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Reader putting on nail polish and not being able to paint their right hand because they're righthanded and Hotch offering help (I feel like he'd either be very precise or completely fuck up)

everything about this request hinted at domestic boyfriend!hotch but my brain always always always goes coworkers to lovers mutual pining bau!reader so we're doing that <3

--

You'd pointedly waited until after the jet had cleared turbulence before you pulled your nail polish out of your bag, not wanting to spill lacquer all over the table. You'd gotten an 'ooh' from JJ at the color, a soft pink that called 'nearly nude', but no one seemed to pay you much attention otherwise, letting you do your own thing.

Your first hand was easy enough. You painted your non-dominant, the polish smoothing on in clear, neat strokes. The result was rather pleasing, and you puffed up with pride until you realized that you'd have to switch hands now, and paint your dominant one.

Well, at least one hand would look good.

The handle of the brush felt awkward between your fingers, painting no longer a trained course of action like it had been in your other hand. Your fingers were shaking slightly as you folded your fingers in on themselves, bracing your thumb against your pointer. Your tongue poked out from between your lips as you concentrated, but just before you could make contact with your nail a voice stopped you.

"Y/L/N," Hotch piped up from the seat across from you, "Would you like some help?"

Everyone's eyes were on you. JJ was being somewhat subtle, peering at you from behind her book with wide eyes, but Morgan and Prentiss ditched etiquette, standing up from across the jet to peer at what was happening. You looked up at Hotch with raised eyebrows, a questioning glint in your eyes, "With.. with my nail polish?"

"Yes." He nodded, "Your hand is shaking."

You wordlessly handed him the brush, watching in mixed fascination and adoration as your surly unit chief took your hand, his large fingers curling around your own. You let your hand go limp in his grasp and he adjusted it to his liking, his eyes laser focused on your pinky nail.

He started in, slow and steady with the brush, the paint coating your nail perfectly. The next nail wasn't as small, of course, so he had to use two strokes, but it came out looking just as pristine as the first one. His own nails weren't long, but when some of the paint bled into your cuticle, he scraped it off perfectly.

"You're good at this." You broke the silent reverie that had fallen over the plane while everyone held their breath. The sight of Hotch giving you a manicure was certainly not one they'd expected to see, and each of them were handling it differently. Some stared, some gawked, some pretended not to notice, but everyone was surprised.

"I used to have to paint my own with topcoat." He admitted casually, "They were splitting and it looked terrible. I suppose old habits just die hard."

Suddenly, the image of your grumpy boss sitting alone in his office after hours painting his nails was all that your brain could conjure. It was equally endearing as it was amusing, both reactions combining to spread a smile over your face.

Apparently your expression wasn't subtle, because Hotch glanced up, amusement shining in his own eyes.

"What, Y/L/N? Are you making fun of me for painting my nails?"

"No!'" You insisted, and he squeezed your thumb slightly in retaliation, "I just wouldn't have guessed that about you."

He sent you the ghost of a smile, his lips upturned ever so slightly to let you know he was okay with your lighthearted teasing. He finished painting your thumb, letting go (to your unexpected chagrin) and the result was better than the hand that you'd painted.

"I'm gonna come to you with all of my manicure needs," You inspected your dominant hand, awestruck at Hotch's precision, "I feel like I should pay you for this."

"I wouldn't mind a tip," He joked, rifling through his bag, "But I'm not done yet."

"You're not?" You watched him confusedly as he dug through his belongings, finally understanding when he pulled out a small bottle of clear paint.

"I knew I still had it." He set it on the table as he turned to zip up his bag, "Now, one coat or two?"

in case it hasn’t been clear, this blog is firmly and unwaveringly pro-choice.

This one is so cute🥺🥺

Couldn’t stop thinking about you bringing home a stray puppy and Hotch not being surprised by it at all, so I had to do write something

Something was off as soon as he walked inside his apartment. It was oddly quiet despite the tv being turned on.

“Honey?” He called for you, but there was no answer.

Maybe you’d gone out to the store? your favorite sneakers were exactly where you’d left them this morning before going to work, though, right under the coffee table in the living room.

He stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie before he went to your room.

You weren’t there either.

A muffled squeal came from the bathroom followed by a quiet “don’t bite me.”

He’d normally knock, but this time he just opened.

There you were, sitting at the edge of the bathtub with a just-bathed puppy wrapped with a towel on your lap.

“I can explain.” You shot him a guilty smile.

His eyes went from your face, down to the trembling dog then up to you again. “Looks like a rat,” he simply said with the most monotonous voice.

It was a matter of time you’d bring home a stray puppy.

“Mean.” You acted offended. “I found him inside a box at the subway station. He’s scared.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” He walked in and crouched in front of you, staring at the puppy. “Someone just took him and threw him in a bath.” He bopped its nose.

“He was smelly.” You kissed the puppy’s head then Aaron’s, too. “Can we keep him? He’s definitely a small breed. Look at his short legs.”

Aaron sighed deeply and looked up at you, already defeated by both of your puppy-dog eyes.

“But he’s not sleeping with us.” He stood up and placed both hands on his hips.

You scrunched your nose with an evil grin and said, “sure he won’t.”

The Suit

Summary: Hotch guest lectures for his daughter’s criminology class. He ends up having to address Foyet’s impact on his life. AU where Hotch never goes into WitSec and remarries and has more children.

Relationship: RetiredHotch x FemBAURetiredReader (college aged daughter too)

Word Count: 1963

TW: Foyet, spoilers, murder, academia, angst if you squint, protective family

A/N: So many fics about Hotch and Foyet address the hidden pain, fear and not so hidden PTSD Hotch contends with. I wanted to write about Hotch and his post-FBI life/career - something fun and saucy - but, alas, this took on a life of its own. I like the idea of writing about Hotch addressing Foyet in a way that’s more like this happened, and it changed me, and now I can talk about it more objectively all these years later. I can still see his family wanting to protect him from something, though, many years behind him, still painful.

————————————————————-

“Honey?! Honey? Where’s my Armani suit? The gray one? That didn’t go in the donation pile, did it?” he asks, referring to the towering, expensive pile of shirts, suits and ties he donated when he retired. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s clearly nervous.

Keep reading

This is beautiful and wonderfully written 🥺🥺💖💖. I love this fic, it's perfect and awesome!!!!

I need a second part or something about Hotch visiting them at the hospital.

Goodbye - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 5.8K / navi / preview

Summary: You're a new agent with the BAU, and on your first case, you make the unfortunate mistake of riling up the unsubs. Your boss isn't too happy with you for doing so, and barely waits until you're alone in your shared hotel room to let you know that. But when he steps out for a moment, his fears are realized, and you're revealed to be the unsub's next target. Can he get back to you in time to save you?

Contents/Warnings: typical cm violence, angry hotch, yelling, reader gets attacked, mentions of guns, reader gets stabbed in the stomach and bleeds a lot, copious mentions of blood, sad hotch

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Your stomach had been burning with shame for hours now, your head spinning as you replayed the incident over and over and over again. You’d slipped up at the press conference you were a part of, accidentally revealing that your unsub was two people instead of one, breaking the cover that you’d needed to maintain for the hunt to go smoothly. Now they knew you were onto them, and would most likely begin a panicked spree. People were going to die because of you.

You were so lost in thought, in fact, that you didn’t realize everyone stopping in the hallway of the hotel, bumping gently into Rossi’s back. He steadied you, turning to set a hand comfortingly on your shoulder. He’d been nothing but understanding since it happened, assuring you that everyone made a mistake or two in high-pressure situations like press conferences, and that no one was going to be angry with you. You weren’t so sure about that last point, though, because the second you’d slipped up, Hotch had seemed possessed with the most terrifying, unadulterated rage that you’d ever seen on him. 

Speaking of your Unit Chief, he stood at the front of the group, passing out room keys. Rossi was given one, Prentiss was given one, Morgan was given one, and you stuck beside Rossi, watching as JJ paired with Prentiss, and Reid stayed by Morgan.

You were fully intent on isolating yourself as much as possible away from Hotch, at least until you were able to look at his face without nearly wetting yourself. But it seems he had other plans, his dark eyes glancing at you for the first time since it had happened, pure disdain lingering in them.

“Y/L/N,” Hotch’s voice sent chills down your spine, far too icy cold for your liking, “This is our key. You’ll be rooming with me tonight, we need to have a word..”

There was a palpable onset of tension at Hotch’s words, and you watched the rest of the team slowly disperse, sending you sympathetic smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Rossi even patted you on the back before he stepped away, leaving you stranded in the hallway with Hotch.

He didn’t say another word until he stepped through the door, and somehow his glare got even more intense when he saw the layout of the room.

One bed. No couch. No floor space.

He had stopped so abruptly at the sight that you rammed into his back, the slip-up becoming a habit within the past five minutes. However, Hotch reacted very differently than Rossi had, stiffening at the contact and stepping away.

He set his bag down on one side of the bed, turning back to face you with an unimpressed glare.

“A- About today,” You started, “Sir, I’m so sorry-”

He held up a hand, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before answering. You felt like a scolded child, shifting lightly on your feet as you waited for him to speak.

“Do you understand what you did?” He finally asked, peering at you through a frown.

“I do.” You started, quickly realizing that the question had been rhetorical and snapping your mouth shut when he silenced you again.

“People’s lives are at stake here. Real people, real, probably defenseless people, that you’ve just condemned to die.” 

You didn’t dare speak, but you felt the shame in your belly grow at his scolding.

“Because you didn’t think about what you said before you said it, they’re going to die. Those murderers are going to break into another couples; house, shoot them before they know what’s going on, and leave them to bleed out on the floor. Is that what you wanted?”

“No, sir.” You cautiously interjected, “Of course not.”

“Well then I’m not sure what possessed you to say that.”

“I-It was an accident,” You meekly supplied, internally cringing when anger flared in his eyes.

“Oh, an accident? Another dead couple, just an accident? These are people, Y/L/N! Living, breathing people! Not for long, though! Not as long as you have a say in the matter, isn’t that right?”

“Hotch,” You gritted your teeth, annoyance now joining the shame that was stinging at your chest, “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?! You know what’s not fair, Y/L/N?” He huffed, stepping forwards to tower over you, “You ruined our investigation. We had them! Garcia was seconds away from tracing them, we knew that they’d call in to correct us about how many of them there were! But you did it for them, and they’re spiraling right now at that loss of power. What isn’t fair is that you single-handedly undid all of our progress, and sent us back to square one after three days of work. That’s what’s not fair.”

You took a deep breath, your frustration manifesting itself in an onslaught of tears that you struggled to keep at bay. They burned hot and stinging at your eyes, but you muscled them down, blinking rapidly, “I understand that I’ve negatively impacted the course of the investigation, and set us back with my mistake. Nothing I could say will ever come close to conveying how sorry I am that I misspoke, but there’s nothing that I can do to reverse that. I will work twice as hard tomorrow, sir, to help regain any traction that we lost tonight. I know I messed up, but I have to focus on channeling all of my energy into fixing it, not spiraling because it happened.”

You watched Hotch’s face harden even further, a sight you’d deemed impossible only moments earlier. His brows were low on his face, his expression the disdainful glare that he usually reserved for uncooperative suspects. He scoffed, “I sincerely hope that you work twice as hard tomorrow, because none of us deserve to. You’ve undone three days of our work! Morgan was up until two in the morning last night. Reid has been questioning people nonstop. Garcia was finally about to track his phone service. That’s not fair to any of us, for you to walk in and destroy our work. New agents prove themselves, Y/L/N, and tonight, you have proven yourself incapable of working with this team.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt your throat ache, frantic words clawing their way up into your mouth where they died on your tongue. None of them would fix this, they’d only make it worse. Your eyes widened and your tears finally showed themselves, a single one slipping down the apple of your cheek before you frantically wiped it away, not keen on having a meltdown in front of the man who’d just called you incapable.

“Sir,” You finally spoke, your voice shaking, “I- I can’t give up this job. I know I made a mistake this time, and it was made worse by the fact that this is my first case, so you think it’s all I’m capable of. But if you just give me another chance-”

“Do you think you deserve another chance?”

Yes was on the tip of your tongue. You truly believed it, too, but all words were lost at the sight of Hotch’s venomous glare. You found yourself intimidated into speechlessness, and it gave your boss the hesitance he wanted to see in you.

“That’s what I thought.” Was all he left you with, striding away to rifle through his bag. You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, your front teeth digging into the soft, pillowy flesh to hold back your sobs. You rushed past him, narrowly avoiding bumping into him to cross the room into the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower,” You weakly explained, and you almost slammed the door in your haste to leave him, “I won’t take long.”

As soon as the door was shut, you let your tears fall. You had to sob silently until you turned the water on, but the second you twisted the knobs and effectively drowned out your cries, you let loose.

Shame, humiliation, frustration, and despair all mingled in your stomach, a stormy mess of emotions that sent you spiraling. You couldn’t physically keep yourself upright, hunching over the toilet as visions of the couple’s next victims flashed through your mind. Would they be a newlywed couple? Or an elderly one? Would they have a pet? Would they have a child? Would they have multiple children? Scenario after scenario raced through your head, each one more catastrophic than the last in terms of heartbreak. But the common thread in all of them was their deaths, the deaths that you had caused. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, the device pressed tight to your body in your constricting work pants. You tore it out of your pocket, praying that it would be good news from Garcia, or an icebreaking anecdote about the crappy rooms from Prentiss.

It was from Prentiss, but it wasn’t soothing. 

‘We can hear him yelling at you, Y/N.’

Another buzz, ‘We’re not angry with you. Everyone makes mistakes. And those people were probably gonna die anyways, as terrible as that sounds.’

‘Please don’t give up, he’s angry and he always takes things out harder on newer agents. If you’re able to muscle through it, I guarantee you he’ll come around, the work that you’ve done so far has been incredibly helpful, save for the one little accident.’

‘It’s normal for us to make mistakes every once in a while. We’ve all slipped up like that before, even Hotch. He just doesn’t want to admit it, because he’s stressed out right now.’

You blinked rapidly, trying to chase your tears away. You’d heard scary stories about your boss, told around the break room tables instead of around a campfire, but he seemed to be more of a monster than they’d let on. You couldn’t see through your tears, and the sound of the water drowned out any other noise in the room. You set your phone down, grabbing a towel that was draped over the shower and burying your face in it. Now you really couldn’t see, which gave the couple slowly sliding the window open beside you all the advantage they needed.

--

‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’ 

Aaron glanced down at his phone, anger still creasing his brows. He bit back a scoff at Dave’s text on the screen, knowing that he was going to be scolded for shouting. 

‘I can’t leave right now, Y/L/N is in the shower.’

‘What, are you in there together? Why can’t you come out into the hallway?’

Aaron finally let out his frustration, a sickened groan leaving his lips, ‘I would never take advantage of my position over any of my subordinates. Don’t be crass.’

‘Your little speech just now proved that they’re not just one of your subordinates.’

‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. You’re making less and less sense by the minute, and I’m not going to sit here and play games with you. Sleep, if you really need to talk to me you can wait until tomorrow morning when we’re back on the case.’

‘I’m not waiting until then.’ Aaron felt annoyance well in his chest at Dave’s persistence, ‘Hallway, now.’

‘Don’t order me around.’

‘You’re coming though, aren’t you?’

--

You had barely dried the tears off of your cheek when your airflow was cut off, a strong, muscled arm winding around your throat. Your immediate instinct was to scream, your eyes blown wide in panic, but another hand stuffed the towel hanging in your face into your mouth, muffling any sound you could have made through a layer of fluffy fabric and the added noise of the shower.

You tried fighting, kicking when you couldn’t scream, but two hands grabbed your ankles, nearly snapping one in an attempt to hold you still.

All at once, the towel was no longer in your mouth, but a knife was to your stomach.

“Make a sound, and we’ll gut you.” A voice hissed in your ear, raspy and rotten. You felt a tear roll down your cheek, this time out of fear and not sadness, but it was ignored in favor of the pair hauling you out the window.

Luckily for you, the window was tiny. One of your captors had to crawl out first, still gripping your ankles like a vice. But then you had to be transported out, and you made it as difficult as possible, twisting yourself this way and that.

They quickly tired of your insolence, pushing the knife so far into your belly that you were surprised it didn’t break skin. The sharp point in your abdomen instilled a sense of panic in you that you’d never felt before, unparalleled to any precautionary training drill you’d suffered through.

Your boot hit the window frame as you were carefully guided out of it, and made a dull thunk. Neither of your captors thought too hard about it, but you knew it was the sound of your taser hitting the wood, the weapon strapped to your ankle in case of emergency situations where you weren’t able to reach your gun.

Like now.

You moved quickly, taking the opportunity that presented itself while your captors were struggling to move you. The second their hands loosened around your ankle, you thrashed in their hold, spinning yourself around so that your chin was tucked safely to your chest while the first person’s arm slid along the back of your head instead of locking into your throat. You swung your legs towards the window, breaking the glass with the rubber soles and screaming as loud as you could.

--

Aaron cast one glance to the bathroom before stepping out, hearing the water hitting the tiles of the shower and starting for the door.

He shut it behind him with a soft click, the key still in his pocket. Dave was already waiting for him, but the usually-comforting presence of his long time friend only made him crankier.

“Hurry up, Y/L/N shouldn’t be in there alone for too long. That’s the whole reason we teamed up.”

“They’ll be fine, as long as you don’t shout at them anymore.” Dave leaned against the wall beside him casually, an unimpressed glare leveled at Aaron.

“They needed to be reprimanded-”

“They’re not a child, Aaron. You don’t need to be their angry parent.”

“Dave, do you realize what they’ve done?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t before, you yelled it for the entire hotel to hear. I’m pretty sure the people on floor two now know the intimate details of this case.”

“I’m angry, and rightfully so.”

“No, you’re scared.” Dave persisted, never intimidated by Aaron for a second, “You’re scared because you know they’re coming after someone, and you’re worried that it’ll be Y/L/N.”

Aaron let his eyes slip shut after a long, tense silence, pinching his temple between his thumb and pointer finger. He could tell Dave whatever he wanted, but he’d never be able to lie to the man.

“I understand that you don’t want to stir up unnecessary panic. What if the couple doesn’t come after Y/L/N? You’d have freaked them out for no reason with the promise of an attack. But you can’t disguise your fear as anger, especially not if it's directed at them. That’s not fair.” Dave’s parroting of the phrase your argument had been overly saturated by only reinforced the fact that everyone had heard everything, and Aaron felt a pinprick of something he’d never admit was shame poking at his heart.

“Agent Y/L/N is not prepared for high-pressure situations like that.”

“Yeah, I agree, they need some more practice. Why did we let them headline on their very first case? Anyone would have slipped up,” Dave insisted, ever the devil’s advocate to Aaron’s stubborn hotheadedness.

“Their mistake will cost us-”

“No, their mistake will cost you, if you don’t apologize. If you react to a miniscule slip up with unbridled rage, they’re never going to feel comfortable around you. They’ll constantly feel like they’re walking on eggshells, that you’re waiting to scream at them for every little thing.”

“What do you want me to do, Dave? Tell them I’m sorry I hurt their feelings? These are real people getting killed, and-”

A blood-curdling, eerie, sickening scream ripped through the previously cozy silence of the hotel, and Aaron’s hand flew instinctively to his gun. But it wasn’t there, and he scrambled to jam the key back into the lock to retrieve it from where he’d left it on the bed.

Dave looked equally panicked, his own gun in his room with Spencer. Thankfully, the young doctor was already responding to the disturbance, their door flying open and revealing him, guns in both hands.

Dave was quickly passed his, and the pair stuck behind Aaron as he struggled. Finally, he got fed up with the key, his hands too shaky to aim properly, spitting an angry, “Come on!” and rammed his shoulder into the rickety door, sending it flying open and slamming into the wall. He sprinted in, barely remembering to snatch his gun off of the bed before he stopped in front of the bathroom door. His shoulder ached from knocking open the main door, but he didn’t hesitate to bare it once more and snap the lock.

He was definitely going to need a brace after this.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” 

--

Of course, they stuck to their promise. The knife was immediately jammed into your stomach, the pain blinding as it slowly spread throughout every inch of your body. You heard immediate commotion from the bedroom, scrambling away from the unsubs as best you could to ram your back against the door. You hunched over, ripping your taser from your ankle and pointing it threateningly at them, but they were now more concerned with getting away than they were with you. Any energy you had possessed before being stabbed was oozing out of you in your blood, a puddle of crimson on the floor as you hunched over it. Your knees gave out and you fell onto your side, barely able to crane your neck up enough to watch them get away. 

You laid slumped against the wall for mere seconds, but they felt like hours ticking by as your life slowly left you. You felt something warm trickling down the side of your face, and without even seeing it you knew that it was blood seeping from your mouth.

You heard the commotion and shouting from just outside the bathroom door, then the lock gave way with a loud snap and the door flung open, slamming into your legs. You weren’t able to move them, though, and you looked up blearily as Hotch stormed into the bathroom, his gun held expectantly before him as he looked around wildly for your attackers.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” His gaze finally fell to the floor, following a trail of blood from where your ankles had been cut by the window. His eyes widened, and a panicked expression that you had never seen on him before took over his face.

“They’re gone,” You rasped, your voice strained from the amount of effort it took to speak, “I couldn’t stop them.”

“We’ll go around the back and call an ambulance,” Rossi mumbled, patting Hotch’s back before dragging Spencer away, “You take Y/L/N.”

Hotch didn’t need to be told twice. He kneeled beside you, prying gently at your side to turn you over. You let out a cracked, pained whimper at the pain that blossomed from his touch, and you saw his chin wobble slightly at the sight of your stab wound and your red-rimmed eyes, not ready to say goodbye to you.

“I- I knew I shouldn’t have left,” His voice shook just as his hands did, where they pressed tentatively against your injury. When you winced in pain, he knew he’d found the right spot, and increased the pressure tenfold.

Your eyes widened and you tried protesting, instead only capable of wheezing out a weak cough. More blood pooled in your throat and you choked on it, alerting Hotch to the fact that you needed to be somewhat upright.

“Okay, okay, you’re- you’re okay, let me just-” He rambled as he slipped a hand behind your head, the one on your wound now having to press twice as hard. He lifted your head slightly, shifting so that you were laying in his lap. Your head was elevated now, and your throat cleared, dark red blood now able to flow freely from between your lips..

“Hotch,” You started, and his frantic gaze flitted to your face.

“Don’t speak,” He shushed you, “Conserve your energy.”

“No, no,” You pressed on, shaking your head jerkily, “I need to apologize.”

“You don’t, please just keep quiet and don’t overexert yourself.” There were tears in his eyes now, his breathing shaky as he continued pressing into your wound.

“It’s my fault,” Your words had him shaking his head vehemently, but you pressed on, “You- you were right. If I hadn’t said-”

“Please,” He cried, a sob clinging to his words as his face crumpled, “Stop talking!”

--

“Fourth floor, room thirteen!” Rossi commanded the paramedics waiting outside with your stretcher, “Hurry, they’re losing a lot of blood!”

“Rossi,” Reid stepped towards the man, looking back at the one unsub they’d managed to apprehend, ‘Do you think he’ll give up his partner?”

“It’s not likely,” Rossi mused, frowning at the sight of your blood on the man’s hands, “But I think Hotch would beat it out of him if he had to.”

“Why was he so harsh on Y/L/N?” Reid’s brows furrowed as he recalled the aggressive lecture they’d all overheard from your room.

Rossi kept a straight face while staring at Reid, but one side of his mouth shifted as he sucked his cheek into his mouth to gnaw on it.

“You know something,” Reid realized, his eyes narrowing as he stared Rossi down, “What do you know?”

“He’s scared.” Rossi finally blurted, offering no other explanation.

“I’ve never seen Hotch scared.” Reid frowned, “I’ve seen him resigned; he knows something bad is about to happen but he knows he can’t stop it, or he knows we’ll get there in time to stop it. But he’s never afraid of what’s coming.”

“Yeah, well tonight, he was.” Then a long pause, “And I made him leave the room.” It finally dawned on Rossi, “He knew something was going to happen to Y/L/N, and I forced him out anyways.”

“Rossi-” Reid started, but the older man waved a hand at him.

“No, don’t start. I’m not gonna spiral like Hotch will, It just- it made me think.”

