustration when the lack of seating dawns on you.

The yard is a disaster from Craig’s get-together last night. Mud-slick loungers flopped belly-up, broken or littered with party debris fermenting in the sun. 

One dented chair left, and he’s welded to it. Deran sprawls on the other, drooling through a hangover coma.

“There’s nowhere else to sit…” That faint tremor in your voice shreds what little discipline the sun hasn’t already scorched. You shift, ankle to arch, looking unsure. “Can I sit with you, Pope? Just for a bit. ‘M feet hurt.”

It’s absurd how fast he armors up. Tendons braced, breath cinched, eyes slitting as if your question carried a knife. Fight, flight, freeze. The third floods his limbs with concrete.

He clears his throat and forces his fingers to unkink from the chair arm before they leave imprints.

“Here,” he mutters, half risen, knees popping like bad fireworks. “Sit —”

But your hand flattens against the broad plate of his shoulder, forcing him back down before he can peel himself from the wicker.

“No, it’s okay,” you insist, shrugging as you slip backward into the cradle of his spread thighs, cotton-candy ruffles kissing his lap. “There’s plenty of room. You don’t have to get up.”

His eyes widen to saucers.

Plenty of room, you say. Not from where he’s sitting. Every inch of space is suddenly packed with scent, sun-oil, and the knowledge he can’t shift an inch without grinding up into you like a savage.

You’ve practically asked the lion to hold still while the lamb curls up against its teeth, and the lion is trying — Christ, he’s trying.

You melt back against him with a contented mmph.

He clamps down molars down on the inside of his cheek. Penance, placeholder, something to do that isn’t rut forward. Blood tastes copper-sharp. 

His fingers skim the satin slope of your waist, panic-brake, hover. Move you? Move himself? He can’t decide. 

He ends up abandoning the controls altogether, drops hands to his thighs and squeezes them into prison knots.

You wriggle again, your bikini bottom skating over the swell inside his shorts. Heat knifes through him, the reaction instantaneous, biochemical, a syringe of adrenaline straight to his cock.

A rifle ready to shoot before the target appears. 

“Knock it off,” he says under his breath, the words clipped, strangled almost. 

You tip your head a little, like you’re about to ask what he means, and he feels a fresh wave of panic go through him at the thought of you turning around, of those wide doe-eyes on him while he’s like this.

“Quit squirming,” he adds quickly, trying to weld the sound into irritation rather than plea. “Just… sit still, yeah?”

Your shoulders hitch a light shrug against his ribs. “M’trying to get comfy. You’re all stiff.”

Of course he fucking is.

Stiff everywhere, especially where you’ve parked.

You can’t feel the full shame of it, must think it’s the chair ridge or a clump in the cushion or maybe the twitch in his thigh. Something harmless. Something simple enough to match the sweet, bubble-wrapped world you keep your thoughts in. 

“Stiff’s the least of it,” he grunts, staring dead head. “Keep moving and I’ll end up launching you into the deep end for your own good.”

Biggest lie he’s told all week. One glimpse of you climbing out of the pool, bikini plastered, water sliding down your skin, and he’d be the one going under, drowned in his own boxers.

Your palm flattens over his knee. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“Never claimed I was a gentleman.” His hand covers yours, calloused thump sweeping once over your knuckles before retreating.

You give a breezy little hmm then shift once more, extending your legs until your toes point past the chair’s end.

He’s forced to tip back with you. Your head now resting near the firm plane of his lower stomach while your shoulder blades pillow against his lap.

You glance up, upside-down smile curving. “You always act like one with me.”

He does. Unintentionally, maybe.

You’re forever finding chilled water bottles materializing beside your lounge chair, phone charged because he jacked his own cord to keep yours alive, car warmed and idling on nights the temperature dips. The universe rearranged in small ways so your path stays smooth.

It’s disorienting. He’s spent most of his life running rough, letting silence and the hard set of his jaw do the talking. People read him as cold, and he’s been fine with that; cold keeps questions away. 

You still get that too — he can’t thaw completely — but around the frost are these bewildering warm fronts.

He keeps waiting for you to notice the contradiction, call him on it, shove him back into the fortress he knows. You never do.

You squint up at him, lips parting as if to ask what gears he’s grinding now. 

This angle gifts him a perfect panorama of soft cleavage rising and falling, generous curves swaddled in white. The bows ride the upper swell like little white flags, fluttering each time you exhale. A faint sheen of perspiration beads at the valley in between them, catching the light, sliding downward. His gaze follows, pulse kicking so hard it bruises.

One thought, just one, of how they’d feel in his palms and his cock knocks again: attention.

You frown a little. “Did I lay on your phone or something? Feels kinda… hard.” 

You wiggle experimentally as if testing the theory.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He needs to lie. Fast.

“Keys,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Forgot to take ‘em outta my pocket.”

He nudges your hip a fraction forward, as if adjustment might erase the evidence throbbing beneath you.

“Oh — big set of keys,” you giggle. “Must be heavy. Sorry, I’ll try not to lean on them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to sound casual. He’s not sure it works. “Keys can take a little pressure.” 

He’s not sure that would work either.

“Seriously, Pope, that thing’s huge. Bet it knocks against your leg when you walk.” 

You don’t know what you’re saying. He has to remind himself of that over and over and over because it’s becoming increasingly hard (no pun intended) for him to not picture those words under different circumstances.

One where you look up at him where you’re planted on your knees, face smushed against his thigh as trails of drool dribble from your mouth.

He counts backward from ten.

At six he’s pulsing. At four he’s harder than when he started.

“Gotta grab somethin’ from the house,” he mutters, palming your waist to slide you forward so gently you sigh inside of question. 

Two strides later he’s inside, door thunking shut. Cold water, cupped and splashed, hisses off his cheeks. Doesn’t put out the fire. 

He braces both palms on the sink, zipper already down.

Quick, brutal strokes on his dick while the image of white bows sticks to the backs of his eyelids. His orgasm shudders through him in thirty silent seconds. 

When he reappears outside with an orange soda, he looks every inch the silent guardian again. Except for the bloom of color on his cheekbones that won’t quite fade.

MARIA NOTE shoutout to @romantic-insomniac for this simply brilliant idea 🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷 kissing ur brain so hard rn

YOU CAN FIND MY POPE CODY MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ

[queenofvelaris]

Hot hot hot hot HOT

[sweeethearts]

hihihi!!

please may i go to a haunted hotel with some trail mix and pepperettes while listening to backseat lullaby?

tysm and congratulations!!

illicit affairs // 1.1k follower celebration

this immediately struck me as an opportunity to play around with stalker!titus, so feel free to indulge in this scenario that’s been stuck in my mind…

the first dream feels innocent enough, just hormones making things up. at least, that’s what you tell yourself afterward.

they always start blurry. warmth finding you. a pair of hands sliding slowly up your thighs while a deep voice murmurs something low against your neck. you can never really make out the words when you wake up, only the feeling they leave behind. possessive and devoted. like whoever he is already knows every inch of you.

and god, the way he touches you. not rushed or vain, but deliberate enough to make your breath hitch every single time.

his mouth drags along the sensitive spot beneath your ear and your body arches instinctively into him, needy little sounds escaping your throat before you can stop them.

you never see his face clearly. just flashes of dark eyes. the shape of a grin against your skin. a deep intake of air against the middle of your breasts. the feeling of being completely and utterly surrounded by him.

it makes you feel safe. which should probably concern you more considering you already have a boyfriend.

still, every time you wake up flushed. all dizzy and damp between your thighs, and the guilt only lasts for a few seconds before something else settles in its place.

longing.

because the dreams feel more intimate than anything you’ve shared with liam in months.

the realization hits especially hard one morning when you wake tangled in your sheets, chest still heaving slightly from the remnants of another dream only to find the other side of the bed cold and empty.

again.

your phone lights up beside you.

“Left early for the course. Don’t wait up tonight.”

no heart. no i love you. nothing.

you stare at it for a long moment while your skin still buzzes from the ghostly touch of someone who you believe doesn’t even exist.

so instead of choosing to rot in shame and remorse, you close your eyes and try to remember the sound of that voice. the feeling of being split open and kissed with a sick amount of obsession. 

your fingers slip between your thighs. anything to keep the remnants of this dream going. 

—

you first met titus danforth three months ago at his father’s golf club.

liam practically worships the place. talks about it like it’s heaven on earth every time his corporate buddies drag him away from you, keeping him there for weekends on end. 

meanwhile, you mostly spend your time wandering the massive halls of the accompanying hotel alone, while the men disappear for six-hour golf games pretending business deals can still happen on turfgrass.

that’s where you saw titus. standing near the entrance of the clubhouse in all black despite the summer heat. both hands tucked into his pockets while people subtly avoided looking directly at him, his stare piercing enough. 

you remember thinking he looked intriguing. too handsome in a way that immediately put you on edge. 

liam had waved vaguely in his direction another time. “that’s chester danforth’s son, weird fuckin’ guy.”

weird didn’t begin to cover it, because when titus looked at you—really looked at you—something cold slid down your spine.

and what’s worse? the fact that you looked back. which, apparently, is the worst thing you can do with men like titus danforth.

because looking at him feels a little like staring directly at medusa. everybody else knows better. everybody else drops their eyes immediately, keeps walking, pretends he isn’t there at all.

but you held his gaze, and the corners of his mouth had twitched so subtly, like he found something amusing about your curiosity. like your attention alone was enough to entertain him for a while.

that was the thing about titus, it's the unsettling sense that once he becomes interested in something, he doesn't really know how to let it go.

and somehow, after that weekend, he lingered in your brain longer than he should’ve.

long enough that sometimes, half asleep, you’d feel those same dark eyes watching you before those dreams of yours ever started.

long enough that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you started wondering if the man in your dreams had been him all along.

—

a couple months later, you join liam back at the club again. another golf weekend. another dinner alone while he goes off to drink overpriced whiskey with his coworkers, all of them laughing too loudly while complaining about their girlfriends or wives. 

you’re making your way towards the massive hotel pool when the ballroom doors suddenly swing open nearby. a crowd spills out onto the hallway almost immediately. women in glittering dresses, men in suits laughing over each other, workers slipping out on their way to the break room. 

someone bumps your shoulder hard enough to knock you slightly off balance. a large hand catches your waist instantly. firm and warm.

“excuse me, beautiful.”

the voice brushes low against your ear and something inside you nearly stops. your entire body locks up instantly because—you know that voice. somewhere deep in your bones, you know it.

heat flashes through you so suddenly your head almost hurts.

the dreams.

your pulse thunders violently now as your mind immediately throws you back into your dark room. heavy breathing and hands gripping your hips as a mouth devoured between your thighs. that same voice murmuring a string of praises against your pulsing clit.

your head whips around too fast, breath catching sharply in your lungs, but the hallway behind you is already empty now. the crowd disappearing into the rest of the corridors, distant music and muffled voices echoing faintly in the distance.

yet the scent of expensive cologne still lingers faintly in the air beside you and you can practically feel his mouth at your throat. taste those lips again. that same gravelly voice spilling nonsense into your skin while you writhe beneath him in aching pleasure.

what the fuck.

“titus?”

the name leaves your mouth instantly. thoughtless. automatic. like for some reason your body already knows the answer before your brain can even catch up. because of course it would be him. of course he would be here to tease you. 

you think back to the way he looked at you that night, like him infiltrating your mind was just something inevitable.

silence only answers your call. 

but somewhere above you, in a hidden corner behind the second-floor balcony overlooking the hall, titus smiles to himself. slowly, because there you are, finally catching up. 

it’s cute, really. the way your mind keeps trying to soften titus into something safer. turning the weight of his body into dreams. his hands into phantom touches. those intruding late-night visits into blurry fantasies you can wake up from flushed and confused instead of terrified.

your poor little brain trying so desperately to protect you from the truth.

you never hear the creak of the floorboards. never wake frighteningly when the mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. never see the way he stands over your bed sometimes just watching you breathe.

and god, the things he’s learned about you this way. which position makes you fall asleep the fastest. the soft whines you make when he sucks on your breasts. how easily your body opens for him from just one experienced touch. 

too asleep to catch him prying through your drawers and jewelry boxes. too distracted to notice him six steps behind you on your way to the grocery store. too busy clinging to a man who barely looks at you anymore to see the one who already treats you like something precious.

the thought of liam alone ruins titus’ mood every time he sees him. all that meek build hidden under a facade of corporate bro confidence. all those weekends spent ignoring someone men should kill for. well, someone titus would certainly murder him for. 

if liam had any idea what was happening inside his own bed at night, he’d probably lose his fucking mind. but that’s the best part. you think these little ‘dreams’ are your secret. you think you’re the only one waking up breathless from them, that your mind is making it all up. 

meanwhile titus knows every single sound you make when you come apart on his cock. the way your walls clench around him with such frantic need. leaving you more pleased than that kid could ever fathom. 

and if titus is lucky, he sticks around for the encore—finds a place to stand and watch the way you whimper into your pillow still chasing the high only he, so proudly, can give you. 

his forearms rest against the balcony railing as his gaze follows you below, amused by your confused little glances and shallow breathing while you still try to piece things together.

he’s obsessed already. there’s no denying it now.

he imagines silk dresses bought specifically for your body, hanging in closets bigger than liam’s entire apartment. your laugh echoing through the gilded age hallways while diamonds catch the light every time your hand reaches for his. your body tucked into expensive sheets while the danforth house echoes your angelic cries.

like you were always meant to belong there, with him, and underneath all that ugly yearning sits the simplest thought of all: how easy it would be to get rid of the boyfriend entirely.

you just don’t know it yet, but you will. soon enough.

[queenofvelaris]

Oh okay so yeah I’m gonna need like five more of this specific scenario, fuckkkk 🥵

[mariasont]

TENDER IS THE CONCRETE ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you scrape your knees by the pool, pope attempts to fix it

pairings: pope cody x bunny reader

warnings: fem!reader, reader wearing a dress, minor injury, scraped knees, blood, wound clearning, hurt/comfort, protective pope cody, possessive thoughts, pope calls read kid, pope calls reader doll, reader has freckles bc i wanted to be self indulgent!!!!, grumpy caretaker pope

wc: 2k

Pope finds you sitting on the low concrete step out back with your legs folded to one side. Delicate and stunned-looking in the harsh afternoon lift. A figurine dropped by accident and left there because nobody wanted to be the first to check for cracks.

You haven’t been drinking, he knows that much. You don’t really drink to begin with. Not in excess, anyway.

He scans you to find the problem. Head. Fine. Chest. More than fine. Stomach. Normal.

Knees.

Your knees are scraped raw.

The marks are not serious, technically. But serious enough that the skin has split open into two wet little blooms, blood bright against the grit, dust clinging where it shouldn’t. It runs down your shins in thin, crooked tributaries, and he hates it. 

Hates the sight so sharply it feels like a physical punch. Hates that the world got its hands on you for five seconds and already made a mess of what it shouldn’t have touched. Someone like you who is so pure and untouched.

Pope stops where he is.

His hand closes at his side. Opens again. That is his first correction. The second is his face, which he makes blank, or tries to, because you’re already looking up at him, head snapping back too hard, and his mind supplies the sound of it hitting the door before it happens. 

It doesn’t happen. Still, his jaw tightens. Careless with yourself, he thinks. 

You swipe at your face with the heel of your hand, and say, “I’m fine.”

No, you’re not, he wants to say. Who the fuck taught you to say that so fast?

Instead he takes a few careful steps toward you, keeping his face still, keeping everything locked down, even as the agitation climbs up the back of his neck.

If he gets close enough, he’ll be able to see it clearly. Where the damage starts. Who he’s supposed to blame.

“What happened, kid?”

You sniff once and straighten your back. Brave little thing. Ridiculous little thing. “Nothing.”

Pope doesn’t respond. His eyes stay on you, molten enough to become a thing in the yard, another source of heat in the sun, and he can feel himself doing it only after your fingers move to your mouth. One neat pink nail presses into the swell of your lip, picks at it, worries the softness there.

He wants to tell you to stop. Wants to take your hand away from your mouth. Wants too many things, which is usually the first sign that he should do nothing at all. So he waits for you to fold.

He knows the first answer was bullshit. Flimsy as tissue paper and he lets it tear on its own.

“I tripped,” you admit finally.

“Where?” he asks.

Your lashes are wet when you blink up at him, clumped together in little dark points, and your mouth does that small uncertain thing, twitching at one corner like you’re embarrassed to explain yourself.

“By the pool,” you say. “There was, like, a crack. Or something.”

He knows the crack. He can see it without looking, some warped seam in the concrete by the shallow end, something everyone steps over, steps around, ignores because it’s just part of the house being what it is. Broken things everywhere. Broken people too. 

But you didn’t know to look for it. You move through the Cody house like bad things are theoretical, like the ground itself wouldn’t dare rise up and bite you. It did anyway. 

Pope lets out a slow breath through his nose and drops into a crouch in front of you. 

Bad idea, probably. Everything is worse down here. It’s inflamed, scratches packed with dirt, blood drying in jagged lines.

You don’t like that part. The mess. He can tell by way your hands twitch helplessly in your lap, like you want to wipe it away, clean it up, make yourself presentable again, but the pain is winning. 

Your dress, meanwhile, is perfect. Some pink little sundress cut high over your thighs. No wrinkles or stray staining.

From where he is, he could see up it if he tried. He doesn’t. He keeps his eyes where they belong, on the blood, on the damage, on the part of you he can pretend is the only thing he wants to touch. For now. 

You try to pull your leg back the second he reaches for your ankle, some quick little prey-animal flinch that might’ve worked on someone less ready for it.

Pope catches you easily. His hand wraps firm before you can get very far. Not hard enough to hurt, not gentle enough to suggest he’s asking.

“Quit that.”

“It stings,” you protest.

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That tends to happen when you eat shit.”

Your bottom lip wobbles. You gather it back up so quickly it almost disappears, smoothing the expression off your face like a ripple flattening on water, and Christ, you’re pretty when you cry.

It’s a rotten thought. He knows that. He knows that, and still his body reacts before morality can catch up, because his body is old violence and bad wiring and appetite with a pulse. 

He drags his thumb down the line of your calf, feather-light, careful to avoid the scrape itself, as if gentleness in one place could cancel out the ugliness in another, as if he could make himself clean by touching you like you’re made of glass. 

“You cryin’?” Rhetorical. More of an indictment.

“No.”

“You are.”

“‘M not.” A tear slips free and runs down your cheek as you say it.

Pope watches the trajectory, the thin shine over warm skin. He wants to lean in and taste it. Salt. Flesh. Proof. He kills the urge under the toe of his boot.

You stare past him, surely furious with yourself for the anatomical betrayal.

He lets out a short, humorless breath that almost passes for a laugh and shakes his head. “Tough girl, huh?”

You nod right away, stubborn as hell. “Mhm.” 

Another tear comes down. That settles it. Pope looks at it, then at you. Tough girl. Sure. Tough like a rabbit holding still under a hawk shadow. 

“C’mere,” he says.

“Why?”

“So I can clean it.”

Your eyes widen immediately, suspicious now, all that fragile toughness collapsing into practical fear.  “Is it gonna hurt?”

“It’ll hurt more if I don’t.”

He’s not actually sure that’s true, but he doesn’t know how else to sell this to you. He just knows he doesn’t want you leaving gravel in there and calling it day.

This patio has probably seen every kind of gross substance known to man. Beer, mud, oil, spit, ash, drugs, blood. A dozen things he doesn’t want in your skin. Enough random bacteria to make him think infection before anything else. Enough that he can already picture your knees tomorrow, swollen and pink and you still insisting it’s nothing.

It seems convincing enough for you because you let him pull you up, though you hiss when your knees straighten.

Stiff little steps. Swallowed noises. A terrible attempt at limping in a way he won’t notice, as if Pope has ever missed anything in his life, as if he might tease you for it. 

He probably will, a little, because sometimes teasing gets you moving better than sympathy does, but not much. 

Inside, he sets you on the bathroom counter and starts digging through the cabinet for peroxide and gauze. The bathroom is too small for both of you. It shows in the way he can clearly inhale the flowery perfume you have on. Sprayed at the base of your throat and insides of your wrists, most likely.

When he turns back, you’ve gone very still, hands braced on either side of your hips, shoulders pulled up nearly to your ears, eyes fixed on the brown bottle like it might lunge at you. 

“I don’t like that.”

“No one likes it.” 

You pull a face, and your foot kicks forward once, restless and nervous. Your heel brushes his side. Barely. An accident. Pope feels it through his shirt like a warning shot. You retract your foot immediately. 

“Well, I like it less than most people,” you mutter.

He steps in between your knees before you can fuss any more, the cap twisting loose between his fingers. 

“I think you’re being a little bit of a baby,” he says, then, before you can get offended, adds, “which is fine.” The cap clicks against the counter. “You can sit there and look at me like I’m about to torture you if that helps. But I’m still gonna clean it.” His eyes flick to your mouth, to the pout already threatening there. “You can do that too. Still not gettin’ out of it.”

You seem to consider pushing back one more time, then don’t. 

“...Kay,” you say, barely above a mumble. Giving in. Like you’ve made up your mind, like you’ve already accepted he knows what’s happening next better than you do and you’re fine with that. 

He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hold still.”

The peroxide strikes the raw skin and you jolt under his hand, a soft whimper escaping before you can swallow it back, your eyes pinching shut like that might save you from the burning.

Pope gets a hand around your thigh before you can yank it your leg back, a quick learner when it comes to your habits.

“Easy,” he says, tipping the bottle back. “You’re alright.” Another careful pour, less this time. Another little flinch. “You’re doing good, doll. Almost done with the worst of it.”

Your lips push out further, eyes going a little softer and shinier. You shift toward him, knees parting just a little more around where he stands, one hand coming off the counter to catch at his side, then his shirt, then just staying there.

He wipes away the last of the pink fizz and dirt in slow passes. 

“There. See? Survived.” He reaches for the bandaids, peels one open with his teeth, and smooths it over the first scrape with the flare of his thumb. Then the second, just as careful. “Wasn’t so bad.”

“Easy for you to say.” Your hand stays bunched in his shirt, fingers curled into the cotton like you forgot you were holding on or decided not to care. 

Pope looks down at it for half a second too long, then back to the bandaid before it can become anything. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, kid.” He presses the left bandaid down where it’s already trying to peel at the edge.  “Next time watch where you’re going, yeah? Makes my life easier.”

Your nose wrinkles. It’s cute. Freckles dotted across the bridge, fanning outward in a constellation of sorts. “Sounds like victim blaming to me.”

“You can be a victim and careless with your well-being at the same time.”

You cock your head at him, considering this, “So… are you done now?”

“Mhm. Done.” His hands settle at your waist and lifts you back off the counter, steadying you once wobbling feet hit the floor. 

You look up at him then, and your mouth softens into a small, toothless smile. It’s already too much for him. Already better than the pinched-up expressions you’ve been wearing since he found you outside. 

He almost makes the mistake of pointing it out. Before he can, you rise to your tip toes, light hands still at his sides for balance, and press those pretty lips to his cheek, just off his mouth. 

When you pull away, your teeth find your lower lip and you look at him from under your lashes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

He wants, suddenly and stupidly, to tell you not to thank him for things like that, not for basic shit, not for cleaning blood off your knees like it’s some grand gesture. But then again maybe in your life it is. Maybe that’s the part that makes something protective rise in him. 

So all he says is, “Yeah,” low and rough, like the word cost him a little. He keeps a hand at your waist a second longer than necessary before he lets you go. Watches you walk away. 

Later, when you’re distracted somewhere inside the house, he goes back out and finds the crack by the pool.

He fixes it the next day. 

A/N - popping my pope cody fanfic cherry!!!!!! yipee

FIND MY MASTERLIST HERE!

[queenofvelaris]

my two new favs

[mariasont]

heaven, help us

you and hotch get shoved into a closet by tipsy neighbors for seven minutes in heaven

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, forced proximity, mutual pining, age gap (implied/discussed), fake marriage, kissing (yip yip hooray) prompt: here wc: 1.4k

“I’m too old for this.”

And he is. Hotch in a coat closet is the equivalent of a tuxedo in a gym locker, wrong on every level. Too tall, too put-together, too… well, Hotch. 

He’s practically folded in on himself, shoulders hunched awkwardly between what looks like a graveyard of patterned umbrellas and something long and plastic that keeps thudding against his ribs every time either of you breathe. Possibly a mop. Possibly a murder weapon.

He shifts, just barely, but in this microscopic space, it feels seismic. His spine bends, or rather, fights to bend. You can practically hear his bones protesting, each vertebra seemingly negotiating its position with grim reluctance. 

His right arm stays tucked tightly across his chest, a shield or maybe a boundary, while his left is planted against the wall behind you, palm against peeling wallpaper.

The dying bulb overhead sputters every so often, bathing his face in pulses of golden halos, throwing his face into motion. Light, shadow, light again.

You don’t laugh, even though it is objectively funny to see Aaron Hotchner forced into an awkward teen party game.

But you clamp your mouth shut, because laughter feels like a gateway drug to disaster. First, it’s a giggle, then suddenly you’re blurting out something dumb like, You smell incredible, or, I feel really safe with your biceps blocking my peripheral vision.

And you can’t exactly come back from that.

“I sort of assumed we’d all have outgrown party games by now.” 

Hotch lets out a breath, more amused than surprised. “If you’re feeling too mature for this, we might be in trouble.”

You try to swallow your kneejerk wince, but it makes it halfway to your face anyway. It wasn’t a rebuke, not really. But you hear it anyway. And okay, yes, you’re not exactly the spontaneous one, and sure, maybe you flinched earlier when someone suggested seven minutes in heaven like it was a hostage situation, but you hadn’t meant to sound like you thought you were above it all.

Now you just sound like the kid who brings a tax seminar to a pizza party.

You bite your tongue before it gets worse. Before you apologize for something he didn’t even say. Or worse, explain that you’re just nervous, and new, and operating on pure caffeine and performance anxiety, and that, no, you do like games actually — especially if the prize is standing this close to him.

Which, yeah. Not helpful.

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me. That’s a little scary, huh?”

He shoots you a sideways look. “Terrifying. We don’t need two cynics in the room.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. “You’re not a cynic. You’re just… practical. And maybe a teensy bit grumpy.”

“Grumpy is reasonable when neighbors equate hedge-trimming with virtue.”

You giggle before you can stop it, a sound that spills from your chest outward like it doesn't belong to you.  “To be fair, our hedges are pretty bad. I’d judge us too.”

“Funny.” He moves the arm above your head, sleeve brushing against your ear.

You try for casual. Miss by a mile. “Besides, they’re not all bad. The neighbors.”

“Good to hear,” he murmurs, mouth quirking. “Didn’t want to lose you to the dark side just yet.”

“I don’t know,” you say, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to corrupt me sooner or later.”

And then your mouth is slamming shut before the sentence even finishes echoing in your skull. 

Fantastic. Inspired. A masterclass in how to ruin your own life with a single throwaway comment.

You can feel the horror starting behind your eyes, blooming like a heat rash straight to your scalp. You want to disappear. Melt into the wallpaper. Possibly take the mop handle and knock yourself out with it before he even reacts.

Then he does. Barely. A ticked upward eyebrow. That steady gaze that says he’s thinking something but will never, ever tell you what. 

“I mean — not corruption in, like, a — well, you know —” you blurt, already waving your hands like you can swat the implications away mid-air. “— other context. Totally professional, metaphorical corruption. Because we’re colleagues. And you’re my boss. Who I respect. Very much. Sir.”

You’re almost certain your face could boil water at this point. If someone held a teabag to your cheek, they’d have a piping hot cup of peppermint humiliation in under a minute.

You stare at the closet door like it's some kind of emergency exit — like if you squint hard enough, it'll feel bad for you and just… crack open out of sympathy.

Come on, you think. Universe, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be normal from now on. 

Then you clear your throat, and it comes out way louder than you meant. It echoes off the closet walls like a gunshot.

You cringe. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s been seven minutes.”

Your fingers fumble for the doorknob.

“Wait.” 

“Hotch,” you whisper, not meaning to sound like you’re begging, but… yeah. It kind of comes out that way. A drawn-out, desperate little string of vowels that says please let me leave.

When you finally risk a glance, there’s a little twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s holding back a laugh so hard it might actually hurt.

“We’re supposed to be newlyweds.”

“Yeah?”

“Newlyweds don’t usually rush out of situations like this looking so… uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

He gives you a look. “No? Then maybe we should look the part a bit better.”

Your first instinct is to ask what he means. Because that’s what you do when you’re confused. You ask questions, stack them in neat little rows until you make sense of the moment. 

However, this time you don’t get the chance. One blink, and suddenly he’s moving you, the world tilting as he turns and crowds you flush against the door. 

The startled gasp gets swallowed by his mouth, lips crashing into yours. It’s not cautious, nor polite, not the kind of kiss you would ever expect from Aaron Hotchner of all people. No, it’s all-or-nothing, cinematic, hero-defuses-the-bomb kind of kiss, and you’re pretty sure your brain is detonating in return, bursting into tiny pieces of exhilaration. 

You’d compare it to fireworks, maybe, except fireworks are tame compared to whatever chemical warfare your body is undergoing right now.

Fake, you remind yourself. This is fake. All for the mission. You know that. Sort of. Maybe not though because at some point your fingers have knotted themselves into his shirt.

And if it’s fake, then why here? Why now, in a closet with no audience, no suspects, no point except for — you can’t even finish that thought. Not when every thud of your heartbeat (or maybe his, who can tell, you’ve fully lost track of the ownership at this point) is rattling through your chest. 

Then, too quickly, he pulls back just an inch, forehead pressed to yours. “Sorry I —,” he pauses, “We shouldn’t.”

“We aren’t,” you say quickly. “I mean, we’re just —” your tongue sticks for a second, “ — just playing our roles, right?”

You tack the right on like a parachute, yanked too hard, too late, and no guarantee it’ll open. You want him to agree. You don’t want him to agree. Both realities terrify you equally.

He nods. “Right.”

You sense more than see him move, his hands moving to your blouse, adjusting the fabric that had twisted in your haste.

Meanwhile your skin buzzes and your lips tingle. The highest you’ve ever felt, if anyone were to ask.

You clear your throat. “Okay, well,” you say. “I think we nailed the assignment.”

Hotch finally looks at you, his mouth forming something between a smirk and a smile, though he says nothing.

You lunge for the door handle, because if you stay in the closet one second longer you’re going to start confessing your undying devotion, and nobody asked for that.

The hinges groan, light spills in, and you — fool, absolute clown — lean the tiniest bit closer and whisper, “Let me know if you need to rehearse again.”

And then you vanish into the hallway like a magician fleeing her own trick. Because yes, you are brave, but you are not brave enough to stand there and watch Aaron Hotchner process that.

[queenofvelaris]

HEYYYYYYYY IM BARKING LIKE A RABID DOG YEP YEP YEP

this was DELICIOUSSSSSSS and that cheeky remark at the end!!! God I’d love to see Hotch’s face as he tries to process that 😈

Ur a genius and I love you MWAH

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Vixen's Final Refrain

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Mal's Notes: You guys, I'm so sorry this one took so long, life has been... crazy. I haven't had near the same amount of free time to write that I normally have... It's been nuts and this fic spiraled out of my control. That being said, at some points you may be asking, "Mal, is that even physically possible? Does physics allow for that?" I can assure you, the answer is yes. 😏😉

Love,

Mal ❤️

P.S. Please excuse the massive text blocks throughout this... tumblr hates me and only allows 1000 text blocks per post.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, DDNE (for violence), Canon typical violence, eventual smut (it's in there I promise), p in v sex, vaginal fingering, Oral sex both F and M receiving, shower shenanigans, interesting positions, unprotected sex... (i think this might be considered a breeding kink) angst, so much angst, fluff,

Additional Tags: Happy Ending.

Credits: Thank you so much to the loves of my life, @theghostofcosmichorrorpast @cringeiknow @snailsinamarchingband You make life so much funnier, especially in the comments of the beta doc.

WC: 25.3k

AO3

Mal's Masterlist

Not knowing was killing him. 

Not knowing where you were, or what you were doing. Not knowing if you were safe at any given moment, or if the next time someone came into his office they’d be there to tell him you were dead. He flinched every time his phone rang, every time Strauss called him to her office, or she came down to his. 

Aaron was miserable. 

But he lived and breathed for your letters. 

The first one was short and sweet, just two paragraphs. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I’ve made it to my first nest. They told me I can spruce it up as soon as they get my finances all sorted out. It’s cute, a little bare, but cute. I don’t know when you’ll get this, but I miss you already. This sucks. I keep thinking about how long this could take, and I have to remind myself that our friends accomplish the impossible on a daily basis. Maybe I’ll be home before Christmas… Who knows? They tell me I can’t sign or address any of these letters. No names, locations, times or dates. Just in case. So code names it is. 

I have to cut this short, the Marshals are literally sitting here waiting on me to finish this letter before they leave. I already made them stop on the way here so I could buy paper, a pen and an envelope… So I feel like I’m being an inconvenience. (Also I made a big deal about being hungry a few miles in because Strauss interrupted dinner.) I just wanted you to know that I’m safe, the place I’m staying is nice, and I miss you so much already. Tell the others I’ll write them the next time I get a chance. 

  Missing you, 

Sweetheart

He’d gotten it a week after you’d left, so it didn’t bring him much comfort as you’d been on your own for that long. The Marshal who’d brought it to him had apologized that it had been so late, but she’d assured him that you’d made every check in call on the burner they’d given you. In fact, she’d just spoken to you that morning. She had the compassion to sit there and wait as he wrote a response. She’d even explained that you and she had worked out a dead-drop system so that people wouldn’t see you together so much. So that had become his life, wake up without you, smile for Jack (who was once again his only reason to do so), go to work, work this case like his life depended on it, work other cases like normal, field questions from the team, and wait for your letters.  

By your eighth letter, you’d been gone for two months. 

Two months of not knowing where you were, how you were doing, if you were truly okay or just talking a big game for him in your letters. 

Hey there Tomcat,

I took up running this week just to get out of the nest, I know what you’re thinking, ‘You, running? Yeah right!’ Well you’d be wrong. I am, in fact, doing it. Figured I should get my stamina up so I can keep up with you when I come home… would be embarrassing to be outlasted by an old man. Even one as fit as you. That and boredom does funny things to a girl. 

Like last night, I got bored… and restless. So I ran out to the corner store and made a purchase—of the fun variety—don’t worry I was packing and the sun hadn’t gone down yet. When I came back I put that purchase to very good use while thinking about the twenty four hours we spent holed up in my apartment. It only made me miss you more. The purchase doesn’t make me see God like you do. Truly a travesty. Alas, I will survive. 

I watched a documentary about whale sharks a few days ago, it was very interesting. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from The Good Doctor in the next few days. I recommended it to him in my recent letter, and you know him… He’ll watch it, just so he can respond to me about it. Then he’ll educate the rest of you with fun facts for the next week. You’re welcome! *Evil cackle here* 

I miss you all desperately, I find myself doing things just because it reminds me of you all. I did find an MMA gym, like you told me to, being there reminds me of DM. I go out for retail therapy every weekend, I rarely buy anything but it makes me feel closer to the girls. It still doesn’t taste as good as his, but I make Papa Pasta’s recipe every Sunday night. He sends me a new one in every letter, but the one he gave me when I left is still my favorite. 

Did you know that I absolutely abhor cooking? Hate it! Baking? Sure! You mix some things together and throw it in the oven for a given time. No guess work. But cooking… ughhh. I suppose I’d have to learn eventually and now is as good a time as any, I did intend on having children someday. Fast food and take out is probably not very nutritious for little bodies… (or grown bodies but I’m not that concerned about it) 

I might get a job, just to stave off the boredom. Maybe waitressing or something? I really only have the skill set for two jobs. Neither of them is a good option for me right now though. Both of them got me into this mess. So here we are. 

Oh, I have to go! I forgot I made a hair appointment! The Marshals said it would be good to keep changing my appearance. I was blonde last month. I’m thinking I might go red this time. Like natural red, not stripper red. However… no I’m just kidding! I was actually thinking of going dark and adding silver highlights throughout to make myself appear a bit older. I’ll let you know how that goes! 

Love, 

Sweetheart

He’d been so busy laughing at your antics, that he’d almost missed it. 

Love. 

You’d signed it with love.

It wasn’t quite the same as I love you, but it was enough to make his heart race. 

Your fourteenth letter had come when you’d been gone almost four months. 

Hey Tomcat, 

Missing you a bit more today. I am so lonely here. I can’t wait to come home. Tell me something good? I could really use a pick me up.

Got the blues, 

Sweetheart

It was more of a note than a letter, and it worried him. 

Then you’d gone quiet for weeks. 

The team had caught him checking suspicious deaths and homicides all over the country, even though he knew the Marshals would notify him if you were hurt or killed. They hadn’t judged him, in fact, they'd made a map. Each of them had a region of the U.S. to check for any sign of you. They each checked daily—religiously—but nothing. For six weeks everything was clear and there was no sign of you. No sign was a good sign. But then one day Spencer made such a commotion in the bullpen that it could have only been about you. 

“Hotch!” He yelped, “Hotch!” 

He stood up so quickly that his chair had rolled halfway across the room and slammed into Anderson—who just happened to be walking through—then he tripped over his own ankle and stumbled into Morgan who stabilized him quickly. Once righted, he was running through the bullpen and up the stairs. Dave had come out of his office, the others were all standing and even Penelope made an appearance. He came stumbling up the stairs and caught himself on the doorframe where he panted briefly before he began to stutter, a string of syllables that didn’t make any sense when put together. 

“Reid.” Aaron said sternly. “Breathe.” 

Spencer took a gasping breath, and then another. 

“Now talk.” 

“I think I found her.” Spencer breathed. Aaron felt the whole world cave in around him. He stood on unsteady legs. 

“Is she…?” He didn’t really know how to finish that sentence. 

Dead? Alive? Hurt? Safe?

God he was clinging to the words safe and alive like a life line. Desperate for them to be true. 

“I don’t know.” Spencer answered. “I’m not even sure if it's her but… I found an article from a local news station in Alabama. There was a triple homicide in a small town, the police are claiming gang violence…”

“But?” Aaron asked nervously. 

“But, witnesses claim a young woman—who has yet to be identified—had been living in the house where the bodies were found. The deceased are all men, late twenties to mid thirties. They’re not from the area, and they were killed with a nine millimeter weapon. Two of them didn’t even make it past the threshold of the home before they were killed, the third was found in the kitchen. Several hand guns with their fingerprints and DNA were found with the bodies. A woman who’d been walking her dog at the time of the shooting said she saw the young woman who had been living in the house flee the scene on foot. Unharmed.” Spencer explained, “But there’s no description of the woman because the police deny her existence.” 

“When did this happen?” Aaron asked. 

“Five weeks ago…” Spencer murmured. 

“It’s her.” He confirmed, “It has to be. I want everyone on this, we don’t stop making calls until we have answers, I don’t care if we have to fly out to Alabama. We don’t rest until we know she’s okay.”

Five weeks earlier…

Apparently, rock bottom had a basement… 

And you were living in it. 

They’d found you. 

You’d seen the first of them at a coffee shop, then again at the grocery store and that time he had a friend. You’d next seen them both while out for your run that night at the park. With a third man. 

Once is chance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern. 

You were being followed. 

You did everything Emily had taught you—used every trick in her playbook—but you couldn’t shake them. 

You knew that if they’d been following you all day, they knew where you were staying. So you weren’t hurting anything by going back there, to give yourself an advantage. They were standing across the street, next to a charcoal grey 4Runner that you’d not noticed before. 

Upon closer study, you recognized one of them. He was a known enforcer for the ring. They were definitely there to kill you then. They were probably only waiting for the sun to go down. 

That was their mistake. 

You may have been alone, but you weren’t helpless. 

You barricaded the doors at different strengths to create a time delay, just in case they all came through a different door. You pushed the couch in front of one, a dresser in front of the second and simply hooked a kitchen chair under the knob of the third. Emily had taught you to put something breakable on the edge of whatever you used to barricade the door. So you had put a plate on each one, balancing them precariously so that the slightest movement would send them crashing to the floor.

 The house was laid out in such a way that you could see all three doors from your spot behind the long island in the galley style kitchen. You were using the island itself as cover, crouching behind it, with every weapon you had laid out on the floor in a neat line next to you. There were four; your Glock 19 service weapon, and two more nine millimeters that Aaron had insisted you take with you—which you were so thankful for now—and your own back up, which was a small caliber pocket sized semi automatic pistol.  

You had sent the Marshals an SOS with the burner they’d given you… but you knew there was no way they’d make it to you in time. 

You were on your own.

For the next hour you watched the sunlight drag across the floor, waiting as the shadows grew long and dark. 

Then night fell. 

You didn’t know when they’d come for you. If they would wait until your neighbors were long asleep, or if they’d come now, when everyone was too busy with dinner, showers and other evening routines to notice three men sneaking around in the dark. 

It didn’t matter.

Your hands trembled as you checked each gun one last time, which made it significantly harder. 

You went over your plan, step by step, every possible outcome, situation, and variation. 

It was a plan you’d formed by asking yourself exactly what each member of your team would do, then you’d taken the answers and meshed them all together. 

You just prayed that it’d work. 

The silence was almost suffocating as you waited… but when you heard the tell tale scratch of a lock pick, you nearly jumped out of your skin. 

Your heart pounded so loudly all you could hear was the drumming of it. 

“Listen to me for a second.” Aaron murmured, taking your chin in his hand and looking you in the eyes. “If the time comes when they find you, and running isn’t an option, your fight or flight response will kick in. You’ve never been through something like this before. It isn’t like facing an unsub, it isn’t going to feel the same… There will be no one to protect but yourself, and you will be all alone facing people whose sole purpose is to kill you. You don’t know what your response to that kind of stress will be until it happens. If you start to freeze, I need you to remember how to snap yourself out of it.” 

You could hear him as clearly as if he were there with you, see him in the back of your mind—with the earmuffs and dorky looking safety glasses he’d had on in the shooting range—looking at you so intensely you thought lasers might’ve come out of his eyes. 

“First, If you’re in a situation where you don’t have time for anything else, you cause yourself pain if you have to. Shock your system into reacting differently.” He instructed, then put his hand on your abdomen, just over your diaphragm. “If you’ve got more than a minute, you breathe deep—from right here—in through your nose and you hold it, out through your mouth after four, repeat, and your head should start to clear. Go over everything you know to be true about the situation inside your head and find the easiest solution. Walk yourself through it, step by step, your brain won’t have time to panic if you give it a job to do… Do you understand?” 

You nodded, that yes, you did understand. Then you started to pull away, to go back to the repetition of drawing from your ankle, then your thigh, then your waist and your chest. He held you firm. 

“Promise me that you will shoot to kill. They will not spare you, so do not spare them. You do what is necessary to survive.” He demanded. 

You stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Aaron…” You hesitated, the last—and only—time you had shot another person—an unsub—you hadn’t shot to kill, only to injure, to subdue. The guilt had haunted you for weeks. 

He knew that.

“Promise me.” He had seemed desperate, there was wild unchecked fear in his eyes where only a moment before there had been determination. “You cannot afford to do anything less.”

“I promise.” You whispered. 

“Good.” 

His words were what brought you back to yourself. 

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs until you felt your diaphragm start to burn as it stretched—1, 2, 3, 4—in through your nose, and—1, 2, 3, 4—out through your mouth.

The facts were that you were alone. You came to terms with that as you took another deep breath and reached for your service weapon, gripping it firmly in your palm. 

There was nothing you could do to change that. 

Three men were about to break in and they would try to kill you. The only thing you could do about that… was kill them first. You turned to face the door where the sound had originated from, and took another breath. 1, 2, 3, 4.

It was the door with the kitchen chair. 1, 2, 3, 4. 

Your gun was aimed and ready when the door knob turned. The chair gave you an extra 30 seconds. 

1, 2, 3, 4.

The plate fell to the floor and shattered with a crash. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

The door flew open, he’d kicked it in. 

Gun. He had a gun. 

You pulled the trigger seven times.

He dropped to the ground, half of him inside the house, the other half not. 

You looked away.

The others knew you were ready for them now and they were done being subtle. 

A rock flew through the window next to the second door, smashing the glass. Then a booted foot kicked in the rest of it as a man climbed through. 

You saw the shine of gunmetal in his fist as his upper body came into view. 

That was all you needed to see. 

You emptied the mag on him, pulling the trigger until it clicked and the slide locked in the open position. 

He fell across the window sill, hanging there limply like a ragdoll. Blood was dripping to the floor… he was dead. 

Your ears started ringing, your chest was tight. 

Breathe. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4.

Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

Wait. 

Where was the third man?

Something stung your arm and glass shattered in the cabinet slightly in front of you. 

Turning around you saw that the third man had snuck in—stepping over the body of the first—and was waiting just inside the door with his gun pointed in your direction. 

You went to fire, but realized you were empty. Ducking behind the counter just as he pulled the trigger, you grabbed your second gun and steadied yourself. 

Bullets peppered the other side of the counter, which–luckily–was thick enough to protect you. You picked up the other two guns, stuffing the smallest one into your bra and the second one into your waist band. The empty one you left on the floor. 

From his position, he couldn’t see as you crouched and made your way out of the kitchen–carefully avoiding the casings strown around you–and into the adjacent dining room, where you took up a position behind the wall. Just beside the doorframe. 

You were panting, your heart was racing, blood rushing in your ears. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

1, 2, 3, 4. 

You closed your eyes. 

Crickets were chirping in the yard, the wind was blowing—you could hear it in your neighbors wind chimes—but inside, the house was silent. 

Until you heard the floor creak, then the crunch of broken glass, the click of a fresh mag being loaded, the slide and snap of a round being chambered. 

He was coming. 

You heard his footsteps–light, but not silent–making their way through the living room and toward the kitchen. 

He didn’t know you’d moved, didn’t know you had three more guns and extra rounds… but if he were smart, he’d count on it. 

The dining room connected to the hallway your bedroom was in, which in turn connected to the living room. 

Your feet were silent as you crept through to the hall and waited there until he was nearly in the kitchen. Then you ducked into the living room and crouched behind the recliner. You could see him now—as you peeked around the side of the chair—his back was to you, and he had almost made it around the island to your former position. 

“What the fuck?!” He hissed as he realized you were no longer there. 

You stood from your crouch and took aim. 

But you would not shoot a man in the back. 

“Over here, fucker.” 

He whipped around in your direction, and it was the last thing he ever did.

Before you did anything else, you checked all three bodies… just to be sure they were really dead. When you were certain of that fact, you went to the room you’d considered yours for the last five months and grabbed your bag. The one you’d never unpacked, the one that sat just inside the door, ready to be taken at a moment's notice. It held clothes, shoes, a new burner phone, and the manila envelope JJ had given you. As well as the letter’s from your team. Then you made your way back to the kitchen, picked up your empty service weapon and put it in the bag. You called the Marshals as you walked out the door, stepping over the first dead man as you went. 

“I’m alive.” Was the first thing you said when your contact answered. “They’re not.”

“We’re almost there, just fifteen minutes out.” She responded, “Are you hurt?” 

You didn’t actually know the answer to that. So you took a moment to check for injuries that the adrenaline was still concealing. Blood had bloomed on your sleeve. You pulled your sleeve up and saw that it was just a graze. 

“I’m fine.” You answered her. “Tell my team that I’m okay. I’ll make contact when I’m sure I’m safe.” 

“Agent, stay put. We’ll be there to get you in just a few minutes.” She instructed. 

“I can’t do that.” You disagreed. “I don’t know if there are more of them, but they know where I am. That may not be the program’s fault, but if it is… I’m safer on my own.” 

“Agent! Don’t-” You hung up on her, mid sentence, and dropped the old burner on the side walk. 

Then you disappeared into the night.

Aaron was going to lose his mind. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST HER?” 

Derek was shouting at the Marshal on the other end of the line. 

“We didn’t lose her. She went off grid… on purpose. We’ve been looking for her for five weeks… apparently she’s really good at disappearing.” The man said. 

“Five weeks that we could have been helping you look for her!” Prentiss chimed in. 

They were both irate, the whole team was. Aaron most of all. Not that you’d gone off on your own, he understood why you’d done it. Or he understood the way your mind worked enough to put together your reasoning… If you were the only person who knew where you were, then the only person who could give you up was yourself. Not to mention they’d given you everything you needed to pull it off. He was almost proud of you. Garcia had been looking for hours and there was no trace of you. You’d pulled all the money from your actual bank accounts while still in Alabama, everyone already knew you were there. There was no harm in that now. Then you’d gone completely radio silent. Using cash for everything, and never leaving anything of yourself behind. It was like trying to find an unsub… An unsub?

An Unsub!

“I’ll be in touch with your superiors.” He said and hung up the phone. 

“I was not through with them yet!” Derek complained. 

“Neither am I, but I just realized we’re doing this all wrong.” Aaron muttered. 

“What do you mean?” Emily asked. 

“We know her, we know her as a person and an agent. But not a victim. Or… an unsub.” He said.  

“You want us to profile her?” JJ asked. “That feels… invasive.”

Everyone turned and looked at her with various degrees of incredulity. 

“But given the circumstances…” She murmured. 

“Okay, if she were an unsub, where would we start?” Rossi prompted. 

“Well usually we’d start with victimology… but she is the victim.” Reid pondered that for a moment before continuing. “Unless we treat the men she killed as victims… but we can’t because they’re the aggressors here. So we treat her as if she is a victim.” 

In the last several hours they’d gained access to the actual crime scene reports from the safe house in Alabama. The pictures were splayed out on the round table. 

“The question is, why did she run? In Alabama, the stand your ground law makes everything she did perfectly legal. They had weapons they kicked in her door and broke her window. Even if the police had arrived before the marshals got there to clear everything up, she would have been fine. Safer even! Especially if she’d had her creds laid out where the cops could see them! I don’t get it.” Morgan grumbled. But Aaron knew the answer to that question. 

“She ran to protect us, and the case. She knew after that happened—and she clearly was no longer safe in WITSEC—that we would try to bring her home and protect her ourselves. Which she believes would be too dangerous and jeopardize the case.” He murmured. “What we need to figure out is where she would go. Where would she feel safest and in control? She only had about three thousand in her account before she pulled it all out, that won’t last long. Not if she’s using it for travel, food, shelter and everything else she might need. Reid, how long would that last her?” 

Reid barely thought about it for a couple seconds. 

“Assuming she’s been staying in hotels, she’d already be out.” He stated, “However, if she were able to find an apartment to rent that takes cash under the table, bought cheap food and utilities… She’d make it about three months, maybe four before she had to get a job or give up and come home. She’d be safer on her own if she kept moving though, so I am going to say hotels make more sense. Especially since she’d want to get out of Alabama and get as far away as possible.” 

“Well, she can’t leave the country, not without us knowing about it. JJ had Penelope cross all the flight records with the identities she gave her. She didn’t take a train either. Cabs would be too expensive… So a bus line would make sense. She could travel from coast to coast in just over two days without having to stop overnight.” Emily pondered, then asked, “Reid, how much would that cost her?” 

“Anywhere from two hundred to six hundred dollars, but she’d go as cheap as possible so I’d guess at two hundred.” He rattled off. 

“She wouldn’t go anywhere she knows the ring has a presence.” Rossi said, “So we can rule out any city that came up in our investigation before she went undercover.” 

Aaron had this nagging thought in the back of his mind, and it took him a minute to pin it down.

“I might get a job, just to stave off the boredom. Maybe waitressing or something? I really only have the skill set for two jobs. Neither of them is a good option for me right now though. Both of them got me into this mess. So here we are.”

You wouldn’t… would you? He thought about it for a long minute and came to the conclusion that yes, you would. You might even do it for fun. 

If it kept you off the street… he wouldn’t complain. 

“We need to check the strip clubs.” Every head in the room turned his way. 

“What makes you say that?” Derek asked. Aaron sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Something she said to me in a letter… about only having the skill set for two jobs.” He shook his head. “And if she’s going to need money soon… what better way to get cash without a digital trail?” 

“She’s qualified for way more than either profiling or stripping…” Emily scowled. 

“I’m well aware of that.” Aaron scowled back at her. “She meant it as a joke… I hope. However, stripping is the only thing she has experience in that doesn’t require a social security number, a degree and a W-4. There’s anonymity in it.” 

“How am I supposed to track that?” Garcia asked. “If she’s left no digital trace of herself I can’t find her.” 

Aaron didn’t have an answer to that, he didn’t have an answer to any of this. 

“Aaron…” Dave said gently from across the table, getting his attention. “You told me to remain objective… and that's just as hard for me as it is for everyone else—except you—but those were the orders you gave me. Would you like to hear my objective professional opinion?” 

No… He already knew what Dave was going to say… and he was feeling a little petulant about it. However, Aaron knew he’d assigned him this role for a reason. He gave a slight nod of confirmation. 

“We are not going to find her until she wants to be found. You remember how hard it was to find Emily when she went AWOL…” Dave hedged. 

“I worked for Interpol though, undercover on an arms dealer bust. That’s a whole different playing field and I had a lot of training, she only had a day.” Emily reminded him. 

“Yes, but the circumstances were different. You had a different goal than she has. You wanted to end things before the rest of us got caught up in it. But we got her caught up in this… and while she probably feels like she’s protecting us… her main goal is to disappear and wait it out.” Dave disagreed. “And you taught her how. You all did. She said she’d make contact when it was safe for her to do so… let’s give her the chance. We know she’s alive. We don’t need to know where she is, that only puts her in danger.”

He was right.

Aaron hated that he was right—and so it seemed, did everyone else.

“So what?” Spencer asked apprehensively, “We just work the case until we make the big arrests and we can bring her home?” 

The room was silent. No one wanted to answer. 

“That’s exactly what we do.” Aaron murmured. 

He spent the rest of the day in his office, scouring over every single detail of every piece of evidence they had. Just trying to put something together, anything that would lead them to the ring leader. 

He didn’t leave the office until nine. 

He stopped briefly in the lobby of his apartment building to pick up the mail, it’d be bills, and nothing more so he didn’t bother to look through it. Just made his way upstairs and quietly let himself inside. Jess was sitting on the couch watching the nine o’clock news, which would be going off soon. Jack was already in bed. Dinner was on the table. Jess was a saint.

“Was Jack good today?” He asked as he made his way into the kitchen. 

“Isn’t he always?” She quipped, turning to rest her arms on the back of the couch. He barely found it in him to smile. 

“I guess he is.” He murmured. 

“Bad day?” She asked. He just nodded. 

“Wanna talk about it?” She offered, getting up and following him to the table. 

“I do actually… but unfortunately it's classified.” He sighed, tossing the stack of mail down on the table where it scattered slightly, then sinking down into his chair. 

“Oh… well, if there were something else… that’s not classified… I’m a very good listener…” She hinted. 

At what? Aaron didn’t know, and he wasn’t in the mood to sort it out, so he started shoveling food onto his plate. 

“Like what?” He asked anyway, humoring her because he knew she would continue whether he asked or not. 

“Like what happened between you and that girl you were seeing?” She pried. 

He groaned. 

“We’re… still together… but I can’t talk about it.” He shrugged. 

“Oh don’t you dare try to tell me your love life is classified, Aaron!” Jess exclaimed in mock outrage. “You’ve been moping around here for five months! I’m worried.” 

He laughed then, a broken, awful sound that had Jess shrinking in her chair. 

“It is classified, actually. She is currently classified. Legally. She’s in witness protection—or she’s supposed to be—and I’m living a nightmare all over again! And you are the one person I actually want to tell, because you’d actually understand, but I cannot tell you anything because it’s fucking classified!” He ranted frustratedly, his voice hardening to a tone he never used in this home. Definitely not with Jack and Jess. She was staring at him—wide eyed—from across the table.

“Jess…” He murmured, softening toward her and reaching a hand across the table. “I’m so sorry, I’m… it doesn’t matter, there’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. No matter what I’m dealing with.” 

She took his hand. 

“It’s alright Aaron.” She said quietly, forgiveness in her eyes. “If it ever becomes unclassified I’ll be right here, ready to hear you out.” 

Aaron felt like he might cry. So he looked down at his plate. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. 

“She’ll be okay…” Jess whispered back. “I mean, I don’t know the details, obviously. But I have to believe that the same horror won’t strike twice. So she will be okay.” 

He nodded. 

“She can take care of herself, and there is no one there for her to protect but herself. That gives her an advantage that- that Haley… didn’t have. She’ll be okay.” He said, and he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. 

She let him eat in silence for a long while before she spoke again. 

“That’s strange…” She muttered, almost to herself. 

“What’s that?” He asked, looking up. 

“This letter.” She said, holding it up to the light. “Someone must have misaddressed it, and there’s no return address.” 

“I don’t know…” He shrugged, going back to his food. 

“I wonder who Tomcat is?” She murmured curiously. Aaron dropped his fork, the rattle of it against his plate startling Jess. 

“What did you say?” He breathed. 

“I wonder who Tomcat is??” She repeated herself. Confusion all over her face. Aaron was around the table and at her side in seconds. 

“I need that.” He said, gently slipping it from between her fingers. 

“Okay?” She intoned. 

“It’s her. The letter is from her. I’m Tomcat, it's an inside joke… I… I’m sorry I really need to read this. She’d been missing for five weeks.” He mumbled. Saying more than he should in his haste to read your letter. 

“Oh my God.” Jess gasped. “Go ahead!” 

He made his way to the couch and tore into the envelope. 

Hey there Tomcat,

I know you must be… pretty mad at me right now… and I’m so sorry. I hate knowing that you’re probably worried sick over me, but I couldn’t afford to make contact until now. There was a fourth assailant, he never made it into the house. He followed me half way across the country before I lost him. (Do me a favor and give my tutor a raise or something, she earned it.) 

I’m safe now. I tricked the fucker and he got on a bus to New York, a bus that I was not on, I went the other direction. I wish I could tell you where… but you know I can’t. I can tell you that I’m settled, I spent the last of my cash on a cute little apartment, a lot like mine at home. Don’t worry, I have a plan and I intend to enact it tonight. (I can feel your brow furrowing from here, I said don’t worry you big softie. I’m fine.) 

I miss you everyday, I promise to keep writing letters. Even if you can’t write any in return. I’ll keep telling you all about my little adventures, because writing to you makes me feel like I’m actually talking to you. Like you’re really here somehow. 

I’ll be watching the news every chance I get, waiting for it to be safe for me to come home. I can’t wait to come home to you… I watch old press conferences of yours just to hear your voice. To see your face. I get excited when a new one pops up on the internet when I search your name. It's weird but it brings me comfort. I can’t wait to hear you tell me to come home. It’ll be the best day.  Be safe, I’ll write again soon.

Love, 

Sweetheart

This was dated a week ago. You were okay. 

You were alive. 

“She’s alive.” He whispered, barely louder than a breath. 

And then his shoulders were shaking, his hands trembling. A tear drop landed on the page. He was overcome with relief. A hand lit softly on his shoulder. He covered it with his own and let Jess offer him silent comfort as he sobbed. 

You missed Aaron. 

His letters had been the only thing you had to look forward to. Now you could only reread the old ones. You’d memorized them by now, and you could call them to memory as easily as Spencer recalled medieval poems he read once ten years ago. 

Dear Sweetheart,  

I miss you too. Work is quiet without you. I never thought a quiet office would feel like a bad thing… but it does. The fact that boredom has driven you to running concerns me. I like your other solution though… I can just hear the way you say my name as you fall apart. 

As for the Whale Sharks… There will be pay back for that, because you’re right, Reid did in fact regale us with facts about them… for days. It was so bad, Morgan actually went home and watched the documentary so that he could annoy Spencer by finishing his sentences correctly and taking the fun out of it. I’ve had to referee the two of them at least ten times this week because of it. 

Rossi asks me every week which recipe he should send you next. I’ll tell him he should make his instructions extra detailed from now on. I actually enjoy cooking, of course I have Jack so I did have to learn, but I do agree. Baking is easier, and more fun because Jack likes to help. I can’t wait for the day you get to meet him, as more than just a colleague of mine. He’ll adore you, I’m sure. 

Your past job experience may have gotten you into this mess… but you sure did look good doing it. I wouldn’t mind seeing you reprise that role in the future. As for your hair, stripper red would look great on you, red always looks great on you. However, I am of the opinion that it doesn’t matter what your hair looks like, or whether you have any at all. You’ll always be the prettiest girl in whatever room you’re in. Especially to me. 

Love, 

Tomcat

That one had been your favorite. Though you’d memorized them all, he always managed to make you smile and laugh… even on paper. You missed hearing from him more than anything. 

Speaking of reprising the role…

You were stripping again, this time though… it was to make ends meet.

But if this night got any worse… you swore you’d quit. 

There was another club just down the road, a club that would gladly take you on. You’d had just about enough of the bouncers here. They didn’t take care of the dancers, didn’t care to, they had nothing to hide. No illegal operations in the back rooms. Just the occasional stripper trying to make a few extra bucks in the parking lot, but as long as it wasn’t in the building, it wasn’t any of their business. They didn’t even care about the things that went on inside to be truthful. They only cared about the money, and about the customers the girls brought in. 

“Hey Kit?” Someone called, but you didn’t register it. “Kit Kat, you okay?”  

You were too busy trying to get your hair untangled from the rhinestones on your bra strap. 

“Ughhh! This fucking bra!” You cursed under your breath. 

“Here let me help.” A hand took your elbow and guided you over to a chair in the dressing room. You glanced up at Cinna, the most senior dancer at the club. (Cinna Buns if you were wondering… they liked food themed personas in this club for some reason.)

“Thanks, I hair-whipped a little too close to the sun I’m afraid.” You joked, and she gave a soft laugh. “I tried to get it out, but I only made it worse…” 

“You sure did…” She murmured, shaking her head as her fingers deftly separated the tiny tangles. She worked in silence for a few minutes, then… “You seem upset tonight…”

You sighed. 

“Had a bad interaction with a customer, nothing I can’t handle.” You muttered. 

“Is that all?” She asked. 

“No… but… It’s complicated.” You murmured, shrugging. 

“Well, on the bright side… It’s two o’clock, we’ve got an hour until close, and it’s Saturday night. Which means we aren’t open tomorrow!” She said cheerfully. “Don’t be so glum Kit Kat!” 

You hated that nickname. 

The identity you were using in this town was Kathrine Kittridge. You’d decided to use Kit as a Stripper persona because it was cutesy and a kit was a term for a fox pup, which reminded you of Vixen… which reminded you of Aaron. But the other girls had taken to calling you Kit Kat when you’d introduced yourself… It was the bane of your existence. 

And you’d been dealing with it for five months. 

That’s right, another five months had passed and you were still stripping in a small po-dunk town in the middle of nowhere Wyoming. You’d been the shiny new toy, and all the patrons couldn’t seem to get enough of you. They’d start making jokes about taking a bite out of you, and saying how Kit Kats were their favorite candy… 

Needless to say, it’d been a long five months with no end in sight. 

You could always pick up and move again. There was no point though. You were safe here. That’s all that mattered. Even if you hated it.

And you did hate it. 

“Yeah… that makes it so much better.” You muttered sarcastically. 

“Why don’t you go on home… Just sneak out the back, if anyone asks I’ll tell them I sent you home cause you got sick.” Cinna offered. 

“You would do that?” You asked. 

She nodded. 

“Girl, it's really not a big deal. Just go. Maybe Monday night will be better– Woah… What is going on there?” She was looking up at the tv mounted in the corner. 

A red banner was scrolling across the bottom of the screen that was playing a body cam clip of a SWAT team kicking in a door. Then it cut to a blonde reporter in a blue suit dress, she was standing on a sidewalk with a large group of reporters behind her. They were surrounding a podium. 

The banner read:

“Breaking News: Joint Investigation With DEA And FBI Lead To Major Raids in Connecticut.”

Your heart stopped. 

“Oh my god, turn that up! Where’s the remote?” You scrambled for it when you saw it laying on a vanity across the room. You turned the volume up to an ungodly volume, determined not to miss a single word.  

“Ladies and Gentleman, we’re coming to you live from the scene as The FBI is about to give a press conference in regards to several major raids they executed tonight in coordination with the DEA. Oh, here they come.” The reporter said, and the camera zoomed in on the podium. 

There he was. 

Looking exhausted, but every bit as good as the day you left. 

Aaron stepped up to the podium, JJ at his side and cleared his throat. 

“Early this morning, my team from the Behavioral Analysis Unit, along with a team from Organized Crime, and a team from the DEA made several key arrests in connection with a drug trafficking ring that we have been actively investigating for a little over a year now. That's all I can say at this time.” He said, and then he walked away. 

“Wait! Agent Hotchner! Agent Hotchner!?” The reporters called out. 

“We can’t answer any questions at this time. This is still an active case until trial, there will be an update once dates are set. For now we have witnesses to protect.” JJ said and then she followed him. 

“Oh my God…” You whispered. 

“You okay Kit?” Cinna asked. 

“No… yes? I- I don’t know…” You muttered. “Ya know what… I think I am gonna head out.” 

You hurried to put on street clothes and gathered all your things and then you made your way across the street and two blocks down. Where your apartment was located. 

You’d picked it specifically for its proximity to the club.

When you locked the door behind you, you leaned against it and sank to the floor. 

It was more important now than ever for you to lay low. All the initial arrests, and evidence would get thrown out without your testimony. Without those arrests and evidence… 

There was no case for the arrests made tonight. 

Which meant all someone needed to do to stop the trials… 

Was to kill you. 

It was time to move again. 

It had taken five more months but they’d finally done it. 

They’d gotten the confessions, signed affidavits, critical evidence and arrest warrants they needed to bring the ring to its knees. Now that they’d made the actual arrests…

He was one step closer to bringing you home. 

The only problem was, after the raid was over and they’d been sorting evidence, they found a dossier. 

A dossier about you.

They were still looking for you, and they’d done their research. 

They knew where you’d grown up, where you’d gone to college, where your apartment was (you wouldn’t be going back there now he’d make sure of that), the car you drove, and everything right down to the color of your eyes. 

And they’d put a hit out on you.

Not a public hit… which he would think was a good thing.

Except… 

They’d hired a professional. 

A career hitman. 

With way too many confirmed kills for Aaron’s comfort… and he’d never been caught. 

Apparently, after you’d killed three of their men so easily, and evaded the fourth as simply as you had, they’d decided you were worth the money this guy cost. 

He had a reward for information on you posted on the darknet. It had pictures of you from your time at the strip club. 

Garcia had taken it down multiple times… but he just kept putting it back up. So, she had started sending him random tips. 

The team had been looking for him for a week when Aaron had gotten a letter from you. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I got your message and I’m taking the appropriate measures. I think someone is after me. They were really close too… I don’t know how they could’ve found me. I have been laying low as dirt for five months. I’ve left no trace of myself anywhere. Whoever they are…

They’re good. 

I left my little hideaway before dawn the night I saw your press conference. I bought a police scanner when I moved there… out of boredom… You wouldn’t believe how entertaining that can be in a very small town in Wyoming. Yes, I was in WY, it was the most agonizing five months of my life. Anyway, I have a police scanner, and I was listening to it on my way out of town. They called in a structure fire… at my apartment. I’d only been gone for thirty minutes. They must’ve not seen me leave. 

The good thing is, I made it out, and I’m safe now. I made so many stops and so many detours it took me three days to get where I am now. It will not be an easy trail to follow. I still don’t know how they found me again to begin with. I was going by a false name, I didn’t sign anything, buy anything big or register anything to that name. I used cash for everything… I truly don’t know. It can’t possibly be these letters, I don’t ever put a return address. I guess I will just have to get a new place and only leave for food. Setting a trial date shouldn’t take that long? Right? I have plenty of cash, if it only takes a couple months… God I hope it only takes a couple months. I miss you so much. All of you, I didn’t even realize how important our team is to me… How much space they hold in my heart. Tell them how much I miss them? It's been so long… 

I check online everyday to see if trial dates have been set. I’ll be counting the days when they are. It’s getting late, and this hotel bed is calling my name. 

With all my love,

Sweetheart

Aaron had felt panic crawling up his spine, squeezing his heart, and flooding his brain. He took the letter to Dave immediately and the man’s face had paled visibly as he’d read it. 

“That’s too close of a call.” Rossi murmured. “We need to get her back here.” 

“We can’t.” Aaron whispered. “The only way to contact her successfully is to hold a press conference. If we do that, he’ll be watching too. He’ll know she’s coming home and he’ll be waiting.”

Dave threw his arms out wide and looked at Aaron in disbelief. 

“So what, we just leave her out there with no warning of what's coming for her?” He asked. 

Aaron ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. 

“I don’t see what other choice we have. They are both watching everything we put online and on television right now. Everything she has access to, he does as well.” Aaron explained. “The only choice we have is to wait for them both to come to us. She has managed to stay ahead of him this far and she didn’t even know he existed… now that she does? My money is on her.” 

Four months later. 

Aaron’s hands were shaking, his palms sweating, he was so nauseous he felt the urge to swallow every five to ten seconds… and there was still no sign of you. 

Or the hitman out to kill you. 

Court would be in session in 45 minutes and you were the first witness on the docket. 

You’d written him a letter that he’d received yesterday. 

Dear Tomcat, 

I’ve been in contact with the D.A. on a secure line. We’ve gone over my testimony multiple times, and she’s confident that I’ll do well during cross examination with the defense. I wish I could talk to you about it. I’m nervous. I know you’ll be there, but I’m sure I won’t see you until it’s all over as I’ll be sequestered as soon as I arrive. She says that you’re all still worried  about a possible attempt on my life before the trial starts. But I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of anyone suspicious since Wyoming, so I’m not as concerned as I probably should be. I’ll be as cautious as I can getting to the court house, I’ll wear a disguise so good, even you won’t recognize me.

I can’t believe it's almost over. Fourteen months. We had two days and we’ve been apart for fourteen months. I can’t even imagine how it will feel to finally see you again. To hear your voice straight from your lips instead of through a television or a computer. To feel your arms around me, your hands on me. I haven’t heard from you in nine months—I know that isn’t your fault—but I am… nervous. The day I left you said to me that the way you felt with me is something you would wait decades to feel, I hope you were sincere. This has felt like decades to me… 

It seems like a lifetime since someone called me by name, smiled at me with the familiarity of someone who truly knows me, or was able to offer me a true connection… I don't know if I am even capable of maintaining a friendship any more… or something more. 

But then I remind myself that I have written to a man who cannot respond to me for almost a year, with nothing but a hope that he’s receiving my letters and smiling as he reads them. I think… and I hope this is not true… but I think I have fallen in love with the idea of you. See, I know you… as a boss… as a sexual partner… as a friend, but I’m afraid that I’ve built up this perfect image of you in my mind. What if the way I remember you is very different from who you’ve become while I’ve been gone? A person can change a lot in a year. I know I have. 

I’m harder now, I used to be light and soft. Playful. I don’t think I know how to be those things anymore. What if you find that I am not the same woman I was fourteen months ago? What if you don’t like the woman I’ve become? I still miss you everyday. So that has to count for something, right? Even if it is all in my head. 

With nervous anticipation and so much excitement I could die, 

Sweetheart

The letter had wrecked him. 

He lived and breathed for your letters. The wait for their arrival was like purgatory… the worst kind of hell. 

The time between them seemed to stretch into oblivion, because by the time the letters got to him, he knew that you’d been alive a week before. Though, he had no clue if you were still breathing as he read them. 

He missed you terribly. 

And to see you doubt that in any way… it broke his heart a little. 

He knew that you’d had a tough year, it’d been tough for him as well in completely opposite ways. He would just have to take his time convincing you that nothing had changed for him, and he still wanted you as badly now as he had when you’d left. 

“Hotch, I got movement on the roof of the building across the street.” Morgan murmured into his radio, his voice breaking through Aaron’s thoughts. “I’m going up to check it out.” 

Aaron looked up toward the roof in question from where he was standing on the steps of the courthouse, sure enough, there was a man up there. Aaron couldn’t tell what he was doing from this distance, but the fact that he was up there at all was enough to warrant suspicion. 

“Be careful Morgan.” Aaron responded, as he began to scan the crowd more diligently, looking for any sign of you. 

The crowd was thickening more and more as the time drew closer to nine. People showing up for work, people showing up for court, or both. It was getting harder and harder to pick through all the faces and see that they were not yours. Nearly three minutes passed and Aaron kept anxiously glancing to the roof. 

“It’s just a maintenance guy, he’s up here trying to see if he can’t get the AC fixed without having to call an HVAC service.” Morgan finally said into the radio. “It's nothing.”

Aaron relaxed infinitesimally, but he kept scanning, kept studying the crowd.

It was getting louder and louder every minute, the steps were filling up and the line to get through the metal detectors at the door was getting long. Aaron wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his slacks, it didn’t help… but it made him feel slightly less panicky. 

“I think I’ve got something…” JJ murmured. 

“Him, or her?” Prentiss asked. 

“Her.” JJ answered.

Aaron stopped breathing. 

“Where?” He whispered. 

“About a hundred feet to your left coming up the sidewalk on the north side of the building.” She answered. 

He turned, searching through the crowd, but the faces all blurred together. 

“Description?” He murmured, his voice cracking and his heart trying to beat its way free of his chest. 

“Black pantsuit, with a red silk blouse, her hair is jet black, she’s got on sunglasses, the big bugeyed ones like what Prentiss wears.” JJ listed, earning a disgruntled hey from Prentiss. “I’m not entirely sure because her face is obscured and she’s farther away from me than you… but the walk is familiar.” 

Red silk blouse, big sunglasses, jet black hair. 

He scanned the crowd over and over, until he found the woman in question.

“That’s not her.” He muttered. “Wrong height, and that’s not her nose.” 

“Wait.” Reid said, his voice cutting through the crowd. “I’ve got her and I’m positive it’s her. She’s behind you Hotch, already in line to go into the court house. Black pencil skirt, white blouse with flowy sleeves, blazer draped over her arm. She’s wearing a black headband and glasses, real glasses not sunglasses. She’s wearing heels… of some sort. Black tights. About fifty feet from you.” 

Aaron whipped around in the direction of the line and made to stride in your direction, he hadn’t even found you yet but if Spencer was sure… he was sure. 

“Hotch stop.” Prentiss warned. “Don’t go over there, look away from her now and walk away. I’ve got a suspicious man on the roof across from Morgan. Fuck… This one is for real. He’s got a gun.” 

“Can you take him out?” Aaron was already moving… and not in the direction he wanted to be. 

He was headed for that roof. 

“I don’t have a shot.” Prentiss muttered. 

She was on the roof of the courthouse in a sniper nest of her own. Not her usual role… but he had wanted to be on the ground where he could protect you. 

“If you get one, you take it.” He ordered her. 

There were no other teams out there, just them. So there was no chance that this guy was another agent, or a cop. It had to be the hitman. 

“Morgan can you–”

“Not before you, but I’ll be right behind you.” Morgan answered him without even needing to hear the full question. 

“Hurry Hotch.” Emily’s voice was a little bit panicked. “I think he sees her.” 

“Fuck!” Aaron hissed. “Still no shot?” 

He was running now, down the sidewalk to the entrance to the other building, as fast as he could go. 