“Hotch is spiraling?”

“You should have seen him when Y/L/N screamed,” Rossi let out a breathless, dry laugh, devoid completely of humor, “He’s gonna blame himself for a long time.”

--

“There, there you go. You’re gonna be okay,” Hotch babbled, comforting himself more than he was comforting you as you were situated on the stretcher. You blinked hazily up at him as he clambered into the back of the ambulance they’d put you in, his tie brushing gently over your nose as it dangled in your face. He finally got settled, the blue strip of fabric now laying over your chest before he brushed it away, letting it fall over the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re riding with me?” You rasped, your hand hanging limply over the side of the stretcher where it had fallen.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m riding with you,” Hotch’s voice was still trembling, and he grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers and resting your joined hands on your stomach. You glanced down at the embrace briefly, then back at him.

“I’m sorry they got away.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” You winced lightly after your insistence left your stomach stinging, “I agitated them, and I couldn’t even fix my mistake when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t have the chance,” Hotch urged, his voice hardening slightly before he reined himself in, “You- they attacked you, Y/N. You didn’t have the chance to fight back.”

“Did the others catch them?”

“Um,” Hotch fumbled for his phone with one hand, keeping the other firmly locked with your own as he squinted at the screen, “One. They want me to interrogate him, find out who his partner is and where they’re going.’

“Do you think the partner will become less effective in killing now that they’re not together?”

“Definitely,” Hotch soothed you, tucking his phone back into his jacket, “Don’t worry about it, just rest.”

“Don’t- How could I not worry?!” Your brows furrowed, and one of the EMT’s by your side sent you a warning glance.

“You need to relax,” Hotch murmured, keeping his voice low so that yours would follow suit, “You lost a lot of blood and you need to stay awake until they get some more in you.”

You settled back into the stretcher with a resigned sigh, despair seeping through your frame. Not only had you ruined the chase, you hadn’t even remedied it by catching them when they were in the same room as you. 

“You.. You were right, Hotch.” You spoke after a prolonged bout of silence, “I don’t think I’m capable of doing this job.”

“Don’t-” Hotch’s face screwed up in a grimace, his breathing haggard, “Don’t say that. I didn’t mean that, I was- I was worried.”

“You didn’t mean that? Hotch,” You sighed, “You meant every word you said to me tonight, and they were true. I’m not cut out for this, I’m sorry that I messed things up.”

“I didn’t mean it! I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” He composed himself, squeezing your limp hand in his, “It was unfair of me to berate you like that. You didn’t do it on purpose, and it was a mistake anyone could have made. I was just- I was so scared, Y/N.”

“You.. You were scared?” You noted that, for the second time that night, Hotch had used your first name instead of your last, and you filed them both away to think about more critically later.

“I knew they were going to strike again. The problem was, I didn’t know where. It sounds awful, but when we know another victim is condemned to die, we can’t do anything about it. We.. we use them as a means to collect more evidence, sometimes we can’t advance in an investigation unless another person dies. We wait for people to get killed, Y/N, and the more we do it, the less terrible it seems. But I knew he’d come after you.”

“You did?” Something tightened in your chest, a sense of sickening dread that you wished you’d felt before the attack, because it might have saved your life.

“Think about it. You were the face of the press conference, your face and position were broadcasted to anyone watching. We knew they were watching, we wanted them to. When you misspoke, and exposed them to the community before they could, they spiraled. There’s only one hotel in the area, and you mentioned staying as close to the investigation as possible.” Hotch shifted uncomfortably on the rickety plastic bench that he was sitting on, “They knew where you were, they knew who you were, and they knew exactly how to get you. That’s why I teamed us all up tonight, Y/N, because I knew they were coming. I figured there was still a possibility that they’d be too cowardly to attack a government agent in a hotel full of them, but we knew they didn’t shy away from high-risk situations. It- It was you, Y/N, I knew it was you, and- I still left.”

“I.. I don’t understand,” Your mind was reeling, spiraling out of control with the new information you’d been given, “Why didn’t you tell me this before? And- and where did you go?”

“Dave- Rossi wanted to talk to me,” His eyes left your face for the first time in minutes, downcast to the floor, “He was upset that I’d shouted at you.”

“And.. why didn’t you tell me this before?” You repeated.

“I.. Y/N, I tried to.”

Your eyes narrowed and you felt your stomach start to burn again, “No you didn’t! Not one single word that came out of your mouth when you were blaming me for the deaths of innocent civilians had anything to do with the fact that I was about to be stabbed in the crappy hotel bathroom.”

“I- I know,” Hotch squeezed his eyes shut, sighing deeply. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“For?” “For blaming you. For yelling at you. For leaving.”

“Why did you blame me? If you didn’t really mean it, why did you?”

Hotch deliberated that for a moment, the fingers of his free hand brushing gently together, “It was easier for me to be angry than it was for me to be scared.”

You stayed silent, but you kept your eyes on him, watching his expression shift.

“I’m never scared.” Hotch insisted, “Or- or I’m scared all the time. I don’t know anymore, really. But this fear was new, this kind of fear was new, this intensity of fear was new. I don’t usually have to worry about us,” He gestured vaguely to his jacket pocket, where you knew he kept his badge, “I mean, not really. We go into high-pressure situations, but we always come back out again. Even- even if we get a few scrapes here and there, we’re okay. There’s only been a few times where something this bad has happened to one of us, and I don’t know how to deal with it yet, I’m not used to it. So I resorted to anger, which I deal with a lot more often than fear. I dealt with it the wrong way, and I got angry with you. I needed to get angry with someone instead of being afraid, and you were easy to blame.”

He took a deep breath, and you took the liberty of being the one to squeeze his hand this time, his eyes flitting to where they laid together on your stomach, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, I should have just been honest with you. I.. I would promise to do better next time, but I’m counting on there not being a next time, so instead I’ll promise to make it up to you.”

He finished his speech with a soft huff, his eyes worriedly scanning your face for a reaction. You weren’t sure you had it in you to give him one, though, so you let your eyes fall shut, taking one deep breath before blinking them open again.

“You can’t be afraid of being afraid, Hotch.”

His shoulders slumped minisculely at your words, his eyebrows raising as he nodded, “I know. I-”

“Just.. let me finish.” You cut him off, “Everyone gets scared sometimes. You don’t have to forgo emotions just because you’re leading a team of FBI agents. You’re allowed to get scared too, and you’re allowed to tell people that you’re scared. No one would judge you, you know that, don’t you? Prentiss isn’t gonna laugh at you, Reid wouldn’t call you a loser.”

He let the ghost of a smile flit over his face at your examples, and you considered it a personal win.

“You almost lost me today.” You reminded him, watching his face fall, “But not because you stepped out. But because you did deal with it the wrong way. Because you wouldn’t let yourself be afraid of losing me. And I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, Hotch, because I don’t want you to blame yourself. I’m telling you this so that you can grow as a person, and relearn feelings that you’ve suppressed. Use this as an example, as a reason to be scared. Be afraid, Hotch, psych yourself out about this, or it’ll happen again. But don’t blame yourself.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Y/N, and I won’t forget this anytime soon. But I am blaming myself, it is my fault.”

“Hotch, they would have come regardless of whether or not you yelled at me. You’re not responsible for their attack. You can regret that you didn’t warn me, and promise to do better in the future, but warning me would have only given me time, not safety. You couldn’t have stopped them from coming for me by telling me that they were.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” One of the EMTs by your feet spoke up, the intimacy of the moment shattered, “But we’re here, and we need to unload you, Y/N.”

You nodded, looking away from where you’d been staring into Hotch’s eyes and reluctantly letting him let go of your hand. You were jostled slightly by the paramedics pulling you out of the stretcher, but their hastily-wrapped gauze around your stomach did its job, and your stomach wasn’t bleeding profusely anymore. 

Hotch stepped out of the ambulance behind you, standing by the truck instead of following after you. You glanced back at him questioningly as you were being led away, “Aren’t you coming?”

“I.. I can’t, Y/N.” He held out his phone, “They want me to interrogate the man they caught.”

“Right.” You nodded,  disappointment stewing in your stomach alongside the constant pain, “Thank you for riding with me.”

He nodded once, opening his mouth to say something but stalling before he did, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” The EMTs carrying your stretcher stalled at the door, waiting patiently for him to speak just as you did.

“Thank you for.. for helping me.” He tilted his head towards the ambulance, referencing the rather eye-opening conversation you’d just had, “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too.” You smiled weakly, “Now go find his partner.”

He finally let a real smile flit over his face, no longer restraining himself as he knew you’d be safe, “I will. And I’ll come visit you as soon as I’m done. I’m sure the others will beat me here.”

Your smile grew at the promise of seeing him again, though your brain refused to acknowledge why. You supposed you were scared to admit it, but you used denial to mask your fear instead of anger, like Hotch. You’d have to work on that, but for now, you needed a stationary bed.

“Goodbye, Hotch.” You looked at him for one last moment, then relaxed into the stretcher, letting the EMTs escort you inside.

“Goodbye Y/N,” Hotch supplied weakly, letting relief blossom in his chest that the words he’d just spoken to you weren’t his last, but in the grand scheme of what was to come, a few of the first.

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @ssamorganhotchner @toshijimafarms @jhiddles03 @rosaliedepp @cehnyene @zaddyhotch @aliensaurusrex @tojithesourcerkiller @criminalmindsandmarvel @maddie77777 @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @desireav @thelaststraw3 @alanalanalanalanalanna @ccristata

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

When it's my turn🥺🥺

pov: going on a date with aaron hotchner

I want it🥺🥺😍😍

pov: waking up with aaron hotchner

Same🥺🥺

the way a hug from him would solve everything in my life

This was so freaking cute 😍😍

Wonderful Tonight

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 948 Tags: Food and wine talk, implied sex/closed door Summary: A sweet, domestic blurb based on the prompt 'no electricity.' A/N: Two uses of the word 'she', but it's a song lyric and not representative of the reader's pronouns.

“It’s late in the evening… She’s wondering what clothes to wear.” You hum along as two voices—Eric Clapton’s, and Aaron’s—warmly drift through the kitchen like the steam from the wide noodles he’s boiling on the stove. While you whisk together the ingredients for the sauce, rich, flavorful things like peanut butter and ginger and sesame oil, you sway your hips as if dancing, light and carefree.

Both of you are clad in loungewear, clothes so comfortable and worn you never let anyone see you in them but each other; his t-shirt is visibly threadbare, with a frayed neckline and a faded 10th Annual Fairfax County Charity 5k banner across the chest, and when you pass behind him to grab the soy sauce you press your lips to his shoulder just to feel its softness.

You add the soy sauce to your mixture—two kinds, dark and light, a perfect balance—along with minced garlic, and you smile when he turns to grab the colander and brushes his hand against the small of your back.

“And then she asks me, ‘Do I look all right?’ And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight.’” The line is punctuated with a kiss on your cheek, something soft and easy, and then he drains the noodles, adds them to your bowl of sauce so you can toss everything together. The mixture turns them a pale orange, and you pour the finished product into two bowls, stick chopsticks into the mountains of the fragrant food; with a drizzle of chili oil and a sprinkle of chopped scallions, you are ready to move to the dining room, where candles and white wine and the rest of the record await you.

You’ve just set the bowls down on the table when the power goes out unceremoniously and the apartment is plunged into darkness. The record stops, the blissfully cool central air conditioning whirs to a halt, and Aaron looks over at you from between the two candlesticks with a look that just screams, it figures.

Your first date night in almost a month, due to his cases and your schedule and Jack’s boatload of summer activities, and it’s ruined in less than a second. 

“I’ll check the breaker,” he says with a sigh, and you grab a couple more candles from the sideboard drawer and take them to the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom. It becomes apparent, as you cross the apartment, that the problem isn’t the breaker; when you pass by the windows, you can see through the gauzy curtains that the whole complex is dark, streetlights included. Neighbors open their windows, probably an attempt at catching the evening breeze, and you do the same before meeting Aaron back in the dining room, where he stands with his hands on his hips. 

“It’s fine. We can eat in the candlelight; it’s romantic,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist, and he moves a hand to your cheek and leans in for a kiss. You can tell he’s not thrilled about it, always hates when things don’t go according to plan, but you’ll do anything to salvage the evening, and you know he will too. “Let’s move to the living room. It’s cooler now that the windows are open.” 

He arches a brow, but picks up the candlesticks and carefully carries them in while you dust off your rusty server talents and transfer the food and wine. You sit beside each other on the sofa, not across from each other as you would have at the table, but it means you can press your elbow against his thigh, take a noodle from his chopsticks just as he tips his head back to eat it, make him laugh like he hasn’t in weeks, so it’s all worth it in the end.

You’re halfway through your bowl when you get the bright idea to take out your phone and pull up the music app, to pick up where you left off and listen to something other than the chew and slurp of Thai peanut noodles and chilly sauvignon blanc. 

The bowls—and the wine bottle—sit empty on the table, the candles burned down low by the time the album cycles back to the original song, and now when you sway along, it’s with your body snugly in Aaron’s arms. He leans in for a kiss that tastes like ginger and peanuts, one you lengthen, deepen, a hand in his hair, and it’s an unspoken signal; you separate, carry your dishes into the kitchen and then walk around the apartment, blowing out the candles as you leave each room for the night. You make your way to bed, shedding your comfortable clothes, prepared to fill the rest of the evening the best way the two of you know how. 

Some time later, as you rest your cheek against his chest and yawn, sleepy and warm from such a perfect, if unexpected evening, he smooths his hand over your throat and tilts your chin to press a sweet, passionate kiss to your lips. 

He says all he needs to with that one kiss, but you curl your arms around him and smile against him as you ask for just one more. He looks so handsome in the flickering light of the candles, all dark, smoldering eyes and bare skin and striking features, and you let your kisses carry you away. 

By the time you close your eyes, pleasantly satisfied and ready to sleep, the evening’s soundtrack is the last thing on your mind, but as Aaron blows out the final candle and presses himself against your back, he whispers softly in your ear:

“Oh, my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

Taglist: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @dadbodhotch11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @thinking-bucky @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr @ssahotchnerxx @vintagesubmariner @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @hotchnerxo @ashhotchner @hotchs-bitch @jaspxr

Meme’s for my fellow Thomas simps

It's so good!!!! 🤤🤤

August

Inspired by August by Taylor Swift

Summary: When Haley and Aaron broke up after junior year, you never thought it would be for good. But still you found yourself falling (into bed) with the boy who hated you. Your best friend’s ex boyfriend.

PART 1 | PART 2

Word Count: 4338

Warnings: 18+ for smut, very angsty ending, general teenage shenanigans, talk of disassociating, Haley hate (kind of? But also not really?)

A/N: I started this a couple of months ago after hearing “skinny dipping” by Sabrina Carpenter and realizing it would be such a cool idea to see a then and now. I never thought I’d write smut or young!Aaron so this is very new in all ways. I will take all the feedback or constructive criticism you have, thanks for reading!

Gif credit goes to @hotch-girl <3

“But I can see us

Lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘Cause you was never mine”

Everyone knew Aaron and Haley. Aaron might have been a jock and Haley might have been a nerd but everyone knew them as Aaron and Haley. They just made sense.

When they got together our sophomore year, the whole town talked about it. Aaron smiled more and Haley hid her face less. The two were known as the town’s sweethearts and it was genuinely deserved.

When they split the summer between your junior and senior year, no one believed it would last for long. Especially you.

You were Haley’s best friend. Your parents had become fast friends after meeting as parent volunteers at your kindergarten class trip to the aquarium. Haley would come over when her parents did and the two of you would go play while the adults did whatever adults do.

She was a bit more outgoing than you and always fought to bring you out of your shell. Dragging you to every event she could, the two of you were inseparable. Were.

When Haley and Aaron got together, she suddenly had less time for you. She was busy with her new relationship, you understood that but missed your best friend. It didn’t help that Aaron didn’t like you. Every time Haley would invite you to do something with them, Aaron would glare at you while she was looking away or maneuver himself so he was between the two of you and start to spread out more and more until you had to move.

Haley never noticed. You loved her, truly you did, but she was always a princess. When you were little she always had to be the damsel in distress. Her perfect story started with her needing help and ended in happily ever after when her nightly prince saved her from some big evil. She never wanted to save herself.

You didn’t fault her for this. Not everyone could be like you. Not everyone had to grow up early and learn that the only person you should depend on was yourself. In fact, part of the reason you loved her so much was her almost childlike optimism. You would pummel anyone who threatened to take it away from her. Sometimes you wished she would be a little more in touch with reality, but friendship - like all relationships - was about compromise.

So you compromised. You gave her time and space and let her settle into her new relationship. You didn’t fault her for it, you reckoned that it was a normal teenage girl thing. So you waited.

Her never ending schemes to get you involved led to a decreased time for your hobbies, specifically painting and reading. Your new free time was well spent catching up on your always growing “to read” list which always inspired new pieces of artwork. Those books were the reason you didn’t hold the same ideas on life and romance as your friend. While she loved the doting attention of the soccer star and his juvenile pet names, you had a more refined standard of romance. You would accept nothing less than being swept off your feet.

Or so you thought.

Three weeks after the couple broke up, you saw Aaron for the first time. You were at the beach, the last book you had read featured a cute scene with a couple in the water so it inspired you to pack up some sunscreen and head out. You had been there for about an hour when all of the sudden it was too dark to read. Looking up, you found your best friend’s ex boyfriend staring at you.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, arms crossed as he peered down at you with a frown.

“Reading, you don’t own the beach Hotchner. It’s public property” you reminded, shutting your book while pursing your lips. He rolled his eyes with a sneer as you waited to see what he wanted.

“So funny,” he remarked, “when are you leaving?”

“Whenever I feel like it. Though if it upsets you so much…” you trailed off with a hand on your chin, “never.”

With another glare, he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. His hands fell from across his chest to perch on his hips.

“Well I need you to leave” he ordered. No matter what he had intended, his words had the opposite effect. You found yourself laughing hard enough that you toppled over, dropping the book from your lap. Your chest was hugging your knees as your head was thrown back in what was probably an extremely attractive laugh. When you got control of your breathing again, your eyes peered up to look at his which were locked down your bikini top.

“My eyes are up here, Hotchner, and no thanks” you responded with a smirk. His eyes flashed back up to your face, ears slightly red from the embarrassment of getting caught. He started to splutter, eyebrows furrowed as he came up with whatever excuse he thought would get you to leave.

Ignoring him, you stood from your place on the ground and walked up to him so you were chest to chest, “I’m not Haley. I don’t think you walk on water and I won’t let you boss me around. Go find someone else to control.”

Unlike your friend who’s short stature meant she was eye level with Aaron’s chest, your eyes were firmly locked on his lips. You were close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning across your nose. Both of you stood there, momentarily stunned by the close contact when his buddies came up behind him.

“Aaron we’re leaving” one of them yelled, passing him by without stopping. Your hands were cocked on your hips, waiting for his next move.

“Later” he responded loudly, eyes still locked on yours. As soon as his buddies were gone, he pushed his face closer to yours. His eyes were dancing with anger as he swallowed loudly.

“Listen here-“ he started, his mocking tone setting you off again. You threw your hands up, one hand running through your hair as the other pointed into his chest.

“I will not ‘listen here’ buck-o, you hold no sway over me. I don’t care what you think or what you want. I was here first and you don’t own this stupid beach!” You yelled, finger jamming into his chest every other point in emphasis.

Grabbing your hand mid poke, his hand tightly squeezed yours as he muttered between clenched teeth, “you are so goddamn infuriating, woman. You know that?”

“I am not” you huffed, annoyed at how warm and right his calloused hand felt around yours, “you are infuriating, you-you-“

His lips were against yours. Your current thought process died and you could feel the wheels in your head spinning overtime as you tried to understand what was going on. The thought of whose tongue was caressing your bottom lip caused a moment of clarity and your hands went flat against his chest to push back and your lips opened to tell him off but the words fell flat. He had taken your motion as encouragement and the hand that was once holding yours moved to grasping the back of your neck, fingers threaded in your hair. The other gripped your hip to the point of being painful and you found yourself moaning into his mouth.

You let your eyes slip closed and tentatively swiped yours against his wandering tongue. His answering groan made your thighs clench. The deep baritone made your head swim, your hands climbed up his chest to grasp onto his shoulders. You were breathless, chest heaving against his as your fingers dug into the muscles in his back. He groaned again into your mouth but the noise was loud enough to startle a group of birds that were walking around in the sand a few feet from you.

The sudden commotion startled both of you out of the moment. Your hands slid down his back to hang down at your sides as you stared, open-mouthed at your best friend’s ex boyfriend. The words wouldn’t come. You knew you should walk away, run away, but all you could think about was the taste of him. The way he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, the way his lips had caressed yours. You wanted more. Maybe that made you a bad person, but you needed it more than anything else you’d ever had before.

During your mental debate, Aaron stood in front of you. His arms were also at his sides, shaking slightly as his chest heaved in time with yours. His eyes never left yours, their darkened shade glistening along with his lips. When he caught you staring at them, his tongue stuck out to lick you off of his lips. The movement sent butterflies flying around your stomach. You gave yourself a minute to close your eyes and think this through but quickly shook off rationality and grabbed his hand.

Pulling him away from the sandy beach and leaving your book and chair, you led him wordlessly to the parking lot. You were backed into your parking spot at the deserted end of the lot underneath a bunch of low hanging trees. You were momentarily thankful that your favorite spot to park kept your vehicle cool with its windy breeze through the cracked windows and shade from the beating sun.

When you reached the vehicle, you avoided his eyes and dug the key out of your pocket. Your hands were shaky as you tried to fit the key into the lock until a warm hand enclosed your own. His steady fingers slipped the key into the lock and twisted, unlocking the door and opening it in one smooth movement. You reached around to unlock the back door and opened it to let the car air out. With a quick slam of the front door, you were both standing close in the hot air of your heated car. There was a little bead of sweat running down his forehead as his eyes studied your face. You used one hand to balance yourself against his lean frame and the other wiped at his forehead and brushed the one long strand of hair out of his eyes. He shot you a small smile, a dimple pulling out as he mimicked your motions to brush a stray hair back behind your ear. The action felt almost too intimate for such a tumultuous relationship so you quickly pushed him into your backseat.

The sweetness of the moment was interrupted and his hands were pulling onto your hips, taking you with him as he kicked the door shut and slotted his lips against yours. You moaned against his tongue as he continued to explore your mouth. Your hands were grasping at his shoulders again for support but you needed more. Quickly you grasped at the top of his shirt and pulled, forcing him to pull away and finish removing his shirt.

Once it was gone your mouth was sliding along the lines of his shoulder, sucking little marks against the muscles there. He was groaning and grasping at your hair, fingers tightening as you would bite down a little on the skin before licking over it to soothe the mark.

You were just about to move down to his chest when the hand in your hair was yanking you up and you were suddenly being kissed with a ferocity that was only hinted at before. Your hands continued the trail you started with your mouth, running your nails lightly over his pecs and abs down to the happy trail around his belly button. As your hands explored his body, he took the initiative to do the same, one hand holding your head close to his as the other traced around your bikini top before circling around your breast. A finger flicked at your nipple suddenly, causing your fingernails to tighten into his chest.

He was biting at your bottom lip with a moan as your fingers finished the happy trail down under his swim trunks. You teased him, running your finger around the edges of the waistband before continuing to move your hand back up his chest. His bottom lip poked out against yours as he pouted from the loss of contact. His lips pulled away from yours, giving you a moment to catch your breath when he suddenly ducked his head down and bit down lightly on your nipple over the suit. You threw your head back with a moan as you pulled yourself fully seated in his lap to grind down against him. The sudden contact caused him to groan around your nipple as his tongue flicked against you and the hand on your waist moved in time with your movements. You were gasping for air as he rubbed against your clit, your wetness soaking through the bikini bottoms and coating the front of his trunks.

The slickness made a squeaking sound that wasn’t pleasant so you hurried to move yourself off of his lap to pull the swim suit off. He copied your idea and quickly slid his shorts down. The sight of him slapping against his happy trail sent another wave of heat through your belly.