“I could wound him! Graze his shoulder, that’s about it!” She explained. 

“Take it!” He ordered. “Spencer, use the chaos to get her inside! Do it fast!” 

“Emily, he's seen Aaron, and he’s lining up a shot on her, if you’re gonna do it, do it now!” Rossi’s voice was frantic. 

Aaron felt like he was running through water, every step felt heavy and seemed to take ages. He was running but he wasn’t moving fast enough! Like a cartoon character. 

“Emily!” He called. 

“I’ve got it!” She answered. 

The shot rang out through the street like a thunderclap, and panic ensued. 

“Spencer, get her inside! JJ help him!” Aaron called. 

But he kept running. The faces of people only blurs of color as he went flying by. 

When he reached the lobby of the building the man was on he flashed his badge at the desk worker. 

“Roof access?!?” He demanded. 

The girl pointed to a stairwell, and Aaron flew. 

“I’m a couple minutes behind you Hotch!” Morgan warned him. “I’m coming as fast as I can!” 

“We have her! We’re taking her to the sublevel of the courthouse, no windows.” Spencer explained. 

Aaron felt the ability to breathe return to him and he ran faster. Climbing the steps three at a time. His footsteps sounded like a herd of elephants. The emergency exit signs were washing the stairs in red light. It was ominous. 

There was no way this guy was getting away, not on his watch. Not today. 

You would be safe after today. 

He would make sure of it. 

He stopped—briefly—at the top of the staircase to catch his breath. He could hear Morgan thundering up behind him.

He opened the door, gun drawn, and slipped out onto the roof. 

He didn’t see anyone. 

“Hotch! Look out!” Emily cried. 

Something struck him on the back of the head and his vision blurred. He fell to the concrete of the rooftop, the breath he’d just regained fleeing his chest in a rush. His gun skittering away from him. 

“Hotch!” Emily shouted again. “Morgan hurry!” 

“I’m almost there!” Derek panted. 

Aaron rolled, just as a boot came slamming down onto the concrete where his head had been only a moment before. He kicked out to the side, swiping the man's legs out from under him. Then launching himself on top of the assailant as he hit the ground. Aaron straddled the guy, and did not hesitate as he began throwing punches. 

He didn’t see the gun. 

Not until it was pointed at his face. 

The first gunshot had pulled your attention to the roof of the courthouse. Which is why you didn’t realize it was Spencer who took you by the arm… and why you threw a reactive punch… right to his nose. 

“Ouch!” He yelped. “It’s just me!” 

He doubled over grabbing his nose for a second before he grabbed you again and hauled you forward. Then a blur of blonde was at your other side, covering you. 

“Move!” JJ urged you, pushing you toward the building. Forcing through the panicked crowd. “Get to the door!” 

You didn’t argue, didn’t waste time apologizing to Spencer who was now bleeding. You just made a break for the door, the two of them in tow. JJ flashed her badge to the security guard. “Material witness! She’s the target, let us in now!” 

The man didn’t argue, just opened the door. No one cared that the three of you set off the metal detectors as you crossed the threshold. Spencer was dragging and JJ was pushing as they forced you inside and then Spencer found an elevator. He pushed the down arrow. They crowded you against the door until you were leaning against it, covering you with their bodies, and when the door opened the three of you fell inside together. They didn’t move to get off of you until the doors closed. 

“We have her! We’re taking her to the sublevel of the courthouse, no windows.” Spencer said into his sleeve—where you realized his radio receiver must be—then covered his nose again as blood dripped onto his shirt. 

“What just happened?” You panted, looking at both of them with wide eyes. “Was someone shooting at me?” 

Not that it would’ve been shocking after the year that you’d had… but to do it from the roof of the courthouse. That was insane. 

“No. That was Emily.” JJ muttered, then she held up a hand and covered her free ear. She was listening to something intently.

“Emily?” You asked Spencer quietly. 

He nodded. 

“She shot at the man on the other roof who was about to shoot you.” He explained. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

That was close.

“Shit. Hotch is going up there without back up. Morgan is minutes behind.” JJ muttered. 

“What!?!” You gasped and then you scrambled to Spencer’s side and snatched his ear piece. He didn’t argue. 

“Hotch! Look out!” Emily cried. 

You heard Aaron grunt in pain and the oxygen evacuated your lungs.

“Hotch!” Emily shouted again. “Morgan hurry!” 

“I’m almost there!” Derek panted. 

“What’s happening?!” You heard Rossi demand. 

And then there was a gunshot. 

“Hotch!” Emily screamed. 

Then everything went silent. 

You, JJ, and Reid stared at each other in terror for several seconds. 

“We got him.” Morgan’s voice came through the ear piece. 

But that was not the voice you needed to hear. You grabbed Spencer’s wrist and hauled it up to your face. 

“Aaron?! Aaron Hotchner, you speak to me right this second!” You demanded, your voice cracking as you strangled on barely choked back sobs. It was quiet for a moment longer and panic squeezed your heart. 

“Aaron!” You called again, desperately. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m fine. Take a breath.” His voice flooded your whole body with relief. 

You slumped against Spencer and sobbed. 

“Is she okay?” You heard Aaron ask.

“Yeah.” JJ murmured, a soothing hand on your shoulder. “She’s got blood on her, but it’s Reid’s. She bloodied his nose when he tried to pull her out of the line and into the building, didn’t realize it was him.” 

You heard Morgan chuckle quietly, but you couldn’t get your emotions back under control. The thought that you were so close… and yet you’d almost lost him at the last second. Just when you were finally going to be able to be together. It had wrecked you. 

“We’re taking him in. Stay with her, don’t leave her side until she’s on the stand.” Aaron instructed JJ. “Dave, you stay too. Prentiss you’re with us.” 

The next thirty minutes were a blur. JJ had produced a different blouse from somewhere and helped you get into it, while Rossi and Spencer guarded the door. Your hands couldn’t stop shaking and you could barely breathe. It wasn’t because you’d almost been killed. You’d actually gotten used to that feeling and had learned how to push through it… as terrifying as that was. No, it was because Aaron had almost been killed trying to protect you, and you didn’t think you’d be able to get it together. Not until you saw him with your own eyes, and saw that he was uninjured. Is this how he had felt all these months? Especially after you’d disappeared in Alabama? Like his chest was caving in and the only way to stop it was to see you?

You hoped not. 

You couldn’t imagine doing something so cruel to him. Not on purpose. 

By the time the Bailiff came in search of you, you’d calmed down enough to speak and coherently answer questions. Though that tightness in your chest never truly left. When you took the stand, the Prosecutor didn’t even have time to ask you a single question before JJ came rushing—quietly—into the courtroom. She waved the prosecution over and she listened as JJ whispered in her ear and handed her a file. 

“Your Honor.” The attorney addressed the judge. “Side Bar?” 

“Approach the bench.” The judge rumbled, he was an older man with a jowled neck… He looked like a fat turkey. 

Both the Prosecution and the Defense approached and she handed the judge the file she’d received from JJ. 

“Your honor, this morning before court there was yet another attempt on my witness’s life—this being the third such attempt—the FBI was able to apprehend and take that man into custody. They’ve gotten a full confession and the man had confirmed that the defendants did indeed hire him for the hit. In light of that, the Prosecution moves to add several more charges to the Defendant’s case. Including but not limited to: Witness Tampering, Attempted Murder of a Witness, the solicitation of murder, and conspiracy to commit murder.” She explained. “As well as entering all of this into evidence. The defense can—of course—have copies.” 

The judge nodded and then you kind of blacked out until she asked you your first question. To be honest you didn’t remember much of anything once it was over, but as he escorted you out of the court house and into an SUV, Rossi praised your composure and bravery. Telling you what an excellent job you did. You came out of your daze when you realized you had no idea where he was taking you. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, you were in Connecticut. You’d passed the FBI office on the way in and that wasn’t the way he was taking you. 

“Hotel. Aaron wanted to get you out of there as soon as possible. You must be tired…” He answered. You nodded. 

“Exhausted.” You muttered. “I don’t think I’ve slept a full night since… well, the day I left probably.” 

“That’s not healthy kiddo.” He sighed, “Though I can give you a pass in this situation. You’re safe now though. So rest up okay?” 

“I will.” You murmured. 

Aaron was impatient. 

He’d gotten the text from Rossi three hours ago that said: 

Dave: Got her back to the hotel and settled in her room. She fell asleep before I even left. I had to slip her shoes off so she didn’t hurt herself with the heels in her sleep. Don’t worry. I’m just out in the hall if she needs anything. Drug a chair out there. I’ll stay as long as I need to.

There were just a few more things left for him to tie up here at the field office, Reid and JJ had things under control at the courthouse, and once he left, Morgan and Prentiss could finish their goodbyes to the local Organized Crime unit. All he wanted was to lay eyes on you… 

Then he’d let you sleep. 

In his arms, if you’d allow it but he needed to see you. It’d been so long… and knowing you were so close… It was agony. He’d been just steps away from you earlier. Mere feet. Yet he’d never laid eyes on you. He’d heard your voice though. It was the most beautiful sound to grace his ears since the day you’d left. He was bouncing his knee impatiently under the table as he finished up the last of the paperwork… 

“Dude.” Morgan huffed a laugh, and Aaron glanced up in irritation at the distraction. “Just put your signature on everything and go. Prentiss and I can handle it. You're making a mess of it anyway. Look, you’re smearing the ink worse than usual.” 

He was… unfortunately. He sighed. 

“Are you sure?” He tried not to let his voice sound so hopeful. Morgan and Prentiss shared a knowing grin. 

“Yeah man, we’re sure.” Derek nodded. “Go, before you stomp a hole in the floor.” 

“Thank you.” Aaron whispered, grabbing a set of the SUV keys and putting his suit jacket back on. 

“Go get your girl!” Emily called after him, laughing as he hurried from the room.

He didn’t even have the mental capacity to care. All his energy was focused on getting to you. The drive was a blur, his mind on autopilot. What would he even say to you? He knew that you still felt the same… Your letter had been clear about that, but he didn’t know how to breach the gap that time and distance might have caused. 

Before he knew it, he was exiting the elevator on the seventh floor of the hotel and walking toward Rossi who was sitting in a rolling desk chair in front of a door. 

“She’s still asleep as far as I know…” Dave murmured as he walked up. “But I think she was pretty anxious to see you.” 

The man winked at him as he stood.

“Why am I nervous?” Aaron asked him. “She’s written to me every week without fail… well almost, but her letters were very clear about how she feels. I shouldn’t be this… frazzled.” 

Dave laughed softly. 

“You’ll figure it out.” He murmured. “But it could have something to do with the fact that you haven’t seen her in over a year… and she’s right there behind that door. I’d say you’re more excited than nervous. Right?” 

“I think my heart is trying to crawl up my throat.” Aaron muttered, earning himself another laugh and a clap on the shoulder. 

“Go see her. It’ll make you feel better… I’m certain.” Dave gave him a gentle nudge toward the door. 

“Thank you for staying with her.”

“Of course.” Dave waved him off. “I’ll be a few doors down if you need me.” 

Aaron just nodded and waited for him to disappear into his room. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

He shook his head to clear it… and then he knocked. Four solid raps against the wood. Then he waited. 

Watching the peep hole for any sign of movement, he noticed that the room number was 777. Aaron Hotchner was not a superstitious or particularly religious man, but as a shadow blocked out the daylight shining through the peep hole… he believed in the divine. If only for the day. He was also well aware that there was more than likely a gun leveled at his stomach through the door at this moment, but he would be proud of you if there was. The shadow moved and there was a brief pause before he heard the locks start to disengage. You’d definitely gone to put a gun away. 

Okay… now would be a good time to think of something to say, Aaron. Anything. Fuck… even hi would probably work, just open your mouth and say it.

Then the door swung open and a body came hurtling out into the hallway and launched into him so hard that he stumbled back into the other wall. 

And then you were kissing him. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, and your lips melded against his. 

Okay… maybe words were overrated. 

This was definitely better. 

He carried you back through the door, just before it closed, then put your back against it. Your lips parted for his tongue and you tasted like home. He felt it was maybe a little necessary to say something to you before carrying you straight to the bed. (Which was where he really wanted to take you.) He kissed you until you were the one who finally pulled back to gasp for breath. Your forehead resting against his. 

“Hi.” You whispered, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hi.” He chuckled softly. 

“I can’t believe you're real…” You breathed. 

“I’m very real baby, I promise.” He murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “It’s a good thing too, otherwise you would’ve launched yourself headfirst into that wall.” 

You shook your head slowly. 

“I don’t know if I believe that yet.” You said, “This could be a dream… I was sleeping. What if I wake up in a minute and you're not here?” 

He kissed you again, biting your lip softly. 

“Does that feel real?” He asked. 

“It always does.” You whimpered. “And I always wake up…” 

“How many times have you had this dream?” He wondered aloud. 

“I lost count.” You kissed him again. 

“You won’t wake up alone this time, sweetheart. It's real…” He whispered against your lips. 

“Prove it.” You demanded. 

He sat you on your feet softly, caressing your hips and gripping your waist firmly, pulling you as close as he could get you. You whimpered softly as his lips found your neck, and you began to push him backwards down the short entryway, unbuttoning his shirt as you went. Aaron let his hand find the zipper of your skirt, and it slipped to your ankles, making you stumble into his chest. He bumped into the TV stand, knocking over a lamp that rolled off it and fell to the floor, but he didn’t let you fall. Your breaths were rapid and shallow as he let you push his suit jacket down his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor and his shirt followed quickly after it. Then he lifted you off your feet, turned and sat you up on the TV stand, where the lamp had previously sat. At this height he could better explore you with his lips. Trailing them down to the base of your neck, and tracing your collar bones. Sucking and biting gently as he went. 

He wanted to devour you. 

To taste every inch of your skin until he was sated. Though he knew he’d never get enough of you. 

Aaron’s patience had run out before he’d even gotten here, so the buttons on your blouse were an inconvenience he did not have time for. He needed your skin bare beneath his lips, under his hands.

“Are you attached to this shirt?” He asked, tugging on the hem. 

“No, it’s not even mine. JJ found it for me when I got Reid’s blood on mine.” You said through gasps and moans as he nipped and licked at your pulse point, unable to keep his mouth off of you. “I think she got it out of the courthouse’s charity closet.” 

“Perfect.” He murmured, before he grasped both sides of the collar and ripped it open. 

Sending buttons flying everywhere. 

The sound that escaped your lips had him gripping your thighs so tightly he would have to check you for bruises later… Then he was kissing his way down your chest, as you shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it over his head to the floor behind him. He sucked at the curve of your breast and you tipped your head back. 

“Aaron…” You moaned. 

God, he had missed that sound. His name on your lips was like a balm to his battered heart. Especially when you said it like that. 

He traced his hands up your waist and around your back to the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and freeing your breasts. They were every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it sharply as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Aaron.” Your tone was absolutely sinful. 

He smirked, barely pausing to murmur, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll get there.” 

“Can we get there any faster? I want you, like now.” You grumbled, but there was a hint of desperation in your tone. 

He chuckled softly. 

“Still not an ounce of patience.” He teased under his breath, swapping to the other nipple and earning a whimper. 

“Unless vibrators count, I’ve been celibate for fourteen months, I’m allowed to be impatient right now!” You whined, and then yelped in surprise as he scooped you up off the tv stand and transferred you quickly across the two feet to the bed. “Aaron!” 

“What?” He asked, feigning innocence. “You said you wanted to get there faster.” 

You laughed and the heat in your eyes was enough to make him ache for you. 

“I just wanna know why you still have pants on?” You purred, biting your bottom lip. 

“That is a very good question… Maybe you should help me out of them.” He murmured back, brushing a few wild locks of hair out of your face that had fallen loose from the headband that was still on your head. 

He slipped it off and tossed it to the night stand, then buried his hand into your hair guiding your lips back to his. He felt your hands at his belt buckle, heard it jingle as you undid it, followed by the slide of his zipper and then you were pushing his slacks down his thighs. They pooled around his ankles and he simply stepped out of them, and knelt on the bed with his knees between yours as he slowly—and gently—pushed you down onto the mattress. Your legs wrapped around his waist—thighs squeezing his hips tightly—as he slipped his hand between your bodies, and beneath the waistband of your panties. You whimpered against his lips as his fingers began to explore your pussy. Caressing smooth skin and gathering your wetness, dragging it up to your clit where he began to circle ever so lightly. You arched up into his hand, seeking more friction, and he gave it to you. Pressing more firmly on your clit, and making you moan. 

“Aaron, please…” You pleaded with him, pulling away from his lips to beg with those gorgeous eyes that always brought him to his knees. 

“Please what, Pretty Girl?” He murmured softly, still working your clit. “Tell me what you need.” 

He increased his speed and pressure, making you squirm and whine, “I need you inside me!” 

He smirked at you again, unable to resist teasing you. 

Was he absolutely throbbing for you? Painfully so. Was the way you reacted to his teasing and edging worth it? Absolutely. 

“What part of me sweetheart?” He asked, letting his voice flow out in a low hum. “There are so many options, I’m going to need you to be more specific…” 

He leaned down and began kissing your neck again. 

“Aaron…” You keened in frustration. 

“No, really sweetheart, tell me…” He purred, “Do you want my fingers?” 

He slipped the aforementioned fingers down from your clit to your entrance, teasing at it lightly, before sliding on inside. You were so wet that he met no resistance and earned a moan in reward, but you shook your head and gasped, “Please!” 

“How about my tongue?” He laved at your pulse with it, then sucked, and your pussy clenched around his finger. “Hmm? Would you like that?”

You whimpered, as he used the pad of his finger to massage your g-spot. 

“Come on, honey… All you have to do is say the word…” He teased, “Just one word, and I’ll give you what you want. Fingers, tongue or co-”

He let out a strangled groan instead of finishing his sentence. Why? 

Because you had reached up and palmed his cock through his boxers, squeezing him firmly.

“Fuck…” He hissed. 

“You know what I want Aaron.” You panted, “Stop teasing and fuck me.”  

Any control that Aaron had regained, went flying out the window. 

He was here.

He was actually here, kissing your lips and touching your skin. You had dreamt of how this would go, how you’d feel when you saw him again. How he might take his time, exploring your body the way he had that morning in your apartment… and he had been trying to. But the second you’d seen his face through the peephole… 

You had wanted him desperately. 

So desperately that you didn’t have any need for the foreplay he was trying to provide. You were ready enough. You knew that he had been just as desperate—holding back for your sake alone—because the moment you had uttered the words “fuck me….”

He snapped. 

He hadn’t even taken the time to take his boxers off, or your panties. He’d simply pushed his down and slipped yours to the side. Then he was pushing inside of you. Entering you in one smooth thrust that had him so deep you were clutching at his back for dear life, nails raking across his skin. The stretch burned so deliciously, a strangled moan fell from your lips. He stilled when he’d fully seated himself in your pussy, hovering over you—his hands on either side of your head—his breaths sharp and quick. His eyes were locked on yours, and they were full of pure desire. Your stomach tightened in excitement. 

“Baby…” He panted, “I… I don’t wanna hurt you, but if I move, I’m not gonna be able to hold back.” 

You palmed both sides of his face and pulled him down for a bruising kiss. The kind of kiss that felt like you were trying to join your souls together through lips, tongues and teeth.  Then you pulled back—just enough to look into those hazel eyes that you’d dreamt of every night—making sure he could see just how serious you were when you said, “Don’t hold back, take me however you need me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

He needed no further reassurance. 

Without ever pulling out of you, Aaron sat up and pulled your legs up over his shoulders,  wrapping his forearms around your thighs just below your knees. His first few thrusts were slow, testing, and measured, they had you moaning and arching your back to take him deeper. It was useless, however, because you were nearly immobile in that position. 

But he didn’t leave you wanting for long… 

Because just like he said, after those first few thrusts, he didn’t hold back. Aaron pounded into you, his cock hitting you so deep inside, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart.” He praised, “So fucking good…” 

He took one hand caressing down the length of your thigh and reaching around your leg, then rested his palm on your lower stomach, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it. You were a mess, clutching at the bedspread and tangling your fingers in it. With his other hand, Aaron peeled your thigh highs off one after the other, throwing them to the floor and placed kisses to the inside of your calves. The pace he was setting was brutal… and you loved every second of it. Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough. You wanted him so badly it felt like a compulsion, a desperate, deep, aching need for him. You wanted to be able to feel this long after it was over, you wanted to be sore and bruised… you wanted him written all over your body like a brand. 

“Aaron,” You breathed, “I- I need– Oh fuck.” 

You could barely get the sentence out as his cock hit your cervix and dragged against your g-spot with every thrust. 

“What do you need, baby?” He asked, “Tell me, I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

“Harder.” You gasped. “Fuck me harder. I wanna feel you tomorrow.” 

Aaron pulled out of you suddenly, with no warning and you whined at the absence—the emptiness. Lowering your legs from his shoulders he tapped your left hip, “Roll over for me pretty girl, hands and knees.” 

You sat up and got to your hands and knees without hesitation. You would have done anything he asked of you. Anything. Your trust in him was absolute. When you looked back over your shoulder at him, he groaned. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you look… incredible.” He murmured, as he pulled your panties down to your knees, gripping your hips and tilting them to give himself better access as he lined his cock up with your pussy again. “Are you ready, baby?” 

“Yes, please!” He eased back inside you, then took two handfuls of your ass and used it to throw you up and down his shaft as he thrust into you with a bruising rhythm. You cried out, “Fuck!” 

You were breathless, the tension in your body was rapidly building to a crescendo as he railed you. You could feel every inch of him as your cunt squeezed him tightly. The pressure of his finger tips digging into the muscle of your ass cheeks, was both pleasure and pain. The mixture was pure bliss. And then he reached around to find your clit, his finger seeking it out with ease. You thought you might black out. There were too many sensations going on at once, all making that familiar ball of tension grow and grow. He let go of your ass cheek, and planted a hand in between your shoulder blades. Pushing you down to your elbows and making your breasts touch the bed, your nipples brushing against the sheets. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, taking me so well.” He praised, “I can feel you getting close, pretty girl. Are you gonna come for me?”

“Oh God, Aaron, please!” You moaned. 

“Please what, baby?” He kept pace while he talked and the sound of his voice was driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop talking to me, I’m so close.” You pleaded, you’d missed the sound of his voice so much. 

“You wanna hear my voice while you come on my cock, pretty girl?” He purred, leaning closer to you so he could murmur right into your ear. “Want me to talk you through it, hmm?”

“So bad..” You whined

“I can do that for you, baby. Just relax and let me make you fall apart.” His voice was low and rough, the rasp in it had your toes curling while he fucked you senseless. “Is my cock better for you than that fun little purchase you made while you were gone?” 

“Yes!” You whimpered. 

“It fills you up so much better, doesn’t it?” His finger was working your clit in such perfect little circles, the pressure just how you liked it. 

“Mm hmm.” It was the only coherent sound you could make. 

“I’ve been aching for this pussy, thought about it every single night while you were gone. In bed, in the shower…” He confessed, “Even in my office.” 

You moaned as an image of him jacking off to the thought of you—sitting at his desk with his head thrown back and his eyes closed—filled your mind. 

“My hand doesn’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart… you’re even better than I remembered.” 

You clenched around him and your back arched a little more, as you pressed back into him, taking him a little deeper. 

“Fuck…” He groaned, “Just like that, baby. You’re such a good girl, taking my cock like this.” 

You couldn’t contain your moans and whimpers anymore… It was all too much, and then he was squeezing your hip and ass again with his free hand–the one that had been on your back–and you hoped he left finger prints behind for you to obsess over later. 

“I’m getting close, pretty girl, I need you to come for me.” He ground out, fucking into you for all he was worth. “Come on baby, you can do it… Let go and let me take care of you. Come all over my cock baby, I wanna feel every second of it.” 

But there was something you wanted… something you’d missed the feeling of more than you would ever admit out loud. Although you could be persuaded to tell Aaron about it. Persuaded? Yeah right… You were about to beg for it.

“I- fuck, Aaron, I need you…” You got cut off by a strangle moan that flew from your mouth when his cock hit just right.  

“I’m right here baby, I’ve got you. Just let go…” He soothed. You shook your head. 

“I need you to come inside me!” You panted, pleaded… “I need it so bad, Aaron please!” 

Aaron groaned something under his breath that sounded like pure filth from what you could make out. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, sweetheart. You want me to come inside your perfect little pussy?” He asked. “You gonna come for me if I do?” 

“Yes! God, yes! Aaron, please!” 

“That’s a good girl…” He praised, then… “Shit, I’m- ahh!”

He kept thrusting through his own orgasm and the warmth of his cum spilling into you, flooding your pussy, and dripping down your thighs was the final little push you needed to go spiraling over that edge. 

“Aaron!” You cried, your elbows and wrist giving out—your knees not far behind—but he caught you, pulling you back against his chest. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He murmured in your ear as your vision went all fucked up, you were seeing white with colored spots. “I’ve got you.”

It was a good thing he had you, because you couldn’t feel your legs, so you just relaxed. Going limp against his chest, panting and resting your head on his shoulder. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. You smiled, turning your head so he could kiss your lips instead. Your eyes fluttered closed, they couldn’t see anything yet anyway… The kiss wasn’t urgent… It wasn’t panicked, or needy… It was slow, soft, and sweet. It was full of unsaid words and feelings. 

“I missed you so goddamn much.” You murmured against his lips. “You scared the hell out of me today…” 

“I’m sorry baby… I never want you to feel that way. But I’m okay, Morgan got there just in time, it's just a scratch.” He soothed. 

Your eyes flew open, suddenly your legs worked just fine and you were out his arms and standing in front of him on the bed—tripping over the panties that were still around your knees—he reached out and gripped your waist to keep you steady. You searched his nearly naked body with your eyes frantically. “What’s just a scratch? Rossi said you weren’t hurt! You said you were fine!” 

He stared up at you with wide blinking eyes. 

“Baby… I am fine… it’s just a… a burn…” He said, very carefully. 

“A burn?” You muttered in confusion, studying his face and then a dark pinkish red mark on his temple caught your attention. “What the fuck! Aaron, is that a powder burn!?” 

You grabbed his chin and forced his head to the side so you could look at the injury. 

“Oh my God.” You whimpered, dropping to your knees… You had known that he’d been in danger… but that it had been that close… you felt sick. Tears pooled in your eyes. He took your wrist in his hand and then the other, looking back at you. 

“Hey… sweetheart, don’t… I’m okay… I got checked out. I went to the ER, and I promise I’m okay.” He soothed, but it did nothing to stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. He took your face in his hands and wiped them away with his thumbs. “Baby please don’t cry, it’s all over now.” 

“Hold me?” You whispered. “And tell me how that happened?” 

He nodded, kissing your forehead.

“Whatever you need, baby…” He murmured. “But let's get you cleaned up first, hmm?” 

You frowned at him… squinting skeptically. 

“I promise I will tell you everything.” He swore. “I just wanna take care of you physically first, sweetheart, then we both have some stories to tell, don’t you think?” 

“Okay…” You agreed. 

Aaron didn’t need more permission than that as he scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the bathroom. A nervous peel of giggles falling from your lips. He was relieved to hear you laugh… He didn’t know how he’d made it fourteen months without that sound. It was vital to him somehow… and he hoped he never lost it again. He sat you down on the bathroom counter and kissed you once on the tip of your nose before he turned around to flip on the shower. 

“We don’t have any clean clothes…” You murmured, filling the silence. It seemed that hadn’t changed in the year you’d been apart, you still couldn’t stand the quiet. He wondered how you’d handled that, being alone for so long.

“My room is the adjoining one to this one.” He answered you. “You can wear some of mine and I’ll call Emily and see if she and Derek can’t go pick up your go bag from wherever you were staying.” 

“I hid it in some bushes outside the courthouse… Just in case things went south and I needed to run again.” You said and he stopped fiddling with the water temperature to look at you. 

“I know that you know better than this, but you didn’t leave any weapons in that bag right?” He asked. You laughed, and his heart skipped a beat.  

“No, they were on me.” You gestured to your body, which reminded him that you were still naked and he got a little distracted looking at you. “They’re all out in the room, hidden under pillows and stuff.” 

“Pillows?” He raised a brow, “Meaning… the pillows on the bed I just fucked you in… that sounds so safe.” 

You laughed again and he couldn’t help but smile. He adored that sound. 

“We didn’t even get close to the pillows… it was fine.” You smirked. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” He teased, shaking his head. 

Your smirk grew into a wide, mischievous grin and he knew whatever you said next would be wild.

“You could try to fuck some sense into me… but uh, I’m pretty sure your cock turns my brain to mush so… good luck in that endeavor! Oh, but by all means, give it your best shot.” You joked, and it was his turn to laugh. 

“I think I prefer fucking you senseless, I love that little dazed look you get on your face when your all blissed out.” He shot back, smirking when your cheeks turned pink. He turned back to the water for a second, sticking his wrist in the stream to test the heat. It was slightly too warm for his preference, but the shower you’d taken when he’d stayed the night with you had been so hot that steam had been rolling out from under the bathroom door. He turned and grasped you by the waist, lifting you off the counter and setting you on your feet on the floor. 

“Will that be comfortable for you?” He murmured, nodding toward the water. 

You smiled softly and stuck your hand under the faucet, then nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned against the counter and waited for you to get in, but you hesitated. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, not wanting to be in a separate room, but if that made you more comfortable he wouldn’t object. You shook your head no and your cheeks flushed bright red. He raised an eyebrow at you, but waited patiently for you to get your thoughts together. It wasn’t often that you hesitated to speak your mind, so he was curious. 

“I-” You started and stopped again, then took a deep breath, held it and let it out slowly. 

He smiled. 

“Take your time.” He murmured softly. 

“Will you get in with me?” You asked shyly.

His smile grew till it was nearly ear to ear he was sure. 

“Of course.” He whispered. “Whatever you need, honey.” 

“I just…” You pressed your lips together and furrowed your brow, “It’s silly.” 

“It's not.” He shook his head and reached out, pulling you to him gently by the back of your neck, threading his hand into your hair and kissing your forehead. Then wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you close. “It’s obviously important to you, so it’s important to me.” 

You gave him the strangest look then, your eyes holding so much emotion and yet he couldn’t quite place any of them. 

“I don’t wanna be alone… I’ve been alone for the majority of a year.” You murmured, and his heart broke for you, “But with you specifically I- I just want to be able to reach out and touch you… just to be able to reassure myself that you’re still there.” 

“That’s not silly at all, sweetheart.” He murmured, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m not ready to let you out of my sight yet either.” 

“Really?” You whispered. He nodded and leaned down to kiss you. A chaste, sweet kiss. Nothing more. 

“It was hell, not knowing where you were, if you were safe, or—at some points—if you were even still alive.” He explained. “So yeah, Honey, I’ll get in the shower with you–for completely pure reasons I swear–I’ll stay with you as long as you want.” 

“Thank you.” You murmured, popping up onto your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. “We’re wasting water…”

He had a feeling the two of you would waste a lot more water before this ‘shower’ was over… He didn’t think he’d make it very long–watching you lather up–without touching you. Luckily, he did not think you would mind. You stepped into the shower and he shed his boxers–which never actually made it off his body until this moment–and followed after, letting you have the water first. Watching you tip your head back and let the water run over you was a whole new lesson in patience for him. He was completely enthralled as he watched a stream of water run all the way from your neck, between your breasts, across the plain of your stomach and down between your legs…

“See something you like?” He startled at the smug teasing tone in your voice. 

He’d been caught. 

Clearing his throat, he brought his eyes back to yours… They were nearly sparkling. 

“As a matter of fact, I’m liking everything I see.” He admitted. “You’re… perfect, Sweetheart. I can’t get enough of you.” 

You bit back a smile and he knew that if the conversation continued down this path, there wouldn’t be much ‘showering’ happening at all. He cleared his throat again. “What did you manage to get up to while you were gone?” 

The smile fell from your lips and you shifted anxiously on your feet. 

“Your turn.” You murmured, shifting out of the water and offering it to him so you could lather up.

“Wait a minute… What was that?” He asked, not letting that go so easily. Even as he stepped into the water and cringed at the heat. 

“I uh… I didn’t really do anything fun, I just… worked.” You said. 

Oh. That’s what this was about. You thought he would disapprove of how you provided for yourself. 

“What did you do for work?” He asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew. You got even more awkward. He nodded his head knowingly. “Honey, you did what you had to do…” He murmured. “We… We tried to find you once… after Alabama, because we didn’t know if you were alive… so we profiled you. I profiled you.” 

“And?” You murmured. 

“I came to the conclusion that you were smart enough to know that your best source of income would be something that was untraceable… Like stripping off the books at a club, for example.” He said matter-of-factly. You nodded. 

“And what did the team think of that?” You asked, face blank, ready for a harsh blow.

“They agreed that you were smart enough to have done that and they just hoped you were safe while doing it.” He said honestly and you nodded. 

“I felt like it was my only option…” You whispered, a bit of fear in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart.” He murmured, reaching for you. “I wouldn’t care if you had stripped on live television if it meant that you were safe and had a roof over your head and food to eat… You found a way to take care of yourself, and that’s what matters. What you did was smart, I could never be upset with you for doing something that helped you stay safe until you could come home.”

Relief seemed to wash over you like the water had been before, and you let him fold you into his arms. 

“I was scared you’d be like… mad? Or… I don’t know… jealous?” You murmured. He chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I’m jealous.” He confessed, kissing the top of your head when you tensed up again. “Of everyone that got to watch you… you are… ethereal. I don’t know how you got so good at that so quickly, but watching you is like looking at art.” 

You let out a surprised giggle. 

“Maybe sometime I’ll show you all the new tricks I learned in Wyoming.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him and he laughed. 

“I think you definitely should.” He said with mock seriousness. He was getting a little worked up again just thinking about it. 

“Mmm, I’ll keep that in mind for your birthday or Christmas, whichever comes first.” You murmured. 

“My birthday is in November.” He said, very helpfully, and you giggled. 

“Okay, I can take a hint.” You purred, and your tone… You were gonna have to knock that off or you were gonna find yourself against the shower wall… and that was not the intended purpose of this shower. You untangled yourself from his arms and turned toward the wall mounted bath amenities, pumping some shampoo into your hand, and working it into a pitiful lather in your hair. 

“Ugh.” You groaned. “It’s gonna take my hair a week to recover from this.” 

“From what?” He asked, in amusement.

“Cheap shampoo.” You muttered, then you reached over to catch a stream of water that wasn’t hitting him directly, rinsing your hands. Next you pumped some body wash into your hands and groaned at it too. 

“What? Is the soap not up to par either?” He teased. As far as Aaron was concerned, soap was soap. 

“I’m used to the good stuff, okay. Strippers don’t skimp on skincare, and this stuff will make your skin dryer than the Sahara.” You informed him seriously, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore… He was just a man, after all, and there you were… naked, and lathering up your whole body with bubbly soap… He was just a man… and he was not immune to the allure of bubbles on bare skin. Especially when you were taking so much time on your breasts and… 

Wait. 

He shook his head and blinked a few times, bringing his eyes back up to your face. Caught again… 

You were watching him with a very amused—very heated—grin on your face. He felt his face get very warm. 

“Sorry… I can’t help it… you’re just…” He stammered to explain himself. “So fucking perfect.” 

Your cheeks turned pink again, and he was amazed at how his ogling of your body didn’t phase you, but a simple compliment had you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

“I like it…” You murmured shyly. “The way you look at me… it’s not… I don't know… It’s different. The way you look at me is different from how other men do… there’s more to it. It’s not just blind lust… there’s passion or… something else? I don’t know! I just know that the way you look at me doesn’t make me feel dirty, or like an object. When you look at me, I feel beautiful, I feel like I’m treasured… that sounds ridiculous but it’s how you make me feel.” 

Aaron was pretty sure his cheeks were going to be sore from how hard he was smiling. He was in love with you. It was as simple as that. He had been for months. 

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous… not to me.” He murmured. You both just stared at each other for a moment, the silence was loaded and he was literally two seconds away from confessing, from pouring his heart out to you, when he noticed you were rubbing at a line on your arm. It was pink and puckered. A scar. A very large scar, that had not been there when you had left. He knew it hadn’t because he’d memorized every inch of you. 

“What did that to you?” He asked, all his focus now narrowed down to that one patch of marred skin. “Better question. Who did that to you?” 

You froze and looked up at him, wide eyed. 

“A bullet…” You whispered. “I don’t know, but he’s dead.” 

Aaron took a very deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“Aaron?” You asked quietly. 

“I need a minute baby, I’m not mad at you… I just… I need a minute.” He murmured. 

“Can I rinse off, while you take a minute?” You asked cautiously. He opened his eyes. 

“Of course, Sweetheart.” He tried to smile at you, he did, but he was angry… not at you but at the whole situation. He stepped to the side and let you slide past him and under the water. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry about it when there was nothing you could do.” You murmured, as you tipped your head back to rinse your hair. He realized that you still thought he was mad at you. 

“Baby, look at me.” He insisted, you pushed the excess water out of your hair so it wouldn’t run into your face and then you opened your eyes and looked at him timidly. “I am not mad at you. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I didn’t tell you about the powder burn earlier for the exact same reason. I’m just… upset that you were hurt, and I wasn’t there to help you.” 

“Oh.” You whispered. You were quiet for several moments and he started to soap up while you rinsed off. 

“You saved my life that day… You and the whole team… even if you weren’t there. I used everything you taught me, and it kept me alive…” You said quietly. “But especially you… what you said to me at the shooting range… It saved my life. If I hadn’t had that talk with you I would have panicked, and then I wouldn’t have shot to kill. I would have died. I heard your voice in my head when they came for me, and I used the breathing technique you taught me. It kept me from freaking out, I didn’t stop breathing like that until I was safely on a bus on my way to Wyoming, and as soon as I did I lost my shit… I still cry when I really let myself think about it. I almost died… but also… I killed three people…” 

“No.” Aaron interrupted. “You defended yourself, you had no choice. It was them or you.” 

You nodded your head. 

“I know,” You murmured. “But they aren’t any less dead. I’m not dwelling on it… I’m just… learning to live with it.” 

“Would you like for me to help you?” He asked. He’d killed people on the job before… more times than he cared to think about… You gave him a soft smile. 

“I think that might help.” You nodded. 

“I hope it does.” He replied. 

“Do you still need a minute?” You asked him. He shook his head. 

“No baby, I think I’m good now.” He assured you. “Ready to switch again?” 

You nodded and you both went through the whole song and dance of switching positions in the–not quite big enough for two grown adults–shower. Aaron was so focused on getting thoroughly rinsed off, he didn’t notice that you were eyeing him… at first. He happened to glance over and catch you though. You were studying him, in a manner that was not entirely wholesome. Your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth and your eyes were so full of desire, tracing the shape of his body from the bottom up. At the moment he caught you however, you were staring right at his cock Of course, he would play into it, he had to get a bit of pay back for the little show you put on with the soap earlier. It was already partially erect… How could it not be? What, with you standing there naked, looking like that. He hadn’t stood a chance. But watching you look at it like you wanted it desperately… That had it standing at attention. So he took it in hand and stroked it, firmly and slowly. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head, and he bit back a laugh, instead choosing to clear his throat softly. Your eyes shot up to his, your face turning bright red and you were biting that lip in earnest now. 

“See something you want, pretty girl?” Aaron was surprised at the tone of his own voice, the clear arousal in it was impossible to miss, but he wanted you to know that your attention was getting to him. 

“Sorry.” You whispered, it was barely even a breath. 

“Don’t apologize.” He smirked at you, “I like the way you look at me too, and I really wanna know what’s going on in that filthy mind of yours right now.” 

“I want you.” You murmured, without hesitation and Aaron felt his cock twitch in his hand. 

“You can have me anytime you want me, Sweetheart. You just have to ask.” He murmured, “Fucking you is my favorite passtime.” 

You shook your head and he cocked his to the side in question. 

“I don’t want you to… fuck me… I-” Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips… and he knew. A smile formed on his face. 

“You what, baby?” He asked, letting a slight teasing tone slip into his voice. You didn’t answer… not verbally. You just sank to your knees. 

“Fuck…” He whispered, as you gazed up at him from the floor, water droplets running all over you and clinging to your hair and eyelashes.  “You wanna suck my cock, sweetheart?” 

“Can I?” You asked, a touch of desperation in your voice… and Aaron was done for… wrapped around your little finger… “Please?” 

Oh fuck… He would let you get away with murder… and that was a problem in his line of work, in yours too. He didn’t care though, he was too in love with you to worry about it. 

“You can do whatever you want to me, pretty girl. I couldn’t deny you if I wanted to.” He whispered. 

“Then come here.” You murmured. It was like your voice had physical power over him. He took two steps closer to you, so that the water was only hitting his lower back and not running down his front. So it wouldn’t drown you. He stared down in awe as you reached out and gripped him firmly, a small moan working its way up his throat. You stroked him slowly, three times, making eye contact with him the whole time. And then you licked him, from base to tip on the underside, your tongue had him mesmerized, so pink and warm… He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine, despite the hot water. He was not going to last… But he didn’t think you really wanted him to. When you wrapped your perfect lips around him, he thought he might lose it right then.

“Fuck, sweetheart, this isn’t gonna last long.” He warned you, and you pulled back, just enough to look up at him and smile. “That's okay, I have a score to settle, and right now it’s like seven to four… I’m losing. I can't let that stand.” 

He smirked down at you. 

“Honey, that score is never gonna be even, for every one you give me, I intended to give you at least two.” Aaron promised, shaking his head at your antics. You pouted. 

“Well… I guess I’ll just have fun trying anyway.” You purred and took him all the way to the back of your throat without warning. Aaron had to brace himself with a hand on the wall behind you as he moaned. Then he took the other hand and pushed your hair away from your face. He wanted to watch you. You were a sight to behold, kneeling in front of him with your lips wrapped around his cock, dragging yourself up and down the length of it… Your mouth felt like heaven, and then you looked up at him with those gorgeous eyes, making eye contact from beneath your lashes… He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. You were stunning. 

“Look at you, on your knees for me…” He murmured, running the back of his fingers down your cheek. “So fucking beautiful…” 

The whimper you let out was muffled by his cock, but he was so attuned to you that he heard it loud and clear. You increased the suction around him, the pressure of your lips, and you were doing something with your tongue that was making him want to pin you to the wall and fuck you till you saw stars. But you asked for this, and he would let you have your fun. Then he would have his. Your eyes were watering and any other time your tears would break his heart, but right now they had it racing, his breath quickening, hands shaking. 

“You're taking me so well baby, doing so good for me…” He praised, knowing you loved it when he coaxed you on, though he was starting to suspect that there may have been more to it than just his words. “My pretty girl…” 

You moaned around him at that and he shuddered at the sensation. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He groaned. Your hand came up and gripped the base of him, using it in tandem with your mouth to stroke him. The pleasure was too much and he was walking the edge like a tightrope. 

“Baby, I’m so close… you’re doing such a good job, don’t stop sweetheart.” He ground out through his teeth as he leaned harder against the wall. Needing its support to get through the intensity of what he felt building. “You’re such a good girl, so fucking perfect for me.”

He barely noticed it, caught it by chance more than anything, but your thighs tightened at his words, and you shifted on your knees as though you were seeking any kind of friction… and you found it, grinding against your heel as you kept sucking him like he was the best thing you’d ever tasted. 

“Fuck…” He moaned. “Baby I’m about to come.” 

You didn’t pull away, you just looked back up and maintained eye contact, then took him all the way to the back of your throat. Aaron came so hard his vision went fuzzy and his head ached. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he moaned again, and as his vision cleared he saw you lick him clean. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as badly as he wanted to kiss you at that moment.

He went to his knees in front of you, cupping your face and the nape of your neck in his hands, and pulled you to him until your lips crashed into his. He could taste himself on your lips and it was intoxicating, they parted for him as soon as he prodded at them with his tongue. Yours tangled with his and you whimpered softly into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted to kiss every inch of your skin. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to make you fall apart on his tongue. Aaron moaned at the thought and he couldn’t think of anything else. He was desperate for it. For you. 

Kissing his way down your neck, he thought he’d probably left a mark or two as he sucked and nipped at your skin, but he kept going blazing a trail down your chest to your gorgeous breasts. If he had the patience he could've spent an hour on each one individually, but he was feeling every bit as impatient as you normally were. Water was running down his face and into his mouth and nose but he didn’t care.

“Stand up.” He murmured against your breast just before he lightly sank his teeth into the curve of it. 

“What?” You gasped, distractedly. 

“Stand up for me baby.” He repeated, tugging at your hips. 

He kissed down the plane of your stomach as you rose to your feet and then he pushed you gently until your back was flat against the wall. Nudging your legs apart he scooted forward so that his knees were between your feet and then he grasped your thigh from behind your leg and lifted it up to rest on his shoulder, then did the same to the other. You didn’t question him, didn’t even hesitate, trusting him completely. Just threaded your fingers into his hair with both hands to steady yourself on his shoulders. Which only made him more desperate to have you. He gripped your ass with both hands, to help him balance you and keep you steady as he rose up straight on his knees and buried his face in your pussy. Eating you out like you were his last meal. And he would’ve been content with that had it been true. 

He went straight in with his tongue, fucking you with it without any preamble. His nose was pressed into your clit and he could not breathe, but who needed air when this was the alternative. Your taste was addicting and he couldn’t get enough of it. He licked you from the bottom of your cunt’s opening to the tip of your clit, then sucked it into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. Your thighs clamped around his head, muffling the sound of your cries.  Which was a shame, because they were music to his ears… Pulling you closer and leaning forward so that the wall took most of your weight–not that he’d noticed it before–he took one hand off your ass and caressed your entrance with his middle finger before pushing it inside. Then added his ring finger as well. He found that sensitive spot that made your legs shake and massaged it slowly as he sucked steadily on your clit. Your hands tightened in his hair and he groaned at the sting, squeezing your ass in response. You were making the most beautiful sounds, his name falling off your lips like a prayer every few seconds. He could feel the walls of your pussy fluttering around his fingers, your thighs were trembling on his shoulders and tightening around his head with every passing moment. He didn’t have to glance up to know that your head would be thrown back, your mouth open in a perfect ‘O’, your cheeks flushed pink, and your eyes squeezed shut. 

“Aaron!” It was nearly a scream, and your body went limp against the wall, but he had you. He would not let you fall. He licked at your pussy until your legs stopped shaking and then he lowered you slowly from his shoulders down to his waist, wrapping your legs around his waist and sitting back on his heels to hold you. 

“Are you okay baby?” He murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. 

“Mm hmm…” You whimpered, then mumbled, “I’m so good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, only a tad bit smugly. 

“Oh yeah…” You murmured back, wiggling closer to his body, and then pausing suddenly. He knew why… but he waited to see what you’d do about it. You giggled. 

“What’s so funny?” He murmured, not insecurely, no. He was amused and wanted to hear exactly what about this situation you found so laughable. 

“You’re hard again already, you just came a few minutes ago. You’re insatiable.” You giggled again. 

“You tend to have that effect on me.” He let his voice drop into a low rasp. “Your pussy is addicting.” 

You shivered and a small whimper fought its way free of your lips. He smiled.

“Tell me something pretty girl…” He murmured, “You like it when I talk dirty to you? Is that right?” 

You sat up a little and looked at him with curious eyes, then nodded your head. 

“Mm hmm.” You hummed. 

“Is it the words that I say? Or is it my voice that gets you excited?” He mused. 

“I’m not sure…” You shrugged, then whispered shyly. “I just know that I like it…”

“Hmmm.” He studied you as he spoke next, letting his voice drift into that same low rasp again. “If I said, you are just as beautiful to me right now—with your hair all wet and messy, with your makeup smudged and nearly gone—as you were on that stage at the club the night this all started… how does that make you feel?” 

You flushed a soft pink and your eyes filled with an emotion he recognized but didn’t dare name. 

“Like the most lucky woman on the planet…” You whispered, smiling at him. “And like I really want to kiss you.” 

He smiled and leaned in, kissing you softly, then pulling away again—just slightly—to watch your face. 

“How about if I said, there’s nothing I want to do more right now than fuck you against the wall of this shower until the only thing you can do is moan my name?” He asked in a tone that wouldn’t have been out of place if he were asking about the weather. You blinked at him for a second, a look of shock and confusion on your face… until what he had said truly sank in. Then you started to blush and your eyes grew heated again. 

“Say it again… but how you said the other thing.” You murmured shyly. He smirked at you, leaned in close so you would be able to feel his breath on your skin.

“I want to fuck you against the wall of this shower until the only thing you can do is moan my name…” He said softly, in that same low raspy tone that seemed to do things to you. 

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your breath quickened and that little whimper made an encore. 

“That answers that question…” He murmured, then he smirked at you and said, “Now… about that wall?” 

Aaron’s arms had been wrapped around you when you’d fallen asleep–in his bed–but they were gone now… that’s what woke you. His absence. You had sat straight up in the bed, and for a moment, this hotel room looked like every other hotel room you’d stayed in for the last year. Your heart had stopped. You were alone again… had it all been another dream? 

“Aaron!?” You’d called out in a panic. And there he was. Charging back into the room and kneeling at your side in an instant. 

“I’m here, Honey. What’s wrong?” He murmured. But the anxiety had set in and you couldn’t contain the tears that rose to your eyes and fell down your cheeks, or the way your chest was heaving and yet you felt like none of the oxygen was making it to your lungs. 

“Shit…” He whispered. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here… I’m here. Hey, look at me, look at my eyes.” 

You did as he asked without question, looking into his eyes. 

“That’s good, sweetheart, now breathe with me. In four, out four.” He coaxed, you nodded. “In 1, 2, 3, 4. Good job, baby, now out 1, 2, 3, 4. Good, again.” 

You breathed with him as he held your hand to his chest. 

In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4. 

“Good girl, you did so good, baby. Can you tell me what happened? Was it a nightmare?” He praised softly and questioned so gently, hold your hands. You shook your head. 

“I woke up and I thought… I thought I was alone again. I- I thought I’d dreamt it. All of it.” You explained. He nodded, and then pulled you to his chest. Sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you into his lap. 

“I’m sorry baby, I just went to answer the door, Morgan and Prentiss wouldn’t stop knocking and I didn’t want them to wake you.” He murmured against your hair, rubbing your arm and squeezing you tighter. “I won’t leave you alone like that without telling you first again, I promise.” 

You took a few more deep breaths and then sat up and looked at him. 

“What did Morgan and Prentiss need?” You asked softly. He smiled. 

“You weren’t answering your door, so they panicked.” He informs you. 

“In our defense… She did just testify against a major drug trafficking ring that has been trying to kill her for over a year.” Derek’s voice floated in from the hall. “I’m pretty sure our freak out was justified!” 

You giggled, and squirmed out of Aaron’s arms, practically bouncing to the door to see them. You’d missed them. No where near as much as you’d missed Aaron… but you’d missed them so much it’d been painful. They were standing just inside the door, in the little entryway to the room. You just hadn’t been able to see them from the bed. 

“Hey there Foxy, you okay?” Derek asked, wrapping you up in a Morgan bearhug. 

“I’m fine now.” You answered, hugging him back tightly and then moving to Emily to squeeze the life out of her. “I missed you guys.” 

“We missed you too!” She smiled as she pulled back to look at you. “I can’t wait to sit down and catch up. We’re way overdue for a girl’s night. We haven’t had one since you left.” 

You almost teared up at that. 

“Girls night, as soon as we get back to Virginia!” You promised her. 

“It’s a date!” She agreed and you beamed at her.  Then your stomach growled… Loudly. Arms wrapped around you from behind, lips brushing your ear before falling on your cheek. 

“Did you eat after you got out of court?” Aaron murmured as he left a kiss there. 

“I came straight here with Rossi and then I went to sleep.” You confessed, peering up at him sheepishly. 

“Why don’t you two go gather the others and we’ll order in and have a team dinner.” Aaron suggested to Derek and Emily. 

“That sounds great!” Emily said enthusiastically. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, you found yourself pinned to the wall with Aaron’s tongue nearly down your throat. When the surprise wore off, you kissed him back vigorously and threaded your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. His hands gripped your ass and hauled you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you over to the bed he walked to the middle on his knees before lowering you to the mattress, only breaking the kiss to keep from falling on top of you as he lowered himself down over you. You let your hands roam… everywhere. His shoulders, his back, chest, neck, you even got brave enough to cop a feel of his ass. Which–to your delight–made him moan, then cup your pussy through your pants in a very sexy form of retaliation. 

“Fuck, Aaron…” You moaned against his lips… And then there was a knock at the door. 

“Already!?” He groaned, in what sounded like despair. You laughed at his frustration. 

“You said the word dinner and you thought they’d take more than five minutes?” You teased him. 

“I thought they’d take at least five minutes… five minutes was all we would’ve needed.” He grumbled, “It’s been two. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you again for hours.” 

You giggled. 

“It hasn’t been that long…” You rolled your eyes. 

“You slept for six hours honey.” He grinned down at you and kissed your nose. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?! I wouldn’t have minded at all!” You told him. “Especially if you woke me up like this.” 

“Sweetheart… you clearly needed sleep…” He murmured, kissing you again. 

There was another knock at the door followed by a muffled. “I know there’s no way they managed to get their clothes off in the two minutes we were gone!” 

You laughed at Derek’s slightly exasperated tone. 

“We better get the door, or they might actually think we’re fucking again.” You joked. 

“We would’ve been if they took the five minutes I’d banked on.” He grumbled. You just laughed again and wiggled your way out from under him, going to the door. 

“Sorry!” You said as you opened it, “We went back into my room to get a take out menu, there wasn’t one in here for some reason.” 

You said the last part over your shoulder, loud enough for Aaron to hear, so he would get up and grab the take out menu off the night stand and play along. What you weren’t expecting, however, was to be tackled as soon as you turned to face them. 

“OH MY GOD! YOU’RE HERE!! YOU’RE REALLY HERE!” it was a–very–high pitched squeal, a squeal that you would have known anywhere. 

“PENELOPE?!?!” You squealed back, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her back, just as tightly. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!” 

“I HAD TO TESTIFY THIS MORNING AFTER YOU DID!! I’VE BEEN DYING TO COME TALK TO YOU ALL DAY BUT THEY TOLD ME I HAD TO WAIT BECAUSE SOMEBODY DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SHARE!!!” She screeched. 

“Aye, my ears…” Rossi complained, “Please take it down a bit my dears, the dogs in the next county over can hear you.” 

Everyone laughed and you pulled Penelope back into the room with you as the rest of them followed. Aaron was sitting against the headboard, takeout menu in hand as you crawled over him—dragging Penelope with you—to the center of the bed. You settle in next to him, with Pen on your other side, then Emily and JJ flopped down together on the end of the bed. While Morgan, Reid and Rossi settled in the three chairs that were in the room. 

“Where are we ordering from?” Spencer asked as soon as there was a brief moment of quiet. 

Chaos ensued for the next ten minutes. Until, finally, everyone agreed on pizza because that was fastest and they could be sure that everyone had an option they would like. The pizza place was also close by and delivered. Aaron picked up the phone off the night stand–instead of using his cellphone, like a normal person–and called the pizza place. While he was occupied, Derek got your attention. 

“Hey Foxy.” He called, and you didn’t mind the nickname at all… You were just glad to have them all back. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in response, looking over at him. 

“Settle something for me and Reid, please?” He requested. 

“Shoot.” You nodded. You should’ve known better. A shit eating grin spread across his face and you felt the urge to roll your eyes. 

“How long were you and Hotch bumpin’ uglies before we caught you?” He asked teasingly. The answer to that question was… embarrassing. You could feel your face turning red just thinking about how quickly you’d been caught and how it had started… 

“Eww, Morgan… bumpin’ uglies??? You couldn’t have phrased it any better than that?” JJ groaned and scrunched her face up in disgust. 

“Yeah!” Prentiss joined in, or at least… you thought she was defending you, until she said, “You could’ve just asked her how long they’d been fucking and it would’ve sounded less gross.” 

You covered your face with your hands, glancing sideways at Aaron to find he was still talking to the pizza shop worker who must’ve been incompetent judging by the tone of Aaron’s voice and the look on his face. He’d not be coming to your rescue then. 

“Oh come on, guys!” Penelope squeezed your arm that was threaded through hers tightly. “It’s clearly more than that! Look at them… they’re in love!” 

You felt your eyes bug out of your head. In love? 

You looked over at Aaron, the way his hand was resting on your thigh protectively, how you had settled in close enough to lean against him without truly leaning, how your leg had instinctively tucked itself under his. Your body was naturally drawn to him. He felt you looking and glanced over at you with a soft smile, then squeezed your thigh affectionately. 

“Just a second, Honey.” He murmured. “I can’t get someone on the phone who understands what I’m asking for. I really don’t think it's that hard. We want two pepperoni, two cheese, and one that’s half supreme and half ham and pineapple because for some reason you and Garcia enjoy that abomination. Hold on, they got the manager.” 

Then he went back to his phone call, none the wiser to the chaos happening around him and the mortification you were experiencing. 

“Awww he called her Honey! See! I told you! They’re so sweet!” Penelope exclaimed. 

“It was pretty cute…” Morgan admitted begrudgingly. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” Prentiss interrupted impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for a year to get answers!” 

You looked over at Rossi pleadingly, but he was scrolling on his phone, pretending not to listen. Traitor.

“So when did you and Hotch make it official?” Emily asked, laying on her stomach and propping up on her elbows with her chin in the palms of her hands. She looked almost girlish like this. But you thought about her question, and realized… you didn’t have an answer. 

“We haven’t actually had that conversation…” You murmured quietly. “We’ve never even been on a date…” 

“What?!?!?!” All three girls exclaimed at once. Aaron glanced over with a harsh look, silently shushing them. You bumped his shoulder gently and he softened immediately, giving you a smile. 

“Oh my God, they’re so fucking cute.” Penelope was practically giddy. “But what do you mean you’ve never been on a date!” 

“That’s really not that surprising.” Spencer said, joining the circus. “Lots of relationships start sexually and turn emotional later so many couples find they’ve been together months before they ever actually go out on a date.” 

Everyone but Aaron turned and stared at Reid in various degrees of shock and disbelief. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing…” JJ murmured, “You’re just… not wrong…” 

“How is that, in any way, surprising?” He looked so thoroughly confused. 

“In this case… there are too many ways to count…” Prentiss muttered. 

“Hey, be nice to him!” You protested, scowling at them. 

“You won’t be so protective of him when you hear his theory.”  Derek smirked smugly. Oh boy… 

“What do you mean?” You asked, and immediately knew you’d regret it. 

“We’ve been trying to pin down exactly when the two of you hit it off, and we keep disagreeing.” Morgan explained. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t imagine Hotch being that okay with his girl going undercover as a stripper, especially not when the op was that dangerous. The girls think it started a long time before the op even happened, or at least that you two were tiptoeing around it. Rossi refuses to weigh in–which means he knows the answer because Hotch told him–and he won’t give us any hints either. But Reid… well… Pretty boy thinks it started during the op itself, which makes literally no sense because you two didn’t even have any contact during the op, you were undercover and only talked to us over the burner phone once a week.” Derek keeps explaining his reasoning as to why Reid’s theory is ridiculous, but you weren’t listening any more. Your head had snapped—involuntarily—in Reid’s direction, eyes wide, finding him already studying you closely. 

“I knew it!” He exclaimed after a moment. “I knew I was right!” 

“Right about what?” Aaron asked, finally hanging up the phone. 

“I’ve been getting the third degree for the last five minutes, save me.” You murmured in his ear. He turned his head and kissed the tip of your nose. 

“That’s nauseatingly adorable…” Emily muttered. 

“What is Reid right about?” Aaron asked, ignoring her. 

“You two got together, during the undercover op, yes or no?” Spencer queried, his face set in determination. 

“Yes.” Aaron said easily. 

“What?!?!?!” The girls and Derek exclaimed, at the same time that Reid hissed out an excited, “YES!! I win!”

“That’s why we haven’t been on a date…” You murmured. “We never got a chance…” 

“Wait so, how did that even happen?” JJ asked. “When did you have time to start a relationship while she was undercover?” 

You and Aaron shared a glance, a silent conversation passing between you. We are not telling them that story. You hoped your face conveyed. Agreed. His slight nod told you he understood.

“When he went into the club to tell her about the shipment that we thought was coming in.” Spencer chimed in. “It was the only time that made any sense. Hotch went in on edge, spent an hour with her in a room we couldn’t see into, then came out very relaxed and way too happy, until it wore off and then he was even more rigid and strict than he usually is. He started staying in the van and watching the CCTV obsessively. Like he was afraid to take his eyes off her. It was pretty obvious in hindsight.”

He had? You hadn’t known that. Spencer wasn’t done.

“Then there was the taking turns outside her apartment thing and when we got her out he was never out of arm’s distance from her. He was nearly constantly touching her in some way and I thought it was weird, but then I figured maybe she was just a little shaken up and disoriented and he was using physical touch to ground her. Then I saw the way he was looking at her, it was nearly constant and so concerned, but she would smile at him and he would smile back and relax… I should’ve seen it then.” Spencer said, even though he obviously had seen it. He just hadn’t known what it was until a few days later. You found yourself gazing up at Aaron. Studying him quietly. 

“I was afraid to take my eyes off her, I had just asked her to do something incredibly dangerous and I– had feelings for her, strong feelings, even that early on… I relied on you all so much that last two weeks, that's why I asked you all to weigh in on every decision regarding her, because I was concerned that my emotions would get in the way.” He admitted quietly, but he wasn’t ashamed of it. You had no idea that he’d felt that strongly about you that soon… you had no idea he felt that strongly about you now… 

You knew you had very strong feelings for him. He was the most attentive, caring, sweet man you’d ever been with. He was more emotionally mature than you could believe, he treated you with such respect… but was also capable of ruining you in bed. He knew what made you tic, and he’d learned all of that in such a short amount of time. You couldn’t imagine what your relationship would look like in the next few months… or years? God, you hoped you were still with him in a few years… this was a kind of passion that you didn’t know if you would be able to recover from if it ended badly… 

“Uh oh, Foxy… better be careful… you look like you're all up in love over there.” Morgan’s voice broke through your reverie. 

I think I am… You thought, without ever looking away from Aaron. 

The whole room went silent. Aaron turned his head and gave you the most tender, adoring smile you thought you’d ever seen. 

“You do?” He asked softly, almost cautiously. 

You blinked at him, furrowing your brow in confusion. 

“What?” You murmured, you hadn’t said anything… had you?

“You said you think you are.” He whispered back. 

Oh shit.

“I said that out loud?” You breathed, panic building in your chest. 

He nodded. 

“You did, sweetheart.” He was beaming at you. 

“I-” You didn’t know what to say. You could feel every eye in the room on you, but all you cared about was Aaron, and you wanted to be honest with him. “Yeah… I do.” 

“Just to be sure I am not imagining this… you think you’re in love with me?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, Aaron, I’m in love with you.” You said with the certainty you now felt in that statement. “I know it’s… soon? Kinda… but–” 

He kissed you. 

On the lips right in front of the entire team. 

But as his lips met yours… you forgot they existed. 

It was the sweetest, softest kiss and you got completely lost in it. 

Lost in him.

“I love you too, Pretty Girl.” He murmured against your lips, tucking your hair behind your ear as he pulled away. “I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”

The two of you just stared at each other in silence for a moment, completely oblivious to the fact that you had an audience. 

Until one such viewer could no longer contain her excitement. 

“Oh my God… did that just? Was that?” Garcia sputtered. “Did we just witness their first I love yous?!” 

“Yes, and you’re ruining the moment Baby Girl, chill.” Derek chided softly. 

You giggled, and Aaron leaned in and kissed you once more. Just a chaste peck to the lips, but it melted you. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist and tucked you in close, holding you tightly to his side. You buried your face in his shoulder, not embarrassed, but a little overwhelmed. He just pressed a kiss to the top of your head and squeezed you a little tighter… He understood. 

And so did JJ. 

“Hey so what happened on the roof earlier today!?” She asked suddenly, taking the attention off of you. 

You felt the energy in the room shift, but Aaron’s attention was still on you and as Emily said, “Oh my God, Hotch almost gave me a heart attack is what happened.” 

He leaned in to whisper, “Are you okay, Honey?”

You peered up at him and smiled, “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

He kissed your nose, and since everyone else’s attention was now on Prentiss, you turned to pay attention, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“When I shot the guy, he fell behind the parapet and I lost sight of him. Then Hotch came out of the roof access and there he was, right behind him. He pistol whipped Hotch and made him fall, and then the guy fell, I couldn’t see them after that.” Emily explained.

Aaron picked up the story from there. 

“I kicked his feet out from under him and got on top of him, then I hit him a few times… but I didn’t see the gun, and the next thing I knew I was looking down the barrel of a forty four.” Aaron murmured, and your heart stopped. 

You knew–obviously–that he was fine, but you still didn’t like hearing that he’d been literally staring death in the face just hours earlier.

“That’s when I came out onto the roof, and I made enough racket that it distracted the guy so that Hotch could swat the gun away from his face, then the guy pulled the trigger and I kicked him in the head.” Morgan filled in the rest. 

“Jesus, Hotch, are you alright?” JJ asked, her voice laced with fear and concern. 

“I’m fine, just a powder burn, that’s all.” Aaron murmured, turning his head to show them the small burn. 

“What about your ear?” Prentiss asked, “Did the gunshot re-injure it?” 

That caught you off guard, you jerked your head up to look at him. 

“Your ear?! What about your ear?!” You asked, and your voice cracked. 

“Honey, are you crying?” He shot back, wiping tears away from your face. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying, but you didn’t care, you wanted to know what was wrong with his ear. 

“Nevermind that, tell me about your ear.” You demanded. 

He sighed, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. 

“A few years ago I had a close call with a car bomb, it blew out my eardrum. It still bothers me sometimes, but I’m mostly fine.” He explained, “I asked the doctor about it at the ER and he said he didn’t see any new damage, I’m okay.”

You took a deep breath, nodding your head and staring blankly at the wall for a minute. 

“Okay.” You sighed, relief flooded your body and you relaxed against his side again. 

You realized that the focus was back on the two of you again, soft knowing smiles on all their faces. 

“Oh my god, Reid, how's your nose?” You asked, to get the attention off you for a minute. 

“It’s okay, I’ve had worse.” He shrugged, “I should have known better than to just grab you like that. Especially after a gunshot.You’re right hook is tough though.” 

“That wasn’t a right hook, but thank you.” You giggled. 

There was a knock at the door, and every head in the room turned toward the sound. Then chaos ensued as Spencer and Derek rushed for the door. 

“Do you two even have cash to tip the driver?” Rossi called exasperatedly, as he got up to follow them. 

“I better go referee that before those two mess around and drop the pizza.” Aaron muttered, dropping a kiss to your head and following the rest of the men to the door. 

He was gone for all of two seconds before the girls pounced on you. 

“Okay spill.” Emily demanded. 

“Spill what?” You asked. 

“Cut the shit, we only have a minute before they come back and we know what we heard that night.” She ranted. “You were getting dicked down and from the way you sounded, it was good.” 

You blushed. 

“I don’t know about dicked down…” You muttered, “It was more like… retaliatory head.” 

Prentiss snorted. 

“Retaliatory head?” JJ asked, “What does that even mean?” 

“Yes please, do tell… and spare no details.” Penelope giggled. 

You chuckled quietly. 

“He knew that you guys knew he’d been with me all day and that he tried to lie about it to Morgan that morning, but I didn’t know so I tried to lie to you guys…” You started, and they nodded that they knew that much. “I thought he was asleep. But when I called him… oh what was it… A stubborn mule! Yes, when I called him a stubborn mule he revealed himself to be very much awake. When I called him geriatric… he decided to wage war… with his tongue.” 

“Oh wow…” JJ murmured. “Was it good?” 

“What do you mean ‘was it good?!’” Garcia exclaimed. “You heard her just as clearly as we did! But, for the sake of science… was it?” 

You laughed. 

“Let's just say, we’ve only had five…encounters… but I’ve had ten orgasms… the man is a giver, in every sense of the word.” You teased, giving them just enough to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Shock and awe. That was the only way you could describe their faces. Then, after a long minute of silence, Emily nodded. 

“Ya know what, yeah, that checks out.” She conceded, “Hotch does seem like that type.” 

“What type?” Aaron’s voice came from the entry way as the guys walked back in. 

You all froze and looked at each other for a second, slight panic on all your faces. 

“Uh… The generous type.” You explained cryptically, and not at all suspiciously… Nope, not one bit.

He raised an eyebrow at you, a slight smirk on his lips. 

“They were definitely talking about sex.” Derek grinned slyly as he flopped down in his chair again. 

“Oh, fuck off and eat your pizza!” You grumbled. 

He just cackled knowing he was right. 

“Well… You guys are really cute.” JJ offered softly, “We’re glad to see you both happy.” 

Em and Pen nodded in agreement. 

“Thanks guys.” You murmured, and they got up to go get some pizza that Spencer and Rossi were sitting on the table. Arms wrapped around your waist, and lips traced your neck. 

“I’m generous, huh?” He murmured in your ear, in the tone that made you ache for him. 

“Forget whatever you heard, and I’ll show you how generous I can be as soon as the others go to bed.” You bribed him.

“Oh?” He nipped your ear, “Who’s the giver now?” 

Your face burned bright red. 

“Get a room!!” Emily jeered, playfully and you both glanced up to find everyone watching you with smiles on their faces. 

“You’re in our room.” Aaron reminded her. 

Laughter erupted around the room and your heart swelled. It was so good to be back, to be here with this team–with this family–and to have Aaron’s arms around you again. 

You were home.

Tag List: @beesin03 @marvel-jess @creepy-story-lover28 @thegamingsushicat @zaddyhotch @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @mystargirl-interlude @misaccc @newtomofgods  @arhaenyra @sagereader @lc35732 @oldmanbunnylover @girlnerd116

[queenofvelaris]

This is absolute perfection, I’m absolutely beaming

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Universal Truth³

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: After the core truths of your relationship are called into question, you and Aaron work to find the truth that you can still believe in. Warnings: ANGST! d1 grovelling (i hope), mentions of home invasion, aftermath of trauma, references to foyet arc and haley's death, cm-typical cases, complicated relationships, one reference to ep where hotch crashes his car Words: 5.4K

Series Masterlist | CM Masterlist | Navigation

a/n: this is the end, friends! i hope you enjoy!

You woke up screaming. That happened a lot, but you didn't like to acknowledge that truth very much.

Footsteps hurriedly sounded, then your bedroom door opened, sending light from the hallway into the room. Your chest fell up and down rapidly, but you still squinted, seeing Aaron standing in the threshold with worry written all over his face.

He didn't say anything. He always waited for you to calm down first, which you appreciated. Only when you wiped all your tears did he finally ask, "Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question, no matter how softly he asked, but it was the only thing he could say. Hoarsely, you responded, "Yes." Just like always. But one of these days, you might just say no, and he was waiting for it. Not in a malicious way, but in the way of a man who just wanted to hold his woman. 

You wouldn't let him.

He always stood in the doorway after that, as if your mind would change and you would ask him to hold you. You wanted that, too, despite denying yourself of it. It's why you wrapped your arms around yourself, even though you weren't cold at all. 

You held your ground. "I'm fine, Aaron."

He stared at you like he could unravel you with his eyes. Profiler. He didn't believe you. But he wouldn't dare question you on it. Instead, he nodded. "Okay." His gaze went downcast as if to spare you from seeing the defeat, and then he lightly closed the door.

As soon as he was gone, you let out a shaky breath. Aaron didn't say I love you when he checked in on you, and that was upon your request. It hurt too much to hear.

Albeit, being in this house in two separate rooms hurt all the same. He gave you the master bedroom while he slept in the guest room. He woke up before all three of you anyway, so there was no worry of Jack seeing and wondering why you weren't sleeping together.

It was difficult to explain to an eight-year-old. Even more difficult to explain to a band of profilers when the sparkly ring on your finger seemed to disappear.

You pulled your necklace out from beneath your shirt, fiddling with the ring hanging from the chain. A sigh left you. Of course, all this had to happen at the height of your relationship.

But then again, you knew the saying as well as anyone. It had become a universal truth.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

— 

"Taylor Swift on the line, speak now or forever hold your peace!"

You lightly snorted at Garcia's opening as Morgan responded, "You're on speaker, babygirl. Do you have anything on the victim's last whereabouts?"

Penelope glanced over at you, so you took over. "Yes. Sarah's credit card was last used at a grocery store, similar to Vicky. I'm assuming this means your unsub's a family man, or that he can blend in well with the crowd. Pen and I are combing security footage now to see if we can find anyone looking sketchy."

A new voice started over the line. "I agree with your assessment. Thank you, Y/N."

Your breath got caught in your throat. Of course, being on speaker meant Hotch was there. He was still your boss, you still had to talk to him—you still did talk to him—but not without this awkward silence first. 

He would compliment you, tell you something about doing a good job. Then, the team would glance between you, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even Penelope went quiet during your interactions. But you tried your hardest not to make it weird for everyone else.

"Uh, no worries. I sent you guys the store's address, so... we'll be off now." Just like that, you clicked the red button on the phone, ending the call. 

You turned back to your computer right away, trying to avoid Garcia's pitying eyes. Softly, she said your name. "Y/N/N—"

You cut her off, "It's fine, Garcia." Your voice was a little too sharp to mean it, but after a few seconds of staring at you, she dropped it, turning back to her computer.

It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

If you said it enough, maybe it'd become the truth.

—

A ringing pulled you out of your sleep. You blinked your eyes open, reaching for your phone.

Groggily, you said, "Hello?"

You were met with JJ's voice, apologetically telling you that you had a case. You glanced at your bedside table, where a picture frame of you and Aaron stood next to a clock. It read 5:31 AM. 

You sighed, rubbing at your eyelids. "Okay, I'll be in soon."

You quickly got up and got dressed, haphazardly putting on whatever was closest to you and trying not to graze your bullet wound. It was fully healed, but you could still feel phantom pains that you'd rather ignore. The therapist Aaron ordered for you thought it was unhealthy, but you didn't care much for either of their opinions on the matter.

You opened the door to the room, finding him standing right on the other side. Your body roughly jerked, and you immediately slapped a hand over your heart. "Fuck, Aaron, you scared me."

Despite looking sorry, you still caught the gleam in his eye. It happened whenever you said his name— only when you were tired, and only when you were at home. 

"Sorry," he said. "But we have a case."

"I know. JJ told me."

"Well, I've called Jessica, and she's on her way." Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him starting to rub his forefinger against his thumb. Automatically, you tensed, already sensing the direction this was going in. "I thought we could drive to the office together."

You exhaled a breath, searching for a way to put what you wanted to say in the nicest terms as possible. You really were trying. "No, I should probably drive myself, since you'll be leaving anyway."

He shrugged. "The case is local. And Garcia can drive you home later." You knew that. That used to be your whole routine when he left for cases before; you tried to find any opportunity to spend more time together. Driving to work together was that opportunity.

Was.

At that small reminder, you pursed your lips into a smile. "I should probably leave before Jess gets here."

His face immediately fell, causing a stabbing sensation in your heart. You pushed past him so you wouldn't have to see it.