You pushed him back against the seat and kneeled above him. His lips were back on yours as an arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him. The new position had his tip rubbing against your clit. You squirmed against the contact, trying to create more friction as he let out a little huff of laughter while you whined against his lips. Taking pity on you, he dragged a hand from your waist to grasp himself, rubbing little circles against your bundle of nerves. The increase in pressure felt heavenly and you could hardly focus on his kiss. Your lips went lax as your mouth hung open. He pressed little nips on your bottom and top lips before using his nose to push your face to the side. His lips dotted kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. He was busy sucking at a sensitive spot just above your clavicle as he dragged his cock against your clit in slow, teasing circles.

Your moans were loud in the silent car for a moment before you slid a hand up his side to the back of his neck. You tugged at his hair until his lips were leaving your neck and his face was level with yours. His breath was coming out in warm pants that tingled against your sensitive lips. You tried to think straight with his hand still moving against you but you couldn’t help kissing him again.

Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses from his lips over to his ear, you sucked gently on his earlobe before leaning a little further to whisper in his ear, “I want you inside of me.”

His answering groan accompanied a harsh slap of his cock against your clit. You bit down on his shoulder in retribution before shooing his hand away and grasping his length in your hand. You used your wetness that had dropped down his cock as lubricant as you stroked him slowly. After a minute, you were lifting yourself a bit further and lining him up when one of his hands squeezed your hip and the other lifted your face to look at him.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, words clear in the heated moment. Your heart clenched at the sweetness of him, such an odd contrast to his behavior before that day, before leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip. You let your tongue sweep along the spot you bit and nodded before you slowly started to sink down onto him.

The rest of the summer passed similarly in a blur of stolen moments and hidden signals. There were a bunch of big stones that lined the wood chips along the length of your home. All of them were multicolored but there was one that stood out, it was a faded blue on one side and light red on the other. As you were sneaking into your house one of the first nights after the two of you met up, you accidentally knocked it over and saw the color change. The next time you met up with Aaron, you suggested he use the stone to show if he was able to get out that night. If he thought he could make it, he would turn the stone to the blue side but if he couldn’t, he’d leave the red.

You always met at the same time at the same place. Ten minutes after ten pm on the roof of the abandoned warehouse that was between your houses. You would crouch through the hole in the fence and use the fire escape to get up to the top.

Every night up on that roof was the same. He would look at you with those tired eyes and you would have done anything to make it just a little bit better for him. He would hold you as his lips bruised your own, his hands grasping at your hips as he set a brutal pace. There was never much said between the two of you. Sometimes it would be mere moments after you arrived on the roof that he would pull the blanket from your arms and lay you down on it. Others he would pull you into his arms and spend hours watching the stars before kissing you slowly. Every time he would ask if you were sure. The quiet words had become routine but no less special as he lined himself up and brought your face up to meet his eyes.

You kept telling yourself it meant nothing. That the two of you had come to an unspoken agreement to work out your daily struggles with each other. It was normal. It was fine.

It was a good thing, a really good thing, but like all other good things, it eventually came to an end. You had been avoiding Haley, only responding to every other text and making excuses to avoid meeting up. You took a new job during the day stocking shelves at a local warehouse to keep your mind and hands busy. But as you knew, you couldn’t avoid her forever.You were walking out of the house to your car before work one day when she cornered you.

Yelling your name, she ran over from across the street to stand behind your car. You greeted her back with a quick smile but you could tell from her stance with her hands on her hips that she was upset. You were hoping you could at least make it to the start of the school year before having to face the confrontation.

“Haley-“ you started but she cut you off.

“No, don’t you dare ‘Haley’ me” she growled, “what in the hell is the matter with you? You’ve been blowing me off all summer! I thought you were my best friend but just when I needed you most, you leave me”

You hated the way that your throat constricted seeing her teary eyed but you knew you had to be strong for her, “no, I was-“

“Stop lying to me! If you didn’t want to be my friend, you could have just said so! I lost Aaron and then I lost you, so you know how hard that was for me?” She cried. Your stomach clenched at the mention of his name.

“I’m sorry” you muttered, head down as you realized how this situation would play out. You were stupid to think that everything wouldn’t explode in your face. Even if she never found out, you couldn’t face her. Not knowing how it feels to be loved by him. Not knowing how she still loved him.

She continued to yell at you and you let her; your mind floating as you began to understand just how badly this was going to end. A tight feeling settled into your gut as you realized how many people your thoughtless decision would affect, how many people you would lose. As you started to gather your thoughts, you didn’t let your mind stray. You would make a plan of attack and separate yourself from reality, that would be the only way you would survive what was to come.

Later that night, after Haley finally had enough yelling and told you that she never wanted to see you again, you waited for Aaron on the roof.

Normally he beat you there but this time, you were waiting for him. Your back was to the entrance as you stood by the edge and stared out at the bustling city. The squeaking of the door opening let you know you were no longer alone but you waited until you could smell the warm scent of him behind you before you began to turn.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice quiet against the soft noises of the city below.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself before you turned to him. His eyes were guarded as he regarded you with no expression. His hands were in his Jean pockets as he waited for you to respond.

“Aaron,” you started, voice calm despite the desperate fear of losing him and yourself in the process, “this summer has been the best summer of my life but I…. I think it’s time we end this. School starts soon so you’ll be tired from soccer practice and Haley will be around. I know she broke it off but she misses you. Everyone wants you two back together, including both of you, so it just seems like this is the right time. She’ll be there for all of your needs and you can go back to hating me when I’m not sleeping with you.”

His eyes bore into yours as he seemed to process what you said. His arms strained under his tight grasp at the material of his pants and you longed to wrap your arms around him and just hold on tight. The ever present crease between his eyes got more defined as he began to scowl, his eyes hardening against your gaze.

“It was never just sex to me” his steady voice insisted hands raising to grasp at the ends of his hair, “it was never just a fling or a hookup. Haley-“

“Is the love of your life” you responded, trying to keep your voice calm despite the quickly growing turmoil you felt. Your stomach was tied into knots as you watched the pain flicker through his face.

“No, she’s not. You don’t have the right to tell me who I love” His face tightened, voice raising in frustration at your lack of emotion.

“But you do, you love her. This was just a fling. Even if you don’t want to admit it, Aaron” you countered, arms folded across your chest as you tried not to shrink away from his anger.

“I did, I do. But that doesn’t mean anything now because we aren’t together. And I don’t need to admit anything. You don’t get to tell me how I feel or what I think, you don’t even know me” he huffed, finger pointing at you as he stilled suddenly. His eyes were regretful as he looked at your withdrawn posture. You gave him a watery grimace as the tears started to fall down your cheeks. You unwrapped your arms to wipe at the traitorous emotional reaction and nodded at him.

“You’re right, Aaron. I don’t know you” you agreed, voice breaking.

“Sweetheart I-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand and tried to make your voice as steady as possible, “I don’t know you. I’ve seen you every night for two months but we haven’t spoken more than a handful of words. I don’t know you and I’m never going to.”

Your eyes trailed down to the ground as you spoke, unable to meet his gaze. After a moment you could hear him take a deep, unsteady breath before swallowing loudly.

“So this is it then?” He asked, voice hard with his teeth and fists clenched. Your heart broke at his words and a voice in your head screamed at you to stop playing the martyr, to let yourself be happy.

“Yes,” you responded, head tipping back up to meet his eyes, “goodbye Aaron.”

With a quick turn, you started towards the entrance to the roof to return back to solid ground as you heard him whisper a goodbye behind you. The sadness in his voice almost broke your resolve but you stood your ground. You don’t remember anything about getting out of the building or back home besides the empty feeling that sets into your chest. But that feeling never quite went away.

You never told Haley. You didn’t think Aaron would either but he was right, you didn’t know him. Breaking things off with him was the right thing to do but it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest and stomped on by a herd of elephants. You spent every night until school started again crying yourself to sleep. Haley showed up to your house multiple times but your parents listened to your pleas not to let her in. Eventually, your mom caved to your demands to join the local college’s early degree program and you didn’t have to watch as your two favorite people found comfort in each other. You had hoped they would but you didn’t think you would be able to stand watching your classmates vote them prom king and queen or most likely to marry.

Instead, you settled into a routine of pushing your body and mind to the limit as you tried to fill the gaping hole in your chest. You were convinced that years from now, your future self would thank you. But at the moment, all you felt was empty.

This one is majestic 💖💖🤤🤤 Thanks @rivierasunsetdiner

From 2 to 3 (hotch x fem!reader)

Sequel to The Only Heartbreaker Find snippet here

Summary: Hotch has a steady grip on his life. All measured and predictable. Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the lilac breeze. He finds himself with a bedmate but cannot recall the night before. (Also:) After a bad case that leaves you wounded, Hotch and you are scared to cross into 'otherness'.

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch, the great alaskian landscape for some reason, and summer as a motif, ONE BED trope, a lot of dialogue ngl

notes: no tw! hey all - not really a comeback when idk what THIS is but i been listenin to a lot of peach pit and mitski *once this was named Heat Lightning - and it's all fluff and HOTCH pov, after the events of the only heartbreaker. Some flashbacks. some longing. Some utter nonsense of dialogue tbh sry for grammar errors if any! and sry if this incoherent lmaooo <3 ALSO love being surrounded by friends and a community of creators whose work i love sm - and who in turn inspires me to create. sth i didnt think i had it in me anymore lol but ! lemme know if this work was anything

WC: 7k approx

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Hotch has a firm grip on the events in his life. He is a father; was a fair husband until he wasn’t, and he is a regular at all the establishments he frequents: grocery store, coffee shop, bakery, butcher's, farmer’s market; and he has a strict regiment for exercise and pastimes. All to counteract the unpredictability of his work. It didn’t start this way. Naturally, his position came later and then his attitude: sort of a chicken and an egg situation. Except, people who’ve known him longer than the job – which coincidentally happens to be in a disproportionate ratio to those who know him because of it – would argue that he’s always been like this.

A firm, steady hold on his life. In control.

His work seems to test him on that every single day without fail. If it’s not a murder case, or a kidnapping, then it’s a bomb threat – New York still not the same for him but he’s managed to take a hold on the inevitable, unconscious reactions of his body to the city’s name, after some laborious practice. If it’s not that either, then it is an event that leaves one of his agents seriously harmed in the middle of the day.

Strauss casually reminds him of the last one some days, like she means to make sure he’s not as damaged as one should be after everything he's already endured.

And yet, he’s doing okay. If he were the type to do so, he’d wave a hand in the air dismissing it all: firm, strong grip, of course.

Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the breeze bringing in chilled air.

He stirs, something tickling his nose. He huffs out, wanting to blow away whatever irritation that is. It drifts away, settling stubbornly on his chin this time. Refusing to wake up just yet, he decides to move it away but his arms are occupied. His body cocooned under the pile of blanket and duvet, weighed down by a bed-mate, hands firm around the stranger.

No wonder he’s not freezing, he realizes, glancing down in surprise. A handful of naked thigh muscle over one of his legs keeps him locked in, and his other hand is settled precariously close to a chest.

She is sprawled atop him, gently snoozing into the crook of his neck. His eyebrows shoot up, and he tries – and fails – to remember how he’s ended up here. How she did.

He must have gotten uncharacteristically drunk last night. All he remembers is spending the late hours with the team, some jokes from Rossi and Garcia over who in their gracious mind would return to this state due to the temperatures. He must have picked up someone at the bar they were in. It wasn’t anything spacious like in big cities, but a new face could have been exciting for some. It isn’t customary to drink either. Too many issues over dehydration, and how alcohol isn’t factually a good alternative to the cold, and ultimately a prevention for alcoholism as there are no nearby addiction treatment facilities (– he remembers the speech from Reid, but not the woman in his bed?) but there had been booze on their table last night.

Albeit not plenty...

Hotch refocuses. He must have made a move on someone. Or the opposite, most likely. Though he’s done little of any of this in recent months. Quite a long while, if he has to measure it . Not since you started out teasing him with small innocuous innuendos, tying up his libido in knots.

He frowns at the top of his bed partner’s hair, beautiful and shining, but he doesn’t remember anything. Your hair is the same color and length, he thinks uneasily. Maybe that’s why the woman in his arms had his attention last night. He reluctantly releases her… waist , and reaches to brush her hair away from his face. It smells like that first bite of a summer fruit; like the air sticky sweet with anticipation of the season; like it could be the last thing he tastes and takes in for the entirety of his life. Something uncomfortably familiar to it he cannot name.

He reaches down and gently lifts her hand where it rests over his torso. Intent on studying it almost clinically but finds at once he doesn’t need to. Not when slender, long fingers, palm calloused in the same spots his weathered ones are – from carrying guns and handcuffs – shed light to the identity of his bed partner. Partner , he corrects. Just work partner. A noise startles out of him. It rises a groan out of her, that even though he should be restricting causes something else in his body to stir awake.

“Chilly”, she rasps, and lifts her face to look at him through blurry eyes. He knows those eyes, though they’re calculative and sharp, teasing too when they’re directed at him. He knows those delicate features of her face too.

You.

You both stare.

The moment stretches. Limbs become aware. Bare skin prickles with a million buzzing needles wherever skin is in contact. Fuck, he breathes out as evenly as possible, he doesn’t remember a time where he’s felt so much all at once. The open window is reprieve to the perspiration appearing at his temples and neck.

And then it isn’t a relief anymore when a hammering from outside barges rudely inside, shattering the silence. You yelp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, both drawing even closer in confusion.

Hotch slides his hand from the heat of your thigh to your back, cradling your body against his. You both wait, ears perked up and high alert.

The hammering continues rhythmically, before turning into a splintering sound, echoing outside. People huff and puff and it starts up again. He relaxes, the noise becoming un-dangerous to your safety.

“Someone’s chopping wood”, you offer meeting his eyes. The sudden movement has made the blanket slip from your shoulder, baring it to the room. “Cold”, you murmur again.

A shiver courses through you and a fierce, protective feeling in him makes him forget all the million questions in his mind. He’s quick to pull the blanket over you. He even has the reflex to look around the room for something warmer. The surest way is to climb out of bed, and shut the window – he’s fortunate to find he has pajama bottoms on. The outside finally kept out, he strides to the hearth of the room and lights up the fireplace.

It doesn’t take long for the space to fill with warmth, and for it, a strange sense of pride settles in. Like he’s procuring for the basics – like the first men to discover caves and fire and the length they’ll go to sacrifice for the protection of a loved one. Take his health of mind for instance. He has to try to grasp how you’ll react, already prepared to lie and conform to whatever you decide on this .

“Thanks”, your voice is a mere whisper, and he stops thinking. With the small size of the hotel and the limited number of rooms, he hadn’t expected them to be comfortable and cozy. His bed is large, larger than the one he has at home, so the sight of you right in the middle, hair splayed over the pillow he’d slept on these last few days, and hugging  the sheets to your chest…

Hotch has the oddest feeling of… he doesn’t know how to describe it. 

Your cheeks look puffy, colored with warmth, and hair messy almost like ran through gentle fingers. Something blooms in his chest. He’s never felt anything like it. But he recognizes it is laced with something eerily similar to relief.

You clear your throat, and he reaches for the pitcher of water over the table. He pours a glass for you and then downs one himself. He toes on the complementary slippers and glances around. The window had been left open and the dozen of blankets say the opposite – though he knows he runs hot after drinking. His collared shirt and suit jacket are haphazardly thrown over a chair, his shoes by the door. Yours too, though there is a clear trail of your garments littering the floor, leading from the door to his bed, discarded as if in a hurry to more relevant things. A wave of heat crawls up his spine and he casts his eyes to the opposite side of the room.

How can he not recall? It hardly seems…fair.

Hotch turns back to look at you, the surprise on your face not hiding your own study of the room.

“What happened last night?”, he simply asks.

You draw in a shaky breath. “Do you not remember either?”

He walks to your side of the bed, sits beside you and offers the glass.

The proximity doesn’t make you as jumpy as before, though it’s the first time he’s the one making the distance between you two. Whether out on a case, or back at the office – wherever and whenever, as if it was a second nature to you – he is the one relying on you making the first move and approaching him. It had been almost funny the first few times it happened. You’d just been hired as a replacement for JJ – another kid on the way right after her second – but instead of attempting to make friends with the group you’d bantered with him.

Out of everyone.

“ You’d think this would be easy, no?”, you’d muttered under your breath, right in front of the police captain in Ohio – or had it been Oklahoma? – and your face so serious and professional Hotch had thought he’d imagined the words. Dead in his tracks, he’d stopped to peer down at you by his right.

It had been mid-June. The exhaustion of a humid day spent over casefiles weighing Hotch’s soul – almost like the first heat spike right after spring. Heavy. Draining. And more to go. Dressed to the nines in a suit like you’re the unit chief, you’d show up at the office on your first day a bit over-eager to start. Hair away from your face. But the top of your nose and cheeks are a different tint of color, sunburnt though he knows the unit you transferred from allows vacation days as much as the BAU. Not even a hint of a polite smile when you’d shaken his hand. Neat, polished, tidy – Hotch had thought: There’s an agent who knows how to be professional.

In Ohio or Oklahoma – you'd angled your body a bit like a bodyguard towards him. A certain stance you never seemed to drop, as familiar to him as if you’d always been there. Funny how that seemed to happen too. Shorter than Hotch, smaller in stature, but as feral as you’d been having a stare off with a criminal. Funnily protective.

“Excuse me?” Hotch had cleared his throat.

“Cops?”, you’d said in a serious tone, “you give them a donut and coffee and surely that means the work is done?”

His gaze had followed yours to where other police officers were gathered, with boxes of take out and pasty shops had been discarded over a meeting room table. As if the BAU and Hotch personally hadn’t requested files necessary for the case they were there to help with.

A kid caught for misbehavior, Hotch had looked up in shock but the police captain had no ears for your jokes – not that he had any during the whole speech he had given him over not antagonizing victims. Victims, for god’s sake. You’d scoffed that out too. (Hotch remembers).

“What?”

You’d rolled your eyes. An uptick of your lips and the smallest scrunch of your nose. “I’m just messing around.” He had nodded, flabbergasted, but had paused when he’d seen you pull out something from your pocket.

“Figs”, he’d stared down at your hands clasped together. Carefully wrapped in towels, you offer him fresh figs which you'd untucked individually before handing one to him. The interviews you’d both done this morning in a white suburb had brought you through gardens and parks and playgrounds. Wives and mothers had gravitated to you first, like in any case as this one. Accommodating you especially with teas and lemonades and fresh fruits.

“I usually eat them whole”, your knuckles had covered the bounty, hiding it away from the captains and the precinct. Voice a whisper, you had leaned in, your elbow brushing against his.

He had a white collared shirt on, sleeves rolled up, while you had long shed the suit jacket in favor of commodities. “But you peel like this”, thumbs together you had teared at the unblemished skin of the savory fruit. It had pulled apart, thin and flimsy as you explained how the color of it signified an early season picking. Then once satisfied, and with fingers stained, you had popped the whole thing in your mouth. The grin that had followed was mischievous, but it was accompanied with a slight crease of your brows.

“Not ripe”, you had given your verdict, “but I was dying to try them out. Now, I know and I’ll be back to buy them once they’re ready”

His own fig had come apart in his hands, but he scooped it all up and chewed quickly. It had been years – an eternity even – since the last time he had been this keen and appeased by stolen fruits. Sweeter than he remembered, more so than what yours must have been.

The third fig you had eaten raw. A quick flicker of your brows up and wide, daring him to say something in reaction as you swallowed. Then you scrubbed your hands clean with the towels before resuming your previous position. Seriousness and professionalism once more, and the captain had re-approached like nothing’s occurred. No testimonies or evidence as you hid your tracks too.

“You’ve got a little something there”, you had pointed with the tip of your pinkie at your cupid’s brow, not looking back at Hotch. He had gotten the cue a bit late, but then followed - swiping at the same spot on his mouth, without realizing his gaze intent on yours. The clear sticky substance had been scrubbed off just in time.

Then a split second before the captain opened his mouth, your last words had swooped in like a heatwave.

“Not a lipstick stain and unfortunately harder to explain” The consequences it left seemed to remain for long, not bound by the weather. He paid half a mind to your following statement.

“ – Captain! Shall we insist again on how not trivial it is not to dismiss the statements of the civilians...”

The glass of water still full to the brim doesn’t spill over even with his hasty movements.

He swallows thick before asking, “Did we…?”

You take the glass from him, tilting it and refusing to respond – your face going beet-red. Hotch smothers a smile. Water slips from the side of your mouth and he fists his hands, the inanest, strangest desire to clean it up with a thumb resurfacing.  You slam the glass to the bedside table with purpose and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No”, you let out, breaths irregular, but voice not as raspy as before. As you settle into a proper sitting position, the sheet drop to your collarbones, held by your arms.

He's mesmerized by the movement, like he hadn't experienced the same privileges as that sheet moments before.

“I think I’d remember”, you shrug.

No, he almost corrects aloud, he’d remember and never permit himself to forget.

He stands abruptly, feeling parched. Fills another two glasses with the jug of water and looks down at the quarter zip you’d donned the night before, now lying at the foot of his bed.

“I don’t remember a thing”, he admits, frowning at the garment.

“Last thing I recall,” you glance back at the door, “Was Derek pulling out that bottle of absinthe in his room.”

Hotch winces. That seems to be his last memory too, even though he’d given the other man a look of disapproval.

“We each drank some but Reid started on his monologue again and we ended up playing cards”, you raise your eyebrows and he nods, understanding that the bottle had been then forgotten for the game. Yet after 3 sleepless nights chasing a lead from the Cyber Unit, they’d all felt restless, tired, and drunk without drinking. Exhaustions of the likes he hadn’t experienced since law school.

He would have been used to the feeling but now finds himself out of his depth.

Just as fiercely as you’d broached the subject, you look away from him, and move again. He recognizes the look on your face. Something of a realization, he notes.

“I, uh,” your voice is a timid whisper, “My leg doesn’t ache”

Hotch blinks. “What?”

“Extreme temperatures make my bullet wound ache”, you reach for a hair tie by the bedside table. It’s mingled with his personal belongings: his wristwatch, a pen and notebook he keeps when he cannot sleep because of late night work observations he writes down, and the silver cuffs of his button-downs. With two steady hands you gather all your hair away from your face and into a tight ponytail. “My surgeon said I would always be a little sensitive and I usually take numbing pills”

Something akin to regret ignites in his chest. The day he’d beheld you bleeding out, gunshot wound to your leg, had been the longest day of his life. That was nothing to wait in the hospital.

He’s unconsciously moved closer, clearing the distance once again. Any shame he’d felt over the situation you’ve both found yourselves in dissipates.

The back-to-back cases surely have not helped. They’d gone from Florida, hot and humid and unbearably long summer nights, to a case in Alaska. Case after case like usual, but then he’d asked the team if they’d rather take a few days off – all unanimously agreed they’d rather hop to the other flight.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he stops himself from offering comfort, your leg propped up under the covers. He belatedly recognizes it had been the same one holding him down while sleeping, as if both your bodies remembered the transaction of comfort – offering and seeking it – without preamble.

You wince, “It’s my responsibility. I don’t want to be an influence on the decision-making of the team.” Yet you still seek to bring levity. “Wouldn’t want to sway the vote. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest when you would have held me to different standards, boss ”

“I already do”, he confesses softly, and watches with satisfaction as the words brighten up your face, the same way it makes you shy away. Yet as much as he’d prefer to make you see the truth, clear as the snow outside, he redirects.

“I’d rather you’d told me. We might have been better off another night in Florida”

“In that motel room?” you echo, brows up, “Are you kidding me? I slept with moths and mosquitoes in my room. I’ll let you know I didn’t impact that building’s electricity bill at all. I shouldn’t have even paid since the showers were inhumanely hot too.”

Surely that had been the deciding factor for all of them to want to leave Florida at once in favor of Alaska.

“I didn’t even sleep well”, you say under your breath, and cross your arms before you, frowning. “If anything I would have left Florida even if you’d said the case was in Antarctica”

He watches with amusement as you finally meet his eyes. Once unable to do so, after the place you’d both found yourselves in, your gaze is challenging again. Teasing.

“Are you telling me you had a better time in Florida?”

“It was fine”, he says, not admitting to anything.

You sigh, no smile yet so he continues.

“It was humid but we did have air conditioning—”

“Yes,” you murmur talking over him, “one in 3 rooms had it and my room wasn’t the lucky one.”

Hotch goes on, unaffected, “-- and Derek bought those tablets for insects to install in the room. If you’d only plugged one in a socket…”

You lean forward, to be heard though your voice doesn’t raise in volume, “The rechargeable night light which doubled as a pesticide? Which smelled like chemicals and expired?”

“And even the quality of the motel wasn’t up to perfect standards the restaurant nearby was satisfactory,” He has to stifle the smile that wants to escape. You fully sit up this time, the tiniest wince shadowing your face as you switch into sitting cross-legged and move even closer, arms falling away at your sides.

“ You mean the restaurant which was open from 11am until 3pm and then only two hours at dinner time? The only restaurant open for miles in that location?”

“The food was good – great even.” Hotch insists, “ Someone even called it a contender for Michelin stars”

Your right hand curled into a fist lands on top of his knee. “Why did you have to remember that? I mentioned it once. In passing.”

One of his brows shoots up, but he doesn’t smile just yet. It would be admitting defeat – your positions switched whenever you both argue over something.

Your smile, on the contrary, is tentative. Triumphant even, the minute he notices a memory flash in your head.

“Remember the second night?” He halts as you speak, and in retrospect that is a mistake. Finally all attention is on you. “When you suggested we order take out from there?”

How could he not remember when he had gotten the urge, for the first time in his life, to walk back to the establishment and demand his dinner – which had arrived in the little boxes all scattered and pressed as if someone had sat on them before the delivery driver had handed them out to Derek. He’d even considered Yelp and one-star reviews. The sudden burst of anger was so cataclysmic that of course, you’d notice first.

It had been you who’d marched back to the building and said no more than a few impolite words. You’d both agreed to pretend like Hotch hadn’t joined in halfway into that speech.

“Don’t”, he warns, “Don’t bring it up”

Your attempt at appearing formal falls short, immediately, because your hair comes apart from the strict do. Wild strands frame the sides of your neck and cheeks, and that same sunburnt look graces your face.

“But I will,” you argue, your fist bumping three times over his knee to punctuate your words, “Nothing to complain – my butt.” An indignant scoff, “ You wanted to flee Florida faster than the rest of us. If you hadn’t been already around us, having that phone call, I’m certain you would have called the pilot first to give commands to Alaska.”

The sheet and the duvet and any semblance of a cover have been forgotten. They never even cross your mind as you’re in a full-blown out winning argument – gesticulating with arms and body.

“I know with goddamned certainty you would have walked into the cockpit and turned that plane around if we had been mid-flight too.”

“I’m not a pilot”, he offers, his one-track mind diverted. Your shoulders are bare to the air. Thin straps pool at the sides, right next to the sheet at your biceps . Bare, he realizes, his mouth dry. Unlike him clad in pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, you seem to be the opposite. A fire tendril reminds him of the state of your leg too – his palm had been wrapped up comfortably over bare thigh not as if he’d urged the position but had found comfort in discovering it there. Had made sure it didn’t move back.

“I’m not so certain that is the truth.” You spearhead the argument, unencumbered. “That there might even be a field you know nothing of – seems impossible to me.”

The last trail of decency perspires with his sanity of mind – the cover slipping further below your collarbones.

Hotch calls your name with gentle urgency, and tears his eyes away from yours at once.

Not before he notices the heat spreading across the unblemished skin. Neck and top of your chest – apparently they get sunburned too.

“Oh,” your breath is a shiver. He feels it from the head of his hair to the tip of his toes. “Sorry”

Your knuckles stay over his leg, while the other pulls up the sheet. He feels your eyes on him still, and the tension that fills the air is unlike the one before. Awkward and stifling.

His voice sounds foreign in the room. “Are you…”

“No”, you let out at once, “I have shorts on and well… a stupid goddamn tank top.” You tuck back up the thin straps, frustrated and breathing heavy.

“God, I’m sorry again”

He turns sensing something else in your voice: hurt.

“Nothing to be sorry about”, he reassures, “nothing at all”

“Easy to say,” you mumble, “when you’re the one in decent clothing.”

“You are too”, he says with some fight, not allowing you to reprimand yourself.

“Come on,” you murmur, staring at your hand over his leg, “We haven’t even gone swimming together. Not sure anyone is meant to see this much from a coworker before.” Your tone of voice chokes him up, “Thought bleeding out and clothes teared at the back of an ambulance was going to be the height of it.”

A reflex as normal as breathing, Hotch reaches for your hand, clasps it over his knee. He must be the only one who feels the jolt of the touch. Pushes through it because he won’t ever let you spiral into the dark motions of insecurity and shame.

You’d had this discussion more times than a few. A wound as the one you’d bared was no easy feat. Not only did it impact your job for months, having you stationed in the office and out of the field. It has done a number on your self esteem too. The health counselor had helped you come to terms with associating the value you bring at work with the one you hold within yourself.

Hotch had been unaware of the fight going inside you at the time. Some of the frustration had been angled towards him too, being the unit chief and the one commanding your stay-in. That was, until one late night Friday, he'd ordered you to stay seated after everyone had left, and he’d come clean about New York.

Hotch had never brought up New York in the months and years that followed. Not even to the people that had saved his life: Derek and Penelope. The ones who’d seen him bleed and scream, shrapnel on his skin after the SUV he was supposed to get in with Kate had exploded before the two of them.

He wasn’t sure Penelope even knew how long he’d clung unto Kate’s hands, after. Derek had because he’d been the one to pull him up, firm hands under his elbows.

Hotch watches the emotions on your face play out with the story unraveling.

He would have liked to lie until death if possible, never wanting to bear having you see him as anything else but frail and vulnerable. But that hadn’t seemed to help you and he was at wit’s end. Dark undereye circles and similar body exhaustion – Hotch had been feeling the consequence of you pulling away from his companionship.

“I don’t know what to say”, you conclude after minutes in silence. The air conditioning in the building had been shut off; the entire office was dull.

Hotch stares down at his empty hands, the memory of holding you in them long vanquished.

“There is nothing to say”, he inhales deeply, “I was reminded of it because Strauss requested I attend a conference in NYC next month.”

“Shit,” you shake your head, your hands over the table slightly trembling. “I can’t stand her”

Hotch smiles.

“Can’t someone else go? Can’t you miss it?”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t serve me any good in the long term.” He leans over the table, his voice conspiratorial, “It’s a large piece of land with five boroughs – the jet would have to land there sometime.”

“Right,” you nod. He stands up before he feels compelled to confess other vulnerabilities. You do the same, both mutually agreeing not to bring it up.

He'd thought for sure that had been in it but a month later, inside the elevator, you’d broached the topic.

“Are you meant to head out alone?”

His gaze pans to yours.

“To New York?”

“No”, he replies.

You nod, staring at the doors, before turning to him to ask, “You leave on the 11 th ?”

“Yes”

“Count me in, then. I’ll bring my paperwork with me.”

Surprise and a tinge of something else but he hadn’t argued back.

Months later, you’d willingly knocked on the bedroom door out in another state, everyone getting ready to pack and leave after the case had been solved successfully.

Your second one back in the fieldwork. Surprisingly for him, you’d followed all his orders to not strain yourself. Closer to Rossi and Reid, helping with their work in different precincts. Conducting interviews and examinations, and around more people than precedent.

“I don’t know how to act like before”, you lean back against his door frame, voice a muddled whisper, rivaling the noise of the heater he’s yet to turn off. The air is stale inside the bedroom. Dusty furniture and nothing remarkable apart from the fact he’s the one occupying it.

He finishes zipping up his go-bag, throws it further over the made bed but doesn’t turn around; overly familiar with the hardship of opening up to someone while looking into their eyes.

“I don’t think I used to be careless or freer before- before the shooting”, a soft, subdued bump, your body slumped against the door, eyes almost closed. “I didn’t think there would be anything different about me – people get shot all the time in our line of work but I am different.”

At the silence, Hotch turns to sit down at the corner, elbows over his thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling different.”

“That’s just it, right? It could have been worse…should have been. I know how lucky I am.” The hurt in your gaze is not hidden. “That’s why I feel so stupid to say this now—” a gulp, “I’m acutely aware of my leg”

Hotch pauses. “Aware?”

He meets your gaze though he doesn’t find amusement there, only the echo of regret, guilt and sorrow.

“It’s as if everywhere I go or what-whatever I wear, my leg has been painted red and everyone can see it. As if I’m carrying with me a marker that tells everyone how much I was hurt or that I’m not the same”

You cross the floor of his bedroom and perch on the other corner of the bed, leaving the door wide open.

“Physical therapy helped with being back on the field and retrieving my stamina. Then again…”

You mimic his position, and look down at your feet - at the phantom of the bullet wound on your thigh. Hotch hadn’t left your side in the hospital. He hadn’t dared to when he’d never felt fright like the one that day. He hadn’t reeled it in either. Long stays by your bed after recovery, talks with the nurses and doctors, and when you weren’t on painkillers or somber – you’d both act like him holding your hand in his, chatting about easy things was normal.

The wound had brought you closer for a few weeks, until therapy began, and until he made it clear you were not to return to work for some time  Until the reminder that he is your boss froze the progress made.

Anger and frustration built and it eased up only after the talk on New York.

Still. None of you dare touch the other. Funny that, Hotch thinks, staring back at his hands. He’s come to terms that he might have just pictured it all in his head.

“I’m doing good mentally”, you say convincingly, hands moving as you gesture. “There are no more nightmares or panic attacks. I’m good in that respect.”

“If anything I feel more regulated now, with the tools I have on how to deal with a bad case or another bad scenario. I just…”

“Just?” He pushes a little.

You push your hands through your hair, remaking a ponytail and then giving up, fingers unsteady. “I feel hideous.”

The turn to watch him is so quick, Hotch equates it to the same reflexes out in the field. As if he would laugh or be insensitive to your feelings.

“I can’t look at myself in the mirror”, you swallow thickly, “For god’s sake I can’t wear dresses anymore”

You disguise the tremble in your voice with a laugh. “I know it’s stupid in the grand scheme of things. You can say so. It’s all in my head.”

You slap your hands over your knees and stand. “Well. Thanks for hearing me out. It’s not New York 2.0 at least.”

“Wait—"

All those hesitations that had frozen Hotch into place fall away. You stare at his hand clasped around your wrist, pleading with you not to leave. Another minutiae reflex.

 “Hotch, I’m fine”, the words in your mouth wobble and face to face he finally notes the tears gathered in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me what you’re going through,” he rushes out first, “However unimportant you think it is, I always, always value what you share.”

You bite your lip, frowning so not to cry. His hand traces back to hold yours steadily, his thumb making soft circles over your knuckles.

“You went through something traumatic.” Fuck, he did too, that day. “Give yourself some time”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping further. “Sure, Hotch. Time is all I have as a medicine lately.”

Your fingers squeeze his before tugging you tug your hand away. You give him a weak smile. “I hope it fixes my self esteem too eventually, when I think nobody finds me attractive anymore--”

“But you are.” Hotch stands abruptly, and he doesn’t think before he blurts. “You’re a beautiful woman”

The stance you’re both in – close but not too much, a stand-down but not technically one, both of you frowning and looking almost angry at one another – might appear to an outsider as if you’re both arguing. Even in the back of the ambulance, you’d fought all the way.

“Hotch…”, your voice is a warning, and you’re about to roll your eyes – he can tell. “Honestly, this is all…nice, but I wasn’t looking for fake compliments”

You grimace when he doubles down. “Fake?” he sputters. “Fake? You think I’d lie about this?”

“Come on…”

“I don’t let out vacuous words.”

“Yes, when you’re on the job or whatever but I’d rather you not give me empty flattery…”

“I am being honest”

“I doubt it’s the same as when you pointed out Spencer’s awful new haircut…”

“I mean it”

Your reaction – a scoff and a glower – makes him fight harder. The anger climbing up his bloodstream is inane. It makes his entire body overheat.

“How about you tell me?” He pulls you in swiftly, a quick gasp parting your mouth open. His intense eyes meet yours – narrowing. The tears in yours dry out as you gaze up at him. “Tell me if I’m being dishonest with you: you’re the single most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life”

Those eyes of yours – the color sometimes sprouting up in his dreams when he couldn’t sleep – meet his mouth for a fraction of a second before darting away. Blush dusts your cheeks and your legs wobble.

His heart does the strangest thing: starting up a new hurried rhythm.

“So? What’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat and straighten, extracting your hand from his grip. “Truth”

You put a step between each other. “Thank you”, you mumble, “but you don’t have to do that”

The fire from the fight – or maybe your presence - had ignited in him still but he wants it to die down quicker than this. “What was the solution, angel? Let you doubt yourself?”

 Even regret, he’ll battle if he has to, though his own is more due to his poor memory.

“I don’t mind at all, angel,” he says softly. Sweet as you look right now, he feels weak to his bones. Thus he bites his tongue, omitting just how beautiful he finds you right now.

“Good,” you reply, blushing “good then… I’m, uh, glad. I’m relieved I have these on when I usually sleep with far less.”

Another tear in his heart.

“I was going to bet you slept in a full suit,” you mock with a smile, “Penelope and Spencer have theories, though his were that it was more of a nightdress and night cap situation – Disney’s Scrooge rendition.”

A chuckle escapes him. “No hats.”

“Your best pal, Dave, isn’t helping the allegations either. The things he’s said behind your back…” None of you notice the gravitational pull, both your arms now resting over his legs.

He laughs at the giddiness on your face. “Would I want to know?”

“He’s mentioned a silk suit once or twice”, you shrug, laughing, “so it doesn’t wrinkle during sleep. Smart, but unrealistic”

“Sure.” He smiles back, “Not as much as a hat you wear to bed”

“I denied that theory too”

“Good to know”, he gives your hand a small squeeze; your other clutching loosely the hem of his shirt, distracted by its softness, “I wouldn’t want people thinking that of me.”

“I’m protecting your honor if anything”, you continue, enjoying the tangent this conversation has taken. He’s too taken by the shine of your eyes to care. Too caught on your every word. “I had something to say against the suit as well. Penelope didn’t consider the summer.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head, all serious, “what a mistake”

“Not breathable with all those layers…”

“What was your theory?”, Hotch has both of his hands softly wrapped around yours, massaging the muscle of your forearm. He’s convinced himself not to linger on the goosebumps pebbling your skin. It could be a result of the fireplace, or the temperatures.

Your teeth latch onto the softness of your lower lip. “It wasn’t anything too crazy like Derek joked about…”

One of his brows goes up in question.

“Birthday suit”, you respond with a stifled laugh. “I simply said you’d probably prefer comfort. Boxers and a soft tee.”

The words are hushed, intimate.

Your fingers toy with his shirt, “Though I would have preferred a white one.”

His mind is hazy and slow. “Preferred?” He blinks.

“Not that this one isn’t…good”, your breath fans his chin, and looking up at him, you say, “White would make you soft… gentle. Opposite of what you appear on the outside but how you truly are from within.”

He lets his eyes fall shut. He hurries for something wise to say, the ground beneath him having tilted. “I do choose comfort above all else”

“I know”, your fingertips sneak underneath his shirt and the first touch makes his whole body tense up, though your hand stops there. The muscles of his stomach ripple. “You’re burning”

His large palms engulf your arms, rubbing up and down slowly. The tremble of your breath is hot against his jaw, your mouth near.

“As warm as the fireplace”, you let out a laugh, though you don’t move away from the breadth of his body. Hotch watches in fascination the shiver taking over yours.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“Mhmm”, you shake your head. A strand of your hair tickles his chin. He watches your eyelids flutter shut and the moments remain suspended.

God, how he wishes he’d bottle up this feeling every single time it occurs . A piece of him lives in each of them too, every time they happen.

The first time he’d felt time pause, and resume trickling slowly had been when you’d both shared a dinner together. Nothing peculiar over that night. Not the food, nor the location. Not even the city the BAU had been stranded in for a case. Nothing except for the company. You, sitting on a barstool, elbows perched over the marble ordering greasy food, still in work clothes, neat and polished, but your hair loose over your shoulders.

“I’m not mad about it”, you speak softly, pulling him back to this present moment. You tilt your head to look up at him, “When I realized…”

He nods, a massive boulder of a weight loosening from over his chest.

“I was conflicted –” you swallow, “embarrassed too”

He encourages you to continue with comforting touches, gentle patterns on your arms formed by his thumbs.

“I was thinking, what if you kick me out of bed? And I think I’d have relived the shootout again instead.”

He shakes his head, “Never. I would never have”

“I know—”

A breath rushes out of him when your hand splays over his stomach, having dared to reach fully under his shirt. You’ve always been more courageous than him, he thinks. In another life he would have already crashed the distance. Pulled you into his arms and tasted your mouth.

“I think I’m… Happy.”

Your eyes full of emotion do it for him. Something compels him, a deeper pull than anything he’s ever experienced.

That’s when the knock on the door resounds.

You both retreat with a smile. You untangle your legs from him, shifting away from his lap.

“It’s okay you can get it”, you say, “but let’s not go back like nothing happened once you do”

Hotch brushes a kiss on the top of your head. On your temple. On the apple of your cheek before standing up. “I’d die if I did, angel.”

Turns out behind the door awaits none other than hotel room service – something Hotch didn’t know was provided in this tiny establishment. He takes the trays and lines them on the table. Waffles and eggs and fruits, together with freshly brewed and hot coffee. The concierge tells him it had been prepaid by Hotch himself, the night before, though ordered for past midnight with a message he’d left on the phone.

“Wow,” you let out, “That’s a lot of food”

He hands you a coffee and sits down at the foot of the bed.

“I know.”

“Maybe we are smarter while drunk”, you say overjoyed, taking a plate of waffles.

He settles with the plate with eggs and bacon. “I wonder how wise we are when we can’t remember everything…”

The memory of the night before would return. 

Hours later. Long after you’re both sated with food and the company. Again in bed, but this time sober and fully aware of how you curl around Hotch’s body, and how he tucks you against him.

Another few hours of sleep, until both minds and bodies were fully rested. Followed swiftly with fevered grasps. Kisses that were bound to happen at last.

“Absinthe” you laugh, pointing at Hotch like he hadn’t been in the same room where Derek had pulled out a full bottle of alcohol out of thin air like a magician.

“Are you going to penalize him over it? Will it impact his annual agent evaluation?”

Your laughter is loud enough to wake up the entire hotel – the entire small city. His jaw hurts from grinning all night. Hotch grabs your hand in his once he notices how unsteady your feet are as you walk down the hallway.

You wrap your other arm around his, “Are you going to, Aaron?”

“I wouldn’t”, he smiles down at you. He’s lightheaded but not drunk on the one glass he had.

“I feel unsteady.”

“How much did you drink?"

You happily sigh, leaning fully into his side, cheek against his bicep. “I don't know. I must be drunk. I’m taking pills so it probably messed me up.”

“What do you feel?”

“I don’t know”, you huff out, “restless and exasperated. Like my heart is in my throat too. Maybe I might get sick”

“Oh, angel” You smother your smile against his arm. He reaches with his free hand to touch your forehead and feel for temperature. “You’re fine. You’re not hot”

But you don’t move away and neither does he. Both having stopped in the middle of the hall, nowhere near either of your rooms.

You’re warm. Eyes intense and stirring like clouds before a storm. Entire face heated and… blushing?  Unmoving from your position next to him, you lean into his touch, his hand dropping to engulf the side of your face.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Your eyes flutter closed before opening to gaze at him in wonder. “In your bedroom?”

“You could take my bed”, he murmurs. His thumb traces a line from your cheek down to your jaw. “I’ll be there if you need me”

“Nonsense”, you blurt, “We can share”

He doesn’t know how he manages to make it to his room. He’s in a daze, dreaming surely, even though you’re solid and warm against him. His key is in your hands, unlocking his door. His hands on the small of your back, comforting and steady. He feels on fire just from your presence, from the act of watching you hurrying to get into a room you’ll both spend the night in.

The innocence of it all is intimate. His heart beats rhythmically fast and he feels it everywhere on his skin.

“Make yourself comfortable”, his voice is unwavering as he folds his suit jacket on a piece of furniture. He can’t help but be fast in his motions, like this is all part of a dream unless he’s not under the covers as fast as possible.

A like-mindedness you share as well. Your clothes end up in heaps on the floor. You quickly tuck yourself under the covers.

That lightheadedness makes him stumble. He’ll dry out – die out - feeling your body against his. If not from the emotions he’s kept hidden for so long, then it will because of the warmth you’d exuded.

“Good idea”, you say as he leaves a window open. “I love feeling the sun on me when I wake up.”

It must be real, after all. He pauses, thinking of other things that might make your stay as comfortable as possible.

“The fireplace?”

“That’s okay” your voice is muffled by the duvet up to your nose. “After we wake up”

That reminds him.

“Breakfast?”

You nod enthusiastically. You had skipped dinner because of work so the only other thing he looks forward to – apart from waking up to your face in the morning – is sharing breakfast together.

After a message left to the receptionist, he lies down, pulls the covers up to his stomach.

“Mhm, it’s nicer than my bed” you say through a yawn. You reach for his forearm, squeezing it lightly once. “Goodnight, Aaron”

He brushes a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, goosebumps chasing it on your skin. “’Night, angel"

============

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygrangerreading @hotchs-bitch @skyler6666 @rousethemousee @arsonhotchner @ssa-izzy @fatherhotchner @anetoupekelly

tagging people who've interacted w part 1 :)

@azenpal @mischiefmanaged71 @fromthewalls @jhiddlesbatchles03 @jasmine-galaxies @jaspxr @multiobsession @caprisunzz

This one is so beautiful and perfect 😍😍💖💖

Faultless - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 7.5k / navi / preview

Summary: After a car accident leaves you with a painful concussion, Hotch volunteers to be your live-in nurse so that you don't have to stay at the hospital. He's hellbent on spending the weekend doting on you, drowning in guilt because of the accident and your subsequent injury, but you're hellbent on spending the weekend getting him out of his bad mood.

Contents/Warnings: typical cm case mentions, slight gore/mentions of injuries, reader has a concussion, hotch is sad :((

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

“Easy,” Aaron muttered, his breath short from lugging your bags up the stairs while supporting you under one arm, “Don’t trip.”

You felt around the doorframe with your foot, making a point of stepping over the wooden board on the floor and crossing the threshold into your apartment. You had been exhausted before having to climb up thirteen flights of stairs, and you were going to complain for a very long time about the elevator being out of service on the one day you needed it the most.

You felt around blindly for your couch, gently tugging yourself out of Aaron’s grasp to sit down on the padded cushions. You could feel him still hovering over you, the concerned frown that had been settled on his lips all day probably still in place, but you couldn’t muster up enough professionality to open your eyes, to pretend like your head wasn’t splitting itself open from the inside out.

Your throbbing headache was the result of a rather concerning concussion, one that you’d acquired from your head hitting the dashboard after an unsub had rammed their vehicle into your own. You had been in the passenger’s seat, and thankfully the van had hit you by spinning out and sliding into your bumper instead of t-boning you. You were certain you’d be dead if he’d hit anywhere else.

You wanted to say that you escaped unscathed, but you hadn’t. Aaron’s hand hadn’t quite shot out fast enough to cover your chest and keep you pressed against the seat, instead it had brushed against your shoulder as you lurched forwards in your seat, your skull slamming into the dashboard. 

The medics had said it was only the locking of your seatbelt that had kept you alive. If it hadn’t given what little restraint it could offer (subsequently burning a line into your neck from where it slashed across your skin), you’d have shot completely forward, probably catapulting through the dashboard and dying before you hit the ground.

You’d never been more thankful for seatbelts.

You heard your bag being set down beside the sofa, then the soft click of your door being shut. Hotch was light on his feet as he trekked back through your apartment to stand beside the couch, not wanting to make your headache worse by storming around.

You heard rustling from beside your head, and you blearily peeled open your eyes to look for Hotch. He was much closer than you’d expected, kneeling on the carpet beside you, one of his hands reaching for the bandage on your forehead while the other held a new, fresh one.

“I need to replace this,” He tapped lightly against the end of the bandage, “You bled through it.”

You groaned at the harsh lighting above you, but knew that he needed it to rebandage your cut, so you nodded. You let your eyes drift shut again, only wincing momentarily as Hotch peeled the blood-soaked bandage from your wound and began tending to it.