"Y/N—"

"Sorry, Hotch, I've gotta go." You tried to keep the bite out of your voice, but it wound up there, anyway. If anything, you were grateful for it, because it got him to stop talking. Which was good because, the more he talked, the foggier your brain got.

You picked up your bag from the couch, half-glancing at the mantle as you did. You could remember a picture frame that used to sit there—of you, Aaron, and Jack all smiling. 

You looked away promptly, remembering exactly when that picture frame broke.

Symbolically, you knew the glass wasn't the only that thing that shattered.

You slung the bag around your shoulder a bit rougher than you needed to, and then you were out the door without another word.

— 

Since the case was local, the office was fully populated with the BAU. You still managed to avoid Hotch as best as you could, swerving past him whenever he tried to speak to you, leaving the room when he did.

This was your latest of attempts at trying to hide away from him, standing before the washroom mirror just so that you could avoid whatever conversation he was trying to have with you.

Since your accident, you'd learned that Aaron would go to any lengths to talk to you, including masking his intentions with work. Like psych evals you didn't want to have. Asking you about pain. Please drop the file off in my office. You'd resorted to e-mail.

You took a shaky breath, gripping the counter with shakier hands. You're fine. You're fine. You're fine. You're—

The door opened mid-chant. Expecting Garcia, you shouted, "I'm fine."

"Are you?" Not Garcia.

You spun around with furrowed brows, finding Emily standing behind you. Her gaze came with an edge, cutting away at you with surgical precision. Like you were still a subject lying on an operating table and she was profiling you to see how long you'd last— if you'd last.

"Yes," you confirmed. You crossed your arms defensively, trying to re-direct. "What is it? Is there a new development in the case—"

"Please, Y/N, stop it about the case for just a second." She held a hand up to your face, looking exasperated, like you were suggesting something outlandish. To you, this entire exchange was outlandish.

Your brows only knitted further together. "I'm confused. We are on a case."

Emily's lips parted and then closed as if she was stopping herself from saying something. Then she took a step closer to you. "Y/N, I know. We all know. But you bury yourself in the work like it's the only thing you see."

Your jaw ticked. "We're the BAU, Prentiss. I'd say we're all workaholics."

She scoffed. "And then there's that. Closing yourself off, distancing yourself from the people closest to you." You took in a breath as sudden guilt rushed through your veins. Emily's expression softened. "Y/N, what's going on? You almost died, and you're not even talking to Hotch—"

You swallowed, feeling a lump grow in your throat. "Emily—"

"You're not wearing your ring anymore—"

"Emily, please stop." Your voice cracked. Abruptly, you turned your back to her, trying to wipe away the tears before they could fall. They kept falling, anyway. "You don't get it," you breathed.

Her hand rested itself on your shoulder. You met her gaze in the mirror, finding determination staring back at you. "So help me get it."

You don't know why exactly you did it, but the words were spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them, re-telling every aspect of the argument right to when Hotch left. All the things you'd kept inside were now making their way out into the open, things you tried to repress but couldn't.

When you were done, sobs were wracking through your body, your shoulders shaking.

Emily was quiet and motionless throughout your explanation, save for the hand on your shoulder. Then, suddenly, her low voice cut through the silence. "I'll kill him."

You sniffled, "Emily—"

"No, how dare he?" You turned back around to face her, seeing a fire brewing in her eyes that rivalled unit chiefs across the bureau. "To say you aren't needed? That you aren't Jack's mother? Over that? Does he have any idea what you do for this team, for your family?"

"I don't know, I just—" you paused, rubbing a hand over your face. Your head felt fuzzy. "It's been a long time since it happened. And then the—" you searched for the word, having a hard time phrasing it. "the accident. It's been a lot. Maybe I should just get over it."

Emily's response was immediate. "No. Absolutely not. What he said to you was unacceptable, Y/N. You have to know that."

"Of course, I know that. I just—" Again, you stopped yourself, sighing. The words escaped you. At that moment, what you felt was beyond words.

Emily, fluent in many languages, seemed to be able to translate your feelings perfectly. Her eyes softened. "You love him," she said.

You responded without having to think about it. "Yes."

You loved Aaron Hotchner more than the hurt he made you feel.

If there was any universal truth, then it was that.

—

You opened the door to Aaron's office, asking, "You said you had an urgent matter, Sir?"

Any other time, he would've accused you of being teasing, but neither of you needed to be a profiler to tell you were trying to distance yourself with honorifics. Hotch didn't dwell on your phrasing, opting to nod to the seat in front of his desk with serious eyes. "Please, take a seat."

You hesitated. This could've easily been another ambush. But at work, you didn't have the right to just refuse your boss when he was outright asking you to do something. And you weren't a child.

Like you were trying to prove something, you sat down in the chair in front of him. It was only when you were right in front of the desk that you noticed the brown paper bag placed on top of it.

Your eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

Aaron wasn't deterred by your tone. "We're going to eat lunch together."

The sigh that left you was full of exhaustion. "Hotch, I told you. I need time."

"You've not been eating properly," he stated, making you look up at him. He looked stern and resolute, telling you you're not leaving this office without having to say a word. "So don't focus on the together part so much as the eating part." 

You clenched your jaw. "Fine."

Aaron opened the bag, starting to take the food out. "It's your favourite," he commented. You noticed the tiny traces of hope in his voice.

You glanced down at the containers. Then, you nodded. "It is." 

Your favourite food. A tiny truth embedded into truths too big to tackle.

So you focused on that truth and avoided all the others.

—

"Momma, can I have ice cream after dinner tonight?" 

You pause chopping carrots for just a second, glancing up at Jack before glancing over at Aaron whose expression betrayed nothing. You looked back down at the vegetables like you'd never looked up at all. "Sure, bud. As long as your dad agrees."

It was a new development: Jack sometimes calling you Mom, sometimes calling you by your name. You had no issue with it either way. The kid had no idea how it tugged at your heartstrings. Aaron, on the other hand, did.

'Mom moments' didn't happen often when he was around. But whenever they did, the word lingered in the air, interspersing between the two of you in a big mess that you didn't know how to clean.

You didn't dare look up from the cutting board, but you heard Aaron respond, "If you eat all your veggies, I don't see why not."

"Awesome!" 

Jack ran off after getting approval, leaving you and Aaron all alone. Not too long ago, being around him made your heart race. Now, it still did, but for completely different reasons.

You tried not to show how affected you were, turning around and tossing the carrots into the pot. You hoped he wouldn't talk to you, but your prayers hadn't been being answered much.

"You know, he asks you first because he knows you'll always say yes," he said. The atmosphere in the kitchen felt heavy, but his voice was light and easygoing. Nothing about this was easy for you.

You wiped your hands with the cloth on the counter, and then, on a whim, you turned around to face him. There he was, on the opposite side of the island. The last time you were positioned this way, he was telling you that you weren't Jack's mother and then walking out the door. Turning a golden doorknob that haunted your nightmares.

That night gave you a lot of bad memories, yet you remembered the argument the best.

This time, you said his name to catch his attention. "Aaron, I'm not trying to replace Haley."

He was quick to reply, "I know that." He was quiet, like he always was, with conviction lying under his voice. That same conviction was in his eyes as he tried to make eye contact with you. "I know that. And I know I haven't done a good job of showing you that, but I do."

He stood up from the barstool and made his way around to your side of the island. You let him.

And when he tried to put his hands on your arms, you let him do that, too.

"Y/N, words can't describe how sorry I am for ever accusing you of that," he said. "You could never replace Haley, and that's not what you've tried to do. You've raised Jack in a way she would adore. You have given him the love she wanted him to have. And you have protected him the way a mother would. She is his mother, but that does not negate your place in his life."

You didn't know when the tears started building in your eyes, but they did. Too afraid that they'd fall, you just settled for, "Okay."

Aaron hesitated, like there was more he wanted to say. He did that a lot recently. Then, he said, "It doesn't negate your place in mine, either."

You swallowed and stepped back out of his hold, missing the way his face fell as you wiped at your eyes. Again, you repeated, "Okay."

It was all you could say.

You didn't have any better truths to tell.

— 

Stuck in the bat cave and surrounded by screens, you stopped what you were doing to rub your eyes. Your disliked your job most when it cause your head to pulse. You had already spent all night staring at screens, specifically ones in your mind that replayed the same nightmare over and over.

Garcia was off visiting Kevin, so you didn't feel like you had to hide how terrible you felt. It wasn't her fault for being so worried about you all the time, but you didn't have to like it. 

You were trying to get better. It was hard to do that when everyone kept looking at you like you were about to fall apart.

The sound of the door opening caused you to lift your head up back at the computer, your hand on your mouse like you'd been working the entire time.

You waited for Garcia to sit down, only she didn't. Instead, a cup of steaming coffee was placed beside you.

Your brows drew together and you looked up, finding Aaron standing right next to you. He stared down at you with a bit of concern and a little bit more love. 

"You didn't sleep well last night," he reasoned. He didn't mention that you woke up screaming again. Soft and a little cautious, like he knew you didn't want to talk about it. You didn't.

You glanced away from him, choosing to look at the coffee instead. Your voice was quiet, reflecting the quiet gesture. "Thank you."

He left the bat cave soon after, but you felt his presence all the same.

—

You gave Jack a grin through the rearview mirror as he got into the car. "Hey, don't forget your seatbelt, little man!" 

"I know, Y/N, I'm not a baby," the boy grumbled, doing as you said. Your smile just got wider; it wasn't lost on you that you really only smiled around Jack.

"Of course not, sweetheart."

You took the car out of park as soon as he was buckled in, driving away from his school. Jack rambled on about his day at school while you tried to guide yourselves to the ice cream parlour that he liked. You already clocked out of work, so you could take Jack out and then head home.

Your plan was to head home—that is, until a text from Garcia flashed across your screen.

Need all my favourite crimefighters back at the office ASAP!

Your fingers twitched nervously around the wheel. You glanced back at Jack, still talking about math and science projects and things Spener would have a ball about. You tapped the wheel, glancing back at your phone.

The smart thing to do would be to get Jack his ice cream, then take him to his aunt's. That was your initial inclination. But—

You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother.

You exhaled a heavy breath through your lips, picking up the phone automatically. "One second, Jack," you interrupted him mid-rant. "Let me just call your dad."

You clicked on the first contact in your favourite, bringing the phone to your ear where you could hear your heart already thumping rapidly.

Aaron answered on the second ring.

"Honey?"

You took in a sharp breath at the pet name, forcing yourself not to pay attention to it. "Hi, Aaron." More tapping against the steering wheel. "Um, I have Jack now."

You could hear his confusion through the phone. "Okay. That's good."

"Yeah, but— uh," how were you supposed to phrase this? "Garcia said to come in. Do you want me to— do I bring Jack to Jess? I was going to get him ice cream first, but I can just— I can stay here, too. Garcia can hold down the fort just fine. Just—" you cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. Blood rushed to your cheeks. "What do you want me to do?"

Aaron was quiet on the other end of the line, making you think the worst. Shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have— 

Finally, he spoke up. "You can still get the ice cream if you want, and then you can drop him off at Jess'. You—" he paused, sounding strained. "You don't have to ask, Y/N."

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to respond. "Right. Okay, I'll, uh, see you at the office." You hung up before he could say anything else, letting out a breath once the conversation was over.

You took a glance at the mirror, putting back on your best smile. "Okay, bud. We're gonna go get your ice cream and then I'll take you to your aunt's, alright?" Jack nodded, prompting you to raise a brow. "Okay, now what were you telling me about the solar system?"

Jack continued where he left off, telling you about exploding stars and galaxies. 

And at that moment, you felt like the universe was a less complicated truth to understand than your relationship.

—

By the time you got to Quantico, you had just missed the briefing and everyone was packing up to leave. You were gonna head straight to the bat cave when Hotch's voice sounded, calling your name.

You looked up to see him standing on the landing. "May I have a word?" He nodded toward his office.

You pursed your lips, glancing to see the rest of your coworkers all staring at you. You resisted the urge to fidget, nodding and walking up the stairs to his office.

Aaron held the door open for you, closing it as soon as you were inside.

Carefully, you started, "Hotch—"

"I'm sorry."

You spun around and met his eyes effortlessly. He was already looking at you with a pool of sincerity in his eyes so large you could drown in it. Earnestness, guilt, and other emotions you'd rather not name.

Unlike that night when he spoke to you like a suspect, he now spoke to you like you were a case he believed in. He continued, "I am so sorry for what I said to you. For making you believe that you need permission to do your job. To do what is right for our son. And I am sorry for making you doubt your place in our life." He took a step toward you, but didn't move to touch you. "You're not some girlfriend of mine that needs to ask to take Jack to his aunt. You are my co-parent and the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm sorry for ever insinuating otherwise."

Water welled in your eyes, and against both of your predictions, you grabbed onto his hands. You were grateful that he let you make that choice for yourself. But as soon as you did it, the floodgates opened. A tear raced down your cheeks because, God, you almost forgot what it felt like to hold his hand.

You never wanted to let go.

"Thank you, Aaron." You meant that, because you knew he meant it. "I know you're trying. And believe me, I'm trying too." Another tear fell. "I miss you so much. And I haven't given up on us. I just— it hurts. It hurts a lot, and I'm trying to figure out how to be in this relationship without feeling that."

He swallowed, resting his forehead against yours. He whispered, "I am so sorry for hurting you. I have no excuses for it." He paused. The only sound you could hear was your own breaths, intermingling together. "I love you so much."

A little laugh left you. It didn't hurt as much to hear. "I know." Pause. "I love you, too." 

He removed his forehead from yours, and you mourned the loss of contact. "Can we talk more when I get back?" There was that hope again, lighting up his eyes.

You couldn't say no this time. "Yes. We'll talk when you get back." You didn't want to avoid it any longer.

You would talk about the good truth, the bad truth, and all the truths in between.

—

You raced to the elevator as soon as you heard the team was back, your heart moving at an even faster pace.

The elevator doors opened and the team filed out, but the only face you could focus on was Aaron's.

The second he was within reach, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. He hugged you back with the same fervour.

Your heart only slowed down when you realized he was real. He was real and he was alive. Alive and in your arms.

"Idiot," you muttered, your voice muffled by tears. You pulled back just enough to see his face and the bandage covering his forehead. Immediately, you shoved your head back into his chest. "How dare you let yourself get hurt before I've talked to you?"

He rubbed his hands over your back. "It was just a car accident," he said. Like that made it any better. Like you weren't on the line when he crashed into the unsub's car. Like your heart didn't stop then and there.

You exhaled. "Don't ever do something like that again, Aaron."

He kissed your head, and instead of getting angry, you leaned into it. "I'll try not to, honey."

You sniffled. You didn't know what you would've done if he wasn't okay. If he wasn't okay before your relationship could be okay.

You mumbled, "You really scared me, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry." It went unsaid that you'd scared him before, too. He didn't have to say it for you to know.

When you got shot, there was only one truth you wanted Aaron to know. So that's the truth you told him. "I love you."

He hugged you even tighter, and you reciprocated. As you hugged him for the first time in what felt like forever, the truth finally felt tangible.

"I love you, too."

—

Aaron was driving the two of you to work, like he had been for a few weeks. It was a big change, but you meant it when you said you were trying. You were both trying.

This relationship wasn't something you were willing to lose, and that truth was important to you. So here you were, trying. Trying to care for wounds and say the quiet truths out loud.

You furrowed your brows. "Aaron, you missed the exit."

He kept his eyes on the road, glancing at you for a half-second. "The case is in the suburbs. We're going to go meet with the victim's family first."

"Oh. Okay." Confusion laced through your voice, but you accepted his explanation. You didn't often go into the field, and if you did, you never talked to anyone. But you figured that Aaron was just bringing you since he had to drive you to work, anyway.

The drive wasn't to the victim's house wasn't too far away, only about 5 minutes from the office. It looked like an extremely nice neighbourhood, the perfect place to raise a family. It made you wonder what exactly happened to the people living there.

Aaron pulled into driveaway and got out of the car. Soon after, he was at your door, opening it for you. Your eyes widened a bit, but you concealed it, letting him help you out. "I'm coming in with you?"

"Yeah, it could take a while, so you might as well," he said.

With his hand on your back, he led you to the front door. He didn't knock or ring the doorbell. He just opened the door himself and walked right inside.

This time, you couldn't hide your shock. "Aaron!"

He didn't match your emotion, entirely indifferent. "Sh, sweetheart. Come inside."

You were too shocked to say a word. Aaron never used nicknames at work, and you couldn't imagine that he'd abandon that professionalism right as you entered a victim's home.

You stepped inside the house, looking around and waiting to see an appalled family staring at you. But there was no one there.

Your confusion only skyrocketed. You looked back at Aaron, questioning, "What's going on?"

He ignored your question. "So, what do you think?"

"What do I think?" You frowned. "Are you okay?"

He huffed a laugh through his nose. "I might have embellished slightly." He shortened the distance between you. "We're not at a victim's house."

"So whose house did we just break into?"

He sent you a soft smile. "It could be ours, if you want it."

Your world stopped. You glanced around in shock before looking back at him, your eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

Aaron grabbed your hands. "This is only one of the options," he said. "If you don't like this one, there are about five more lined up for us to look at."

Your eyes darted between him and the rest of the house. You couldn't stop looking. "This place looks like it costs more than my salary. A lot more. And then some."

"Don't worry about that," he told you, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "Just worry about if you like it. Do you like it?"

"I— I love it." You were breathless. "But— a whole house? We have a house already."

He looked down for a second before looking back up at you. "I know. But you're not comfortable in it." You swallowed, and he stepped closer to you. "I know you're trying to suppress the memories, but it's difficult to move past something so traumautic. I don't want you to have to live in a house that doesn't feel like a home. Not if I can help it."

You blinked as tears gathered in your eyes. Aaron had seen you struggle with nightmares for months. He watched you avoid the living room. A profiler through and through, but more than that, he was the man who noticed the little things. He was the man who loved you. And you no longer had a single doubt about it.

"Aaron," a breathy laugh left you. "This might be the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

He smiled a real smile, the kind of smile that the rest of the world seldom saw. "So," he repeated, "what do you think?"

You smiled back at him. For the first time in a while, the smile reached your eyes. "I think... I love it." You removed your hands from his grasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. "And I love you."

His eyes softened. "I love you, too."

You leaned in, hugging him tightly. This house wouldn't fix everything, but it could give you a fresh start. It wasn't a clean slate; it wouldn't make you forget all that happened, but it could help you stop looking back. For once, you were looking forward.

You'd honour the truth of what happened the same way you'd honour the truth of what lied ahead.

You once had five simple truths. Now, you had one. It was faith that, no matter what happened, your family would pull through. Aaron believed in that just as much as you did.

One day, when you got married, you would hold that truth in the same light as your vows. It was a universal truth.

And neither you nor Aaron would ever forget it.

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[queenofvelaris]

Ahhhh what a wonderful ending!!

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

🛩️ Mile High Club🛩️

Mal’s Notes: This… Is… Porn. That’s all… Nearly 60 pages of pure filth, and very little plot… In fact, what plot? I regret nothing.

Love,

Mal🩶

Acknowledgments: @cringeiknow and @theghostofcosmichorrorpast I could not have done this without either of you! I love you both to pieces! You're the best friends and Beta readers a girl could ask for!

Pairings: Hotch x reader, Emily x reader, Spencer x reader

Warnings and tags: DDDNE, 18+ MDNI, you’re responsible for your own media consumption but for the love of god MDNI, Buckle up Folks this list is a doozy, Explicit Sexual Content Past This Point, Discussions Pertaining to reader’s sexuality while reader is not present, reader is female, reader is bisexual, reader has sex with both men and a woman in this fic, if that’s not your thing you should probably move along, mentions of wet dreams, praise kink, implied female masturbation, massage that leads to sex, bisexual Emily Prentiss, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Canon Characters Do Not Engage In Sexual Activity With Each Other, They Do All Engage In Sexual Activities With Reader (at the same time (no d/p I wasn’t feeling that brave)), voyeurism, exhibitionism, Dom/sub and Switch Dynamics, dirty everything, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, EVERYBODY GETS SOME HEAD, Almost everybody gives some head, bodily fluids, ingesting bodily fluids (just cum, male and female, nobody panic), PinV sex, sex on a plane, rough sex, rough oral, biting, bite marks, bruises, post sex bruises, hair pulling, hickies, nipple play, pet names, finger sucking, very slight (microscopic) breath play, begging, reader begging, hand job, Hotch spanks reader twice but it’s minor, unprotected sex WRAP IT UP PEOPLE, deep throating, Aftercare, teasing, subspace, plot what plot, reader tells Hotch to Fuck her like he owns her.

Word Count: 17.8k

Back to Mal’s Masterlist

AO3

The case had been a rough one; with JJ stuck back at home having had her new baby, Rossi away on a book tour, and Derek out on an injured knee from a renovation incident. JJ’s liaison duties had fallen to you, to your silent horror.

It wasn’t that you were bad at public speaking or presenting. It’s just, your palms got all sticky with sweat, your legs shook, and there was a tightness in your chest that you knew was going to stick around for hours.

Which was not exactly ideal when trying to impress your hot boss.

So you stuffed your anxiety down and did what needed to be done. Because even false confidence had to become actual confidence at some point, right?

As of that moment though, you wouldn’t dare let Hotch know you felt out of your depth. Not while you had something to prove, and especially not when any amount of his attention gave you butterflies in your stomach.

With you on PR duty, the stress that Emily and Spencer were under had doubled.

And with Rossi gone, Hotch had no one to split the administrative duties with.

Which left you all so busy that you had barely seen much of Spencer and Emily. While you and Hotch had been alone together at the station the entire time, with little more than orders and questions conveyed back and forth between the two of you.

Until Hotch had gathered you all into a conference room together to go over the evidence and write up the profile—press releases and administrative bullshit be damned.

Which left you reeling, because the three of them were just as stressed as—if not more so than—you, and when they got stressed...

They tended to get undressed.

Not completely—obviously—just a suit jacket here, a few popped buttons there, maybe some rolled up sleeves and messy hair.

But a girl could dream.

And God, did you dream vividly.

Nothing about Hotch escaped your notice. The width of his shoulders and chest made you itch to splay your hands over them. His thick hair would look so tempting between your thighs. You wondered if he would like the way you’d tug on it as he devoured you. Even the way the man dressed drove you crazy. His suits must have been tailored, because they fit far too well for your sanity. His silk ties looked soft and pullable. Your fingers itched to give them a good tug, preferably while guiding him to your lips.

Your attraction to Spencer was different from how you lusted after Hotch.

Spencer had an innocence and pureness about him that was impossible not to adore… An innocence you fantasized about corrupting. You often watched Spencer read, a habit you couldn’t break. It was so hard to look away, however, when he drug his fingers down the page, gentle and reverent. You wondered how that would feel against your ribs. Or lower. His sweet smiles often tempted you to tease him mercilessly. The way his amber eyes lit up when he rambled on made your stomach fill with butterflies. His soft voice always left your heart pounding and your pussy throbbing. Not that he knew that—thank God—though even if he did, it would just embarrass him.

Emily was, well… Emily.

Confident, strong, sassy and could break you in half, something you definitely wished she would do. Her dark hair and porcelain skin were a thing of beauty. The way she held herself with such surety was enthralling. Her clever and bold personality was absolutely deadly, both to unsubs and your libido. You often wondered how it would feel to earn her attention. She had a ‘take charge’ attitude in the field that you were almost sure would extend to the bedroom as well. You found yourself daydreaming about her scarlet lips giving commands of the erotic variety, smiling, and calling you a good girl… Among other things you imagined they would be very good at.

In layman's terms you were metaphorically fucked.

If only you could get physically fucked… specifically, by one of them.

Alas, it’s against regulations to fuck your co-workers. So your imagination, that new vibrator, and—if you were lucky—a wet dream or two would just have to do.

Being alone with one of them was truly a battle between your common sense and your carnal imagination.

However, being in a room with all of them… that was enough to put you in a mental crisis of truly epic proportions.

Just to make everything astronomically worse, you were pretty sure they had started to notice.

They had all started to notice.

You had been so relieved to wrap up the case and finally head home. Until you realized that heading home meant being on that cramped jet for several hours with just the three of them.

Hotch, who was sitting across from you, had immediately noticed that something was off with your demeanor. You were usually so exuberant, talkative and flirtatious in a way that rivaled even Penelope.

Now your eyes darted around the cabin, never lingering longer than a second on anything—especially a person. Your cheeks were flushed, like you were a little overheated or had spent just a little too long in the sun.

His biggest clue, however, was the way your chest expanded in small rapid breaths. He was growing concerned and was about to ask if you were alright.

Before he could, you offered a quick excuse to Emily—who had been chatting animatedly to you—and headed toward the restroom.

“Okay, has anyone else noticed that she’s been acting strangely all day?” Spencer asked the other two, once the bathroom door latched behind you.

Hotch nodded his head, agreeing with Spencer’s assessment of your odd behavior.

“I agree, she’s not been quite herself this week.” Hotch murmured, raising his brows and shaking his head. “She definitely hasn’t been nearly as flirtatious as she normally is.” The usual crease in his brow returned to its proper place. “She didn’t say anything remotely off-color in front of me at all this week, now that I think about it.”

Your quiet, nervous state was so unlike you—not that he had watched you enough to know.

Usually, you would crack a poorly timed joke or two, earning a disciplinary glare, and he would have to bite back a grin all the way through it.

There were no jokes today, no flirting, just intense focus. Your eyes locked on the evidence board. Never straying for a second, not even when he made an attempt to draw your attention. You only responded when asked a direct question and only made eye contact when absolutely necessary.

He had easily noticed your skittish state. How you seemed to duck out of a room as soon as he entered, or disappear for a while and come back laser focused on anything that wasn’t him.

You were usually quite confident. Or at least did a very effective job at hiding it when you weren’t.

“No kidding.” Emily snorted in halfhearted amusement. “I’ve been trying to snap her out of it the entire flight, and apparently, my flirting only made it worse.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like girls, Em.” Spencer joked with a smug grin.

“She definitely does…” Emily countered, giving Spencer a healthy dose of side-eye and a knowing smirk. “She flirts with me all the time, and Penelope told me that she has an ex-girlfriend. If anything she doesn’t swing your way.”

In Emily’s humble—expert—opinion, you practically had a flashing neon sign above your head that said: GAY!

Hotch chuckled and shook his head, smiling faintly, “I think you’re both wrong.” He refereed. “She’s bisexual, at the least.”

He glanced up from his case file, his brows raised and a smug smirk on his face.

“She very well could be.” Spencer admitted, his face stuck in that expression that said he was overanalyzing every detail about you that could ever apply to this situation. “We could test that hypothesis…”

His eyes were sparkling with a curiosity that was definitely scientific.

“It’s not a bad idea…” Emily mused. “It could be fun… and we do have five uninterrupted hours of airtime left…”

“Ground rules would be necessary,” Hotch added, murmuring almost as if to himself. Pretending to be lost in the case file again. His eyes traced boredly over the lines of text on the page, “and clear consent, from everyone.”

“Now we’re talking.” Emily smirked, sitting up a little straighter. She had been waiting for a chance to take her harmless flirting into a more serious pursuit. “I'm surprised though, you’re seriously gonna let us do this Hotch?”

“I can’t say I’m not curious to see where it goes…” He admitted, smirking a bit. However, his eyes barely lifted from the page, seemingly disinterested.

He was, in fact, very interested.

He saw the way you looked at him—and the other two—on a regular basis. He knew you were attracted to them.

What he didn’t know—with certainty anyway—was how you would react to an advance by all three of them at once. He was certain, however, that you were in for the surprise of your life—and a very good time—if you let it get that far.

“It’s settled then.” Reid smiled in self satisfaction. “When she comes back out we’ll conduct a little… experiment.”

Then the three of them produced a hurried plan.

When you exited the restroom a few minutes later you were no better—if not worse—off than you had been before. Trying to get yourself off had not only failed, it had also made the problem almost painful. However, staying in the restroom any longer would not only be embarrassing, but suspicious as well.

You tried not to look at Emily when you sat back down, looking anywhere else would be safer. So you shifted, only to catch Spencer’s eye, who was studying you with a strange expression.

The last time you felt so scrutinized, you had been defending your thesis to earn your Master’s.

You decided it was probably safest to stare at your lap instead, fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. Anxiously rubbing circles in the cotton fabric between your fingers in an effort to soothe… something. Hoping, praying, that none of them knew it had been hiked around your waist only moments before… with your hand tucked between your thighs.

“Hey, are you alright?” Emily asked softly.

You could feel all three sets of eyes burning into you, you didn’t dare look up. The racing of your pulse was only getting faster.

“Mm hmm.” You nodded, continuing to play with the seam of your skirt and then trying to smooth a run in the delicate black nylon of your stocking. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Your voice was a little higher than normal, and you knew they hadn’t missed it.

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Emily responded, you could hear slight teasing in her voice. “You haven’t been acting fine. In fact, you seem a little stressed,” You could practically feel the grin on her face as she turned, “Hotch, doesn’t she seem stressed?”

“Incredibly stressed.” He agreed, and if you’re not mistaken, that was amusement in his tone.

You flush even brighter.

“You should relax a little.” He suggested in that stupidly hot low timbre of his. He didn’t even have the decency to toss you a glance. You often wondered if anything could tear the man away from his file. God, maybe one of these days you’d strip down and stand in front of him butt-ass naked, just to see if that would do it.

You couldn’t help the little snort of indignant laughter that escaped you, because Hotch’s tone was practically sinful—proving that, yeah, you could get wetter than you already were—and the fact that Hotch, of all people, told you to relax.

“You’re one to talk.” You retorted before you could think better of it. A slight feeling of panic washed over you at your brashness and you risked a glance up at him, his expression was frustratingly neutral.

His eyes, however, held a peculiar spark. A spark that still somehow gave you nothing.

Emily scooted a tad closer to you, turning her body to face yours and pulling her knees up under her on the bench seat.

“Turn around.” She commanded, twirling her finger around in a circle. You raised a brow at her questioningly, unsure of what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes. “Just trust me.”

You sighed—long sufferingly—and did as she asked, turning to face the other end of the jet. Your back now facing the others. You had little indication of what Emily intended to do with your back facing her, but you didn’t have the energy, or the nerve, to argue with her. The only hope in your mind was that she didn’t touch you and send you spiraling down another unfortunate slip-n-slide of arousal.

Then you felt the french pin slide out of your hair, which promptly unfurled and cascaded down your back. The pressure lifted off your scalp, leaving behind a dull ache.

Why had you twisted it so tight that morning?

Oh, that's right.

So you could at least appear put together when you’d realized that it would only be the four of you on the jet home, with no case briefings to distract you.

You could only dream of where you wanted this to go.

Hot mouths, desperate grabs, pleasured moans… snap out of it before you let one slip, holy shit.

You stiffened, very aware that this was a bad idea and tried to pull away.

“Relax…” She cooed, alarmingly close to your ear. You bristled a little further. “I only want to help…”

Her hands slid into your hair then, nails raking over your scalp gently before her fingertips began firmly massaging your temples. Your eyes closed involuntarily and most of the tension fled your body without warning. A little sigh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn as you sunk into her hands.

“There, isn’t that better?” She murmured softly, a lilt to her voice you couldn’t quite place yet.

“It does feel nice…” You admitted nervously.

Her fingers trailed down from your temples to the back of your neck. Working into the muscles, tight with the start of a tension headache.

“I bet it does, your knots have knots.” She hummed sympathetically, if not a little disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad. It’s not healthy and it feels painful.”

“It’s been a long week…” You responded a little defensively. “I don’t think I can handle many more cases without JJ and Rossi around.”

The words are almost strangled, her hands on your neck both a blessing and a curse. Then they slide down to your shoulders. Kneading and digging into your traps in an earnest attempt to banish the tension there.

“Why is that?” She asked curiously, but there was something more… sensuous, about the way she said it. It sent a small shiver down your spine that, luckily, was easy enough to conceal. But you still wondered if she felt it.

You tensed up slightly again.

“Because, I am not a trained press liaison. JJ does a much better job, and we’re all better off with more of us in the field. You guys almost ran yourselves ragged trying to get everything done, and Hotch didn’t have Rossi to delegate administrative tasks to. Not to mention the locals were being a pain in the ass the whole time. It honestly felt like a bit of a clusterfuck.” You confessed, though that was only half the truth.

“You did a wonderful job with the press, JJ even texted me to tell me she was proud of you.” Hotch murmured from across the aisle, giving you a rare compliment. You glanced over at him in surprise, you hadn’t known JJ had sung your praises to Hotch as well. “But she told you that herself earlier. So why are you really so anxious?”

“It was just a lot for the four of us to take on, that’s all.” You insisted, but Emily’s hands started to work their way down your spine. She found a particularly sore spot and dug her thumb into it mercilessly, forcing a moan to escape your lips without permission.

“Sorry.” You murmured in absolute mortification.

“Don’t apologize.” Emily hushes you, a sly knowing smile on her face. “I like it when you're vocal.”

That startled you so thoroughly that you actually jumped a little. Any other day and it wouldn’t have phased you at all. That type of flirting was normal from Emily, she liked to make you blush. Tonight, however, you were woefully underprepared for her raunchiness. You laughed nervously, knowing that she would expect you to laugh on a normal day.

“Mmmm, I’m with Hotch.” Spencer hummed, finally entering the conversation. “I think something else has you all worked up. You’re missing Morgan, JJ, and Rossi because they’re a good buffer.”

You almost choked on air, he couldn’t possibly have worked that out so easily.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

He didn’t respond, and instead shared a glance with the others behind your back. Hotch gave a subtle nod to Emily, and she smiled in pure glee, before pulling your hair to one side and tracing her nose down the side of your neck. Her breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“You don’t? Are you sure?” She murmured, voice taking on a blatantly seductive tone.

You shot a worried glance in Hotch’s direction, only to find his eyes glazed over. Something heated hiding just beneath the surface.

“I- I’m sure.” You stuttered, every bit of that false confidence you’d been building ripped away in an instant. Leaving you a mess, you squeezed your thighs together once more trying to silence the throbbing ache between them, and his eyes flicked down to track the movement.

“You can’t lie to us. We’ve all been paying attention, sweetheart, and we see everything.” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and husky. “You know better.”

Sweetheart? Oh god. What on earth was happening?

You looked away from him quickly, hoping the truth wasn’t on blatant display in your eyes.

He chuckled softly.

Emily’s hand cupped your chin gently as she turned your head to face her, to face all of them.

“Emily?” You murmured in apprehension. She started to lean in closer to you, much closer. Too close for you to keep your wits about you. “What are you doing?”

She was searching your eyes intently for any hint of discomfort or fear.

She found none.

“This.” She whispered and then her lips met yours.

It was a gentle, seeking kiss. Her lips sure and firm against your own. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in it for a moment. The world narrowed down to her.

Her soft lips against yours. The way her mouth moved, seeking more from you. Her hand skimmed up your jaw from your chin and tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

A whimper that was echoed by Spencer, just a few feet away.

His soft needy whine pulled you back down to earth, or rather, inside the jet. Where it suddenly dawned on you that Emily was shoving her tongue down your throat, in front of the team. In front of the team and your boss, who was-unfortunately–a stickler for rules.

Jerking away from Emily, you looked over at Hotch.

“Emily!” You gasped quietly, scrambling backward away from her on the seat. Despite your very, very willing participation. She followed you slowly. “What has gotten into you!?”

You were panting, your breaths shaky, your hands even shakier.

She smiled at you softly and threw a glance back over her shoulder at the others. Her gaze seemed to project, I told you so, as she crawled a little closer to you. You looked around at them then—panicked and breathless—the throbbing between your legs not at all helping you to make sense of the situation.

You focused on Hotch. Your eyes searched his frantically, knowing a reprimand would be swiftly coming your way. Or the inevitable glare of disappointment. Or worse, suspension.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor when he smirked at you instead.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He murmured, his voice thick and low, a slight rasp starting to come through. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

What. The. Fuck.

“W-w-what?” You stuttered, unsure if you had maybe misheard him, or imagined the whole fucking thing.

“You heard what I said.” He shrugged at you. “Don’t stop.”

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words when you were pretty sure your brain was on a hiatus.

“But-” You started to argue and he furrowed his brows at you.

This absolutely could not be happening. It was impossible. Any second now you were going to wake up and employ that new toy you had ordered specifically to deal with this issue.

“Are you saying you don’t like it when Prentiss kisses you?” He asked, his expression making it clear that he already knew the answer was no. You searched his eyes intently, looking for any sign that this would end poorly for you. What you saw instead was pure, unadulterated lust. The deep hazel of his eyes was almost consumed by his pupils and dark with hunger. He wanted you, he wanted to watch you make out with Emily, wanted to hear your moans and it was driving him crazy. So you shook your head no. Because you definitely did like the way Emily had kissed you and you wanted more. “Then close your mouth before I use it, and let Emily make you feel better.”

“Okay.” You murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

That was all Emily needed to hear.

Her mouth crashed into yours again and she pressed you back against the seat, slowly laying you down. Her body hovered over yours, the sweet scent of her perfume curling around you and numbing your senses. A moan ripped its way out of your mouth and she devoured it whole as her hand rested softly on your leg, just below the knee length hem of your skirt, and began to push it slowly up your thigh. The coolness of the air on your newly exposed skin made you shiver, a small shuddery breath accompanying it.

Emily grinned against your lips.

“Garters, huh? Can’t wait to see if they match your panties.” She murmured, Hotch and Spencer both groaned.

The idea of the two of them watching the two of you and enjoying it… was enough to make you squirm, the throbbing between your legs became agonizing again. Your thighs were rubbing together seeking any amount of friction…

Until Emily forced her knee between your legs, forcing them apart and not allowing the friction you so desperately needed. Her fingers still slowly dragged your skirt up the expanse of your thigh until she had it hiked up around your waist again.