You were somewhat surprised at how attentive Aaron was being. He had been kind to you since day one, letting you know that the rumors you’d probably heard about him from the rest of the team were just jokes, that he didn’t bite, and wouldn’t rip your head off. He’d apparently noticed your reluctance to relax around him, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t scared off by his reputation. You quickly learned that there were truths in both sides of the story, that he frowned far too often for his own good, but that he was a softie at heart.

You supposed that he had volunteered to take care of you after the crash for three reasons.

One being that he had been driving when you’d gotten into the impromptu accident. Of course, it hadn’t been his fault, the situation was out-of-control. But he often blamed himself for any casualties that happened on-site, simply because he was the Unit Chief. It meant that he was often plagued with guilt over situations that didn’t even concern him, and you’d have to be sure to comfort him later about it.

Two being that you were rather young for an agent. You had joined the team far earlier in your career than almost anyone else had, (save for Reid, of course), so you were, regrettably, babied. Sometimes it was more subtle and caring, like Prentiss remembering to pack your favorite snacks in her bag just in case you didn’t bring any. Or how Derek was always quick to offer up his windbreaker when you were outside without a jacket. But most of the time it was teasing, the way an older sibling would mock the younger one. 

When it was mockery, it usually consisted of playful shoves in the elevator, aggressive pinches to the cheeks, and constant mentions of you being half their ages or more. You were never discredited as a team member because of your age, but everyone was always jumping at the chance to remind you that you were young enough to be Rossi’s child.

That particular joke hadn’t gone over well with Rossi, either.

Then the third reason, similar to the second, you were their newest agent. Your age and your time at the BAU were significantly shorter than anyone else’s, and while one again, no one ever thought you incapable, you noticed that everyone had a tendency to watch over you a little more than they did anyone else.

Especially Hotch. You’d thought yourself delusional the first time you realized that he seemed to hover over you, side-stepping in front of you in potentially dangerous situations and sending medics to you before anyone else. But you’d come to accept that he was especially doting, even if he’d never admit it through the surly frown on his face.

This was extremely evident now. The unsub had died in the crash, a suicide committed so that he wouldn’t have to face years in prison. That left you and Hotch as the only surviving victims, and he’d pulled his seatbelt right out of the wall trying to get out of the car and around to help you. 

--

“Y/L/N,” He shook your shoulders urgently, “Y/L/N, wake up!” 

Your head was throbbing, your throat dry from screaming, and your neck burning from the scratch of the seatbelt. You wanted so desperately to let yourself go, to succumb to the comfortable darkness that threatened to envelop you whole, but the full-blown panic in Hotch’s voice stopped you. You’d never heard it that frantic before, and you used almost all of your strength to peel your eyes open, your head pounding at the sunlight.

“I need an ambulance,” He shouted into his earpiece, the sound only making your headache worse, “We have a federal agent down!”

“Don’t close your eyes.” He urged, his panic-riddled gaze flitting over your bloodied face. He held your head up, your neck too fatigued to support it, “Look at- dammit, look at me, Y/N, don’t close your eyes!”

You tried saying something, anything, but your chest was heavy and your mouth wouldn’t open. You saw the anxiety in his eyes, you wanted to reassure him that you’d keep your eyes open, that you’d pull through for him, but nothing came out. Instead, you studied his face, your eyes grazing over every stunning feature it displayed. His nose, ever-so-slightly crooked, was divided in half by an angry red gash. His eyebrow was slit similarly, a red ooze trickling down his cheek. His lips, always held in that intimidating frown of his, were trembling slightly, his teeth digging into the backs of them to hold in a sob. His hair was caked with sweat and blood, a crimson trail making its way down his temple, but you knew he’d be okay. 

He watched you watch him, his panic dwindling each time you blinked and your eyes reopened. The moment between you two was serene in a morbid way, both aware of the other’s near-death and both relishing in the other’s life. His own breathing was shaky, nearly shakier than yours, but he grounded himself with one hand on your cheek, the other behind your head and supporting your neck.

Sirens sounded throughout the wooded road, and the next unsteady sigh that came out of your mouth was one of relief. Hotch reluctantly looked away from your face, tracking the van that screeched to a halt in front of the crash site and rushed over to you both.

Hotch had helped load you onto the stretcher that they prepared for you, his hand never leaving your cheek as the other slipped around your waist. You stared blankly up at whatever happened to be in front of your face, but as you were loaded into the ambulance, your eyes lingered on Hotch’s bloodied form, standing outside and craning his neck to watch you be hauled into the back of the ambulance.

A medic began asking him what hurt, what possible injuries he might have, and if he could remember any part of his body getting hit specifically. But he didn’t answer while the doors were still open on you, only looking away when they shut in his face, obscuring his view of you.

--

You were honestly jealous that he’d escaped in such great condition. All he had to show for the accident was a sprained wrist and a few cuts, and your brain had been slammed into your skull.

You were jealous, but not resentful. You were glad that he hadn’t gotten injured further, especially because it meant that he was cleared to take care of you. The rest of your team had all volunteered, even Rossi stepping up to offer his nursing services. But Hotch had insisted, a self-loathing glint in his eyes as he told you he’d make sure you were alright over the weekend.

And as he kneeled beside your head on the couch, his tongue pinched between his lips in intense concentration as he rebandaged one of your cuts, you knew he would deliver on his promise. You just wished he wasn’t doing it out of guilt.

“That should last for a few hours.” Aaron smoothed the bandage onto your skin, his voice as low as humanly possible so as not to aggravate your headache further, “We’ll change them again after dinner.”

You let out a soft groan, raising one hand to cover your eyes, “I forgot about dinner.”

“You don’t have to eat if you’re not up for it.” Hotch used your coffee table for support as he stood.

“No, no,” You shook your head slightly, moving as little as humanly possible while doing so, “I meant, like, I don’t have anything here that we could eat. My fridge is empty.”

“It’s fine.” His hand came to rest on your shoulder for a second, a reassuring gesture because you couldn’t see his face, “We can order pizza.”

“Pizza,” You nodded hazily, “Yeah, pizza sounds good. I’ve got cash in the drawer,” You motioned vaguely to your kitchen, knowing full well you hadn’t been specific enough for him to locate it, “I’ll call later and we can-”

“Y/N,” Aaron interrupted you gently, “Don’t worry about that now. You need to take your painkillers, and the doctor said they’d make you drowsy. Why don’t you take them now, and you can nap until dinner?”

“But- but it’s already nine,” You protested weakly, “It’s too late for me to nap.”

“These are not normal circumstances,” You felt the couch dip by your feet, and you bent your legs, your calves pressed flush to your thighs, “You nap whenever you feel tired.”

“Are you hungry?” You peeked one eye open, wanting to see any hidden information he might have withheld from you otherwise.

“No,” He shook his head, and from what you could see of him, he looked truthful, “I can wait.”

You let your eye slip shut again, nodding once, “Okay. Where are the pills?”

They were harder to swallow than you thought they’d be, large and grainy and awkwardly-shaped. Aaron had to support the back of your neck while you sipped, and his other hand supported the water glass from the bottom, your hands too shaky to ensure a safe drink.

The water was heavenly, though, and you regretted not asking for some earlier. Your throat, dry and cracked from screaming during the accident, was soothed quickly by the icy liquid, and you finished the entire glass in only a few big sips.

“I can get you more, if you want?” Aaron’s voice came from directly beside you, and you shook your head lightly, slumping back down onto the pillows.

“No thanks,” You breathed, “I just want to nap.”

You felt a hand on your thigh, pressed close to your knee in a reassuring pat. Then a blanket was draped over you, most likely the fuzzy blue one that laid on the arm of your couch.

“Sleep for as long as you need,” Aaron’s final words to you sent a thrum of endearment up your spine that blossomed in your chest, “I’ll stay right here with you.”

Aaron fought the urge to reach out once more, letting his hand take up permanent residence on your leg. The gesture had been comforting, of course, but he couldn’t deny that it had felt cozy, natural even. He had never been one to get lost in his fantasies, but the single touch had him imagining all of the other blissfully domestic scenarios in which he could replicate it.

You’d be watching a scary movie, your brows furrowed in anxiety. You’d flinch at a jumpscare, tighten your hold on his arm, and he’d shift his hand over to your thigh, squeezing it gently in reassurance.

Or you’d be on the jet after a long case, your head slumped onto his shoulder. He’d rest his hand on your thigh, a soft but intimate gesture, so that you knew you could relax.

Or he’d be laying beside you in bed, his head on the pillow as your back rested against the headboard. He’d reach up and squeeze your thigh softly, compelling you to set down your book and finally lay down to sleep beside him.

His breath hitched and shame burned at his cheeks when he realized that he’d just let himself get lost fantasizing about being in bed beside his coworker. You were recovering from a concussion, one that he blamed himself for, and he was having delusions of married life with you.

He stood from the couch abruptly, shaking his head slightly at his unprofessional behavior. Your little apartment was stuffy from being closed up for five days straight, and he set off towards the windows, keeping the shades pulled for your head’s sake but slipping the windows open underneath. Fresh air rushed into the room and he breathed it in desperately, as if it would purge him of his delusions. 

He shut his eyes momentarily, exhaustion gripping at him but panic keeping him awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the way he felt when your head had hit the dashboard.

He had reached out as soon as he’d seen it coming, desperately trying to catch you before you could get hurt. But he hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been enough. You had slammed face first into the dashboard, a blood-curdling scream torn from your throat as your nose cracked. It was still crooked, swollen and bloody, but Aaron had just replaced the bandage over its bridge, and you’d mentioned that there was ice in the freezer if the swelling didn’t go down.

None of his own injuries were on his mind as he replayed the accident, the sinking hole in his chest as he’d watched you hit your head. You’d crumbled against the dashboard on impact, and he swore he’d never felt as much raw panic as he had in that moment. Being unable to get to you for those few short seconds had been agonizing, and he’d do anything to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. 

Once he’d finally gotten to you it was like it wasn’t real. He was holding you, you were looking at him, he was looking at you, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel real that you were injured, and at the same time, it didn’t feel real that you weren’t dead. Nothing about the scenario felt real, and he’d stood there in paralyzing panic as he waited for the ambulance.

He’d been a wreck on the ride back. They hadn’t let him into your ambulance, and he’d kept eye contact with you until he couldn’t see you anymore, the doors shutting on your near-lifeless frame.

He hadn’t even accepted his own hospital room, forcing Reid to give the doctors one of his infamous ‘second opinions’ so that he could deny treatment and reach you faster. He was almost certain that the young doctor had only done so out of fear of losing his job, because the intensity that he knew had been present in his gaze at the time scared Reid.

As soon as the doctors had let him go, reluctantly so, he’d taken up a chair by your bedside, waiting restlessly for you to wake.

He turned back to your sleeping form on the couch, ready to go and sit down again. He wanted to sleep too, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to, so he settled for the idea of sitting beside you, staring into oblivion while you slept. It was the most rest he was going to get for a few days, if his guilt never died down.

He realized that you’d shifted in your sleep, your feet now stretched out to the other couch cushion, the one he’d been sitting on. He started for one of your chairs, stopping before he could lower himself into one, and glancing back at you. 

He needed to be with you.

Holding your drained, near-lifeless body had been terrifying. He had felt your breathing shallow, had seen your eyes struggle to open, had watched the life dim in your eyes. Sitting across the room from you at that moment seemed like his personal hell, his fingers itched to feel the warmth of your skin and his ears longed to hear your calm, even breaths.

He padded to the couch, reaching carefully for your feet. He slid his hands under your ankles, lifting them off of the cushions and turning, sinking down onto the couch and resting your feet in his lap. 

It felt perfect, he could feel you, he could see you, he could hear you, but it felt wrong. It felt intimate, just like his hand on your thigh had. He lectured himself once more on not being delusional, his brain already cooking another domestic vision up before he could stop it. He kept his eye on you, his cheek resting against the back of the couch as his eyes drooped. Your chest rose and fell steadily, your eyes shut snugly, the bandage on your forehead no longer soaking up fresh blood. Your injuries were starting to heal, and Hotch took solace in the fact that you wouldn’t be plagued by your cuts anymore.

But your concussion, that would last. He knew that you’d be okay, it hadn’t been fatal, but you were going to suffer for a while. Guilt and despair once again stabbed at his chest as he thought about what it would be like if he had just caught you, if he’d reached over a split second sooner.

--

The painkillers that the doctor had prescribed you hadn’t fixed everything, but they had dulled your headache. It was a soft pounding now, instead of the raging fire that had burned behind your eyes. You blinked them open hazily, squinting around the darkened apartment and shifting to do so. Your feet hit something solid, and you felt it move beneath them. You peered at the other end of the couch, seeing your feet stretched out over Hotch’s lap as he dozed.

His face was set in a deep frown, worse than the one that normally adorned his features, as one of his hands laid over your ankles. You had assumed that in sleep, Aaron would relax, but it seemed as if he was even more stressed than before.

You felt an instant pang of embarrassment, you must have shifted in your sleep to lay your legs over his lap. You chided yourself on probably making him uncomfortable, though you couldn’t deny the butterflies that flitted around your stomach at the feeling of being so domestically intimate with him.

When he wasn’t barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. Actually, even when he was barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. You’d tried to suppress your feelings towards him, especially because he wasn’t just your coworker, but your boss, and you thought you had succeeded. Sure, the feeling of his hand on your cheek had been nice, the rampant concern in his eyes after the crash had been endearing, but you knew you had to settle for just being friends.

Your stomach grumbled, as if on cue after you’d just woken up, and you tugged your feet out of Aaron’s lap, sitting up cautiously against the arm of the couch. He didn’t seem to notice, although his unconscious frown deepened when his hand fell to his lap, and you grabbed your phone, ordering pizza for the both of you. You were happy that you remembered his favorite type of pizza from an impromptu late night at the office a while back, or you’d have had to wake him, and you wanted him to get all of the rest that he could. The delivery said it would be there in 20 minutes, and you used that time to get yourself another glass of water. It was a simple task, and your nap had apparently returned some of your basic capabilities, but you couldn’t deny that Aaron helping you drink had been better than drinking alone. The bottom of the glass was cold on your fingers, and you wistfully wanted his hand to be there instead.

You stood leaning against your kitchen cabinets, the living room behind a partition wall that shielded the couch from your view. Your apartment suddenly felt empty, and even though you knew Hotch was just sitting on your couch, you felt alone.

You weren’t sure how this would affect your feelings towards him. He’d already been so caring, so attentive towards you, and it was pushing you closer and closer towards a dangerous territory that you weren’t sure you’d ever come back from. You’d stayed sane by keeping a healthy distance between you, engaging in casual conversation or trading jokes, but pointedly avoiding sitting beside him in tight spaces or taking his jacket when he offered. Now that boundary was gone, and he was sleeping on your couch, your feet having been draped across his lap only minutes ago.

You were too lost in thought to hear the shuffling from your living room, but you were alerted to Aaron’s consciousness when he came rushing into the kitchen, eyes blown wide in panic before they settled on you.

“Y/N,” He breathed, his shoulders heaving as he let out a sigh of relief, “I thought- god, you were just gone, and I panicked.” He slumped forwards against the counter, blinking sleepily as he tried calming his pounding heart.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” You set your glass down, leaning over to set a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He nodded, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face and hissing in pain when it irritated one of his barely-healing cuts.

Blood began blossoming along the tear in his skin once more, and you tutted, pulling his hand away from his face. 

“You’re bleeding.” You reached for the bag of bandages that he’d set conveniently on the counter after patching you up, wetting a cotton ball with the disinfectant that sat beside it.

“You don’t have to-” He began, waving you off while prodding gently at his cut, but you cut him off, once again tugging his hand away from his cut.

“Just let me take care of it,” You barely caught yourself before saying ‘you’, deciding that ‘it’ was far less intimate. Your cheeks flared anyways, though, the knowledge that you’d almost slipped up haunting you as you cleaned up his cut.

The cut was on the apple of his cheek, just below his eye. Your thumb rested against the dark circle above it, the pliant skin flushed under your finger. You made a mental note to be sure he slept well this weekend, even if it would be on your couch for lack of a spare room. You felt his eyes on you as you cleaned up his cut, but pointedly avoided looking at him so as not to give yourself and your feelings away.

You weren’t sure if you’d survive gazing into his concerned eyes only inches away from his face.

You discarded the soiled cotton ball, your fingers slightly moistened by the chemical. The bandage crinkled beneath your fingers as you peeled the waxy paper from it, smoothly spreading the cloth over Aaron’s wound.

You left a soft tap on the pad of the bandage once you were finished, moving away to get yourself out of the potentially awkward situation as fast as possible. But you felt resistance, your eyes widening as you realized that Aaron’s hand was cupping the back of your neck. 

You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him placing it there, but the suggestive warmth that it brought you had your concussion and the car accident wiped completely from your mind. 

All that was there now was Aaron, his dark eyes staring intensely into your own as he tugged you closer so that your noses were brushing. He seemed just as transfixed as you were, barely breathing as he drank you in. The short, soft breaths that he was taking were fanning gently across your face, grounding you even more in his presence.

“Hotch,” You murmured, not wanting to shatter the serene silence with your voice, “We can’t.”

You wished you kissed him. You wished that you’d shut your mouth, pressed it to his, and moved on with your day. You wished you hadn’t said that, hadn’t prompted him to ask ‘Why not?’

“Because,” You breathed, your voice shaky as he leaned imperceptibly closer to you, “We have to-”

The sound of the buzzer to your apartment interrupted your moment, the atmosphere shattering at the harsh sound, ‘Delivery!’

“-go get the pizza! We have to go get the pizza.” You slipped your head out from under his hand, rushing for the door and leaving him standing over the kitchen counter.

You answered the door with shaking hands, nearly handing the pizza man a $50 instead of a $20 for your $15 order. 

Aaron slumped against the counter with a heavy sigh. 

He hadn’t meant to lose what little control he still possessed after the accident. He supposed that the shock and terror at nearly losing you made him want to ensure that he never lost you without telling you how he felt. But that didn’t excuse his actions, or the mortified exit that you’d made as soon as you’d gotten the chance. Clearly, he’d made you uncomfortable.

You brought the pizza back to the kitchen nearly in tears, terrified at possibly never getting the chance to kiss him again. You’d wanted to, you’d even brushed away any fear of losing your job out of desperation to reciprocate, but you’d panicked. You had panicked because what if it wasn’t good? What if he didn’t like it? What if it was a spur-of-the-moment that he’d regret later, and you’d be the one he kissed out of pity just because you’d almost died? You knew that both of you were high-strung, emotions running strong, and you were sure that it was the only reason he’d tried to kiss you. You wouldn’t let yourself believe that he had even an ounce of feelings for you, not the same way you had them for him. You wouldn’t let yourself enjoy temporary happiness if it meant that ever-lasting heartbreak would follow.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, “I’m so-”

“Do you want one slice, or two?” You cut him off, standing as tall and confidently as possible with the boxes in your hands.

Aaron stilled, stiffening slightly against the counter, “What?”

“One slice,” You swallowed what little saliva was in your mouth, “Or two?”

He stared at you silently for a moment, his discerning gaze picking you apart. Finally, his shoulder slumped, his face falling as he muttered, “One.”

--

The meds that you needed to take before eating were a hassle. This time it was a liquid prescription, and Hotch provided the medicine cup that you needed to measure it out with. It tasted bitter and grainy, and you quickly shoved pizza in your mouth to mask the aftertaste.

“These are supposed to knock you out,” He squinted at the fine print on the bottle, hovering over you much less since your run-in in the kitchen, “It says you might be kind of out of it for the night.”

You nodded silently, keeping yourself as far away from him on the couch as possible. You knew he was watching you shy away from him, and you tried not to look at the expression on his face, whatever it was, because you didn’t want to see it.

If it was disappointment, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be disappointed in you. If it was anger, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be angry with you. But if you ignored it, if you never saw it, then it wouldn’t exist.

You ate your pizza in silence for a terrible, awkward, stifling few moments, during which you shoveled as much into your mouth as possible so that you wouldn’t have to speak. Finally, though, Aaron finished his slice, and opened his mouth, this time not to put pizza inside.

“Y/N, I really think we should-”

“Do you want to watch tv?”

“Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but-”

You had reached for the remote without letting him finish, clicking on the television and turning the volume up.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke, his voice softer and more meek than you’d ever heard it before, “Please.”

You felt a hot wave of tears brimming at your eyes, and panickedly tried to blink them away, dread tugging your stomach down. The last thing you wanted to do was confess, but your medication was inhibiting your filter and making you more emotional.

“I’m sorry,” You blubbered, “I wanted to kiss you!”

You set your empty plate on the coffee table in front of you, the ceramic thunking against the wood, “I really wanted to kiss you!” 

Aaron watched you slump forwards, your face in your hands as you sobbed.

“Hey,” He reached out, setting his own plate on the table, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry, come here, Y/N.”

He slid his hands around your waist, tugging you upright and back onto the couch. He expected you to curl up against the other arm of the couch again, hellbent on getting away from him, but you fell into his lap, your face pressed against the material of his pants.

He brushed a cautious, gentle hand over your back, the other hovering awkwardly by your face. He couldn’t really see it, not most of it, anyways. Your flushed, tear-stained cheek was all that he could see as you sobbed into his lap, and he reached forwards, brushing a stray tear off of your skin.

“Don’t cry,” He repeated, his voice low, and soft, and soothing, “Y/N, it’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s not okay!” You gushed, rising from his lap as a steady stream of tears dripped off of your cheeks, “I feel gross, and you’re helping me, and- and you’re so sweet and I’m tired, and you’re so warm, and soft and I wanted to kiss you so badly but I- I got scared and now- now everything is messed up!”

“Shh,” Aaron cut off your ramblings by pressing his broad thumb to your lips, the rest of his hand cupping your cheek comfortingly, “It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up, everything is okay.”

“It’s not!” You repeated, “I’m never gonna get to kiss you again, and I ran away! I ran away, god, I’m so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid.” Aaron fought back the smile that threatened to take over his face, upset at the distress on yours but elated to hear that you’d wanted to reciprocate, “I promise you I’m not upset, and- um, if you’d like the chance again later, maybe we can consider kissing again.”

“Do you mean that?” You hiccupped pitifully, a sniffle following it.

“I do,” He promised, half hoping that you wouldn’t remember the embarrassing promise he’d just made to you in the morning, and half hoping that it would be the first thing you asked for when you woke up, “I promise.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, blinking drowsily as your medication ran rampant. He continued rubbing your back, though his hand fell from your cheek when you spoke.

“I’m tired.”

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle, nodding reassuringly, “I thought you would be. Why don’t you lay down, you can sleep for the night and then tomorrow we can- oh.”

Without a second thought, you’d slumped over onto his shoulder, your arms wrapped around one of his own as you clung to his arm. In your hazy, post-cry daze, you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, the material of his quarter-zip soft against your lips. 

“I love you, Aaron.” You mumbled, your voice still wobbly from your tear-fest.

The admission struck him with the most comforting sense of shock, one that made a smile burst over his face. You shut your eyes without even waiting for him to respond, your legs tucked neatly underneath yourself as you designated him your pillow for the evening.

He knew you wouldn’t hear him, and even if you did, you wouldn’t comprehend what he was saying. But he said it anyways, leaning his head against your own and murmuring a soft, “I love you too, Y/N.” as you snoozed.

Aaron watched your chest rise and fall slowly and evenly, relieved that you were sleeping peacefully. He knew full well that you'd have a splitting headache for far too long, and was happy to see you get some temporary relief.

The dramatic reality show that you'd insisted on drowning him out with was still playing softly in the background, eerie music choices and startling sound effects amping up the ridiculousness of the surely-false story. Aaron reached for the remote that was in your hand, gently uncurling your fingers from around it. He set your hand back in your lap, but it found his once more, a soft whine coming from your throat as you shifted in your sleep.

Your head that had been slumped onto his shoulder fell forwards, your neck surely suffering at the awkward angle. He rushed to readjust you, but you followed the motion blindly, your head slumped into his lap. At first, your nose pressed against the zipper of his pants, and he panicked. Before he could adjust you, though, you turned over, nestling your cheek against his thigh facing the television instead. Your face relaxed from where it had been scrunched in unconscious concentration, a serene expression crossing it as you sighed contentedly.