“So pretty…” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and rough.

You turned your head to look at him, not at all phasing Emily who began kissing your neck instead, and found him sitting with his legs spread. His pants were undone and his long thick member was firmly gripped in his palm. If you weren’t so occupied with the fact Emily had found a spot on your neck that made your entire body tingle, your eyes might’ve bugged out of your head.

Emily’s lips managed to coax another soft moan from you and your attention was temporarily diverted. Your head rolled back a little to give her space to work, which made her chuckle. A sound that you were sure was pure sin.

You heard another sound, a soft moan from across the aisle, and you realized that Hotch…

Wasn’t the only one.

Spencer had taken his out as well, watching you intently while stroking himself slowly. A loud and surprising moan erupted from your lips, pulling soft groans from the three of them in response.

You didn’t know what you wanted more.

Emily’s mouth… or either of the cocks now standing at attention in front of you.

However, the decision would not be left up to you.

Emily’s hand was now popping open the buttons of your blouse one by one. Working her way down your stomach, her mouth following her hands slowly. She was taking her sweet time, kissing, sucking and biting gently. Sucking your skin into her mouth and rolling it softly between her teeth, probably leaving some little red marks. Her head dipping lower and lower toward the apex of your thighs.

More little moans escaped through your heavy, panting breaths.

Her mouth finally hovered over the place you wanted it most. Emily’s breath was hot as she slowly closed her lips around your clit over your black lacy panties. A strangled cry breaking free as you threw your head back, your mouth wide and your eyes closing tightly.

Hotch knelt down behind you, pushing his shoulder under your head, forcing you to look down at Emily between your legs. His hand brushed your hair out of your face gently.

“Do you like having Emily’s mouth between your legs, sweetheart?” He hummed against your temple, placing a tender kiss there.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Emily had other plans, sucking harder on your clit that she had been previously, while flicking at it with her tongue. Your panties weren’t even off yet and she had you nearly in tears from the pleasure.

A strangled, half moan, half gasp left your mouth in the place of words.

Hotch chuckled softly and his breath moved your hair, tickling your forehead.

“Where did that clever mouth go? It was working so well earlier.” His fingers curled around your open blouse, and he gently pulled it off your shoulders. He guided you back onto his shoulder again as he placed kisses to the side of your neck, and then tossed the shirt to Spencer, who brought it to his nose and took a deep breath of your perfume.

“She smells so good…” Spencer mumbled softly, still palming his own erection and watching Emily's head move between your legs.

“You have no idea how good she smells.” Emily groaned, biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting and then started to suck a hickey over the indentations her teeth had made.

“Why don’t you take her panties off and tell us how she tastes.” Hotch suggested with a smirk, you groaned softly in agreement. Your hips bucked slightly and that knot in your core squeezed tight.

“You like that idea, huh?” He teased gently, you could feel his grin against your temple. Then he threaded his hand through your hair and pulled your head back to mouth hot kisses down the line of your throat.

“I definitely do.” Emily smirked, then hooked her thumbs into the waist of your panties and slowly began to drag them down your hips. Her fingers deftly unclipping your garters from your stockings, then continuing to drag your panties down your legs until she had freed them completely and tossed them to the floor. Her warm breath fanned out across your skin and yours hitched at the sensation. Much to Emily’s delight, goosebumps pebbled your thighs and she ran her fingertips over them slowly. Which only made them worse.

“It’s not braille.” You hissed at her impatiently. “It’s not going to magically spell anything out.”

“That fucking mouth…” She mumbled as she finally closed the distance between her mouth and your pussy. Your hips bucked at the heat of her tongue as she licked a path from your entrance to your clit.

A strangled cry flew from your lips. Emily’s laugh puffed against you, and the only thing keeping you aware of anything at all was the combination of Spencer and Hotch’s laughs filling the space as well.

“Not such a smartass with a tongue on your pussy are you?” Hotch’s gravelly voice reverberated in your ear before he took your ear lobe in his mouth and bit it gently. “Be good for us and we’ll see just how many times we can make you come.”

You only had the mental capacity to nod… because Emily had just sucked your clit into her mouth and was rolling her tongue over it. That—combined with the gentle suction she so mindfully applied—meant whimpering, nodding, and squirming was all you could manage to do.

The warmth of her mouth was obscene, the slick firmness of her tongue enough to make you see stars. She gave a particularly rough pull of suction against your clit and you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Fuck!” You gasped, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

Hotch wasn’t having that though.

Especially since Spencer was barely containing his own whimpers and moans from the chair across the aisle, where he was watching the entire scene with rapt attention, soaking in every detail. Hotch took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at Spencer.

“Look at him.” He commanded, growling in your ear. “Look at what you’re doing to him, Sweetheart, and you haven’t even touched him.”

You made eye contact with Spencer then, his eyes full of longing, sweat glistening on his brow and his hand struggling to maintain a steady rhythm on his cock. His chest was heaving from the effort it was taking him to remain in control, you could clearly hear his ragged breaths from your place across the cabin. His cheeks were flushed–a ruddy pink–and his hair was disheveled from his fingers, which he kept dragging through it.

“Spence…” You murmured softly, for no other reason than you felt the need to say his name. To acknowledge him and make sure he knew you saw him. To be certain he knew that you appreciated what you saw.

His cock was so hard it was closer to pink than his natural skin tone and you were anxious to do something about it. It looked almost painful.

You felt like you could hear everything he was thinking as he broke eye contact to study the length of your body, then brought his gorgeous amber doe eyes back yours.

“Tell her how beautiful she looks Reid, talk to her, she loves it when you ramble.” Hotch urged him gently. “Don’t you, pretty girl?”

You really did and the pleading look in your eyes was all he needed to see to know that was true.

“You should see yourself right now, Angel…” Spencer murmured softly, hesitantly at first but the heat in your eyes as you gazed back at him was undeniable, and the boost in confidence he needed. “You’re stunning, absolutely ethereal, bewitching even. From the luster of your hair to the delicate curves of your legs, you look like a dream. Your perfect breasts look so firm and smooth, I want to cup my hands around them just to see how it would feel.”

You moaned softly at that and Hotch hummed his agreement and approval of Spencer’s pretty words. He had to admit he was impressed, Reid seemed to have a way of waxing poetic. He watched with glee as your body reacted, both to Emily’s ministrations and Spencer’s words as he continued to speak. “Darling you are divine, the very smell of your perfume is intoxicating. Your lips are tantalizing and I can only imagine the feel of them on mine would be soft as silk.”

You hung on every word, his voice mesmerizing you as he spoke. You had no idea that Spencer had such a way with words. His poetic phrasing had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering.

Emily’s warm tongue slowly drifted away from your clit, trailing down your pussy to the wetness of your entrance… and she began to leisurely fuck you with it. You moaned so loudly it startled you and bit your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

“They can’t hear you in the cockpit, Angel. The door is too thick and the engines are too loud. Not to mention, they’re wearing headsets to communicate with air traffic control.” Spencer explained quietly.

Hotch’s hands started to travel down your body. One slipping into the black see-through mesh and lace of your bra, the other sliding slowly down your stomach and finding your—recently abandoned—clit. He circled it with his fingertips gently. His other hand firmly massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard him, Sweetheart. No one can hear you but the three of us, and like Emily said: we like it when you’re vocal.”

You let out a soft whimper and he hummed in approval.

Emily drew most of your attention back to herself as she replaced her tongue with two fingers, stretching you wider and filling you more satisfyingly than before. She stayed between your legs though, sucking and biting at your thighs as she made her fingers match the pace of Spencer’s hand.

You knew that’s what she was doing because you were still watching him from the corner of your eye, and for every downward stroke of his hand, she thrust her fingers inside you at the same moment. Hotch caught on to what she was doing, and he also began to match that rhythm and pace, kissing and nipping at the column of your throat as he played with your clit and nipples.

“Let go babe, we’ve got you. I can feel how close you are, you’ve got my fingers in a vise.” Emily murmured against the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the place she had just bitten. Hotch hummed against your neck.

“Are you gonna come on Emily’s fingers, Sweetheart?” He murmured, before biting your exposed throat gently and laving at it with his tongue.

All you could do was moan in response.

Emily’s mouth found its way back to your clit, nipping Hotch’s finger playfully to make him move it. He looked down at her with a smirk and flicked her forehead teasingly before bringing his hand up to your other breast.

She rolled her eyes at him and flattened her tongue against your clit, then circled it and finally began sucking on it again as she continued to fuck you with her fingers. Hotch was rolling both your nipples between his fingers and returned his mouth to your throat, you were almost certain he was leaving marks there.

He was and it was completely intentional, it was the weekend, and he intended to give you all two extra days off at the start of next week. They would fade.

Emily was getting worked up herself and the sound of your little pants and moans were driving her to distraction. When you let out a particularly loud whimper, she hummed in satisfaction and the vibration made you throw your head back farther and moan so lewdly that Hotch picked his head up to look at your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, your supple lips were shaped in a wide ‘O’ and he couldn’t help himself anymore, your mouth was just begging to be filled.

You were vaguely aware that he had lifted your head off his shoulder and moved to stand, but you were too focused on Emily—and her mouth— to wonder why.

Then something warm bumped your chin.

You opened your eyes and found Hotch standing in front of you, his cock bouncing just out of reach of your mouth. You looked up and met his eyes, questioningly.

He smirked down at you, reaching out and cupping your jaw in his hand. His calloused thumb rubbed a small circle on the smooth skin of your cheek.

“I told you to close your mouth or I’d use it.” He murmured, voice low and rough. His thumb stretched to pull your lip down just a little and let it snap back into place, then brushed the corner of your mouth softly.

You didn’t respond, you just opened your mouth a little wider and offered it to him.

“Fuck.” He murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

Em chuckled quietly and the vibrations ran straight up your spine then down your legs, making your toes curl. You threaded your hands through Emily’s hair, needing something, anything, to hold on to.

“A little wider sweetheart.” Hotch prompted you.

You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as wide as you could and maintaining eye contact with him. You knew he would like the attention and he did, rewarding you with his thick cock as he slid it slowly into the warmth of your mouth.

He tasted clean, but salty, and the precum that was already leaking from him was sweet as well with a slightly bitter—but delicious—aftertaste. You groaned as you closed your lips around him.

“How does her mouth feel?” Spencer’s voice was strained, he still hadn’t moved to touch you, content to observe.

To learn.

“She’s perfect.” Hotch groaned, his hand buried in your hair fisting it firmly but not roughly. He began to use it to pull you slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Fuck sweetheart, you feel amazing.” He murmured looking down at you affectionately, “You’re so warm, and you’re being so pliant for me.”

You kept eye contact with him, trying to focus on him… While also being on the verge of coming from Emily’s tongue on your clit, her finger pumping in and out of your pussy. All three of them were still matching pace with each other, and it was intoxicating. In and out and in and out, all at the same time.

Realizing how close you were, just needing a little push to fall over the edge, Emily reached up and started rolling your nipple beneath the lace of your bra. Then she slightly changed the angle of her fingers, curling them slightly to brush against your g-spot with every thrust.

You uttered a very strangled cry, the sound muffled around Hotch’s thickness. “Whatever you just did, she liked it. Didn’t you, pretty girl?”

You moaned in response and his hand tightened in your hair, a low hiss sliding through his clenched teeth.

Emily chuckled and kept her pace steady, but the vibration of her laughter around your clit as she sucked on it was all it took to send you spiraling into blissful oblivion.

Your body felt fuzzy and warm and your pussy was pulsing uncontrollably around Emily’s fingers. Your legs were shaking and you finally broke eye contact with Hotch as you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Eyes closed tightly as she fucked you through it, then licked your pussy from bottom to top as though savoring the taste of your orgasm.

Your body slowly relaxed again and when Emily pressed one more kiss to your clit then stood from the couch, you opened your eyes again to look up at her. Panting heavily as you realized now, that Hotch had pulled out of your mouth so that you could breathe through your orgasm.

Emily smirked down at you and then held her two glistening fingers up to the light for Hotch to inspect. He looked at them with a feral sort of hunger in his eyes.

“Do you want to taste her?” Emily asked him, a sly grin on her face as she offered her middle finger up to him. “She’s delicious…” She purred, and Hotch glanced down at you, recovering from your orgasm with a look of pure adoration for Emily in your eyes.

Then he turned his head toward her and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, before drawing her finger into his mouth… and sucking it clean.

You groaned and let your head rest against his hand that was still tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Reid, you wanna taste?” Hotch asked the younger man, then turned his attention back to you, tugging lightly on your hair. “Get down on your knees for me, Sweetheart.” He coaxed gently.

You obeyed him, getting down on your knees in front of him, but watched Reid and Prentiss as you did it. She was offering her ring finger to him and he was licking it clean and groaning, as he stroked himself a little harder.

Spencer… Spencer who didn’t shake hands because of germs… was licking Emily’s finger, just so he could taste you.

Fuck…

You whimpered softly and Hotch chuckled quietly, using your hair to tilt your face up to look at him .

“You can have him as soon as I’m done with your pretty little mouth.” He murmured teasingly. “Open up sweetheart.” You let your mouth fall open in what you hoped was a sexy expression. “So pretty…” He whispered for the second time that night as he slid his cock back into your mouth.

He used your hair—again, to your delight—to guide your mouth up and down his considerable length. He was taking it slow, going easy on you… you didn’t like that, not one bit. So you surged forward on his cock, taking as much of him as you could without gagging and he let out a sharp, gasping, string of barely intelligible obscenities.

You tried to pull back a bit to do it again… but he held you firmly in place.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl? Blink once for no, twice for yes.” You moaned, looking up at him from under your lashes and pleading with your eyes, you blinked twice.

That is exactly what you wanted.

He chuckled quietly and then gave you a soft look.

“Have you ever had your mouth fucked before? Once for no, twice for yes.” You blinked once—you hadn’t and you were nervous because with his cock so deep in your throat you couldn’t breathe, you were also struggling not to gag—but you wanted him to do it so badly in that moment.

“Then listen closely, so I don’t hurt you.” He warned you, then caressed your neck tenderly. “Relax your throat, soften the back of your mouth.” He instructed gently. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when you’ve done it right.” You tried to do as he asked, relaxing all the muscles in your throat and opening the back of your mouth. “Good girl, that’s perfect.”

Your head was starting to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t panic.

“Keep your jaw loose and let me move you, don’t fight against me or try to help. It’ll make you sore if you do. You can’t breathe right now can you?” He asked, seemingly knowing the answer was no, but you blinked once anyway. “You are going to have to focus on your breathing. Time it so that you take a full inhale through your nose as I’m pulling out.”

He pulled you back off his cock just enough so that your airway was clear, you immediately sucked in a full breath and your head cleared.

“Good girl…” He soothed, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “When you take a breath, hold it. Then release it when I pull out the next time. Do you understand?”

You blinked twice.

“Perfect.”

He started so slowly—barely moving at all—letting you get the hang of how to breathe and how to keep everything loose and relaxed.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart, just like that.” He praised you after a minute, and then he slowly increased his pace, going a little deeper as well.

“Look how well she takes it…” Emily purred, kneeling down next to you and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Such a good girl…” She cooed, running her hand down your bare back.

Her words only served to fuel your ego and you preened under her praise.

“She’s a natural…” Hotch agreed and brought his free hand up to your cheek. “Think you can take it a little faster, pretty girl?” He asked, stroking your skin with his thumb.

You blinked twice.

“Good girl, remember to breathe in on every other one.” He both praised and reminded you softly as he picked up the pace. His cock was touching the back of your throat now with every inward thrust. His hand in your hair supported your head and held you completely still. You were like putty in his hands, and Hotch was reveling in it. He loved the way you completely surrendered and trusted him with something you’d never experienced before. “Fuck, Sweetheart… you’re taking me so well. I’m so proud of you.”

The tone of voice he was using—low and rough—was making your pussy throb all over again.

You moaned and he lost a little bit of his restraint, fucking into your mouth a little harder than he had been before, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was making your eyes water, however, and you had tears running down your cheeks. Hotch was enthralled by them, by the mascara tracks they were leaving and the way they changed the shade of your eyes slightly. “Such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… you’re perfection, sweetheart.”

“Look at what you’re doing to him…” Emily whispered softly in your ear. “He’s barely holding on, you’re driving him crazy with those pouty, fuckable lips and pleading puppy dog eyes… you should see yourself the way he’s seeing you right now… you’re fucking beautiful baby.”

You moaned and it would’ve been loud and obscene if not for the cock in your mouth.

Hotch’s hips stuttered and he cursed, you knew that meant he was close.

“I’m about to come, pretty girl…” He gritted out, his hand in your hair tightening. “Can you take it?”

You moaned and blinked twice at him, then held eye contact. You didn’t know how you knew that would send him over the edge, you just did.

Then he was spilling himself down your throat, and you swallowed every fucking drop, then sucked him clean. He pulled his cock from your mouth and tucked it back into his briefs, then squatted down in front of you. The thumb of his free hand wiped a drop of liquid off your chin and he brought it to your lips, the look in his eyes almost challenging.

You licked his thumb from base to tip, then closed your lips around it and lightly sucked on it. He smiled at you then, pulling his thumb from your mouth and sliding that hand back to join his other in your hair. Hotch pulled you toward him gently as he started to lean in and murmured, “Such a good girl…”

The kiss he gave you was hot, sloppy and branding. He could taste himself in your mouth as his tongue invaded it and he was obsessed with the mingling of his flavor and yours. You moaned into his mouth and tried to deepen the kiss again, but he heard Spencer’s ragged breathing behind him and pulled back.

“You wanna ride Reid’s cock, Sweetheart?” He murmured loudly enough that Spencer also heard him and you both whimpered pathetically at the suggestion.

Hotch and Emily both chuckled, and then Hotch put his hands on your waist to help you stand and guided you over to the chair Spencer was in. Your legs were shaking and you were as clumsy as a baby giraffe stumbling over to him.

Spencer was looking up at you with those big amber puppy dog eyes and you felt even weaker in the knees, luckily you didn’t have to stand for much longer. Hotch steadied you on your wobbly legs until you climbed up onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.

He was hesitant to touch you, his observation had started this whole thing and when he had suggested an experiment… he hadn’t expected it to end in sex…especially not group sex. When Hotch and Emily had started talking about consent and ground rules—lines that couldn’t be crossed— he had been sent reeling.

When he had asked if they’d noticed you acting strangely it had been out of concern for your wellbeing. When he had suggested they test the hypothesis he had merely meant to prove whether you were into men, women, or both.

He had wanted a scientific experiment, not sexual experimentation.

Not that he was complaining…

He, Emily, and Hotch were all three bisexual. Hotch didn’t really broadcast that fact, especially not in front of the others. Even though Spencer was pretty sure the only two on the team who weren’t queer were Rossi and Derek, and he wasn’t even sure about Rossi sometimes. So it wasn’t a big deal if you were or were not bisexual. He had only been curious.

Curiosity killed the cat or something like that… yet this time he had ended up with your bare pussy hovering over his cock, and he was not at all upset with this outcome. Just incredibly shocked. You were so beautiful, looking down at him with your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. He still hesitated, however, because he wasn’t sure whether or not you really wanted him, or if he was being included simply because he was here.

You could see that hesitation, that self doubt in his eyes… you hated it.

So you leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first… reassuring and gentle. You were giving him plenty of time to work his nerve up. When he didn’t pull away—and even started to reciprocate—you deepened the kiss and teased at his lips with your tongue.

Requesting entry.

He parted his lips for you immediately, you smiled against him before you let your tongue caress his sinfully. His body was no longer rigid, but he was still tense. You moved to kissing his neck and nipping at his skin.

“Relax Spence…” You murmured sensually, running your hands through his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Let me lead, I’ll take care of you.” Pulling back and checking in to make sure, before you went too far, you looked him in the eyes, searching them intently. “Is this okay with you, Handsome?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that made you want to bite it too.

“Yes.” He murmured, still hesitating… then whispered, “I just– I’ve only done this twice… I don’t know what to do in this position…”

Oh…

“That’s okay, I didn’t know what to do a minute ago and Hotch talked me right through it… We can do that for you, if you want?” You offered him gently. Your eyes were soft and kind, but let him see just how badly you wanted him. “Besides… I’ll enjoy being able to teach you something for once.”

He laughed softly, and some of the tension melted away from him.

“Okay.” He agreed. “Tell me what to do.”

Then in a burst of confidence, he reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You hummed in approval.

“Touching me would be a great start.” You teased gently, not at all trying to bruise his ego.

“That’s true…” He joked quietly and his hands settled on your waist, then started to slowly trail up your sides. Lightly dancing over your ribs. “What if… I did this as well?”

And then his hands were reaching around to the clasp of your bra and deftly unhooking it. Which shocked you given his inexperience… you’d bet anything that he’d practiced somehow so he wouldn’t fumble when it mattered.

You reached down between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him. He sucked in a sharp gasp, jumping at the contact and your soft chuckle was echoed by two more behind you.

“Then I would do this and tell you that you have great instincts if you’ll just listen to them.” You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his length and he groaned. It was an almost tortured sound, as though you were both killing him and pleasuring him at the same time.

He slid the straps of your bra down your arms and you briefly let go of him to toss it to the floor. You sat up a little straighter as he took in the sight of you, sitting astride him in nothing but a garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

“You’re so beautiful, Angel…” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to your breasts.

You lost patience then.

“Are you ready?” You asked him as you lined him up with your entrance, barely putting the tip in.

Your hands were trembling and your breathing was rapid and shaky.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who asks you that?” He responded, but his voice cracked and you knew he was putting on bravado. He was every bit as desperate as you, his breaths ragged and harsh.

“Spence…” You whimpered, needing his permission to sink down on it. “Please.”

He didn’t respond, instead he gripped your hips firmly and tugged you down onto his cock until you were fully seated on it. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, and every little twitch it made.

“Fuck!” You moaned, loudly, earning snickers and snorts from the two voyeurs sitting on the couch behind you.

“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” He panicked.

“That was definitely not a sound of pain, Reid.” Hotch murmured.

Spencer looked at you closely anyway, unsure if you were alright.

“You told me to follow my instincts so I–”

You kissed him, to shut him up and stop his doubts from running away with his head. Then you started to ride him slowly. He groaned against your lips and you smiled. The feel of him—filling you up—was exquisite.

“Your instincts are perfect Spencer…” You praised him, letting your hands drift back into his hair. “That was hot.”

His beautiful eyes gazing up at you as you rode him made you feel a little dizzy, he was so fucking pretty. He was gripping your hips tightly and every time you brought them back down he whimpered. The sounds he was making were driving you insane.

“Tilt your hips forward a bit more, sweetheart.” Hotch instructed you, his voice low and raspy. “It’ll help you take him deeper, and feel twice as good for him.”

He was right, and you did know that already, but it was so fucking sexy when he started giving orders.

“And for her.” Prentiss added, you could hear the salacious smile in her tone.

“Like this?” You asked in a faux bashful tone, as if you didn’t know how to do it. Then you did it perfectly, so that you and Reid both groaned, and your ass popped back enticingly for Hotch and Emily.

They both groaned softly and you smiled, winking at Spencer. Letting him in on your antics. He smiled back at you, as amused as he could be—given the circumstances.

“What about this? Do you think this would make him feel good?” You asked, rolling and circling your hips seductively as you rode him.

Spencer hissed out a breath, his eyes rolling back briefly.

“I can confirm that it does in fact feel amazing.” He groaned, you giggled and threw a flirty glance back over your shoulder at the others. Then leaned forward and sucked Spencer’s bottom lip into your mouth, biting it. He slid his hands down to your thighs squeezing tightly, then over your thighs where he looped his fingers into your stockings and peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Then traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, back to your hips and you noticed he was avoiding your ass… So did Prentiss.

You felt the heat of her body behind you before you heard her voice, and pulled back to look up at her.

“Don’t be shy Reid…” She purred, her hands landing on his, dragging them back till they rested fully on your ass. “Get a good handful… or two.” She made him squeeze you firmly. You moaned and Emily chuckled. “See… She loves that, don’t you babe?”

“Yes!” You moaned wantonly, and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hotch had moved closer and was perched on the edge of the table next to the seat you and Spencer were in. He was watching with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“Put her nipple in your mouth, Reid.” He said after a moment. “Suck on it while circling your tongue around it.”

Emily hummed her approval, they were giving Spencer a veritable textbook for How To Make You Come 101. Spencer listened, of course. He’d just watched Hotch and Emily tag team you into an orgasm, their words were as good as gold.

When his lips closed around your nipple you hissed and whimpered a little, picking up your pace as you bounced up and down on his cock. Hotch chuckled in lust filled amusement, reaching over and stroking your ribs with the back of his hand.

“She makes such beautiful little sounds.” He mused to Emily, who nodded and then grabbed a handful of your hair.

She used it to tip your head back then kissed you thoroughly, her tongue caressing yours and you could still taste your pussy on her lips. You moaned and ground yourself down against Spencer, his cock reaching all the way to your cervix, you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach.

Hotch’s fingers were tracing your ribs, or maybe that was Spencer? No, his hands were still on your ass so it had to be Hotch or Emily. Someone was trailing a hand down your stomach to where your body joined with Spencer’s, this hand was larger and callused while the other was soft and smaller. So Emily was tracing your ribs, while Hotch…

Hotch was on a collision course with your clit. You knew when he made impact, you’d see stars.

Spencer switched nipples, still kneading your ass with firmness and your muscles were starting to ache from pulling yourself up and down his cock at this pace. Emily was still lighting you up with her kiss, her fingers traveling down the line of your rib to the breast that Reid had started with. Hotch’s fingers were getting closer and closer, but they were moving so slowly you knew he was trying to drive you wild with anticipation.

It was working.

Your chest was heaving, you were trembling and your legs were aching deliciously from exertion. Spencer’s cock was hitting you perfectly every time you sank down on it. All the sensations combined were almost too much for your sanity. You were so close, again.

“Look at you, falling apart at the seams… you’re so close aren’t you sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, his voice a lot closer than it had last been. What was he, a mind reader? His nose skimmed your neck up to your ear, which he then bit gently. You moaned into Emily’s mouth, a pitiful little whimper, and you felt her smile softly against your lips. “Does Reid’s cock feel so good? Filling you up like that. Stretching you out. I wonder, can you still taste yourself on Emily’s lips? Do you know how good you taste, pretty girl?”

Fuck, was he trying to kill you?

It was like his voice had gained a solid form and had wrapped itself around your throat, cutting off your oxygen and leaving you completely breathless. Your senses were overwhelmed, in a state of near euphoria, and you knew that once Hotch’s fingers reached their destination—and they would in the next three seconds—that the barest graze of them was going to make you explode.

He stopped just short of his target. You whined against Emily’s lips and he laughed at you softly.

“I think she ought to earn this one… What do you think, Prentiss? Should we make her beg?” Hotch asked the other woman, he didn’t ask Reid because the poor man was barely holding it together and all of his focus was split between the nipple he was currently stimulating and not coming inside you without consent.

Emily—reluctantly—pulled her tongue out of your mouth and smirked down at you.

“Hmm, she was being a little bit of a tease a minute ago wasn’t she?” She made a show of looking very contemplative, all the while she continued toying with your other nipple. “Reid?”

She brought Spencer into the conversation—or she tried to.

“Busy.” He murmured against the skin of your breast as he continued his work there, he would not be distracted. You glanced down and saw that he had started marking your skin with hickeys.

You moaned at the sight and let your head fall back.

“You want me to beg, and I’ll beg. Just please don’t make him stop.” Your voice was heavy, rough and breathless. You were so incredibly close, your body was starting to shake, and you knew you’d come, whether they kept touching you or not.

They knew it too, but they also knew they could make it so much stronger… if you were good for them.

“It feels so good, huh, sweetheart?” Hotch asked, his tone slightly condescending. “If you ask nicely, we’ll give you what you need…”

His hand was still stalled on your lower abdomen less than an inch away from your clit. Emily was just barely teasing your nipple and while it seemed like Spencer was ignoring them, you knew he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge. Sneaky.

However, you expected no less from him. He was a fast and visual learner, he had been watching closely when Hotch and Emily had been playing you like a fiddle. He could have had you screaming all on his own if he’d wanted to—you had no doubt about that— he’d just needed the confidence to get started.

Hotch and Emily had helped with that.

“I’ll be such a good girl if you let me come, Hotch, please…” You gave him the sexiest pout you could muster. His eyes seemed to darken—his hazel irises almost completely drowned out by his pupils—as they zoned in on your lips. “I’ll mind my manners and be so polite, I promise. Pretty please, make me come.”

Hotch was listening, and he had intended to make you beg more than this, but your lipstick smudged lips were just so alluring that he couldn’t focus on anything else at that moment. Remembering what they’d looked like wrapped around his cock several minutes earlier, he found his will rapidly dissolving, and all he really wanted was to watch the way those lips formed a perfect O when you came.

“I knew you’d sound so sweet begging…” He murmured, and his hand started to move again “Let us hear you, pretty girl. Loud and clear.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured confidently.

Emily chuckled and started sucking on your neck, you moaned… Then Hotch’s fingers—finally—found your clit.

You screamed.

Your vision went fuzzy and then white. Your head was buzzing and your body was nearly numb. You went limp and Spencer took over, fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it. Emily’s hand had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Good girl…” She cooed. “You look so pretty when you come.”

“Yes she does.” Hotch murmured, reaching over to where your head was resting on Spencer’s shoulder and brushing your hair away from your face. “So fucking pretty.”

You whimpered softly at the touch and he smiled tenderly at you. Your chest was heaving with hard-fought, ragged breaths. You were shaking, but your vision was slowly returning to normal.

“Are you alright?” Spencer whispered gently in your ear. His hands on your waist now, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fucking fantastic, Spence…” You murmured in return, shifting your weight slightly to sit up and kiss him. He squeezed your hips tightly.

“Please don’t move.” He hissed, pleadingly. “I can’t… I’m gonna… If you don’t get off it, I’m going to come inside you. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

You froze, your lips just a centimeter from his.

“It’s okay… Don’t panic… They make pills for that, and I intend to take one anyway… I’m a little stuck at the moment though, my knees are too weak to get up.” You met his eyes, the panic in them was astounding. “Hotch, could you–”

The man's arms were already coming around your waist and he lifted you off of Spencer effortlessly, as the younger man bit his lip and hissed as if pained. Setting you on your feet softly, Hotch held you to his chest to keep you from falling to the floor.

“Didn’t you say you’d mind your manners and be polite if we let you come?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a hint, a clue, anything to tell you what he was up to.

“Mm hmm…” You hummed in response, nodding at him.

“You made a mess Sweetheart…” He told you quietly, then took your chin in his hand and turned your face down to look at Spencer… Who was, in fact, a whimpering mess. “Clean it up.”

You licked your lips and smiled salaciously.

“Yes sir.” You murmured softly and got down on your knees at Spencer’s feet.

Reaching out and taking Spencer’s cock in your hand, you gave him a firm stroke. He moaned and his head fell back against the seat. So he didn’t see you coming when you lowered your head and took him in your mouth, all the way to the base.

“Oh fuck!” He yelped, you hummed in approval at his reaction, then you pulled back so that a manageable length was in your mouth. You put one hand on his thigh to brace yourself and create a little leverage, the other you wrapped around the rest of him. Slowly, you started to bob up and down, moving your hand in time with your head. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Spencer’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white. That only spurred you on.

The taste of yourself on his cock was tantalizing, the tang of you mingling with the musk of him was something you never thought you would experience. This whole situation was something you never thought you’d experience. You’d considered it of course—more times than you could count— but it was only a fantasy, a daydream. Never had you once thought it might actually happen.

“She’s doing so well… don’t you think Hotch?” Emily’s voice purred on your right.

“Hmmm, I don’t know… she’s capable of more…” He hummed in response from the left, and a hand—that based on the size could only be his—palmed the curve of your ass. He gave it a squeeze and a playful smack and you moaned around Spence's cock. Spencer twitched in response.

“You think she can take more?” Emily asked him, her tone was nothing short of sinful and it made you shiver. Hotch’s following chuckle, however, went straight to your pussy, making you squeeze your thighs together. Suddenly, you were completely desperate again..

“I know she can.” He answered, with a confidence that made your toes curl. His voice tended to do that to you, but when he put that cocky, self assured, arrogant rasp behind it… Goddamn. It was the voice he used when he knew he had the upper hand, when he had an unsub completely caught up in a lie, a trap of their own making. The voice that made your knees weak and your thighs tighten. It went straight to your pussy every time, making it clench around nothing. “Why don’t you help her along?”

“I’d love to.” She purred.

Then Emily’s hand was in your hair, resting firmly on the back of your head.

“You heard him, Gorgeous…” she lilted provocatively as her hand grew heavier on your head, slowly pushing you down the lengthy expanse of Spencer’s cock, until your nose was touching the neat patch of hair at his base.

“Fuck, Angel…” Spencer groaned, his voice husky and strained. “I’m so close…”

You gave him a muffled little hum of approval and that was all he needed to fall over the edge. Spilling down your throat as he moaned loudly, his hands joined Emily’s in your hair and he held you there firmly until he was finished.

You swallowed as much as you could and then—when they released your head—you sucked and licked him clean.

“Thank you, Angel. That was… incredible.” Spencer murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheek tenderly with the back of his forefinger. You leaned into the touch and then gave him a sensuous smile as you climbed back up into his lap. You brought your lips to his before he could say another word and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the mixture of all the flavors that had accumulated on your tongue. It was by far the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back to smile at him.

“You are very. Very. Welcome.” You purred, punctuating each very with a gentle kiss and biting his bottom lip after welcome. “It was my pleasure…”

Hotch and Emily chuckled softly at your antics and you noticed that Em sounded a bit shaky. Then you realized she was the only one who hadn’t come at least once… you’d have to remedy that.

Hotch—astute as ever—immediately noticed when your eyes locked onto Emily’s form. He chuckled again, looking between you and her, then stood and helped her to her feet as well, guiding her to the space between you and the couch you both had started this whole thing on.

“You want Prentiss again, sweetheart?” He asked, his smirk letting you know he knew exactly what was on your mind. You simply nodded your head, never taking your eyes off her. “Hmm… What do you think, Emily? Has she earned the right to touch you yet?”

She smirked down at you, trying to maintain her slightly condescending attitude… but you could read her like a book, and she was so turned on she was struggling to breathe regularly. You smirked back at her and she raised a brow at you.

“I don’t know, she seems a little too cocky about it to me.” She answered him, only prolonging her own discomfort.

“Am I?” You murmured, giving her a teasing smile. “Take it from the boys, Em. I could rock your world…”

She laughed softly.

“I bet you could, but I wanna hear you beg for it…” She purred, grinning at you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You started to get up and reach for her, to show her how much you wanted her… but she stepped back, bumping into Hotch’s chest. He steadied her without hesitation, his hands stayed planted firmly on her hips and to your surprise, Spencer gripped your own hips. Tugging you back down into his lap so that you now faced the others, he held you in place.

“She said tell her, Angel…” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your ear. You were shocked at his sudden burst of dominance. Your eyes widened slightly and your lips parted in surprise.

Hotch chuckled and you studied the three of them carefully… they were all smiling at you, their eyes holding the same teasing light. It was as though they were waiting for you to notice something. You just didn’t know what.

“You don’t get to touch her yet, sweetheart… not until she gives you permission.” Hotch murmured teasingly. “You can look though…”

Then his hands slid around her waist to the front of her pants, and he began to unbuckle her belt.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered on a breathy sigh. This would be the death of you, you were sure. Your head tipped back as you looked to the ceiling, as though praying for patience or guidance—or perhaps salvation because you felt certifiably damned—but Spencer had other ideas.

“Don’t look away.” He instructed you, his voice low and commanding as he gripped your chin and made you look back at them. You’d never heard him speak with so much authority, and yet somehow it was still so soft that it was barely audible. “They’re doing this for you…”

Hotch continued his mission to rid Emily of her slacks by unbuttoning and then unzipping them. Then he slipped them down her legs and held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of them. She kept her heels on, now standing before you in just her button down blouse and undershirt.

Your brain was short circuiting.

“Please, Em… I need to touch you.” You murmured softly and she smirked at you, scarlet lips tipping up to one side.

“Not yet…” She taunted.

Hotch reached around her again and started to unbutton her blouse, his pace was agonizing. You noticed that he was careful not to touch her body at all, now that she was only half clothed, and his eyes were locked on you… not her.

They really were doing this just for you.

How they knew you’d find it hot to watch him undress her, you didn’t know, but it was working. They didn’t seem uncomfortable, no… they were enjoying themselves as they teased you mercilessly.

When he slid the blouse down her shoulders and it fell to the floor, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. She was wearing that one red tank top that always made you drool.

“Emily…” you nearly whimpered. “Please…”

She looked smug as she shook her head, reveling in the shakiness of your voice. She knew what that tank top did to you…

“Do you want to see him take it off me?” She asked, sweet as sugar… in a saccharine kind of way.

“I’d rather do it myself…” you implored, giving her a pouty look.

Her breath hitched and you knew… you were going to win this one.

“But if I’m being totally honest… I have this… fantasy… of you, in this exact outfit. I want you just like this, you’ve always looked so sexy in red, Em.” You purred, and you can tell you’ve surprised her for once. She was speechless for a moment and Hotch smirked at you, his eyes showing his amusement at this little standoff between you and Emily. “You know you want me Emily… just give in.”

You licked your bottom lip subtly, then bit it, trying to tempt her by looking up at her as innocent as a lamb. She had spotted your ploy a mile away, seen it coming from the moment you said she looked sexy in red.

It still worked.