Aaron thought it was the most adorable noise he'd ever heard. A soft smile threatened to break over his face after his panic, and for once, he let it. You weren't awake or coherent enough to see it, so why not? He smiled warmly, happily, adoringly at you as you slept in his lap. He reached for the blanket that had been folded on the arm of your couch, quickly shaking it out as best he could and draping it over your frame. You snuggled into it just as much as you had his thigh, and after a drawn-out moment of staring at you with a lovesick smile, Aaron let his head fall back against the cushions, his eyes slipping shut as he let sleep take him a happy man.

--

Waking up was warm. You blinked open your eyes, your gaze immediately landing on the plates that you hadn’t cleaned up from the night before. The pillow you were laying on was considerably comfier than any you knew were on your couch, and you rolled onto your back to see that it was, in fact, not a pillow, but your boss. 

Aaron’s face was relaxed as he slept, a stark contrast to his crankiness during his first nap. Now he looked serene, happy even, as he leaned back against the back of the couch, his hand draped over your waist. You were sure that sleeping at that angle would prove difficult for him, so you slowly sat up, humming softly as he stirred.

“What…” He mumbled sleepily, squinting around at your apartment, “What time is it?”

“Really? That’s all I get?” You propped yourself with one arm, your hand pressed flat against his thigh, “You promised me a kiss, you know.”

His eyes widened, any leftover drowsiness instantly vanishing as he stared down at you.

“That is,” You started, uncertainty lacing your voice, “If you’re standing by your promise?”

“You want to?”

“I do.” You nodded, waiting eagerly as he blinked owlishly, his brain running at full speed.

“So do I.” Was all he said before he surged forwards, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was lazy, somewhat sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it was perfect, because it was with him. You hummed softly into the kiss, leaning forwards to rest your forehead against his own, bringing him closer to you. 

You broke away after a few moments, keeping it short and sweet instead of dragging it out. You weren’t opposed to going further, not when it was Aaron you were with, but you were still concussed, and eager to rest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, your nose nestled against the heated skin of his neck as he sighed contentedly, one hand coming to rest on your back.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” He mused, his voice slightly raspy from sleep.

“How could I forget?”

“I wasn’t sure if you meant it.” He added, “You were pretty drugged up.”

“I meant it.” You spoke softly, “I’ve meant it for a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Aaron admitted, “Me too.”

The silent serenity of the moment capture you both, and you nearly fell asleep again nuzzled into his neck. But your stomach grumbled, once more letting you know that it was time to eat, and Aaron chuckled softly at the sound.

“Breakfast?”

‘Breakfast sounds perfect.”

You moved out of his lap, your heart fluttering as he took your hand, tugging you up onto your feet and guiding you into the kitchen. The pizza box from the night before was still sitting on the counter, as were the medical supplies, but he pushed them aside, making room for your toaster.

“Anything on it?” He questioned, pulling two pieces of bread out from your loaf.

“Just butter.” You hummed sleepily, pulling said spread out from the refrigerator. 

As soon as he emptied his hands, the slices of bread now toasting, you snuck up behind him, your arms winding around his waist. He stiffened in surprise, but melted at the embrace, turning so that your face was flush to his chest instead of his back.

“How’s your head?” He asked, punctuating his query by smoothing his hand over your scalp.

“It’s better,” You started, “Not completely, but the meds seem to be helping.

“That’s good.” He seemed to tense when you told him it wasn’t completely better, the popping of the toaster giving him an excuse to turn away.

“Aaron?” You pressed, standing beside him and watching him open the butter, “Is everything okay?”

“Your head still hurts.” He mentioned dismissively, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because your head still hurts.” He deadpanned, waiting for you to prompt him further. 

“Aaron,” You started, your voice hesitant, "You can't seriously blame yourself for that car accident." You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing the answer but wanting him to hear the words spoken aloud.

"I do." He had no trouble admitting it, avoiding your gaze as he buttered the slice of bread he'd just taken out of the toaster, "You knew he was going to swerve, you even told me."

"I guessed he was going to swerve," You reminded him, "I didn't know."

"Well I didn't listen, and he did, and he hit us, and now you have a concussion."

“Aaron, stop.” You set a hand over his, taking the knife from his grip and abandoning the toast he was doctoring, “Look at me.”

He followed your instructions, meeting your eyes hesitantly, hoping to not showcase the self-hatred swirling in his own.

“You had no possible way of verifying whether my guess was true or not. We were in the middle of a high-speed chase, what if you’d stopped to avoid a crash but he’d kept going? We would have lost him.”

“We did lose him.”

“But now he can’t hurt anyone anymore. He didn’t get away. If you’d stopped, he would have.”

“But your concussion-”

“Doesn’t matter to me. We got the guy, that’s what matters to me. I’m okay, I’m alive.” You gestured down your frame, as if showcasing your living, breathing body, “And you’re okay, you’re alive. Yeah, I’ve got a week-long headache in front of me, but it’s worth it to me to know that that guy is gone.”

“You got hurt, though. We got him, and I’m glad. I won’t deny that. But I can still be upset about you getting hurt.”

“So can I,” You agreed, “But don’t be mad at yourself. I’m not mad at you, why would you be?”

“I… I just-”

“You just have a habit of blaming yourself for things you had no control over. And I won’t let you do it now.”

You huffed lightly at the end of your sentence, and it seemed to bring him out of his hesitancy. He cracked a slight smile, “You won’t let me?”

“I won’t.” You doubled down, “You’re not allowed to.”

“Yes, sir.” He teased, turning back to the toast and laughing incredulously when you bumped your hips against his, sending him stumbling sideways as he was caught off-guard.

“You need better balance.” You grabbed the knife that had slipped from his hands as he’d stumbled, buttering your own toast while he stabilized himself, “That almost floored you.”

“I wasn’t ready for it.” He insisted, a hint of a whine slipping into his voice that you’d never heard before, “No fair.”

“Anything’s fair now,” You laughed, “I’m injured and you have to be nice to me.”

As soon as you were finished buttering your toast you plated it, slicing it in half up the middle. You headed for the living room, intent on turning the television on and eating with Aaron, but he took you by surprise, charging you from behind and wrapping one arm around your waist, the other taking your plate from your hands so that it didn’t fall.

You shrieked indignantly as you lost your balance, but his arms snaking around your waist stopped you from falling. He turned you around, and you heard his soft chuckles against your cheek as he scooped you into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. You stared down at him breathlessly, your mouth hanging slightly open in surprise.

“You need better balance,” He mocked you, “That almost floored you.”

“Aaron!” You repeated his earlier comment, a bashful laugh escaping your lips as he held you tightly against him, “No fair!”

His laugh, deep and loud and comforting, made happiness swell in your chest, not even dimming when he set you down. You grabbed your toast once more, hearing him pad after you until you got to the couch, sitting much closer to him than you’d elected to the previous night.

“I’m gonna tell Garcia that you terrorized me this weekend,” You mused, biting softly into the buttered toast with a crunch, then as an afterthought, “Oh my god, what are we gonna tell her? The team, they’re all gonna find out. What do we do?”

“Nothing for now.” Aaron reassured you, setting a hand on your thigh while you ate, a smile growing on his lips as he remembered fantasizing about doing just that the night before, “We don’t have to be their big scandal yet, for now, let’s just be us.”

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @honeybrowne @aaronhotchnersbbg07 @la-stuffs @jhiddles03 @criminalmindsandmarvel @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @ink-and-fables-4-u @curr3ntlycry1ng @simpingfortoomanypeople @toomanyfictionalboyfriends

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This is one of my favourites!!!! It's so good and cute💖💖

Hey girl, I hope your having a good day

I was wondering if you could write a Hotch! fem reader where they're married and have been for like year's but the team doesn't know about it and one day Morgan calls out Hotch and they both answer! I hope that made sense. Love your blog💕

Hotch? Which one?

Gif by hqtchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Wc: 1.7k

Warnings!: fluff, kissing, mentions of a child case, not.al criminal minds things, maybe kinda suggestive, playful and soft Hotch, but seriously super fluffy

Description: You are secretly married to the one and only Aaron Hotchner, what happens when Morgan yells out Hotch, and you both answer?

A/n: awe, thank you 💕 seriously loved this idea, hope you all do too! Sorry it took me so long to get out! Anyways, here is some Hotch fluff for your Saturday night ;)

-Masterlist-

----------

Your eyes flutter open as you feel a warm pair of lips on your neck. You sigh contently, but bury your face in your pillow, not ready to get up yet. A deep chuckle fills your ears and you smile to yourself as his arm wraps itself around your waist.

"Goodmorning sweetheart." He whispers into the morning air.

"G'morning." You murmur sleepily. The kisses start up again and you giggle at the ticklish feeling, turning around in his arms. He pulls back slightly, and he just stares at you. 

"God, you're beautiful." He says and leans forward to place his lips on your own. You kiss him passionately as your heart warms at the compliment. 

"Dont wanna get up." You mutter against his lips and he chuckles again. 

"You have to sweetheart." He sits up on his elbow peering down at you. "We have that conjoined case today."

"Oh, don't remind me." You roll your eyes as Aaron softly tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "We have to pretend, again." You whine and he sighs. "Do you know how hard it is for me to pretend that I'm not in love with you?" 

"Probably just as hard as it is for me." He pauses, thinking for a moment. "We could, just tell them." He suggests and you freeze, a little shocked by his words.

"Honey, are you sure? I know we're in different departments, but you said you wanted to be professional. And I mean it keeps us safer. I guess it doesn't matter, up to you. Maybe we should, I mean my team knows, but yours doesn-" He cuts off your rambling with a searing kiss and you freeze for a moment. He pulls back and it takes you a few moments to process words. Your husband's kisses usually have that effect on you.

"So do you want to tell them?" You ask after you catch your breath.

"Yes. As soon as this case is over." You smile and nod.

"Okay. But we aren't ever going to finish the case if we don't get up." Aaron rolls over top of you holding himself up with his arms on either side of your head.

"If you insist." He starts, placing a kiss on your nose. "But maybe… a… few… more… kisses…" He places a kiss on your lips after every word, already forgetting that he was trying to get you up in the first place.

* * * 

After several more kisses, you and Aaron finally make your way into the office, just in time for your two teams to meet together in the bullpen. You are eternally grateful that no one finds it suspicious that you both come in at the same time. Probably thinking you just had a meeting together before the case. Your teams head to the conference room after seeing you walk in not noticing Aaron's hand on the small of your back.

Little did they know of the wedding rings resting on your necklace under your blouse and Aaron's on a pin under his tie. 

When you think about it, it wasn't really your plan to hide your marriage. You never thought you would be one to hide the love for your husband. But then you had met Aaron Hotchner. Funny enough, it had been a conjoined case similar to the present case. Aaron being the unit chief of the BAU and you the unit chief of the Child Crimes Unit, you clashed. A lot. 

Never getting along, your teams dreaded cases where you had to get together. Of course, one case in particular hit a little too hard, and Hotch had found you curled in a chair, crying in one of the break rooms. He had rushed to your side in an instant, comforting you through your tears. That night you had seen a whole different side of Aaron Hotchner. 

Of course that one moment turned into a beautiful new friendship. Which had led to dates and kisses and a secret relationship. A marriage was soon to follow, and you both wanted to married so bad, you had just eloped. Only Rossi, Jack, and Jess by your sides. Rossi officiated the small ceremony and that was about six months ago. 

You had told your team after a month, fining it too difficult to keep it hidden. They had all agreed to jokingly call you Hotch, after hearing Aaron's own team do it to him.

You had already talked to them about avoiding that in today's case.

Aaron had found it harder to tell his team. They were his family. But he wanted to protect you as much as possible. Especially after Haley. 

Your thoughts are dragged away from a small kick under the table. You turn to your left, and spot your husband with a slight smirk on his face. The meeting continues, Garcia presenting the case.

"Alright lovelies, and guest lovelies! We have three murders, all local, all 10 year old boys." She begins and you take a deep breath preparing yourself. As much as you loved your job, it was always hard to hear of all the horrible things people did to these poor kids.

A hand finds its way to your thigh and squeezes to ground you. You shake away your wandering thoughts again and focus. 

"They were all killed the same way, strangulation. Coroner says it was a pillow over their face, while sleeping." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Local police have no leads, and are desperate for help." Hotch looks up at his team and yours listening for ideas.

"Could be remorse." Davis, one of your agents speaks up first. Jj and Reid nod along.

"It's almost peaceful. He doesn't want to hurt the kids, but he feels he needs to." Morgan adds.

"I suggest looking into people who have lost a child." You suggest.

"You got it babe. Got more for me?" Garcia asks and the teams continue to go back and forth with ideas, nothing really building up the profile. Idea after idea is passed around. Everyone was beginning to grow frustrated, the tension building in the room.

"What about a sick kid? A kid in pain?" Prentiss starts rattling off. She stands and begins pacing. Wilsom, one of your best agents, stands as well.

"Yes. The remorse, the peaceful killing, it all makes sense." He starts.

"When did the killing start?" Aaron asks.

"Three months sir." Garcia answers.

"Check out parents, male, early 30s, who recently lost a child to disease, an accident, anything." Hotch speaks and Garcia is instantly typing away.

"Two hundred seventy four hits." 

"Try limiting it to the victim's profile, men with a ten year old boy." Jj pipes up.

"Thirty seven hits." 

"The child would have been in pain, he believes he is stopping the pain. He doesn't want the kids to hurt anymore. He thinks he is helping them." Garcia shakes her head, that doesn't lower her search at all. You think and think. 

"There has to be something else. I want everyone to look into the jobs of the suspects. I know it's a lot, but there are a lot of us. The quicker the better." You say and Aaron nods.

"What are we looking for?" Rossi asks.

"He would have needed to blend in. Parents couldn't have been suspicious of anything. Repair men, plumbers, electricians. Anything. Get to work." Hotch announces and everyone stands moving around. You and Hotch begin discussing more of the case, trying to find different angles when Morgan speaks up.

"Hotch?" You and Aaron both turn around at the name, ready to answer.

"Yeah?" Two voices ring out and it takes you a moment to realise you and your husband had both answered. You freeze and so does he. The room is tense and silent. Your team stares at you with smirks on their faces, and Aaron's with shock. 

"What?" Spencer is the first one to say anything, case seemingly forgotten for the moment, his brows furrowed, and you giggle at the situation. Aaron looks at you and smiles softly. 

"Alright. I guess we have some explaining to do." He says and Rossi chuckles patting him on the back. 

"Hi guys, I'm Agent Hotchner, nice to meet you." You say with a smirk and wave slightly. Garcia's mouth falls open and Morgan lets out a loud laugh. 

"Im sorry. What?" Emily looks more confused than you have ever seen her and you can't help but begin laughing again. You leave it to your husband to explain. But he himself looks like he is barely keeping it together.

"We may, or may not have gotten married." Hotch says way too casually for anyone to process. Its only silent for a moment more before the room erupts with questions and shouts of congradulations. You catch money being exchanged between Wilson, Rossi, and Davis and they each shoot you a wink. You roll your eyes as Hotch tries to calm his team.

"Alright! That's enough." He says sternly, but you see the twitch in his eyebrow and the smirk threatening to break out on his face. "Yes, we are married, yes we eloped. No, we aren't talking about this now. We can discuss it when the case is over. Please get back to work, I will be in my office if you need me." He finished with an official tone and he swiftly walked out of the room. All eyes fall to you and you take that as your cue to follow your husband. You smile softly at the team and quickly walk out of the room. 

As soon as you shut the door to his office, Aaron has you pressed against the door, his face buried in your neck as he laughs.  

"Did you see their faces?" You asked, amusement filling your voice. He nods and presses a sloppy kiss to your neck. Pulling back, he gazes at you and shakes his head. 

"God. They are going to kill me." Aaron whispers. "Seriously. I think Garcia was planning my murder." You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"Oh please. You'll be fine." You say and he smacks your ass playfully. 

"Yeah, you don't have to deal with the wrath of Penelope, so shut it missy." You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck kissing him gently. 

"You are ridiculous."

"But you love me."

"That I do."

"I love you too sweetheart." And he kisses you, or at least tries to through your giggles.

----------

Thanks for reading!! <3

I'm so in love with this😍😍💖💖 You did a great job @kryptonitejelly I love you and your writing

Hi!!!! I really like your blurbs and your style when you write. I hope you are doing perfectly fine 💖💖.

Can I make a request? I would love to see one blurb where Aaron and BAU!reader are dating and they arrive earlier than everyone and he is hugging her from behind but they are giving their backs to the door so they don't see or listen the team arrive (they are so lost into their own little world). Btw the team doesn't know they are dating, soooooo... their relationship is a secret but they are now exposed.

I hope you understand everything because English isn't my first language and it's easy to write.

Have a nice day/afternoon/night and lots of love ❤❤

A/N: I hope you are doing well too <33 and your English is perfect, don’t worry about it. Sending you lots of love as well 💕

“We’ll get caught.” You murmur, as Aaron slips his arms around you, the front of his body pressing into your back.

“We are early.” You feel him shrug, as you sink into him, your hands coming to rest on his arms as you both stare beyond the full glass windows of the main dining hall to the restaurant which Dave had booked out for your team dinner.

“It’s nice here.” You say as he turns his head to press a kiss to your temple.

“Would be a nice place for a wedding.” He mutters beside your ear, to which you smile, hands squeezing his arms lightly.

“Not sure whose wedding you are talking about,” you tease, as you stick your hand out in front of both of you. “I don’t see a ring on my finger.”

“Good things come to those who wait.” He chuckles, kissing the side of your ear. You laugh in response, dropping your hands, your head tilting back and to the side as he meets your lips in a kiss. You knew, that despite your teasing, he would acquire a ring within the hour if you wanted him to, and drop to one knee willingly.

-

“Is that…” Penelope gasps, as she grabs onto Emily’s arm.

“Hotch and (Y/N).” Emily confirms, as the two women freeze slightly beyond the open doors of the dining hall.

“What are we looking at,” Spencer comes up from behind, squinting, only to widen his eyes. “Is that?”

“Hotch and (Y/N).” Morgan repeats the same words Emily had said earlier as he stops behind the trio, now forming a crowd.

“Hey guys, what are we… Hotch and (Y/N)?” JJ joins in, as she clamours past Spencer to stand beside Penelope who has her phone out, in a picture snapping frenzy.

“Why are you assclowns standing out here.” Dave’s voice interjects, as he stops behind the group, before he hums in understanding. “I see they’ve outed themselves.”

“You knew Rossi?”

“Of course.”

“They told you?”

“Not in words.”

“Should we interrupt them?”

“Don’t see why not.” Emily smirks as she pushes past the group into the dining hall. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

This is so good!!!! I love it 💖💖 I need a part 2🥲🥲

The Only Heartbreaker (Hotch x Reader)

Summary: A case hoists your whole team to a location where you're forced to work closely for a week with your boss and the man you've been harboring unwanted feelings for. Those emotions start to fester, making you both act unlike yourselves. (aka someone yearns over someone and is MAD about it) // Rating: Teen up (case mention, blood, guns etc) AN: this brought to u by me procrastinating and a heavy dose of mitski <3 FLUFF FIC

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, case HEAVY, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch,

WC: 4.5k approx

---------

It wasn’t a good day. It was a hard one: with interrogations that never end, seemingly stretching out longer than average because of people (and you couldn’t really blame them) being reserved and restrained in speaking out, ;and no rest. You’d grown familiar with the latter, but not the first. And you were by far the only one suffering from the events of the day. Prentiss and Reid had slipped away earlier, choosing to go back to the morgue for another talk with the medical examiner.

Rossi and JJ sit in the room nearby, talking with some of the kids, unfortunate for witnessing something they never should have known existed. Terror lingers in their faces, even after they’d been pulled away from the piazza where bullets had rained upon. Morgan is still out there, refusing to return and standing watch with SWAT, in case the culprit wanted to show up again. Not that they’d ever let him go alive at this point.

Hotch, the man of few words and your boss, stands by your side, body tense and nerves taut. He’s as close to losing his temper at the police chief before you as you are. Which is why you defuse the situation before that happens.

“Chief Smal, how about I get back to you on that after an hour?”

The man, who’d been rambling on and on about the incompetence of the FBI for not stopping something that you couldn’t ever predict, stops. He gapes at you, offended and angry. If he was any less animated he wouldn’t be fuming out of his ears and nose.

“Excuse-me?”

Hotch makes a sign to move, talk or whatever he thinks can fix this. But you don’t allow him.

“Great”, you chirp, feigning better than an actress, “You are excused.”

You turn sharply away, leaving the man sputtering and shocked, and continue down the hall. He’d been so goddamned annoying and useless, keeping you both away from your jobs – and hounding Hotch like he’s the boss. Like Hotch can’t just wave a hand and have the man dismissed without a contradiction. But this man, the one who is always direct and curt, was being nice. He’d been nothing but fucking courteous the whole time.

You knew this. You’d had an entire fucking week working close by with him, paired up since the jet dropped you off on location. And that niceness you’d once found commendable and charming and had made you swoon far too many times to count (not that you would admit you do, you’re not insane), is now irking you.

Even now you can almost hear his voice. First, gentle when he calls your name. But then not. And you realize he’s trailed behind you. Long strides made by his longer legs and taller frame, and he followed you easily as you stormed off.

There’s no hint of niceness in his clipped tone as he calls your name again.

“Agent, I’m speaking to you for fu—”

You swirl around, stopping abruptly. He doesn’t swear. He never does. And you don’t storm off, nor do theatrics, like this one, where you pausing so suddenly almost causes him to crush into you. Both blinking at each other, you realize none of you feels like themselves.

Hotch exhales, some of the tension easing out of him. You’re fucking welcome, you want to rush out. Not having Chief Blabbering Mouth pestering you has made you both calmer already.

“What was that about?”

You decide to act, yet again. “What was what?”

“Stop that”, he says in exasperation. A police officer passing by winces at his tone.

He doesn’t know Hotch. Not like you do. This pitch of his deep baritone, and the look on his face – he’s not mad at you. He’s mad with you. Knowing him, even madder that he’d succumbed to the pressures of diplomatic righteousness and bureaucratic relationships, and let a random, inconsequential chief of police get to both of you. Knowing him, he’s already blaming himself for it. Sinking deep into that hole of guilt trips, faults and self-criticism.

His body language is hostile, weary, very high-strung. You bypass all red alarms blaring in you telling you not to – but you reach out either way. A hand on his elbow and he flinches.

“Hotch,” you will your voice to sound soft, though your mannerisms mirror his, “I know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? Give me some credit”

One of his dark brows flicks upwards in question.

“I know” you sigh, not taking it personally when you touch him again and he grimaces. “I know. I was right there okay. Right fucking there”

The rest of the BAU had been inside the shopping mall at the time you and Hotch were having a fully fledged argument in the piazza. Some topics you don’t even recall. On more snipers. More check-ups. Or less law enforcement visible in the streets, making civilians antsy.

When the first bullet had hit, it had been so loud, you’d instantly forgotten. Everything had gone quiet. Not just you and Hotch, but the entire world. Then the second bullet had pierced the air, and the man you’d been bickering with – some would say even yelling at – had caught both your arms, lifted you up like he’d turned superhuman with a click of a button, and made himself bigger and taller, shielding you with his body. It had been less than a minute because he hadn’t done just that. Like the crowd around you, running and pushing each other, he’d done the same: hauling your ass – and himself – out of sight and inside a building nearby.

You’d both been there. Though with all your training and your experience, you’d frozen on the spot. People had fallen around you, murdered in cold blood. But you’d been there, even though your body had refused you.

Hotch blinks, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t expect thanks from you”

“Jesus, Hotch”, this time you bump his forearm, like you would a friend to make him act right, “I’d never. Not because of what you think.”

He blinks again, perplexed by your actions.

“But because it reminds me how useless I got. I don’t need that fucking reminder”

He pauses, tiredness etched in his face. “You’re swearing in the place of work, Agent”

If you had rested, and gotten some sleep like the rest of your colleagues you’d have had the strength to roll your eyes at him. In normal situations he’d have never let your crude language get past one (single) fuck. In better situations, you would never use crass language in front of the man you’ve had high regards for, beyond simply respecting him as a boss.

“I’m aware, Hotch.”

Your lack of fight gives him pause. “Did I let him get that far?”

You nod. Not that you’d judge him for blacking out when the chief spoke - you’d done the same. “Not to our faces. I overheard him speaking to his subordinates that the tits gave him hell last night over a misspell on a report”

Hotch shuts his eyes, his frame shaking when he huffs out in frustration. He places a hand over the one you’ve got hanging in the air in-between both of you, waiting for him to act less like a feral animal and more… domesticated. He only guides your palm to rest over his other wrist, patting it twice. A gesture so strange to outsiders but not to you – indicating he’s granting you physical contact because it comforts you.

“I’ll forward his name to the board”

“Hotch, I don’t want you to fire someone because they referred to me as tits.”

He reads your implication because he mutters under his breath. “He called you other names, didn’t he? I’ll call someone right now—”

“God, no. Hotch, listen”, you drop your hold on him, his eyes tracking the movement, and you don’t want to notice how his body deflates at the loss of contact, “I don’t need you to fire that man because of some words. I can handle those. I’d rather we focus on our jobs”

Like a petulant child, so unlike him, he takes a step back. The intention clear as day in his eyes. He’s ready to head back and chew his head out.

“You are doing the same thing!” you blurt out, making him stop. “You’re letting him rip one at the BAU’s involvement because you feel guilty and that you deserve it. And I’m letting those words pass because I feel guilty as well. Guilt is eating at us”

“Right” He looks unconvinced. This might be the only moment you’ll have to address what happened outside so you steal it.

“Hotch, I swear”, you will your voice softer than before, “Homeland didn’t warn us to begin with. We couldn’t have predicted this.”

Those words open up his features: the lines between his brows easing up, the crooked wince of his mouth drawing into a line, and his shoulders un-slumping.

“Okay?”

He grants you a quick nod, the five minutes of privacy in a crowded precinct ending at once. Officers stop by you, and Hotch lets you go.

“I’ll handle the rest of the interrogations”, he murmurs just for your ears, brushing against your side as he moves past you.

Wait, and then…?

He pauses, like he’s reading your mind, knowing without you voicing it aloud that there’s something worrying you. Then he says the next words that render you breathless, before parting from you. “You’re in charge of communications with local law enforcement. Decide and brief me later. And behave .”

The trust he hands over is unwavering, blinding with its intensity. You remember it too with dubious clarity: the fight before had been about police visibility.

You shuffle in your feet and welcome the swarm of officers waiting for your signal. Without the presence of the unit chief, they seem calmer too, directing questions your way. Unlike Hotch, who’s strict in not giving anyone leeway, you do so. It takes hours, but it’s due to your inexperience. The day before Hotch had been the one commanding an entire panicked room swarming with law enforcement officers.

You find the rest of your team in the breakroom, having decided to forego a small rest in order to get back to business right away. Morgan briefs you on the new developments. Garcia through the speaker cuts in with her findings: the address of the suspect’s summer home. You feel it at once: a fresh new hope for the nightmare to end.

“Alright,” Hotch moves to stand beside you for a better vantage point. Exhaustion and lack of sleep makes your body feel relief from his closeness, the scent of his cologne making you let out a small sigh of content. “When we get the call, I want everyone out – Kevlar vest and helmets. Follow Morgan’s lead in terms of SWAT’s assessment of the situation. JJ will stay on top of the news…”

You keep your eyes to Morgan, knowing meeting your boss’ gaze will free the emotions you’ve kept down for so long. Not resting or sleeping isn’t only because of the grueling case. Some of it is the proximity to Hotch. Having to work side-by-side, sharing almost every meal time together – because of the different task forces he’d decided to set up – has taken a toll on you.

Not that you’d never done it before. Working within the unit and traveling were undetached parts of the job and Hotch has always been so professional. So fucking formal. So incredibly decent with you during your time at the BAU that catching feelings had been as surprising to you as it would have been to him (not that he’ll never know). But he is a gentleman. He is nice and kind and the most patient man. With a humor as dry as a desert, and a penchant to protect everyone he knows– yes, including his most recent recruit he never kept closer than two meters - the man had still reeled you in. Hook, line and sinker.

Doesn’t matter that he smiles and laughs like it physically pains him to do so – he'd still tricked you into feeling attraction to him. Restless in bed, you’ve spent this entire week considering if this is how poor souls felt when witches and wizards seduced them with contrived love potions. Because how... How does someone so reserved make you feel dazed and unbecoming just by looking at you?

Surely doesn’t help knowing your room shares a wall with his and at night you hear just how much he doesn’t sleep as well.

“...are you following?” Hotch snaps you out of your thoughts, yet you still don’t look at him.

It’s torturous because in this one week you’re getting to know him more than you’ve ever done in all your time at the BAU. Unfortunately for you, he’s not someone to hate and loathe.

“Sure. We don’t go in guns blazing.” You sum up, and Morgan smiles at your words. “You’re set on that tactic, boss? Can’t we switch up to my alternative?”

“No”, he says confused, “Had you been paying attention you’d have known I already declined Morgan’s offer.”

Even reprimands don’t make those emotions fade away. Documents shuffle and empty coffee cups are thrown in the bins, and Hotch stays there, staring at you until you give up and look at him. Morgan pats your back, following Reid and Rossi out. JJ and Prentiss chuckle on the way out, but neither of you makes a move.

“Steer clear of SWAT”, Hotch murmurs, eyes flicking across your face.

You hate that small action the most because you know what it represents. One late night after interrogations, with everyone gone, he’d confessed reading people’s body language had been his expertise since he was a kid. A talent gifted to him from growing up in a volatile household with an impulsive violent parent. Doing it had been his way to survive. Now, he’d made a career out of it. What a fucked-up talent , you’d said that night, and it had made him laugh like you’d been both in a bar, drinking and sharing stories like old friends.

Studying your behavior though, seems to cross a precarious line. If he’s any more attentive towards you. If he’s even just a tiny bit more protective of you...

“I won’t”

Hotch scoffs, not believing you. This week is to blame for him knowing you just as well. “Fine, stay close to Morgan then.”

Then in a move that sucks all the air from your lungs, he hands you his own cup – full, steaming and untouched. “Take it. I made it for you”, he says like he’s handing you a report to fill in, and not being sweet by preparing you a coffee every single time he made one for himself.

“Hotch, I--” First the massive responsibility of talking to the officers, and now this. God, your nerves are about to snap. Frustration loops around your throat, your heart about to burst with emotion. So, you resort to saying something unkind and awkwardly ridiculous. “We need to see other people after this.”

He watches you take a sip, the small sigh of content telling him he got the order right. Like Hotch has ever done anything incorrect.

“I’m getting used to you”, you try to joke, voice fluctuating and hands trembling, “One more day and I’ll learn your bathroom habits”

He shakes his head, a small smile parting his lips, like he doesn’t mean for it to happen. “I’d rather you just drink and follow my orders. Less spitting fire, angel”

You look up at him, holding back a grin that would surely tell him how much you like him. “You saying I should swallow, boss?”

The question – a goddamn slip up if there’s ever been one – affects him in the most enticing of ways. Red rises over his neck, climbing over the collar of his button-down, the way it does when he runs, and then it reaches quite slowly his cheeks. Your face heats but not because of this stupid thing you’ve ever said to him.

Hotch clears his throat, but he still doesn’t look away and that’s how it happens . Your heart beats a little harder, your skin zaps with awareness, and your fingers tingle.  Like it seemed to happen the first night you’d both found each other alone in the hotel’s restaurant. Like it did when you had to knock on his hotel room at an ungodly hour because you got a tip and found him wearing a white t-shirt and shorts and fluffy, sleepy hair. Like it seems to happen when time stills and slows down, everything quiets to a low comfortable buzz because it’s just you and him.

He says your name, half in pleading and half in warning. Something warm curls inside you but you shove it aside.

“I’ll head out”, your voice is softer, breathier, and you’re first to cut the tension, running away at once. You’re out of there before he understands the entirety of you.

The call, as Garcia dubbed it, comes in a few minutes. A confirmation that the suspect has been sighted at a local supermarket. His phone pinged near the summer home she’d discovered. Morgan and you are out, following the neat movements of SWAT officers through the neighborhood.

In your periphery, FBI and police officers secure the perimeter. A split second where you meet Hotch’s eyes, in full uniform like he’d ordered – a small understanding passing through both.

Then the rest happens. The building is a two-stories house, and Homeland had warned you about the sudden cult following the suspect had amassed, reinforcing his numbers. It took a simple attack into innocent civilians for him to get a blind following. A shiver goes through you recalling what Homeland Security’s words had been: Better they’re all together, making ridding them all the easier.

“First floor clear”, comes Morgan’s voice through your earpiece. He’s ahead, helping lead one squad while the other is taken by a leader of Homeland forces. When they split in two, you go against Hotch’s orders, deciding to not let any squad without BAU counterparts.

“Footsteps”, Morgan warns.

In retrospect, that single word should have been more alarming, more of a signal of what was to come, because in a split second the entire house bursts in repetitive rattling noises. You take cover, you take aim, your teeth chattering with every shot that rings in your ears, with every bullet zapping through the air.

This had been part of your training – the most aggravating one, but you aren’t a close match to SWAT and Homeland’s agents. There’s shouts and lightning quick orders bouncing in everyone’s earpieces. Stats to update on the enemy’s fallen men. And whoever becomes injured on your side. You know, in the same moment as you shoot and miss someone intent on doing the same to you that their retaliation will be greater. Those same warning words from Homeland come back: Trained to kill. No mercy.

And then you take a gamble, your own feet taking you fast to the other side of the room, through the same way you’d entered. Coward’s way out. The face of the man you haven’t killed startles you, quicker than you. His eyes bloodshot red. His face is pale but unforgiving. A regular man – similar to the one who’d shot in that piazza solely because he’d wanted to, and had wanted to be a leader to men like the one before you. Your hands shake but you still shoot. Not fast enough. Not when he fires two bullets before one reaches him.

“Agent down”, the voices in your ears shout, and you blink slowly, not comprehending the situation. “I repeat, one agent down”

Is that your heart on your throat or the effect of the uncomfortably tight bulletproof vest?

“ Clear. This floor is clear”

The man who’d been aiming at you falls to the ground like dead weight. Horror clutches your limbs, sticky warmth pooling at your thigh and well, yes, he is dead. Your laugh is dry, callous and it pains your lower back.

“Fuck, what is that?”

A Homeland agent crushes his arm around yours, lifting half of your side up, your legs shaking under you. “Easy, agent. Don't put your weight on that leg” He jerks his head to your own feet and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. Blood seeps out of you, gushing and your head goes light.

“Jesus, is that my thigh or yours?”

The agent chuckles, granting you a wincing smile through his helmet. “Yours, sorry. It’s a nasty one.”

No shit, you’re sure you say because he chuckles again. Something lighter in his face like you’re not in the middle of a shootout. His weapon hangs low too, and you glance around. In fact, nobody around you yields their weapons, and your ears don’t ring anymore with the constant sounds of bullets. Sensing your thoughts, the agent beside you nods. He carries you heavily through the hall, ungentle but doing his best when he doesn’t know you and is suddenly responsible for a wounded agent.

“Where--?”

Your question cuts off, another body wrenching you away. Large, strong and familiar and then you smell him before you hear his hurried, stern words.

“...an order. I told you to follow one order and you’re...” Hotch leaves your side, mumbles excuses to the other agent who hasn’t left your side before sinking to his knees before you. He looks ridiculous in his t-shirt and vest; arms bare showing his toned biceps and forearms and frowning at you. Stupid, because who struts in a dangerous situation like that? He tears one short sleeve, more fabric coming off than planned. Your mouth goes dry. It’s the fact you’re shot on the leg and not that those same rough hands go soft when they make contact with your wound. He’s unbearably gentle, wrapping your thigh to stop the bleeding.

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here” He stands at once, curt with the other man, but you’d still prefer him over Hotch.

“I didn’t--”

“No talking”, he snaps, throwing your arm over his shoulders, his other hand latching around your waist and landing on your hip. Even with the adrenaline and the heightened awareness towards the bulletwound, your mind is one-track.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Hotch says, and he lifts you with ease, using his own leg closest to your side to hold both your body weight. He doesn’t wobble. He doesn’t strain. Not like the Homeland man. He surely doesn’t squirm like you are, while his warm breath huffs against your temple and hair.

Mad at you is a different look on him. But you’re a masochist because this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Insane too, because you’ve never felt more than in this moment.

“Stop”, he murmurs only for your ears, deftly leading the way out of the massive building. You hold a breath when he glances quickly at you. His eyes don’t relay the anger transferring to his body and actions. They’re soft and pained.

“Don’t look so glad you got shot” he whispers, and you think you imagine his hand squeezing your hip; the closeness that tightens the small distance between you.

“I’m not”, you lie, voice a squeak. You try again because the bad outweighs the good. Though the latter is his arms around you, and the blanket of his fierce protectiveness. “I’m definitely not”

Hotch looks at you again, the small crinkle at the sides of his eyes giving away the small amusement at your tone. Damned this week, for making him know you just as much as you do him. It doesn’t last long though. He guides you through the agents camped outside the house, further down the street where ambulances remain parked in standby.

“Here”, the EMTs run to you, rolling out the stretcher, but Hotch doesn’t give up. They help him lay you gently over it, and this time you don’t hide the disappointment in your face when he moves away. He witnesses it, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk about this”

You close your eyes slowly, opening them back to that disgruntled face of his, staring you down. “Looking forward to it”

The EMTs get ready to roll you out but he stops them, his hand going out to squeeze your hand in his. Quick, supportive, and professional – the tiniest bit professional. Your throat clogs, one of the EMTs cuts through the pant leg, not wasting time to tend to you.

“I’m sorry for it... Hotch, I--”

Something flashes behind his eyes, and you don’t imagine it: raw emotion, untainted, unprompted. It makes everything so much worse. If he says something sweet it will ruin you forever.

“ You’re fine”, he mutters, soft, slow, like he’s reassuring himself. He puts that big hand of his on your arm, rubbing it in comfort. “Brave girl” So goddamn soft you think you must have been killed inside this house, gone and become a ghost.

You blink away tears, your heart swelling. The sudden potential that he might feel just a teardrop of what you do is dangerous. More than a goddamn shootout.

“You better not forward my name to the board", you joke humorlessly. Then you move. Your stretcher carried by the EMTs is taken inside the ambulance. The sigh of relief you let out surprises both workers.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” one of them asks, looking at your wound.

“Yes”, you confirm, watching the doors close, cutting your view of Hotch. “More than I'd imagined”

Maybe you’ll need a transfer, or perhaps Hotch will get rid of you for insubordination. Anything to keep these feelings at bay.

“ It’ll be quick surgery”, one of them says. “It’ll hurt less when you’re through”

The door launches open and you all freeze, the stubborn man you’d left behind pushing to sit down beside you and closing it again.

“Ready to go”, Hotch slams a hand, urging the driver to depart. The vehicle moves and your heart feels suspended, waiting for him to give you another sign.

“Had to make sure you're okay”, he says with a small smile. Foolish hope springs inside your chest.

“Or reprimand me on the way there”, you rebut, a jolt going through you when he reaches a hand to brush your hair away from your face – strictly unprofessional.

“Same thing, angel”, Hotch reassures.

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygranger @anetoupekelly @sleepyreaderreads @azenpal @skyler666 @ultrabuzzlightyear @rousethemouse @arsonhotchner

Words to describe facial expressions

Absent: preoccupied 

Agonized: as if in pain or tormented

Alluring: attractive, in the sense of arousing desire

Appealing: attractive, in the sense of encouraging goodwill and/or interest

Beatific: blissful

Black: angry or sad, or hostile

Bleak: hopeless

Blinking: surprise, or lack of concern

Blithe: carefree, lighthearted, or heedlessly indifferent

Brooding: anxious and gloomy

Bug eyed: frightened or surprised

Chagrined: humiliated or disappointed

Cheeky: cocky, insolent

Cheerless: sad

Choleric: hot-tempered, irate

Darkly: with depressed or malevolent feelings

Deadpan: expressionless, to conceal emotion or heighten humor

Despondent: depressed or discouraged

Doleful: sad or afflicted

Dour: stern or obstinate

Dreamy: distracted by daydreaming or fantasizing

Ecstatic: delighted or entranced

Faint: cowardly, weak, or barely perceptible

Fixed: concentrated or immobile

Gazing: staring intently

Glancing: staring briefly as if curious but evasive

Glazed: expressionless due to fatigue or confusion

Grim: fatalistic or pessimistic

Grave: serious, expressing emotion due to loss or sadness

Haunted: frightened, worried, or guilty

Hopeless: depressed by a lack of encouragement or optimism

Hostile: aggressively angry, intimidating, or resistant

Hunted: tense as if worried about pursuit

Jeering: insulting or mocking

Languid: lazy or weak

Leering: sexually suggestive

Mild: easygoing

Mischievous: annoyingly or maliciously playful

Pained: affected with discomfort or pain

Peering: with curiosity or suspicion

Peeved: annoyed

Pleading: seeking apology or assistance

Quizzical: questioning or confused

Radiant: bright, happy

Sanguine: bloodthirsty, confident

Sardonic: mocking

Sour: unpleasant

Sullen: resentful

Vacant: blank or stupid looking

Wan: pale, sickly

Wary: cautious or cunning

Wide eyed: frightened or surprised

Withering: devastating

Wrathful: indignant or vengeful

Wry: twisted or crooked to express cleverness or a dark or ironic feeling

A List of Prompts

because yeah i think it would be helpful if there was a comprehensive list of those, so

ANGST. want to cry? here's some onion for you.

fighting/intense

someone is injured

protective

reluctant allies

shedding a tear

secret relationship--getting caught and confronted

enemies to lovers

corruption arc

sentence starters

forbidden love

101 ways to break the characters (and readers) heart

broken trust

hit em where it hurts

for the damaged

short angst sentence starters

soft angst sentence starters

high pain tolerance

dark and angsty sentence starters

from the villain

SMUT / NSFW. having horny thoughts? endulge.

action prompts

subtle intimacy

sexual tension

kissing starters

smut dialogue prompts

sfw friends with benefits

types of kisses

soft dirty talk sentence starters

consent is sexy

spicy actions

subtle smut sentence starters

nonverbal sexual situations

bdsm and dom/sub prompts

build the tension

love and leashes

FLUFF. for when your heart needs healing.

simple actions.

forehead touches.

things done while spooning

things done while dancing

oblivious idiots in love

idiots in love

dancing prompts

dialogue prompts

simple touches

casual affections

soft and sweet sentence starters

types of hugs

comforting

domestic intimacy

comforting actions

soft touches

BITTERSWEET. for those who like to hurt and then soothed.

reassuring your lover

reassuring your lover pt. 2

sacred moments

hurt/comfort prompts.

hero x villain prompts

lovers in denial

comforting a lover after a nightmare

grumpy x sunshine

enemies with benefits

noticing trauma

all about the yearning

found family

nightmares and sleeping

reassuring

reunion after (physical) trauma

possessive/territorial

for the heavy hearted

enemies to lovers

hero x villain sentence starters

dissociation starters

intervention

enemies to lovers and lovers to enemies

→ enemies (to lovers) prompts

"fine, continue to act like you hate me."

"don't you dare look at me that way. not now, after every vile thing we've done to each other."

"i hate you, i hope you don't forget that after tonight."

"why can't we just let whatever this pointless rivalry is go?"

"oh really?" / "yes, really." / "lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart."

"last time i checked, you guys were at each others' throats. how come you're sending heart eyes every time you see her now?"

"i might not be the best at this thing, but like hell i would let you be better than me."

"this is a one-time thing only. don't let me being nice to you get to your head."

"well, well, well. look who's running back into my arms. i told you that i'm irresistible, didn't i?"

"i am not driving home with you, are you crazy?"

"i may not like you, but i'm not heartless."

"say goodbye to being first place, asshole."

"you sound pretty hot when you shut up."

"you know, i still don't really know why i used to despise you."

"happy second anniversary, honey. remember when you first dumped an entire bowl of soup on my lap?"

"the world could really use some of your silence right now."

"your opinion doesn't matter. next, please."

"it seems like i'm out of fucks to give, oops."

"i don't need your pity."

"there are only three things in this world i truly cannot stand: you, you, and you."

"any time something bad happens to me, you've always been there. are you cursing me or something?"

"take your time, darling. hell's happy to wait for you."

"fuck you." / "i'm flattered, really, but no thanks."

free to share and use!

reblog if you’d like one of these in your inbox

- ask me things you want to know about me

- why you follow me

- what’s on your mind/what you’re thinking about

- a compliment

- make me choose between two things

- ask for advice

- tell me a secret

- things you associate me with

- anything!!!!

That was fantastic and has me drooling 🤤🤤

Malfoy Manor

Severus has ignored you all day but he gets angry when he sees you and Lucius flirt and then you walk to your room together.

Severus Snape & Lucius Malfoy x femme reader

^this is a long one-shot & this is going to be a bit harsh, and it has a Snucius part.^

SMUT!

-

Being Draco's best friend is always fun. Parties, drinking, dancing, sleepovers, etc. this summer, you've done all of it but Severus, your boyfriend was invited to the Malfoy Manor too. Of course, no one knew about your relationship because if they knew, well, it would have consequences.

You can't ignore the fact that senior Malfoy is attractive, the way he looks you up and down only makes you want to make him pin you to bed and fuck you until you see stars. But you love your lover more than anything, and you know no one can satisfy you but him.

Today, Draco has invited his friends to the Manor again, which means you get to drink, dance and probably end up in bed with Severus. But so far, your plans have been doing good except for Severus' cold glares. He has been ignoring you all day, he hasn't talked to you, kisses you, or even crack a little smile.

He just stared at you with an emotionless expression.

You get ready for the party. Putting on your lacy red knickers without bras, cause your dress has cups to shape your breasts enough for everyone to drool over you. You put on your black dress, a tight crop top that has on a strap on the left shoulder and it's connected to the skirt with thin straps wrapped around your belly.

You slip in your black heels, applying some red lipstick and blush on your cheeks, and with a flick of your wand, your hair is styled down on your shoulder. (You can imagine your hair however you like, but here, some people have short hair, such as me so bear with me loves)

You check yourself in the mirror, You look magnificent. (Yes you are so beautiful and gorgeous) With a satisfied smile, you walk out of your room. As you walk downstairs, you hear the music playing, and chattering fills the Manor.

You enter the room with small steps and search for your boyfriend who gave you the cold shoulder for a day. Spotting him, you walk to him with an annoyed expression, but you couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach. He looks so delicious that it takes everything in you not to jump on him here and there.

His first few buttons are undone. The mixture of his jet black hair with a white shirt and black jeans is too good for you. You bite your lip and walk up to him, swaying your hips side to side. "Professor Snape, it's good to see you've decided to join us at last,"

He rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his whiskey. You look at his soft thin lips, wrapped around the crystal glass as his hands grab the glass tightly. "Severus, what is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me? Huh? I have seen your filthy thoughts about Lucius. Did you think I wouldn't get mad at you for thinking about getting fucked by another man?"

"You know it was only a dream, Severus. Don't make a big deal about it. You are the only one who can satisfy me, and you are aware of that,"

"Get out of my sight, before I snap at you," He whispers dangerously low in your ear. But you can't care less about him. You roll your eyes and turn around to walk away, as you start to make your way to Pansy, you glance back at Severus. To your dismay, Severus' assistant is approaching him with a seductive smile.

Catrina. That whore is always around Severus. Not to mention she gets touchy when they have a conversation, but the thing that annoys you the most is that it seems Severus doesn't have ANY problems with her flirting and touching.

You feel anger and jealousy bubbles inside of you. He has ignored you for the whole day, and now he is flirting with his assistant in front of you. You turn around, eyebrows knitted as anger rises in your veins.

Two can play, Mr. Snape

You look around the room, desperately trying to lit up your mood. You walk to the bar, waiting for the bartender to approach you. "Double neat whiskey," He nods and brings your shot. You gulp down the whole shot, feeling the burning session of the whiskey in your body. You feel yourself getting lighter a bit. You order another one, not being aware of a certain Blonde wizard's presence next to you.

You drink the whole shot again and sigh in relief that now alcohol is in your bloodstream. You order another one, but you are interrupted by a raspy voice behind you. "Slow down, you can't take another drink,"

You turn around and see Lucius Malfoy, standing there with his black button-up shirt with a glass of Brandy in his hand as he looks at you up and down. "I can take more than only whiskey shots, Mr. Malfoy." You lean your back on the counter and grab your glass.