“I will.” She drawled sensually, her eyes tracing your body. “If you get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

She stepped away from Hotch and sat on the couch with her legs spread wide, revealing red lace panties that matched her red tank top.

“Fuck…” you breathed. “You win… you win Em… just… God, let me touch you… please.” You pleaded. “I fucking need you.”

“Crawl to me, Gorgeous.” She finally conceded, smiling at you triumphantly.

And you let her think she had the upper hand, as you slipped out of Spencer’s lap and to the floor, but you knew once you got your hands on her—your mouth on her—she’d be putty in them.

Hotch moved to Spencer’s side and leaned against the wall—to watch the show of course—and nodded at you encouragingly.

You took your time, crawling seductively across the cabin to her, using every inch of the space to taunt her. She devoured you with her eyes and when you got to her feet, picked her right one up and propped it on your shoulder. You planted soft kisses on the inside of her ankle, never breaking eye contact.

“I have dreams that start out just like this…” you murmured to her.

“So do I.” She admitted, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Mmm…” you hummed softly, then purred, “Then what happens?”

She laughed softly, trying to seem unaffected again, but it was much too late for that. You knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“What’s the matter, Em?” You teased, beginning to kiss your way up the inside of her leg. “Cat got your tongue?” She seemed to lose all semblance of composure and you giggled softly against her soft skin. “Don’t worry… I can figure it out. I’m very creative.”

The roles had been reversed, and you’d never felt more in control than in that moment, kneeling between her legs. You slid your hands up her thighs and around her hips, gripping her ass firmly and then pulled her to the edge of the couch in one smooth motion.

For better access of course.

She yelped in surprise and you chuckled against her skin, never checking up as you continued kissing your way up her leg. You’d made it to her inner thigh and she was trembling. You looked up at her from under your lashes and smirked.

“I like it when you’re vocal.” You teased her, repeating her words back to her and earning a soft laugh from Hotch in return.

Emily started to say something but you flatten your tongue against her pussy—through her panties—and she moaned instead.

You hummed at the sound, reveling in it and lapped at her clit enthusiastically. Not bothering to tease her at all, just diving right in—to shut her up and wipe the smug smile off her gorgeous lips—and showing her exactly how creative you could be with your tongue.

But that didn’t satisfy your hunger for her at all, no… you needed to taste her, without the lace that was currently barring you from doing it.

You gently moved her panties to the side and took in the sight of her, bare and wet—absolutely soaked—all for you.

“Oh Emily…” You purred. “You’re dripping for me… and such a pretty pussy too. I wonder if it tastes as delicious as it looks?”

You were dying for her to regain a little sentience.

Docile, desperately horny Em was cute… but you wanted her sassy, confident self to come back out to play. You puffed a hot, teasing breath over the supple skin of her pussy and slowly, so slowly, licked her from her slit all the way to her clit. You stopped just short of it though, teasing her entrance with your tongue instead.

“Stop teasing me before I change my mind.” She growled impatiently, her hand tangling in your hair and tipping your head back to make eye contact.

You smirked up at her, a bit defiantly, and said softly, “Ask me nicely…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the side just a fraction as she stared you down, she seemed to be contemplating her options here. She could either let you get away with that and actually say please, or she could do whatever just crossed her mind and made those beautiful onyx eyes flicker with heat.

“Please, stop teasing me.” She murmured softly, leaning down so that her lips brushed your cheek as she moved to whisper in your ear. “Or I will take care of this pretty pussy all by myself, and make you watch from Spencer’s lap.”

You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you turned your head to look at her.

“Mmm, I love it when you’re bossy.” You murmured, your nose less than an inch from hers now.

“Do you?” She purred, leaning closer so her lips are hovering just over yours, sharing your every breath. You nodded, yes, and she grinned salaciously at you, moving closer so she could bite your bottom lip herself. “Then stop talking, and do something useful with that silver tongue instead.”

You felt your cheeks heat, whether it was embarrassment or arousal—or a mix of both—you weren’t certain. But you loved the way it felt.

“Yes ma’am.” You purred, your voice dripping with pure seduction.

You felt her hand vacate your hair and didn’t waste time. Leaning forward, you licked her cunt from bottom to top in one smooth motion. Your tongue—finally—delving in to taste her, before you buried yourself between her thighs and ate her pussy like you were starving. She was delectable. Her arousal like honey on your tongue, and she just kept getting wetter.

The more you explored and experimented with her, the more you learned.

For instance, if you suctioned your lips tightly around her clit and rolled your tongue in circles around it, she couldn’t help but squirm as she let out soft little moans. If you added two fingers, curling just slightly upwards, and used them to massage that spot—just past the ridge of her pubic bone—she bucked against you wildly. So you gripped her by her thighs and hoisted them up onto your shoulders, forcing her to lean back on the couch and spread herself wider for you. The new angle gave you more leverage with your fingers and allowed you to apply firmer pressure with your tongue.

She was putty in your hands, just as you knew she would be. Her ragged breaths and quiet whimpers were growing more and more desperate, her hands grappling for purchase on any part of you she could reach. You were unsurprised when they found your hair, threading into it and taking two fistfuls that had your scalp stinging delightfully. You moaned against her and then felt her walls start to flutter around your fingers.

“Don’t stop, don’t change anything, I’m so close!” She panted, her voice raw with desire.

You suppressed the urge to grin, needing to maintain the seal of your lips around her clit, the pressure of your tongue… but you couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Especially as she clamped down hard on your fingers, her thighs quivering and trying to close around your head. Her entire body went taunt, her back arching and her head falling back against the couch as she cried out, “Oh God!”

Only when her body fully relaxed and her grip loosened in your hair, did you allow yourself to smirk against her pussy and look up at her from under your lashes. She didn’t notice—too busy recovering from the mind blowing head you’d just given her—Hotch, however, did.

“Look at you, being all smug.” His voice ran up your spine like molten lava. You didn’t dare peek over at him, choosing instead to pepper Emily’s fevered skin with soft, barely there kisses. First over her inner thighs, then her lower stomach where her tank had ridden up nearly to her breasts. “Are you proud of yourself, Pretty Girl?”

Hotch’s hand perched softly at the nape of your neck, he squeezed gently but firmly. His hand slid down your back slowly, his finger slipping into your garter belt—the only item of clothing left on you—and snapping the elastic against your spine. You moaned softly at the sting and he chuckled softly. He began to guide the belt down your hips, over your ass and thighs, to your knees. Tapping each in silent command. You complied, lifting them one at a time so he could—finally—strip you completely bare. “Such a good girl…”

His murmured praise had you aching again as you continued your worshipful path of kisses up the plain of Emily’s belly. Not stopping when you reached her tank, instead starting to lift it over her head with her willing assistance. You tossed it to the floor and pushed her gently to her back, so that she was lying along the length of the couch. Climbing to settle between her legs again, you began to kiss her chest. Propping yourself up with one hand, you used the other to free her breasts from the cups of her bra, which—conveniently— clipped in the front. She moaned softly as your lips closed around one nipple and your free hand toyed with the other.

Warm breath on your pussy made it clench around nothing. Which made you keenly aware of the fact that you’d left your ass high in the air—and completely exposed. Strong hands gripped it firmly and tilted it up even further, positioning you exactly how their owner desired. “Stay just like this Sweetheart. I want to taste you while you take care of Emily.”

You moaned wantonly at Hotch’s order, spreading your legs a bit more for him. He smacked your ass, just hard enough to make a point. “I said stay still.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured seductively around Emily’s breast and he soothed the sting with a gentle kiss to the spot, just before he buried his face in your pussy. Groaning as he tasted you first hand, he gripped your ass with bruising strength and made you whine. “Fuck…”

He chuckled quietly to himself, his hand traveling down your ass and in between your legs. It wasted no time in finding its target. Your clit. He circled it so lightly, as though he thought it was delicate enough that any firmer touch would damage it.

The effect was maddening.

Emily’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples and bringing your attention partially back to her. You trailed your free hand down her stomach, finding her clit again with ease and began to move your finger over it ever so lightly. She whined quietly, and pressed up into your hand with her hips in a wordless request for more pressure.

“You need more, Em?” You asked softly, teasingly, as you kissed your way across her chest, up her neck, nipping her ear and finally hovered over her lips. “Hmm? Do you wanna taste yourself on my lips?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She demanded, her hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tangling into your hair as she tugged you down to her lips.

The kiss was rough, frantic and heated. Emily was still grinding up into your hand—desperate for friction—so you had mercy and increased the pressure and speed of your hand.

Hotch’s tongue was still leisurely fucking into your pussy as his finger work your clit with precision. He kept making these self satisfied little groans in the back of his throat that were driving you crazy.

And then two more hands were touching you… Hotch’s hands were still on your ass and clit, Emily’s in your hair and toying with your breast…

But Spencer…

He’d been content to watch for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to touch you.

He was tracing the lines of your ribs with one hand and your spine with the other, his touch light and inquisitive. You’d fantasized about him doing exactly this and you’d been right, it felt amazing. His hands on your skin anywhere would have been heavenly, but the way he was following each rib intentionally—reverently—reminded you of the way he traced each line when he was reading a book, the way his fingers skimmed over each vertebrae was making your back arch.

You pulled away from Emily to look up at him.

There was such adoration in his eyes as he studied the expanse of your skin. The hand at your ribs, going up to your shoulder blades and your collar bones. The one at your spine trailing down to the curve of your hip, over the rise of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

“Focus on Emily, Angel…” He murmured softly. “I just wanna touch you.”

You would do anything to have him keep touching you like that, so you redoubled your efforts on Emily. Sliding your fingers down from her clit to her cunt and slipping the middle two inside of her.

She moaned and you silenced it with a kiss, parting her lips with your tongue.

You rubbed her clit with your thumb while you worked her g-spot with the pads of your fingers and she started to squirm. She tried to close her legs but your knees were in the way and her thighs started to tremble.

“Give it to me, Emily…” You coaxed into her mouth, then bit her lip gently. “Let me have it, you can do it… come for me one more time…”

Her head fell back against the couch, so you dipped yours down and drew her nipple into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue. It was just enough to send her spiraling for the second time. A breathy cry falling from her lips as her pussy spasmed around your fingers.

All the stimulation—Hotch’s tongue and fingers, Emily’s cunt clenching around your fingers and her hands pulling your hair and squeezing your breast, and Spencer’s exploration of everywhere else—was nearly too much.

And then Hotch slipped two fingers inside of you… much thicker than Emily’s slender ones, and when he added a third… It was thicker that Spencer’s cock had been. Not as long, but with what he was doing… length didn’t matter.

You came hard. Your pussy clamping down on Hotch’s fingers so tightly you thought you could feel each knuckle and every callus. Your brain went completely offline and your thighs shook violently as your release ran down them.

Your knees gave out, and you collapsed against Emily with a moan. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. You laid there unable to move for several moments. Emily wasn’t moving either–except for her chest, which was heaving as she panted for air—so you were in no hurry to go anywhere. You gently slipped your fingers out of her and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Holy–” She gasped.

“--fuck!” You finished for her on a hard fought breath.

Spencer snickered softly as he stepped back to observe the mess of limbs the two of you were tangled up in.

Hotch chose that moment to pull his fingers out of you—making you flinch and whine—and then he moved to lean against the table adjacent to the couch to watch you and Emily untangle yourselves.

“You good, gorgeous?” Emily murmured after a moment, her hand running through your hair affectionately.

You nuzzled into her neck, nipping at her throat playfully.

“I’m great, Em.” You purred, twirling her hair around your finger and then giggled, “Why? You wanna go again?”

“Do you?” Hotch’s voice pulled your attention from the way the overhead light caught in Emily’s hair.

You looked up at him, and found him staring down at you with heated eyes…

And a bulge in his pants.

You swallowed thickly, the amount of times you’d thought about fucking Aaron Hotchner…

Your mouth was suddenly dry and your tongue felt heavy and you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything if you tried.

So you nodded your head, yes.

“Come here.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.

You gently untangled yourself from Emily—dropping one more kiss to her lips as you went—and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch you go.

The three steps it took for you to reach him were the longest three steps of your life. When you came to stop in front of him he wasted no time.

He held the back of your neck and drew you in, gently but firmly, then kissed you.

You could feel the tension in the plain of his chest, the barely restrained strength of his grip, and the quiet urgency with which he kissed your lips.

He was desperate… but he didn’t want to be rough with you…

Which would have been sweet…

If that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

You bit his lip, tugging it between your teeth and then licking into his mouth like you needed to taste him as much as you needed oxygen. Then you slipped your hand down and gave his cock a firm squeeze through his slacks.

He groaned and pulled you back to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Fuck me, like you own me.” You murmured, with much more confidence than you felt.

You saw in his eyes the exact moment his restraint snapped. It was like his whole demeanor did an about face.

The soft spoken, gentle—though slightly condescending and bossy—man that had been treating you with such tenderness and care…

He was gone.

You barely registered the movement, one moment you were standing up, asking him to fuck you…

And the next…

You were bent over the table he’d just been leaning on.

The sound of his zipper coming down made you clench around emptiness and then his hand was firmly planted in the center of your back. Holding you down on the table with an easy strength.

You felt the hard warmth of his cock at your entrance as he lined himself up, but he paused.

“You asked me to fuck you like I own you… are you sure you want that?” He asked again for consent. “I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You said clearly, with a surety in your tone that he could not mistake for anything but affirmation. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He didn’t answer you verbally.

Just slid his cock inside you, all the way to the base.

You cried out—hands clutching the edges of the table—-at the shock of it. You’d thought—surely—after coming three times, that you would be good and ready for him.

But he was… thick.

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs had ceased to function the moment he slid home.

Thicker than Spencer had been by a bit—though not as long—and you’d known that since you’d had both of them in your mouth. The way he was stretching you out though, it burned, it was a good burn… but you needed a moment to adjust.

He seemed to know that instinctually, and while he said he wouldn’t be gentle, he wasn’t going to hurt you purposefully either.

So as he bottomed out inside you he gave you a moment to sit with it.

“Breathe.” His voice was commanding, but strained.

You took a deep breath and he felt his hand on your back rise as your chest filled with air.

The burning eased, and you relaxed against the table.

“Good girl…” He murmured and then he started to move.

The stretch was amazing, the way he filled you up had your back arching and your hands white knuckling the table. Then he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts long and deep. Pulling almost completely out of you and then going so deep you saw spots.

You pushed back into him, trying to take him deeper—if that was even possible—urging him to go faster, harder. You wanted to feel him in your diaphragm—you knew that wasn’t possible, but you didn’t particularly care—wanted him slamming into you. Over and over and over…

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them in one hand while the other went back to your waist, with a bruising grip. Taking away every bit of leverage you had and giving himself total control of your body.

Then he pounded into you, hard and fast until your hips were bashing up against the table.

You didn’t even notice, because his cock was hitting you so perfectly with every sharp thrust.

“Hotch!” You keened his name, the loudest sound you’d made all night.

“Mmm keep talking to me, pretty girl, I love the way your voice sounds screaming my name.” His own voice sounded different from anything you’d ever heard from him. It was carnal and lust filled, and it had you clenching around him. “Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that this isn’t gonna last very long, sweetheart.”

You could only moan in response.

There were hands in your hair, gathering it out of your face.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, but when you opened them, Emily and Spencer were sitting side by side at the table you were bent over.

“She’s too quiet…” Emily purred, a truly wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fucking her hard enough.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound ran up your spine and down your limbs until your whole body tingled.

“You think she can take it?” He asked her in return.

But it was Spencer who leaned down, his lips skimming your cheek as he murmured, “You can take it, can’t you Angel?”

“God yes!” You panted, trying to look back at Hotch, though it was nearly impossible to move at all with the way he was pinning you to the table. “I can take it!”

He pushed you back down flat on the table.

“You want it harder, Pretty Girl?” He asked and there was something in his tone… something lethal.

“Yes! Please!” You sobbed.

“Tell me how bad you want it, make it pretty for me sweetheart… I wanna hear you beg.” His grip on your waist got impossibly tighter.

“I don’t want it, I need it! It feels so good, Hotch, please! I’ll be so good! I’ll lie here and take it like a good girl! Just fuck me harder, please!” You pleaded, your voice cracking as he continued to fuck into you. “I need to feel you deeper!”

He groaned, letting go of your arms and taking ahold of your hair instead.

“God, I love to hear you beg…” He growled, pulling your head back so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear. “Hold on to the table, pretty girl. You’re gonna need it.”

You gripped the sides of the table as hard as you could, bracing yourself against it.

He railed into you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name, your hips slamming into the table. His balls were slapping your clit loud enough to be heard over the sound of your cries, which were spilling from your lips with every thrust.

They were unintelligible.

Not even you knew what you were saying, but it was clear what you meant.

Don’t. Fucking. Stop.

“Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this…” Emily groaned to Spencer. “Look at her.”

“I see her… she’s fucking perfect.” Spencer replied. “Watch, she’s getting close… she makes that face every time, right before she comes.”

You were, you were so wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t even felt it creeping up on you until he brought it to your attention.

“I can feel her pussy fluttering… fuck, she’s getting tighter.” Hotch sounded nearly pained. “Come on, sweetheart, let me have it. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Emily reached under the table and pressed on your clit.

Your vision went white, a dull roar—like the ocean—filled your ears, your knees buckled and only the table and Hotch’s grip kept you from hitting the floor.

Your throat burned, and you knew you must’ve screamed, but you couldn’t hear a thing.

Both his hands were on your hips now, squeezing like his life depended on, anchoring you firmly to himself.

And it was a good thing too, because you thought that otherwise you might’ve floated away.

Your body was numb, gravity meant nothing to you, neither did time, or space.

Just his hands on your hips and his cock still slamming into your pussy as he fucked you through it.

Your hearing was the first sense to return to you, and you thanked the universe and every deity you knew of—just to cover all your bases—that it did.

Because the sound of Aaron Hotchner coming was something you wanted branded into your memory.

“Fuck! Such a good girl, just like that baby!” He moaned, “You feel like heaven pretty girl! I’m- God- I’m about to come—“

He pulled out of you so abruptly that you whined at the loss.

But then there were warm, wet ropes landing on your back.

You moaned, you wished you could see it, though feeling it was something you’d never forget.

“Fuck.” Hotch panted, then patted your ass gently. “You did so good for me sweetheart. That was…”

You couldn’t seem to speak yet, and your vision was still fuzzy. Your limbs weren’t yet back under your control either. So you just laid there, panting.

“Angel, are you okay?” You heard Spencer’s sweet voice murmur, you could feel his lips near your ear.

And Emily’s hand in your hair, nails brushing against your scalp soothingly.

Hotch was stroking your thigh tenderly.

Then the strangest thing happened… you started to giggle… you couldn’t help it… nothing was funny.

You were just… happy?

Overwhelmed?

Incandescent?

“Is she laughing?” Hotch asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“It would seem so…” Spencer murmured. “I think—you might have broken her.”

“No…” Emily murmured, stroking your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “She just needs a minute, she’s euphoric.”

There! That was the word you’d been looking for! Thank you Emily, you beautiful, sexy, sapphic goddess!

“I’m gonna get something to clean her up,” you heard Hotch murmur, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

You felt so heavy…

You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.

A warm cloth touched your back, stroking up and down, cleaning up after Hotch’s release.

Voices were murmuring quietly around you, and then you felt someone—probably Hotch—lift you from the table.

You barely got your eyes open, just enough to look around.

Spencer was gathering all your clothes, you were resting on Hotch’s lap, Emily was digging in your go-bag—she pulled from it a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—then she brought them over and started dressing you.

You didn’t know at what point she had put her clothes back on… just that she was dressed.

Spencer put your discarded clothes into your go-bag and then he came back over to sit next to Hotch on the couch. He helped Emily get your arms—which were too heavy to move still—into the sleeves of your shirt.

When they had finished dressing you, Emily sat on Hotch’s other side. He gently lowered your head to her lap, and Spencer pulled your legs up into his.

“Are you sure she’s alright?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Mm hmm…” Emily hummed, stroking your hair tenderly. “She’s just exhausted… four times… is a lot.”

Hotch took your hand in his and kissed the back of it.

That was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep.

*Four Days Later*

You’d thought that it would be awkward…

Coming back to work after fucking three of your coworkers—one of whom is your boss—at the same time.

But it wasn’t.

It was exciting.

The four of you were all smiles when you looked at each other, secret smiles that no one else was aware of, and knowing glances had been passed back and forth all morning.

Hotch had accidentally brushed across your hips with the back of his hand when he’d passed you in the bullpen.

There was a bruise there from the table where he’d fucked you, and he knew it. He was reminding you on purpose.

Spencer had been glancing at your lips all morning, a soft pink flush coloring his cheeks each time. Likely remember how he’d come down your throat.

Now, at the round table, Emily squeezed your thigh once under the table. There was a bite mark there that hadn’t yet faded. One that she’d given you.

All their attention was making you feel a bit overheated, so you pulled your French pin from the pocket of your slacks and pinned your hair into a twist.

You noticed, after you’d done so, that Hotch was giving you a very smug look. You felt like there was something else behind it, other than the obvious, but you couldn’t figure out what.

Everyone was distracted, just waiting on the last of the team—Derek and Garcia—to straggle into the room. They’d made it to the door, but Derek was on crutches so they were taking their time and everyone was fine with that.

But then Derek stopped—right behind you—and laughed.

“You uh— you got a little somethin’ somethin’ on the back of your neck, there Lil’ Mama…” He teased.

You reached up to touch your neck, confused, you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Looks like somebody had a little fun this weekend.” He joked. “That’s a pretty interesting place for a hickey…”

You paled, then blushed, immediately pulling the pin out of your hair and letting it fall down your back to cover the mark.

“Morgan.” Hotch said quietly—to hide the amusement in his tone—his eyes flicking to you briefly over the top of the file he’d been pretending to read. “Leave her alone.”

Derek threw his hands up in surrender and kept making his way to his seat.

One half of the room moved on, assuming that Hotch had just scolded Morgan out of a need for professionalism, and was choosing to cut you some slack over a mark you clearly hadn’t known existed.

But the other half knew better.

Rossi—who had returned from his book tour just the night before—stood to pull out Derek’s chair for him and took one elbow, while Penelope took the other.

While they helped him get settled, you threw Hotch a scathing look.

Because the only one who had left marks on your neck, had been him.

He was already smirking back at you, smug as shit.

Emily and Spencer were biting their lips to keep from laughing and they didn’t dare make eye contact with each other, or they were going to lose it.

You just stared a hole through the smirking Unit Chief, silently berating him for leaving a mark where you couldn’t see it.

And the bastard winked at you.

Then he cleared his throat and you let your expression go blank as the others all came to attention.

“Let’s get started.”

[queenofvelaris]

Hi yes my brain has ceased to function and I will be guarding this fic like a dragon with her treasure, thank you xx

[stargazingfangirl18]

Mercy 5

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Steve Rogers; Curtis Everett; Jake Jensen; Lloyd Hansen; Robert "Mr. Freezy" Pronge Word Count: 3,488 Summary: You’re pleasantly surprised by Lloyd. Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mercenary!babes. Reader is here for a mercenary sex rotation lolll. Inexperienced and insecure!Reader. Oral sex (f & m receiving). Rimming. Edging. Unprotected sex. Anal fingering.   

A/N: It feels like I haven’t written in a million years, and I’ve honestly been losing motivation for this blog as of late. I did enjoy writing this though, and I hope that it inspires some engagement and hoe spiraling.

SERIES MASTERLIST

You wondered if you’d ever feel less awkward in this situation–standing before one of the mercenaries, under a very focused and lustful gaze, and moments away from being thoroughly ruined.

Maybe, one day, once you settled into…whatever this was, you’d not only be less awkward, you’d be a little more confident, too.

But at this moment, with Lloyd looming over you for the very first time–standing so close that you could feel the heat he threw off–you kind of wanted to hide. 

Out of all of the mercenaries so far, he was the one that made you feel most nervous. 

He hadn’t done anything more than present you with a very see through negligee and told you to change so you looked as pretty as he’d been fantasizing about, but you didn’t think he’d have the same gentle patience and soft touch as Steve, or the kind of calm confidence that would make you feel safe and grounded like Curtis.

No, as you stood before Lloyd now, unable to meet his gaze as he slowly circled you like a hungry predator gearing up for the feast of his life, you were just plain old nervous.

Too lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize that Lloyd had moved away, retreating to sit on the foot of his bed. 

“Come here, doll face.” 

You startled at his voice, eyes wide as your head snapped up and you met his smoky gaze. He seemed simply delighted by your deer in headlights demeanor, shooting you a wicked grin as he patted his thick thigh in invitation. 

As you hedged closer, he nodded toward you, his eyes drifting over the length of your barely clad body. 

“Do you like it?” he purred. 

You swallowed as you stood right before him now, glancing down at the lacy lingerie because it seemed less daunting than trying to hold Lloyd’s hungry gaze. 

“Um, it’s very pretty, thank you.”

“It’s sexy, just like you.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m not sexy,” you denied that claim without even thinking, feeling your face burn as you hugged yourself to try to hide, just a little.  

Lloyd groaned, licking his lips as he rumbled, “Fuck, you know how long it’s been since I’ve fucked a shy cupcake like you?” 

He reached for you, tugging you into his lap and grinning as you squeaked at the sudden movement as you sprawled against him, your wide eyes darting to his.

“M’gonna eat you alive,” he hummed against your temple, his nose skimming along your skin before he pressed a shockingly innocent kiss to your very warm cheek. 

You squealed as Lloyd suddenly turned and manhandled you to the center of the bed. He urged you up a little further, positioning you on your hands and knees before he was  pressing a large, warm palm between your shoulders and easing your head down. 

“Relax, pumpkin,” he cooed at you, feeling the tension in your body as he shifted closer. 

He touched you with both hands then, taking his time as he mapped your body and the thin fabric keeping a majority of your skin from his. Lloyd massaged your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots holding most of your tension, and you could only moan in surprise at how good it felt, your body going more and more pliant the longer he touched you. 

“Good girl,” he purred, his hands falling away from your shoulders to cup your sides. 

You gasped as he reached around you to palm your breasts, giving them a firm grope that had you mewling as you squirmed before him.

“Fuck, you’re such a responsive thing. I’ve barely touched you, and look at how needy you are already.”

Whining, you buried your face into the blanket, your face flooding with another wave of warmth as Lloyd let out a raspy laugh behind you. 

Still, despite his teasing, you sensed there wasn’t anything mean or malicious about it. If anything, he sounded truly pleased by your reactions to him. 

That’s about as far as your brain got with thinking before you felt Lloyd easing your negligee up, until it pooled along your upper back. You shivered at the cool air of the room, or maybe it was the way that Lloyd’s fingers were curling against the sides of your panties. 

He tugged them down, maneuvering one of your legs and then the other until he could pull them off you completely. Even though you couldn’t see him in your current position, you could hear the way Lloyd inhaled deeply before giving the kind of primal, obscene groan that had your pussy fluttering wildly as you realized he’d just sniffed your panties.

A beat later, you felt him shift behind you on the bed. Then his hands were back on you, sliding up the back of your thighs and rounding the curve of your ass. Lloyd gave another groan as he palmed an ass cheek in each hand before tugging them apart and giving them a lewd jiggle.

“God damn, you’ve got a body on you, cupcake.”

Laughing at your muffled embarrassed whine, Lloyd pressed a kiss to the small of your back, then to each of your ass cheeks. He shoved your legs as wide as they could go before his tongue was on your cunt, dragging up along your slit in a broad stroke that had you keening and rocking forward on the bed. 

Humming at the taste of you, Lloyd lapped at your clit, chuckling into your folds as you squeaked and squealed some more as you writhed as his sudden lustful onslaught. 

“What a tasty pussy you have,” he cooed, thumbing your folds apart so he could tongue at your drippy hole. “M’gonna make you ride my face one night, you just wait. But not tonight, cupcake. We gotta save some stuff for later so we have something to look forward to.”

And then he stopped talking and started eating your cunt with relish.

You’d never been in such an open, vulnerable position. All you could do was writhe and rock and keen as Lloyd devoured your pussy like he’d been waiting his entire life to get his mouth on you.

He wasn’t shy about it either, slurping and groaning, his fingers joining in to tease your clit until you were begging him to make you cum and he was tutting, “Not yet, you don’t get to cum until it’s around my cock,” into your messy folds before going at you all over again. 

You were genuinely teary after what felt like the umpteenth time Lloyd denied you of your orgasm, shoving back against him with a pitiful whine as his tongue dipped just inside your needy hole before dancing away again. 

“Please! Please!”

“Such a needy and messy cupcake,” Lloyd teased, rubbing at your sopping, slick-smeared cunt with his entire hand before giving it a smack. 

You shrieked as pleasure!pain zipped from your clit through the rest of you, feeling your insides flutter and yearn for more as Lloyd nuzzled along your thighs before skimming his lips higher.

The next time you felt his tongue, it was lapping at your virgin rosebud, and you yelped as you jerked forward, trying to clamp your legs closed against that.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Lloyd laughed, wrenching your legs wide once more before he tongued at your tightest hole until you were moaning and sagging against the bed in supplication. “Thatta girl.”

He continued to kiss and tongue at your asshole, his fingers straying back to your swollen clit to reward you with some rubs and swirls that had you whining again–babbling for more–as you rocked back against him. 

“Fuck,” Lloyd groaned, giving your rosebud a final lick before he was rising up behind you. “You’ve got me so hard, it hurts. C’mere, cupcake, time to return the favor.”

Your entire body was trembling with need, your skin slick with sweat and your brain foggy as you eased up to your hands and knees and looked over to Lloyd with glossy eyes. 

He was in the middle of undressing, and completely shameless about it as he bared his ridiculously fit body and all of those finely toned muscles that you couldn’t help but ogle. 

When your dazed gaze returned to his, he was grinning big and proud before shooting you a wink and shucking off his boxer briefs before standing before you completely naked. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide as his hand fell to take his big, hard cock in hand. “C’mere, cupcake. Get on your knees for me, I want that pretty mouth on my cock.”

Your lips parted in surprise, nerves fluttering through your chest even as your pussy fluttered for an entirely different reason. Eyeing his thick length with uncertainty, you gingerly moved closer to him before easing off of the bed and sinking to your knees between his spread legs. 

“I-I’ve never…” you trailed off, shyly humiliated as you confessed the level of your inexperience to Lloyd. 

“Well isn’t it my lucky day?” he grinned at you, winking as you shyly peeked up at him from beneath your lashes. “No need to be embarrassed. We all start somewhere, and I’ll coach you through it.”

And Lloyd did just that, urging you closer as he continued to slowly stroke and squeeze his cock as you got an up close view of the way the crown of it dribbled with beads of pre-cum. 

“Go on, have a taste. Fair’s fair.”

It felt like your face was on fire, but you couldn’t seem to stop your body from swaying forward, your wide eyes mesmerized by the sight of Lloyd’s cock, the way the vein at the underside bulged and a new wave of pre-cum overflowed, just for you. 

Tentatively, you pressed your hands to his thighs to give you proper balance, your eyes flickering to Lloyd’s and finding his gaze so dark it looked black as he aimed his cock your way and gave a gravelly hum of encouragement. 

Unable to look away from his searing gaze, you hesitated for a brief second before you were lapping at the head of his cock with your tongue, and tasting the salty brine of his cream exploding all along your taste buds.

“Fuccccck me sideways,” Lloyd groaned, his head dropping back for a beat before he was once again eyeing you up like he wanted to eat you alive. “Do that again.”

You did, allowing your tongue to linger this time. And then your curiosity got the best of you–and overrode your nerves entirely–as you reached for his cock with trembling fingers. 

You took a moment to allow your soft touch to glide up and down the stiff length of him, then your thumb was tracing that bulging vein and your pussy was fluttering and clenching as you wondered if you’d feel it once he started to fuck you. 

Lloyd groaned out a shaky breath as your hand encircled his shaft, his own hands falling away to grip the edge of the bed as you started to slowly stroke up and down. 

“That’s it, get it a little wet too. Spread my pre-cum around and use your spit if you have to.”

Cheeks blazing, you did as he said, smearing his pre-cum up and down his shaft before letting your saliva pool on your tongue and licking your way up his cock, then doing it again, and again, until his erection was shining with your spit and your hand could glide easier along the length of him now. 

“Yessssss,” Lloyd moaned, his hips rutting into your grip as he panted, “Grip it firmer now, you won’t hurt me. It’ll feel fucking divine.” 

Following Lloyd’s direction, you gripped him more firmly, moving your hand up and down a little faster now and watching as his defined ab muscles flexed and jumped as he moaned without shame. 

He didn’t even need to tell you to use your mouth some more, you wanted to. You wanted to see what it felt like to have the weight of his cock on your tongue, and you were dying to see how he’d react, too. So you leaned forward, guided his cock to your lips, and parted them around it before easing him into your mouth.

“Hnnnngh,” Lloyd husked, his hand shooting out to grip the back of your neck, just resting there as you slowly started to bob your head and suck him off. “Fuck, that’s it. You’re a natural.”

A wave of pride swelled within you, even as a wave of slick gushed from between your legs, and you worked Lloyd’s cock with your mouth more enthusiastically before pulling away to catch your breath. 

You wiped the pool of spit from the side of your mouth, leaning back in to tongue at the head of him. You took just the tip of him into your mouth, suckling on it gently before licking the new drops of pre-cum from his head, ready to draw him back into your mouth when Lloyd gripped your shoulder and told you to ease up. 

Looking concerned, you pulled away immediately, but Lloyd was grinning at you, his cheeks flushed and his nostrils flaring. 

“I did okay? It was…good?” you asked hopefully. 

“So good I almost blew my load down that pretty throat of yours, but I’d rather fill that sweet cunt with my cream instead.” Lloyd waggled his eyebrows at you, grinning wider as you visibly squirmed in response to his words. 

“Come on, you’re gonna ride me until we both cum.” Lloyd slid back on the bed and stretched out. 

He patted his lower pelvis before tucking his hands behind his head and waiting for you to hop to. 

Feeling shy all over again, you slowly followed suit, pausing beside him on the bed before your eyes fell to his hard cock that was pressed against his belly. 

God, you really wanted to feel it inside of you. 

The thought overtook your mind entirely, and you were like a moth mesmerized by a flame as you carefully straddled Lloyd’s hips before reaching for his cock. You rose up on your knees, guiding him between your legs and gently dragging him against your soaked folds.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Lloyd encouraged you on a gritty rasp as you moaned and rubbed his cock against your aching clit. “Fill up that needy hole so I can fuck you like we both need.”

Once again, you did exactly as Lloyd directed, guiding his hard cock to your entrance and slowly easing down on him little by little. 

Lloyd wasn’t so casual now, his hands reaching to grip your hips and his eyes glued to wear your pussy swallowed his cock, inch by inch. He didn’t rush you though, enjoying the way you took your time, the way you kept letting out sharp gasps and little, “Oh”s each time you thought you reached your limit but realized you could take more. 

By the time you were settling against him, and he was buried to the hilt, his fingers were digging into your flesh so hard it hurt, and you were whining at being so full and needing so much more still. 

You started moving of your own volition, first just rocking against Lloyd, writhing as your cunt clenched and fluttered around him. You barely noticed when he reached up and tugged off your negligee, baring your naked body to him completely. 

He palmed both your tits and gave them a squeeze, plucking sharply at your hard nipples and making you squeak before he once again gripped your hips in his hands and encouraged your eager movements. 

“Rise up a little, cupcake, let me fuck this tight cunt.”

Moaning, you pressed your hands to Lloyd’s firm stomach for balance, easing up before sinking back down on his cock with a delighted keen. 

“Fuck, that’s it, keep going,” he groaned. 

Soon, you were bouncing on Lloyd’s cock so enthusiastically that he could barely keep up with you. 

It felt so good, the way he filled you up over and over again, his cock thrusting so deep in your pussy, making your insides clench and release, grip and flutter. But still, it wasn’t quite enough to get you there. 

“Please, I need…I need…more,” you whined, exhaustion slowly seeping its way through your body even as you desperately yearned for release.

“You don’t gotta ask me twice,” Lloyd hummed. 

He gathered you against him, arranging you so you were laying on top of him, chest to chest. Then he planted his feet on the bed and began to pound into you, making you squeal and moan and keen his name. 

The sound of skin clapping filling the room, but that wasn’t the only sound ringing out around you. You could hear how absolutely soaked your pussy was, the way it squelched each and every time Lloyd’s cock shoved its way inside you. 

Moaning without shame, you rutted against the eager, relentless thrusts of Lloyd’s cock, digging your hand between your bodies to rub your clit. Just as your thighs started to shake, Lloyd’s hand eased around the curve of your ass. 

You felt his touch dip between your legs, and then his slick-covered finger was suddenly at your asshole, pushing against the tight ring of muscle that had never been breached before.

You squealed at the unexpected intrusion, gasping as Lloyd’s thick finger began to fill your ass. He fucked you with it in time with his cock pounding into your pussy without relent, and before you could fully process the fact that both of your holes were being filled now, you were cumming so hard, you nearly blacked out. 

Your keen of release was loud and ragged, your body clenching and releasing over and over again as bliss speckled along every inch of your body from head to toe. 

Vaguely, you were aware of Lloyd reaching his own release, gasping as you felt him shove into you hard and deep and give shallow ruts as he pumped you full of his cum with a throaty, wordless drone.

As he went still and boneless beneath you with a satisfied groan, you just laid atop him–dead weight–as you panted and trembled with stray aftershocks as you clung to him. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt Lloyd gently thumb away the trail of tears along your cheek. 

“You okay, pumpkin?”

At the sound of his genuine concern–which was like another little shock all by itself–you tilted your face up, blinking owlishly as you tried to string together a sentence. You nodded instead, words still lost to you, but Lloyd’s responding smile was soft and warm and had your insides fluttering for a different reason now. 

“Goddamn, you’re a fantastic lay.” He laughed as you shyly buried your face against his chest to hide, gently petting your head in a way that had you sinking against him more and more, your body so pleasantly pliant now. 

Once you started to yawn and struggled to keep your eyes open, you sighed, peeking up at Lloyd. 

You had done what you had come here to do, and even though you were learning that you enjoyed affection after sex–needed it to reground after being so vulnerable–you weren’t sure if Lloyd was into that or wanted company now that the deed had been done.

Even though your stomach sank as you did so, you murmured out a quiet, “Do you…want me to go now?”

“Fuck no,” Lloyd answered immediately, looking a little offended by your question. At your reticent look, he softened, giving you a small smile. “We’re gonna get you all cleaned up and then you’re warming my bed tonight, cupcake. Don’t tell anyone, but even exceptionally scary!hot mercenaries like to cuddle.”

The giggle was spilling from your lips before you could help it. Feeling relief, and something more–something soft and needy in a different way–you couldn’t help but ask, “Can I kiss you? Please?”

Something in Lloyd’s twinkling gaze warmed exponentially, and he was sporting his own soft smile as he murmured, “Yeah you can. Get over here.”

Gripping your bare ass in his hands, Lloyd hefted you up his body, tipping his face back and catching your lips with his before he kissed you with the kind of desire–for just this, just tasting you in a more innocent way–that had what felt like a million tiny butterflies taking flight in your belly. 

Murmuring wordlessly, you sank against him more fully, framing Lloyd’s face in your hands and losing yourself to his kisses. To each and every press of his lips against yours, to every stroke and tease of his talented tongue. 

Until getting cleaned up–and ending this moment between you, this gentle intimacy that you craved so much–was the furthest thing from your mind. 

Not me crying that I finally wrote something new 😭

—

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[queenofvelaris]

This might be my favorite Lloyd you’ve ever written, Siri! His teasing, his gentleness, it was all so perfect! I love how even though he’s a Silly GuyTM he showed the reader a very good time 🥰🥰 marvelously done!!

[honeypiehotchner]

Stress Relief (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Based on this post that I made and y'all, it spiraled so quick. This is the longest smut I've ever written, I feel like I've gone INSANE

Summary: Aaron had been holding back from going down on you as often as he wanted to, until you propose a new idea.

Warnings: 18+ mdni!!!, so much oral (f!recieving), fingering, switch!hotch + reader (it just happened), semi-public sex, office sex, overstimulation, hotch is pussy whipped + feral abt it, maybe technically free use kink, bits of fluff, crackfic vibes w the team, i have not edited this i wrote on pure vibes like a woman possessed

WC: ...7.7k

It starts one morning in a coffee shop, and you’re running so late that it should actually be a criminal offense. Thankfully, you are your boss, so this is allowed, as is choosing to grab a coffee when you’re already late, but that doesn’t mean it’s a wise choice. 

You quickly change your mind on how wise you’re being when Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome joins the line just before you do. 

You’re a regular at this coffee shop -- it’s a quick walk around the corner from your office -- and Aaron is, too. That’s all you know about him, unfortunately. Well, you know he drinks his coffee black, one sugar sometimes but rarely, and that occasionally, he asks for a croissant as well.

You don’t even think he’s noticed you, which is fine, because the two of you aren’t friends by any means. You’re fellow regulars who sometimes chat quietly in line, but it has never gone beyond that.

Until today.

Until, you catch Aaron’s quick glance behind him, you catch his little smile, and you hear him add your drink to his order.

“Her usual as well,” he adds casually, tapping his black credit card before you can protest and before you can pick your jaw up off the floor.

“Thank you,” you tell him, stepping to the side with him to wait for the drinks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

His smile turns bashful suddenly, and he looks down at you, eyes fond. “I’ve been meaning to do it for weeks, actually.”

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them, and you’re sputtering through a reply that has you both giggling and blushing still when the barista places your drinks onto the counter.

“Thank you,” you say again. The two of you step outside onto the sidewalk. “I’d love to stay and chat, Aaron, but I’m really late for work.”

He chuckles. “I was wondering why you were in there this morning, this is usually pretty late for you-- for both of us.”

“Yeah, what’s your excuse?” you tease.

He shakes his head. “Morning off. Everyone isn’t coming into the office until lunch.”

You glance at your watch. It’s almost ten. “But you’re going in now?”

He shrugs, the sheepish smile returning. “I can’t really afford to take the entire morning.”

“What do you do?” you ask, and really, you shouldn’t be having social hour right now, but you can’t help it. This is the most you two have talked, finally going beyond the usual great weather today and ugh, it’s Monday again kind of small talk.

“Um,” he pauses, looking off in the distance beyond you. He’s clearly hesitating, and that has you slightly panicked, until he answers. “I work for the FBI.”

“No shit,” you blurt, covering your mouth as soon as you say it. “Sorry! I just wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting some government thing, I mean practically everyone around here is, but…the FBI. Woah.”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” he assures you. He digs into his suit pocket, pulling out a pen. “Listen, I really don’t want to keep you since you’re late, but I’d…I’d love to talk more. Maybe over dinner. Or coffee, when we don’t have work to get to and things to do.”

He’s rambling and it’s possibly the most adorable sound you’ve ever heard. You nod along with him, a smile slowly creeping onto your lips.

He’s still talking when you take the pen from his hands and use your non-dominant hand to hold his paper coffee cup steady enough to write your number on it hastily, along with your name, not that he needs it. He sees what you’re doing and stutters to a stop, a blush dusting his cheeks.

“Call me,” you tell him with a wide smile, handing him his pen. “We’ll set something up.”

You’re down the sidewalk and disappearing around a corner before he can get his words together.

+++

Hotch, in hindsight, knew better than to walk into the BAU office with a coffee cup with a woman’s name and number written on the side of it, but in his defense, he gave the team the morning off. He told everyone to come in around lunchtime.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, to find Reid sitting at his desk with a book in hand, Emily laughing with Morgan, and Rossi already pouring coffee out of the BAU’s fancy new coffee machine that he somehow got approved.

“There he is,” Rossi announces Hotch’s presence, and everyone turns. “Slow morning?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Hotch smiles, not-so-discreetly turning the cup so the writing is protected by his palm.

But everyone saw it before he moved it. Everyone took note.

No one says anything, of course, but “no one” does not include Dave Rossi, who follows Aaron up to his office and shuts the door.

“So,” Rossi makes himself comfortable in one of Hotch’s chairs, smug smile and all, “good morning, I assume?”

Aaron makes sure the writing is facing him and not Dave. “Stop fishing,” he says, but he is smiling a little, and he is rummaging through his briefcase to avoid meeting Dave’s eyes. “My morning was fine.”

“Seems it was better than fine,” Dave chuckles. “Whose number is it?”

“No one’s.”

“Is it the same No One that you see every day?”

“I don’t see her every day.”

“Aaron,” Dave chides through a laugh. “It wasn’t until six months ago that you started going to that coffee shop every day, and I’m assuming that’s when you started talking to her.”

“I bought her coffee today,” Aaron confesses, settling down into his chair. “She was running late for work, we didn’t get to talk much.”

“But she did write her number on your cup,” Dave raises an eyebrow, nodding toward it. “That’s something.”

“Yeah,” Aaron smiles, thumbing over the dried ink. “It’s something.”

From that day forward, it doesn’t take a profiler to figure out that Hotch is dating someone. The number on the cup was enough, but his behavior is a dead giveaway.

Suddenly, he’s not staying at the BAU until odd hours of the night. He isn’t taking naps on the couch in his office. He’s actually taking a lunch break, sometimes even leaving the office altogether to meet you somewhere. He finishes the paperwork for a case at a normal pace, and, most damning, he’s smiling again. All the time.

The first day you visit him at the BAU is not planned. He left his lunch on the kitchen counter that morning, and you, having stayed over the night before, thought you’d just pack something for yourself and join him for the hour.

The second you step into the bullpen, it turns into gossip central. Is that her? She’s gorgeous. Wait. Is she living with him? Look at him! He hasn’t smiled this hard in years. How long did he say they’ve been dating? They look comfortable together.

Aaron had warned you that when you eventually met the team to be prepared for how nosy they can be. They mean well, they really do, but it’s an inevitable side effect of the job. A team of profilers are bound to be in each other’s business from time to time, no matter how hard they try to adhere to the unspoken “No profiling each other” rule.

Needless to say, you are not surprised to hear the whispering accompanied by the heads turning. The team knows you’re a keeper, though, because you pay them no mind, waving and smiling as you head up the stairs to Aaron’s office.

“Hey,” he grins, meeting you at the door with a quick kiss on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“I knew you’d likely just go without, and we can’t have that,” you tease, walking into his office with him. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” he says, pulling you over to the couch. 

You’re pure stress relief, a balm to his chaotic days. Today has been rough, mountains of paperwork, Use of Force reports sneaking up on him, and demands from Strauss that he hasn’t met yet. Forgetting his lunch had been the least of his worries -- because he would’ve forgotten about lunch altogether -- but seeing you makes it all better. Always.

+++

Six months into the relationship you aren’t exactly living with Aaron, but you are spending less and less time at your own apartment, and the two of you have tossed around the idea of you letting your lease expire and moving into his. But there’s still time to figure that out, so for now, you’re here when he’s home and not on a case, and you’re here when he gets back.

He wants to see you first thing when he lands, so it’s simply easiest for you to be waiting at his place when he touches down. When he finally comes through the front door, you hear him dropping his bags and shedding his coat. You’re just about to stand to greet him when he practically collapses into your lap.

“Hi,” you giggle, narrowly avoiding suffocation with a sudden armful of your six-foot boyfriend. “Bad one?” you ask gently.

He nods into your neck. “Long” is all he says, placing a kiss where the hollow of your shoulder meets your neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, turning to press a kiss to his temple. It wasn’t the longest that he’s been gone, but the time isn’t really what he means. “What can I do?”

He shifts until he’s laying with his head in your lap, shutting his eyes. “I just need to lay down for a bit, I think.”

“Okay,” you frown, scratching his scalp lightly. “We can just do this.”

He hums, curling closer to you. You have no idea how he fits on this couch, much less with his head in your lap, but he manages. He inhales, exhales.

“You smell good,” he says then. “Is that weird?”

You know what he’s referring to. “Kind of,” you say, though you do laugh.

He turns and noses further into you, the action causing heat to pool in your belly. “Can I?”

“Aaron…” you murmur, still stroking his head. “You’re exhausted.”

“But it calms me down,” he says through another exhale. 

“It calms you down?” you laugh. “I thought it did the opposite. Sometimes you go a little crazy.”

It’s true. One of your first nights together, somewhat early on in your relationship, Aaron went down on you first. The two of you didn’t even have sex that night, he simply just wanted to go down on you. You aren’t complaining; it was beyond anything you had ever experienced. And every time since has been equally mind-blowing and world-shattering. You’ve just never quite understood it. He says he loves it, he says it’s his favorite thing, but you’ve never dated anyone who enjoyed having their head between your legs as much as Aaron does.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, glancing up at you. “Can’t help it.”

“I didn’t say I hate it,” you soothe his worry, tugging on his hair just a little. “I like when you go down on me, trust me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his smug little smile, lightly tapping his cheek. “Seriously, babe, I enjoy it. I just feel like I don’t go down on you nearly as much, and it doesn’t feel fair.”

He turns onto his back, looking up at you. “It’s not fair? We’re not keeping score.”

You grimace. Shit. “Sorry. Old habits.”

Aaron sits up at that. “Seriously?”

You nod, turning toward him. “Yeah, my ex. We don’t need to get into it, it’s just--”

“Is that why you’ve been acting strange?”

You gawk at him then, still not used to dating a profiler. “Okay, I wouldn’t say I’ve been acting strange, but--”

He just gives you a pointed look.

“Fine. Maybe, yes, I was worrying about it a little.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, taking your hands. “We aren’t keeping a score, and even if we were, that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “How so?”

He laughs quietly, a blush beginning to color his cheeks. “Because I’d happily go down on you every day, multiple times a day.”

Your jaw drops and you don’t even try to hide it. You thought that every other day (roughly, when he’s here) was a lot -- not in a bad way, just in a way you had never experienced before -- but every day? Multiple times?

“There is no way you want to do it that often,” you argue, shaking your head at him.

He just stares at you, raising his eyebrows in challenge. 

“Aaron,” you hiss. “Are you serious?”

“You have no idea how often I think about it,” he replies, deadly serious. Fire stokes in his eyes, growing hotter, hungrier the longer he looks at you.

“You should tell me,” you squeak out, already feeling yourself getting worked up just from his gaze. “Whenever you think about it.”

“Can I?” he asks. “And could I…?”

“Could you what?”

“Do it. When I tell you I’m thinking about it.”

“Could you eat me out every time you think about it?” you ask, just to be completely certain that you both understand the rules you’re putting up.

He nods slowly, licking his lips. “Please.”

Your skin has never felt this hot. “Okay,” you nod. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

He smiles, melting with your words -- which isn’t a difficult feat. “So, can I? Right now?”

“Babe, you’re tired,” you say, reaching for his hand. “Are you sure?”

“Please.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated, seriously, you’re exhausted, you just got home,” you say. “We can start tomorrow.”

“Obligated,” he scoffs, palming your hips to lay you down. “It’s a privilege.”

You let yourself be guided by him, knowing there’s no fighting him when he’s like this -- not that you even want to. It’s been a week and you’ve missed him terribly. As much as it felt like a lot for him to be going down on you nearly every day, you’ve felt yourself starting to crave it just as much it seems he does. 

He settles between your legs with a low groan, tossing your shorts and panties who knows where, pulling you into his mouth by your hips. You cry out when he immediately goes for your clit, sucking in the way he knows you like. It doesn’t take long for you to climax at all, and you have to physically push his head away before he makes you pass out.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, licking you off of his lips. “Got carried away.”

“I can tell,” you gasp, still trying to catch your breath. 

He rests his head on your inner thigh, his fingers loosening their grip on you but still keeping you pinned. His eyelids droop.

You had never really noticed it before, but you do then. It does calm him down. Sure, he was tired when he walked in, but he was tense, he wasn’t this close to sleep. He wasn’t this calm.

You thread your fingers through his hair, smiling at him. “Let’s go to bed,” you whisper. “You need to sleep.”

He nods, pressing a quick kiss to your thigh. “Yes ma’am.”

+++

The very next day, it’s as if the floodgates have opened. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to this little game, and you certainly didn’t expect to be pinned to the kitchen counter at seven in the morning with Aaron’s hands hot and heavy and everywhere.

“Please,” he says in between bruising kisses. “Woke up thinking about it. Need you.”

“What about breakfast?” It’s a weak attempt to dissuade him, and of course, it doesn’t work.

“Just need you,” he repeats, grinding into your hip, and fuck, he’s hard already. Just from this. “Please, honey.”

“Okay,” you nod wildly, barely getting a word out with how hard he’s kissing you. Jesus Christ, your body is on fire, and you just woke up. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He’s on his knees within the second, and he doesn’t even pull your panties down, just hooks them to the side, and dives in. As if you’re his new dose of caffeine, as if you’re the air he needs.

Your knees buckle the second he tongues through your folds and he holds you up easily, smirking into you. He’s so pleased with himself and you both know it.

He isn’t even using his fingers and you’re close, his nose nudging your clit with just enough friction to have you gripping the counter with all your strength. He growls into you, something primal from deep in his chest, then a broken whine.

“Are you gonna cum?” The words are so muffled, you barely hear him. “Please.”

“Aaron,” you gasp, feeling as if you’re trying to climb onto the counter, somehow climb away from him, but you can’t. He won’t let you. He keeps you right where he wants you, right where he can suck on your clit, flicking his tongue, sending you right over the edge at a blinding pace.

He holds you up as your body shudders through it, through the fact that he just doesn’t stop, he keeps drinking you in, keeps inhaling you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s heaving, his lungs barely keeping up with his breaths. He tucks your panties back into place, thumbing over your clit through the fabric and you squeak, swatting him away. He kisses your thighs, your hips in such a happy daze. Meanwhile, you’re trying to figure out if you’re absolutely certain the earth’s axis hasn’t tilted ninety degrees.

He stands with a content sigh, kissing you much slower now, and you can taste yourself, and it’s maddening. 

“I’m gonna go shower real quick,” he says so casually. “Wanna stop for coffee before we head into work?”

You stare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” he smiles, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you murmur, watching him walk down the hall.

You lean back against the counter and curse. You’re in for it now. And you have no idea just what you’re in for.

+++

It happened two more times the first day: once more when you got home from work and Aaron was on you the moment you walked in and had you right there against the door, and once again when you were getting ready for bed and watching you put on your pajamas -- panties and one of his old law school shirts -- was just simply too much for him.

The next day, you’re working from home, and you get a text about an hour after Aaron arrived at the office. Thinking about you.

Your heart picks up its pace almost instantly. You are ridiculous. He literally went down on you in the shower this morning. You had gotten in and he followed you without you realizing, until he quietly leaned against the sink asking you if he could join.

Want to come here for lunch? I only have 30 mins today, lots of meetings.

If you know your boyfriend well, then you know exactly what he’s implying. He doesn’t have enough time to come back here for lunch and have you here, so he wants you to come to the BAU for lunch so he can have you in his office.

Aaron.

Most of the team took half days. And then: Please.

Good lord, he’s going to send you to an early grave. Ok, be there at 12. Your usual?

Just you.

You roll your eyes. You’re bringing him food because he will be eating lunch, no matter how much he wants to only eat you.

When you arrive at the BAU, you see Aaron was telling the truth. Rossi’s door is closed with the lights off, Spencer’s desk has clearly been used but he’s gone, Morgan’s likely with Garcia, and Prentiss has also clearly taken off early. 

However, that doesn’t mean no one is here. The interns and general admin assistants are still very much walking around. And will absolutely hear you.

Aaron is opening the door to his office before you even reach the landing, and he looks…a wreck. 

You raise your eyebrows at him in question but also concern. He said he had meetings, but you didn’t anticipate him looking this stressed. 

He gives you a quick kiss and helps you inside, shutting the door. You set lunch down on his desk and gather him into your arms for a hug, listening to him sigh and feeling him relax.

You eat lunch in silence. He doesn’t even protest the food. It’s a stark contrast from his text messages, the demeanor entirely different, and he won’t stop stealing glances at you -- and then looking away when you catch him, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. 

Once the food is finished and you’re satisfied with him having an actual meal in his stomach, you turn the profiling on him. 

“You’re restraining yourself.”

He coughs. “What?”

You answer while he guzzles water like his life depends on it. “You told me you were thinking about me, wanted me to come here, and now that I’m here, you’re holding back.”

“Well, yes, because we’re in my office--”

“Aaron, you told me to come here.”

“I know, but--”

“Stop being like this,” you scold softly. “Ask for what you want.”

You watch his throat work as he swallows, his pupils dilating the longer he stares at you. His tongue darts out and wets his lips. 

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you want, Aaron?”

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he blurts. “I want to taste you, but I need--” He cuts himself off, but you know. You know. 

He’s been like this a couple of times before with you. It’s rare, but you should’ve seen it coming, after such a long, hard case and now a day full of bureaucratic bullshit. He can handle it, of course he can, he’s the Unit Chief, but it wears on him. Sometimes he needs direction. Sometimes he needs you. 

“Does your door have a lock on it?” 

He nods.

“Go lock the door.”

He stands and takes two long strides, locking the door and checking to make sure the blinds are fully drawn. He turns to look at you for direction, his feet still firmly planted at the door. 

You smile, extending a hand to him. “Come here.”

He comes easily, taking your hand and letting him be guided to the couch. You bring him in for a kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“How do you want me?” you ask, and when he makes a noise of protest, of please don’t make me make another decision, you shake your head. “None of that. You were thinking about me, about doing this. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

He whimpers into the next kiss. “You were-- I was on my knees and had you on my desk--”

You stand and walk over to his desk, looking at the various files and papers. “Did you clear the desk off?”

“I can.”

You just give him a look. It’s all he needs. 

The desk is cleared soon after, the files stacked and set on the floor, his cup of pens and various other things set onto the bookcase behind you. 

“I don’t know if you’ll be comfortable--”

“I don’t know why you’re still standing,” you interrupt. “Didn’t you say you were on your knees?”

He stutters, “Yes, but first I put you on the desk.”

“Oh, you did?” you tease, allowing the slight brattiness in his tone to slide by for now. “Alright then. Go ahead--!” Your words trail off into a squeak when you’re suddenly manhandled and placed on the desk, and Aaron is crowding in between your legs, kissing up your neck, his hands gripping your hips so tight you might bruise.

“And then I--” he breathes shakily in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “I ask if you’ll let me taste you.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” you gasp when he grinds into you, his erection barely constrained by his pants. “And if you-- fuck-- if you tell me why you need to.”

He whines, low in the back of his throat. “Please, honey, don’t make me--”

“Aaron,” you pull him up by the back of his neck, applying just enough pressure at his throat so he knows you’re being serious and so he knows who is in charge here.

His eyes are nearly glazed over, but he’s there, he’s hungry, he wants you to stop dragging this out just as much as he needs you to continue. You raise one eyebrow.

“Please,” he whispers, voice breaking and eyes shutting. “Please, honey, I need to, it’s been back-to-back meetings this morning and I didn’t want to leave you this morning and I just need to taste you again and make you cum again, please.”

“Okay, okay,” you coo, cupping his cheeks and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Go ahead.”

He surges forward and kisses your lips, crying, “Thank you.”

He kneels before you as if he has you laid out on the altar, carefully dragging your pants down your hips, tossing them onto the couch. He takes your panties next, putting them in his pocket, and you let it slide because you can’t help it, not when he’s like this.

He opens you up slowly this time, gently tonguing at your clit and darting in between your folds. He’s waiting for something, and it isn’t until you grind forward into his mouth that you realize what it is.

“Wrap your arms around me,” you instruct, smiling when you feel him instantly stabilize you with his hands on your hips, tossing your legs over his shoulders. “Good boy.” You rock into his mouth to test him, and when he groans, you know he’s ready.

You chase your pleasure then, using his mouth in a way that is equally sinister and sweet, and he takes it, every bit of it, without hesitation.

It isn’t long before your orgasm is approaching, and Aaron only seems to grow hungrier, pulling you in just as much as you’re pushing his face into you. He starts babbling nonsense into your core, and you understand none of it, but you don’t need to.

You’re covering your mouth when you cry out, just as the phone on his desk starts to ring. It sends a shock through you like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over your head, but Aaron doesn’t stop. He shoves the phone off his desk, and it unplugs itself as it clatters to the floor, but he doesn’t stop. You’re not sure if it’s a second wave of the first orgasm, or a second orgasm altogether when you feel yourself reaching that peak once again, fingers tightening in his hair, grinding into his mouth.

When he finally, finally comes up for air, he has a dazed look in his eyes, and his face is soaked. 

“Feel better?” you say through heaving breaths, cutting yourself off with a laugh.

He just nods and hums happily, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Much better.”

+++

By the fourth day, the team is beginning to wonder if aliens replaced their Unit Chief with someone else entirely. 

“He is never late, not even by five minutes. Something is going on,” Emily hisses, smacking Morgan’s shoulder lightly when said topic of their conversation breezes through the glass doors looking as happy and relaxed as ever -- and exactly seven minutes late.

“Prentiss, I think you’re being overdramatic,” Morgan chuckles. “He’s got himself a woman now, that’s why he’s so happy.”

“No, I know that, I mean how relaxed he’s been. Isn’t it weird?”

“It’s true,” Reid pipes up from the depths of his book. “He’s been way less tense this past week.”

“Guys, we haven’t been on a case, of course he’s not tense,” Morgan argues. “Aren’t you guys feeling better sleeping in your own beds?”

“Absolutely,” JJ answers as she flies in with a handful of folders. When she spots everyone’s alarmed looks, she adds, “These are just for Hotch, they’re not cases. Those are looming on the corner of my desk.”

She whirls up the stairs to knock on Hotch’s office door, and everyone watches with dropped jaws as Hotch accepts the mountain of paperwork with a smile.

“Okay…” Morgan tilts his head. “Maybe I’m convinced.”

Prentiss scoffs. “Typical.”

JJ slowly comes down the stairs, her eyebrows furrowed. She pauses in the small huddle Prentiss and Morgan have formed. “Is he…?”

“Yep,” Emily nods.

“Huh,” JJ shakes her head. “Must be love.”

“I mean, yeah, but…”

“Or drugs,” Reid says without missing a beat. When everyone’s heads turn toward him in alarm, he returns the expression. “What! I can joke about it!”

“Sure, kid,” Morgan laughs. “Anyway, I’m not complaining about him being less of a drill sergeant, I’m just--” He waves his hand.

“Weirded out,” Prentiss finishes.

“It is a little off putting, isn’t it?” JJ adds.

“What’s off putting?” Rossi scares the shit out of everyone when he joins the circle, coffee in hand like always. “What are you gossiping about?”

“Nothing” comes the defensive reply, which is clearly the least convincing answer that any one of the team could’ve given him.

“Hotch is…” Prentiss starts, then looks to Morgan for help, and of course, Morgan offers none.

Rossi chuckles into his coffee. “I think we should all be grateful that he is finally dating someone who convinces him to sleep in and come to work at a reasonable hour.”

Everyone agrees, and when they glance back up at Hotch’s office, he is wearing his usual stern expression again. The team isn’t sure whether they’re glad to see it or not.

+++

Hotch leaves for a case that lasts four days too long (you feel the need to clarify that he was gone for a total of four days), and when he returns, he absolutely cannot keep his hands off of you.

“We have to make up for all of the times I thought about you,” he declares into your neck while his hands have a mind of their own, traveling up your shirt and rolling your nipples between the pads of his fingers. The two of you barely make it to the couch, and fuck, he still has his damn suit on.

“Aaron, that’s like--” you gasp, arching into him. “--you texted me a million times.”

“And?” he fires back, nipping at your ear. “I wanted you there with me.”

“You were working!”

“I don’t care,” he whispers, going for your lips, claiming you, inhaling you. “It was torture.”

You laugh against his mouth. “You’re so dramatic-- Aaron!”

Somehow in the midst of your bickering, his hand found its way into your pants, and his fingers parted your folds mid-sentence.

He moans into your neck, “Missed you.”

You nod frantically against him. “Missed you too.”

He kisses you hard then, like he’s forgotten how to operate his own body after so long (four days, you remember) without yours.

He snakes himself down the couch until he’s at your core, dragging your pants down your legs as he goes. He buries his face in you, his nose nudging your clit with delicious friction through your panties. He’s inhaling like a man starved, like he hasn’t breathed properly in four days because he hasn’t been here, mouthing at your clit.

He takes you apart for what feels like hours, and when you think you’re done, when you’re almost ready to tap out, he starts up once more.

“Aaron,” you whine. This will be orgasm number…five, you think, if he manages to make you climax again -- not that you’re doubting him, but you are beginning to wonder just how many orgasms you can have in one night.

“I know, honey,” he murmurs, words muffled because he just won’t leave your pussy. His arms tighten their hold around your hips, adjusting your legs higher on his shoulders. “Please, honey, just one more.”

“You’ve said one more three times already,” you groan, but despite your protests, your fingers remain firmly tangled in his hair, your palms steering his head where you need him most, and you arch into him, grinding your core into his open and eager mouth.

“One more,” he repeats. “You can take it, honey, I know you can.”

The drag of his tongue over your clit is so good that it hurts, and there might be tears falling from the corners of your eyes, you don’t know. You just know that he’s ruining you -- he has ruined you -- and that you’re going to sleep for twelve hours after this.

+++

To celebrate ending yet another case -- and really just a poor excuse for team bonding in the form of drinks -- the team has decided to go out to a bar for the night, which means you’re invited.

And you’re thrilled.

You’ve never actually gotten to hang out with the team in full like this before. You’ve met them in passing, of course, as you visit the office, and once when Rossi had you and Aaron over for dinner, Derek and Penelope were able to make it, but this is everyone.

Miraculously, you make it out of Aaron’s apartment on time -- either one or both of you have been late to almost everything these days with this little game -- and you’re one of the first at the bar. Morgan is already nursing a drink and chatting up the bartender when you arrive, interrupting his flirting. Hotch grabs the bartender’s attention instead, asking about what booths aren’t reserved and also putting in drink orders.

Derek grins wide when he sees you, pulling you in for a hug. “I hear we have you to thank for how happy boss man has been.”

You hide your shock well, but Aaron sees the slight alarm in your eyes when you flick your gaze toward him for a moment. “Why do you say that?” you ask through a laugh.

Derek then explains how Hotch has been almost an entirely different person at work, relaxed, carefree, smiling. “You’re good for him,” Morgan says then, deadly serious. “I mean it.”

It’s sincere, you know it is, but you can’t help but stifle a laugh because he just has no idea.

Aaron returns to your side, his arm slipping comfortably around your waist, tugging you toward him. “What are we talking about?”

“You,” you smile, stretching up for a kiss. “Did you get my favorite?”

“Of course I did,” he goes for another kiss, then turns to Derek. “How was your day off?”

The time passes easily with Derek talking about the new renovations he’s doing on one of his properties. Your drink arrives and you sip while you listen, feeling yourself leaning into Aaron’s broad chest.

Soon Penelope arrives with JJ and Emily in tow, and the girls steal you away, crowding into the booth Aaron got for you. Rossi comes in later, Reid not far behind, though Reid comes to join you with the girls while Morgan continues to fail at flirting with the bartender. Eventually, Aaron comes to sit beside you on the edge of the booth, his hand easily slipping into yours underneath the table.

It’s wonderful. It’s a night full of warm laughter, drinks, and many embarrassing stories about Aaron at work. Most notably, the time he came into the office with your number on his coffee cup.

“He thought none of us noticed,” Morgan snickers.

“I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he wasn’t holding it so protectively,” Prentiss adds. “You’d think he had state secrets hiding in his coffee.”

“I knew way before any of you did,” Reid declares with a bit of pride in his boyish little smile.

“How could you possibly have known?” Hotch asks, but he’s smiling. He’s been smiling through every story.

Reid shrugs. “You never went out for coffee before.”

This catapults everyone into the story about the time Morgan got called out for trashing his coffee just to get back in line to talk to a girl, and by the end of it you’re clinging to Aaron with tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.

The music in the bar grows louder as the evening hours tick onward, and soon the lights are dimming and the dance floor is opening up. You’ve got just enough of a buzz in your veins that when Pen squeals, “This is my song!” you follow her to the dancefloor with no hesitation.

Morgan isn’t far behind, grinning wide when Pen pulls him into her. You manage to convince JJ and Emily to join you, which doesn’t take much convincing at all, and soon the girls are all flocking to Reid, dragging him along, too. 

Rossi watches on from the booth with a smirk, occasionally leaning over to say something to Hotch. When your eyes meet Aaron’s, your breath hitches.

He has that look in his eyes again. The look, the specific look that always gets you two in trouble these days. And fuck, you don’t help yourself at all, because you raise one eyebrow at him, smirking, challenging. Practically egging him on. Oh, really? Here? You know he can hear your thoughts with only a glance. 

He downs the rest of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. Absolutely. Here.

He stalks over to you, arms outstretched. You pull him in, wanting to have a little fun first. You never get him on a dance floor like this, so you’re not about to waste the opportunity.

You spin yourself around in his arms, pressing your back to him, preening into the kiss that he leans down to press to your cheek. His hands rest on your hips for a moment before wrapping around you, resting on your stomach.

His lips travel to your ear. “You’re making me hard.”

Thank God for the music blasting as loud as it is because you cannot imagine anyone else hearing this. You turn your head to whisper into his ear, “Oh, am I?” As if you can’t feel him, as if that wasn’t your intention when you pulled him into you.

You feel him smirk against your skin. He turns his head again and claims your lips, but still restrains himself. For now.

“Either we need to leave,” he starts, pausing to nip discreetly at your earlobe, “or we need to excuse ourselves to the bathroom before I drop to my knees right here.”

You gasp, turning to look at him in shock. Obviously, you could tell he was getting hot and bothered, but you didn’t think he was serious about doing it now. Spinning around in his arms, you cup his face and pull his lips down, leaving him on the dance floor with a wink.

You disappear through the bar to the bathroom, and Aaron probably should’ve waited longer than he did before following you, but he can’t take it anymore. 

The good thing about this bar is that the bathrooms are one seat only, so the door locks, and the two of you have the room to yourself.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him in.

His lips are on yours immediately, and he is ravenous. He tastes like whiskey and it’s the hottest thing, especially when he’s licking into your mouth, pulling moans from your chest with precision.

“Is this okay?” he asks in between kisses. “Can I have you?”

“Seriously?” you breathe into him. “You want to? Here?”

He nods into the next kiss, open-mouthed, a groan low in his throat. “I do.”

“Fuck,” you laugh. “I’m not complaining, I just--”

He lifts you onto the counter and kneels down, tossing your legs over his shoulders and pulling your hips to him. When he lifts your skirt, he freezes. Grins.

“You were dancing like that on purpose,” he clicks his tongue. “Naughty.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-- Aaron!”

Mid-sentence, as he so loves to do, he’s latched onto you and started devouring you. He’s mumbling against your core, some nonsense about you wearing no panties on purpose -- and okay, maybe he’s got you there -- and grinding into him on the dance floor just to spite him.

When you try to lift your hips into his mouth, he pins you in place, looking up at you sternly. Your head falls back against the mirror, and he seizes the moment to dive back in, fucking you with his tongue this time. 

You try to keep still, you really do, but it’s impossible when he does this, when his fingers bruise your hips and he growls into you like he can’t get enough, like he’ll never get enough of you, for as long as he lives.

“Aaron,” you whine. “Please.”

He just smirks into your core, the motherfucker, and tongues your clit lazily, keeping you right on the edge of bliss, but not quite throwing you over. Not yet.

When he works a finger inside of you, you’re practically flailing on the counter, and if it weren’t for his grip, you might fall off. One finger becomes two, and then he’s curling them, hooking them just right, and your body lights on fire.

You’re cumming before you even realize it, but he knows it, and he sucks on your clit at just the right moment so another wave crests. You’re writing in his arms, useless against his mouth as he holds you where he wants you, riding out your orgasm until you’re whimpering.

Finally, he relents, standing up and pushing between your legs, cupping your jaw to kiss you hard.

You’re breathless into every kiss, despite each one being slower and sweeter now. 

He pulls away, thumb stroking your cheek. “My sweet girl.”

Your eyes roll again, a laugh slipping from your chest. “Don’t start.”

“You started it,” he chuckles, one hand slipping under your skirt again, settling on your hips. “No panties? Seriously?”

“I didn’t feel like wearing any,” you smirk.

“Right,” he says, capturing your lips again. He presses one to your nose, then your cheeks, then your forehead, until you’re giggling. “How much longer do you want to stay?”

You shake your head through a laugh. “A couple more songs, but not long,” you murmur against his lips. “I’ve created a monster.”

He shrugs through a grin. “I’m not complaining.”

+++

After many attempts to schedule a dinner at Rossi’s house with the entire team, one finally succeeds. Everyone is free, no surprise case pops up, and you’re ecstatic. You love any excuse to dress up and drink wine and eat pasta -- homemade pasta, at that.

You’re just finishing getting ready in the bathroom, dabbing the last touch ups of makeup under your eyes, when Aaron joins you, leaning against the doorframe to watch you in the mirror.

You think nothing of it at first. He loves to watch you get ready on any normal day. But when you catch his eyes in the mirror, your hands falter.

You glance at your phone on the counter, and then back up at him. “Aaron. We have to leave in ten minutes.”

He just stares at you, his irises molten as they bore into your skin, pinning you in place. 

“We’ll be late,” you scold, watching him come closer to you, hands reaching out for you. “Aaron.”

“Honey,” he mimics your tone with a smirk. “Just five minutes.”

You’re already pressing your thighs together just at the thought of it, and because this game the two of you have been playing has made you into a monster just as much as it has him. 

“One round,” you give him your best I-mean-business look, but he just smirks at you. “Or we’ll be late.”

“It’s just dinner with Dave,” Aaron says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We’ll be fine.”

You expect him to kneel down and take you right there, but he doesn’t. He pulls you into the bedroom and lays you out for him, as if laying out a feast fit for a king. When he places a pillow under your hips, you know you’re fucked. 

But you don’t care. Suddenly, being late doesn’t matter all that much, not when you’ve got Aaron’s head between your legs.

He’s murmuring sweet nothings into you, about how gorgeous you are, how he won’t be able to last at dinner with you in this dress, and you’re melting into the mattress with every word, every touch, every drag of his tongue.

One round, unsurprisingly, turns into two, that unsurprisingly, ends with him inside of you.

Somehow, you’re only half an hour late to the dinner, but you are the last ones to arrive, which is, without a doubt, suspicious.

“There’s the lovebirds,” Dave smirks when you both walk in. 

“Sorry we’re so late,” you chuckle, sheepish.

“Traffic,” Aaron explains, which is just about as obvious of a lie as any. It doesn’t help that he says it with a smile that is not apologetic in the slightest.

You know you aren’t hiding it well either, but Aaron is zero help with his smug little smile, looking every bit the role of that cat that caught the fucking canary. Not to mention, the glances he keeps sending your way as if he didn’t just fuck you right before this.

You make it through dinner before you excuse yourself down the hall to the bathroom, hoping but not necessarily expecting Aaron to follow you. But he does, of course he does.

If it wasn’t obvious before, it sure becomes obvious then, and Rossi just smirks as Derek passes Emily a twenty.

[queenofvelaris]

Mm yes yes yes yes yes now THIS is what I call scrumptious