His cock stiffens in his pants as he looks at your exposed cleavage. His eyes darken with lust and the tent his pants get larger and larger by second. You feel yourself getting aroused by the thought of him between your legs. You glance behind Lucius, looking at Severus who's busy flirting with Catrina.

You quickly look back at Lucius, rubbing his shin with your heels as you give him a sexy look. "It's like you have completely forgotten where are we, young lady,"

"Are you suggesting we should take this somewhere private? Because honestly, I'm not complaining," He swallows nervously. You are very tempting and it doesn't help him with the visible bulge in his pants.

You straighten your back, taking a step toward him. You inch yourself closer to his ear and whisper seductively. "Your choice of clothing is very nice, Mr. Malfoy, but they would look better on my bedroom floor," Heat creeps on his pale cheeks as he shifts uncomfortably. He grabs your wrist and pulls you with him upstairs.

None of you are aware that someone is following you too. As he reaches your room, he opens the door and walks in with you, but before he can slam the door shut, someone puts his foot between the door.

The door bursts open, revealing an angry and jealous Severus with a very hard cock in his pants. He shuts the door and locks it, taking big steps towards you. He wraps his fingers around your neck, squeezing it with all his strength as he closes your airway.

"You are such a desperate slut for men. Flirting with Lucius because I didn't pay attention to you. Tsk tsk, I don't even think punishment will suit you. I'll torture you tonight, edging you until you will lick my shoes, begging me to let you cum. Taking my cock down your throat until you are out of tears."

"Fuck you!"

"I'm up for it if you are,"

You try to shove his hand away from your neck, but he only chuckles darkly at your behaviors and tightens his grip around your neck.

"Yes, my little whore, Lucius, and I will stretch that tight pussy until you are completely ripped. This is what disgusting sluts get for being such a pick-me girl,"

Lucius looks thrilled and shocked at the same time. Shocked because he found out about your secret relationship with Severus, and thrilled that he's going to fuck you mercilessly.

He takes his hands away from your neck. You can feel your arousal, wetting your inner thighs. Suddenly, Severus' hands come down on your cheek, making you jump in surprise. By now, you are beyond turned on. Your body is going to be used for the two men around you for their pleasure, and honestly, you like it.

Severus brings out his wand, with one flick, you are completely naked in front of four lustful eyes who are staring at your curves with a pang of growing hunger. Severus gestures to Lucius to do something that you don't understand. Lucius smirks and goes out of the room.

A few seconds later, he comes back with a bag that you couldn't understand what's inside of it. Before you can ask anything, Severus yanks your hair backward, making you yelp in pain. He pulls you by your hair as he makes his way to the bed. He pushes you on the bed aggressively. "You are in trouble now,"

You feel fear creeping into your body, but at the same time, you can't deny the fact you are so aroused by the way he's treating you. "Tie her up Lucius, dirty sluts don't deserve to be touched, and touch anybody," Lucius obeys and crawls on top of you, flopping you on the pillows as he grabs your wrists with one hand and uses the other to tie your wrists to the headboard.

You press your lips together, desperately wish to be fucked but you know you are up for a very long night. Severus and Lucius smirk at your exposed body. "Are you going to do anything or you're just going to stare at my boobs?"

They thought you wouldn't dare, but you would definitely dare. "How dare you talk back? I thought Severus has fucked some manners into you. How wrong I was,"

"You see, Lucius, I have done it, but she is a brat. And brats never lose their attitude. Isn't that right, my disgusting harlot?"

"Apparently your 'lessons' weren't good enough, Severus," oh shit.

You don't know why you said it, but the second it got out of your mouth, you knew you have fucked up. "You talk too much," He spits at your face and walks to stand next to Lucius. Severus grabs the bag and opens it. He looks at the items in the bag, smirking devilishly as he thinks about how good he can punish you.

He pulls out a ball gag, taking you by surprise. "Since you don't shut up, I need to do it myself," He sits next to you on the bed as he tries to put on the gag in your mouth. You shake your head side to side, squirming under his hands. He slaps your cheeks again, making you moan in pain and pleasure. He takes advantage of your whining and pushes the ball into your mouth.

You look dead in his eyes, making him laugh harder than before. "Now now, let's see what has Lucius got for us in that useful bag,"

"Plenty of things, what do you want to do with her, Severus?"

"Oh I want to do so many things to her tonight, but let's start with a show now, shall we?" You don't know how but you guess with legilimency, Severus told about his first plan to Lucius cause Lucius' smirk turned into a grin and he started searching for something in the bag.

Your eyes widen when you see a purple dildo around 8 inches in Lucius's hand. Lucius tosses the dildo to Severus so he can do whatever he has planned with it. Severus pulls out his wand and points it at the dildo. "Wingarduim Leviosa" He levitates the dildo and directs it at your wet entrance, without warning he shoves all the 8 inches inside of you.

You moan around the gag as he pushes the dildo deeper into you. You shut your eyes, letting your walls adjust to the new feeling. "Open your eyes, hormonal bitch," You open your eyes and look at the men in front of you.

"Now let's put on a show for you, maybe then you'll learn to behave," He looks back at Lucius and flicks his wand. In a blink of an eye, Lucius is completely naked with his cock standing upright, leaking with pre-cum.

"Get. On. Your. Knees, Lucius,"

"What?! I won't-"

"Shut up and I get on your knees!"

"Yes,"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... sir,"

"That's better, now get on your knees,"

They don't even bother to look at your reaction. Your eyes are popping out, spit is running down your chin and a dildo is buried deep inside of you as you watch Severus dominates Lucius.

Lucius kneels in front of Severus, with his hands on his thighs. "Don't disobey me, Lucius, get on with it like a good boy," The way Severus is ruling Lucius around makes you dripping. Suddenly the dildo starts to shake and thrusts in and out of you.

You shut your eyes but Severus's voice makes you open them and look at Lucius who's working on Severus' belt. "Don't you dare close your eyes! You're going to sit and watch!"

You moan around the gag as the dildo's pace fastens. Lucius unbuckles Severus's belt and pulls down his pants with his boxers, freeing Severus's hard cock that is ready to burst at any second. Severus unbuttons his shirt as he steps out of his pants. Now he is completely naked and needy for Lucius to take him down his throat.

"You don't get to cum until I say so. Understood?" You nod your head eagerly, watching the two attractive men closely as the dildo brings you closer to your orgasm.

Lucius kisses up Severus's thighs, inching his face closer to his cock. Severus grabs his cock from the base and slaps Lucius's cheek with it. "Open up man whore, I wanna see your mouth full of my cock," If it wasn't because of the gag in your mouth, you would have screamed, because of the dildo and Severus's arousing words.

Lucius parts his lips, sticking his tongue out for Severus. Severus slaps his cock on his tongue, groaning at the feeling of Lucius's warm and welcoming mouth. With one forceful thrust, he shoves his full length in his mouth, taking Lucius off guard. Lucius chokes on his cock as Severus grabs a fistful of his hair in his hand.

"Relax your throat, my playboy, I'm gonna fuck your throat as that dirty wanton gets fucked by a fake dick," Lucius tries to breathe with his nose. Your legs start to shake as your inner walls clench around the plastic cock that's fucking you.

You moan loudly which is muffled by the gag. You try to keep your eyes open as your stomach tightens. "Are you going to cum?" Severus asks while he rocks his hips back and forth, fucking Lucius's throat slowly. You nod your head, waiting for his approval to let you cum. But he pulls out the dildo, making you whine as your orgasm fades away.

Severus bobs Lucius's head up and down his shaft, meeting his thrusts. The tip of his cock hits the back of his throat, making Severus groan loudly. Lucius closes his lips around his thick shaft, swirling his tongue around the base of Severus's cock making the man moan in pleasure.

Lucius hallows his cheeks, making a strong suction in his mouth. Severus's cock twitches in his mouth, and with a few more thrusts, Severus shoots his seeds in Lucius's mouth. Severus keeps Lucius's head down as he cums down his throat.

"Swallow, big boy," Lucius obeys and tries to swallow whatever he can. Severus pulls out of Lucius's mouth, watching his cum dripping down his chin. "Get up Lucius, that slut there needs to be punished," Lucius stands up with shaky legs, cock standing hard against his lower abdomen and dripping with pre-cum.

You watch them in awe. Lucius fucking Malfoy just swallowed Severus Snape's cum. This will be the night you will never forget. Not in the slightest!

As your mind is clouded with lust and the thoughts of the two men in front of you, you completely forget that they're going to punish you. You get out of your thoughts when you feel someone gets on the bed. You look at Lucius who has a leather whip in his hand.

With one swift movement, Severus turns you around and takes the gag off you. You try to stand still on your knees while your hands are twisted and still tied to the headboard. "Now, let's punish. After each whip, I want you to thank Lucius for punishing you,"

"Yes, sir,"

"Start, Lucius, and remember, do not be gentle," Lucius smirks and brings down the whip on your back, making you whine in pain and pleasure. You've never been whipped before, but the new feeling of pain mixed with pleasure is definitely something you would like to try later again.

"Thank you s-sir,"

Severus grabs your hair and yanks it backward, making you scream. "What for?"

"Thank you sir for punishing me!" You scream as Lucius brings the whip down again.

"That's right, take it Y/N. Take it like a good useless slut,"

Lucius whips your back again. Making you moan louder than before.

"T-thank you sir for p-punishing me,"

After 15 more whips, eventually, Lucius steps back. Your ass and back are covered in red lines. Severus traces his fingers on the red lines making you whine loudly.

"Now, let's reward Lucius. He was a really good boy for me, don't you think Y/N? I think he deserves to fuck this pretty pussy of yours."

"Yes sir, he deserves it,"

Severus turns you around again, laying you on your back which makes you hiss in pain. "You are going to have me down your throat while Lucius fucks your tight pussy, and you don't get to cum because it's your punishment,"

"Yes, sir,"

Severus puts his knees on each side of your head while he strokes his cock. Lucius spreads your legs and steps between them as he runs the tip of his cock between your wet folds. Without warning, Lucius shoves himself all the way inside of you. Your mouth hangs open as he starts thrusting in and out of you with a bruising pace.

Severus grabs his cock and slams himself in your hot mouth. Both men are groaning loudly while your screams are muffled by Severus's thick cock. Your eyes get watery as Severus slams himself into you, hitting the back of your throat. Lucius keeps crashing his hips to yours as the tip of his cock nudges your g-spot, making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

You feel Lucius throbs inside of you, but your orgasm is too close yet too far. You need more but you know that's the point of being punished. Severus's cock twitches in your mouth. You clench your walls around Lucius as the knot in your stomach tightens.

"So fucking tight, I can fuck you every day, every hour, and every second," Severus hums as his cock starts to twitches violently. He suddenly pulls out of your throat. "Pull out Lucius," Lucius groans in disapproval but pulls out nevertheless.

"Lay on your back and untie her, I want you to pound her tight walls while she's on top of you." Lucius obliges and unties your wrists, shifting you on top of him. He guides his cock back into your warm hole. You both moan as he fills you again, but this time, it's more pleasurable.

Lucius pulls you down for a kiss, nibbling your bottom lip as he bends his knee. He bucks his hips upwards, making you moan in his mouth. You grab his shoulders, digging your nails in his white flesh.

He starts pounding you without wasting time. You break the kiss to catch your breath but it's impossible cause Lucius's pace is heavenly. Your eyes roll back and you let your head fall on the crook of his neck.

Suddenly you feel another pair of hands on your hips. Lucius slows down, waiting to see what's going to happen. "Like I said Y/N, we're going to stretch your walls until you are ripped,"

You feel the tip of his cock at your already filled cunt. He pushes his cock into you slowly, careful not to hurt you. You try to slip out his cock by shifting forward but he grips your hips tighter. Lucius moans as Severus's cock rubs against his as he enters you.

You scream as you feel his whole cock inside of you. Severus lets out a throaty groan as the new feeling, you feel your walls getting ripped as you have two cocks in your tight hole. They let you adjust, waiting for your approval to start moving.

"Y-you can m-move now,"

That's enough for the two men to start thrust their hips into yours. Your head falls on Lucius's chest as their cocks rub against each other and your tight walls are sore and ready to clench around them.

This new feeling of fullness brings you closer to your orgasm. You feel your walls tighten around them which makes you scream in pleasure and the two men groan at the new space.

By now they are pounding you with all their strength. Your eyes roll back in your head as your mouth hangs open. You feel your stomach tightens as your release approaches. "I'm gonna cum!" You scream as you milk their cocks.

Lucius groans and grabs your breasts pinching your nails. "I'm cumming," He lets out a throaty moan and shoots his seeds in your womb. You feel Lucius's cock twitch and the warm feeling of his cum inside of you spreads in your belly.

Severus keeps slamming himself inside of you, but he doesn't last long either. He throbs in your cunt and with one powerful thrust he bursts inside of you. He groans your name as his grip on your hips tightens, enough to leave a mark.

He paints your walls with his white loads. Lucius and Severus's cock go soft in you and your bodies go limp on top of each other. They both pull out at the same time, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness.

Severus watches as the three of your cums mixed with each other drips out of your used and swollen hole. Severus lays down as Lucius helps you lay down between them.

Lucius turns to you as you try to catch your breath. "How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

"A glass of water would be nice," Lucius smiles and grabs a glass from the nightstand. He pours water for you and hands it to you. You gulp down slowly as you wipe the dried tears from your cheek.

You hand the glass back to Lucius and get u der the duvet. The two men follow your action closely. "I hope you've learned your lesson–" Severus's sentence is cut off with your soft snoring.

That was simply fascinating and perfect🤤🤤

Ma’am i am begging for a wolfstar blurb where Remus has a innocence kink and Sirius has a corruption kink

With love, my vagina

Dumb Bunny || Remus Lupin and Sirius Black

Word Count: 4,553

A/N: I hope you like this Bo, you’re my favorite and you know that. I also wrote like 90% of this in one sitting so I don’t know if it’s any good because you usually i take breaks and come back and look at what I’ve written but who knows. Love you so much my love.

Warnings: degradtion, praise, names like slut and dumb, blow job, oral virgin, dogg style, this is post Azkaban kinda

Masterlist

Kneeling at Remus’ feet staring up at the outline of his cock pressing up against his pants was daunting. You’d never actually given head before, had guys asked? Sure, but it had just never seemed worth the trouble, you’d never actually gotten a good look at any of their pricks because as soon as you’d nixed a blow job they were desperate to get inside of you.

Not that that had been all that great either, but you digress. 

You watched with wide eyes as his nimble fingers moved to the button on his slacks, pulling it through the hole before unzipping his zipper which allowed his slacks to drop and pool at his ankles. 

This left him in only his navy boxers which allowed you to get a much better look at the outline of his cock, you could almost see the ridges of the head as it was jostled around when he stepped out of his pants, kicking them to the side as he repositioned himself in front of you. 

You sat there, unmoving as you stared down his cock, not quite sure what to do now.

“Come on Pup, don’t tell me that you’re so clueless that you don’t know what to do with a cock when its been laid out in front of you,” Sirius sniped from where he stood, leaning nonchalantly against the wall as his eyes raked over your figure, clad only in the pair of pale pink panties and matching bra that you had put on hours earlier. “Don’t tell me that you’re that useless.”

“M’not useless,” You grumbled, casting your eyes down in shame, “I just, I’ve never done this before.”

“Speak up there Pup,” Remus commanded gently, slipping two strong fingers under your jaw to tilt your head up so that you could meet his gaze, “Can’t hear you when you mumble, and s’not nice to not look at someone when you’re talking to them.”

“M’sorry sir,” You apologized, trying to keep your eyes on his and not on his ever growing bulge, still straining against the material of his boxers, “I was just saying that,” You gulped, casting a sidelong glance at Sirius before moving your eyes back to meet Remus’, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never done what before?” Sirius asked from off to the side, his smirk evident in his voice as he moved to stand next to Remus, “Come on bunny, wanna hear you say it.”

You looked up at Remus with pleading eyes but it was clear he wasn’t going to call his dog off, “I’ve never given head before, I’ve never sucked…” You felt your face heat up as you trailed off at the implication of your words.

“Oh come on,” Sirius chuckled, kneeling next to you so that you were of equal height, “Don’t get shy on me now, you can say the word puppy, I know you can.”

You found yourself not mortified by his condescending matter but rather ridiculously turned on, you could already feel a knot begin to form in your belly.

Sirius kept his eyes trained on you expectantly until you finally relented, “Cock,” As the single word slipped from your mouth you felt embarrassment bloom in your belly which was silly really, it was only just a word.

“Come on now, all together,” The dark haired man grinned mischievously.

“I’ve never sucked cock,” You admitted bashfully, looking to Remus to measure his reaction. You were nervous, not only had you never sucked someone off before but both men were a decade older than you with more sexual experience. What if you weren’t good, or you couldn’t take them and triggered your gag reflex? With all of these thoughts swimming around in your head it was hard to form a coherent thought and that was purely from nervousness, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like when you had them inside of you.

He had to restrain himself from groaning, both at your words and the innocent look on your face as you gazed up at him, “You’ve had sex though right baby? We’re not gonna take your virginity are we?” He asked, because if he and his lover were about to be your first time it was going to have to be a whole lot more special than this.

You were quick to shake your head, “No, I’ve had sex, I’m not a virgin.”

“Well in this hole you are,” Sirius captured your jaw, turning it to face him. His thumb brushed against the seal of your lips in a nonverbal command for you to open them, which you did of course.

You watched with wide eyes as Sirius gathered spit in his mouth before he spat it into your mouth, the taste of him bleeding across the expanse of your tongue. 

“Let me see Pup,” Sirius commanded as you stuck your tongue out, allowing him to see his spit on your tongue before he gave you your next direction, “Good girl, now swallow.”

Not as restrained a man as Remus he did groan watching your throat with an unguarded lust that had you shivering at the idea of what thoughts laid behind that gaze.

“Pads is right, you’re a very good girl,” Remus praised, directing your attention back towards him. Your mouth dropped open at the sight you were met with, Remus’ stiff cock standing proud and tall in front of your face with his hand wrapped around it.

“Am I going to suck your cock?” You asked, wide eyed and slightly concerned as you gazed up at Remus. Though his dick was prettier than you anticipated with its bright red, leaking tip, and the ridges caused by the veins that ran along the sides it was absolutely mouth watering, but the idea of fitting that in your mouth was nothing less than nerve wracking.

He let out a low chuckle, one of his strong hands moving to brush your hair out of your face, his eyes trained on your lips, “No, not yet baby. Gonna wrap those pretty lips around Sirius he’s a little bit smaller, it’ll make it easier for you.”

You heard Sirius grumble in discontent at the comment as he pushed himself up to undo the buckle of his belt, shedding both his trousers and boxers with far less dignity than his counterpart. Though yes, he was a bit smaller, it didn’t appear to be a significant difference and did little to soothe your woes about your potential performance. 

“Don’t worry Poppet, m’gonna teach you how to suck his dick. It's not hard I promise,” The tall man knelt beside you, his hand still on his prick as he smeared a kiss along your temple. You allowed your eyes to close at the contact, leaning into the touch as Remus guided one of your hands to his cock. It practically jumped into your grasp as oppositely charged magnets would attract each other. 

Though you’d given a hand job before Remus’ much larger, scarred hand found its way to encase your’s, guiding you through the motions of pumping up and down the shaft.

“How about me?” Sirius sounded petulant, like a child, but there was absolutely nothing child like about the way his dick rested heavily in the palm of his hand, he wasn’t as long as Remus but what he lacked in length he made up for in girth. The head of his member was more purple than red, though it leaked just as ferociously with the beginning drops of precum.

“He’s right Puppy,” Remus told you, pulling his lips away from your temple so that you would be forced to support the weight of your head on your own and meet his eyesight, “Gonna teach you how to give a blow job, okay?”

You nodded your head, “Yes, Sir.”

Impatience radiated off of the man who stood before you, the head of his cock staring you down, before you could talk yourself out of action you reached out and took the shaft in your hand, getting used to how it sat heftily in your hand.

“You’re gonna want to spit in your hand first Pup, it’ll make it easier,” Remus suggested, his length still secure in his own hand. You followed your instructions, switching Sirius’ member to your nondominant hand while you spat into the other one before resuming your previous hold.

Gazing up at him as you worked your hand up and down the length of his shaft you noticed the way his eyes were entirely consumed by lust, shining grey irises now black, blending in with his pupils.

“Use your thumb to smear the precum baby, like that,” Remus continued to coach you, watching as you ran your thumb over the sensitive head of Sirius’ member and how he jolted at the motion, “See he likes it.”

“Do you? Do you like it, Daddy?” You peered up at him through your eyelashes, cocking your head to the side without ever relenting the movement of your hand, “Am I doing a good job?”

Remus groaned from beside you, his gaze having left the dick in your hand, now landing on your face. Sirius simply smirked, dark curtains of hair framing his visage, the mere sight of him looming above you was enough to make you embarrassingly turned on, feeling pleasure begin to simmer in your belly you could only imagine how it would feel when you had him in your mouth.

“You’re doing a very good job Puppy,” It was Remus who spoke this time, “But it looks like Pads might be a little desperate to get his cock in your mouth, you think you’re ready?”

“I think so,” You nodded.

That was all Sirius needed before he was releasing his member from your hold, gripping his hand around it pumping it once, then twice before bringing the head to rest on your bottom lip. Tracing the seal of your lips with the weeping head of his prick he spoke, “Come on Puppy, wanna be the first cock in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“You heard him (Y/N), open your mouth, time to take his cock.” Remus said from beside you.

“B-But I’ve never done this before, how am I supposed to know what to do?”

Getting more and more frustrated with the fact his prick still wasn’t in your mouth Sirius began shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be alright,” The werewolf soothed you, running his fingers through your tresses, “Gonna help you.”

Glancing over at Remus for one last confirmation you didn’t realize what Sirius was doing until it was too late and his member was making contact with your cheek as he slapped it against the side of your face, streaking precum across your skin, “Hurry up slut.”

You whimpered at the degradation of both his words and his action as you felt a pang of pleasure zip through your body, shivering at the filthiness of it. You shifted in your spot, trying to rub your thighs together to soothe some of the ache that resided there and that wasn’t showing any indication of relenting but neither of the older men were having it.

“Stop that,” Sirius growled, capturing your jaw in his hand, pushing your cheeks together so that your lips were forced open, “Not about you right now, you’re supposed to be getting me off,” With that, having lost all patience he pushed the head of his cock into your mouth, releasing a strangled groan as he stopped himself from pushing in deeper. 

Remus let out a small chuckle shifting so that he was closer to you, “There you go Poppet, just start with the head. You wanna be sure to keep your teeth tucked away so that you don’t hurt him,” Leaning in closer towards your ear he added something else in a low whisper, “We can do that later, yeah?”

You let out a small giggle, which because it was muffled by the cock sitting inside of your mouth sent vibrations of pleasure through Sirius, starting at the head of his member and working their way up the shaft. Unable to control himself he bucked into your mouth, not considerably deep but deep enough to jar you. 

“Careful Si,” Remus scolded gently, one of his hands going to grip Sirius’ bare thigh as a reminder not to rush. Looking at you he saw the tears brimming in your eyes at the sudden and unexpected motion, “Puppy,” He cooed, caressing the side of your face with his knuckles, “Gotta breathe through your nose, do you know how to do that baby?”

Shaking your head gently you were careful to keep your teeth tucked away behind your lips while still signaling that you had no clue what you were doing. 

“Are you choking on my cock?” Sirius mocked you, the concerned tone of voice so sickly sweet it was nauseating, “Not even doing anything with it, just sitting there in your mouth and you can’t even take it,” He thrusted up gently into your mouth, just enough for the head of his cock to brush up against the roof of your mouth as cause you to gag around his length.

“Be nice Sirius,” Remus seethed through gritted teeth, glaring up at him while he pet your hair, grounding you as you focused on inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils. Concentrating on that helped you to calm your gag reflex, no longer having a problem with how his member was positioned in your mouth.

“Daddy can be mean can’t he?” Remus directed his attention towards you, his tone was so falsely sympathetic that it worsened the need bubbling up inside of you as the pleasure in your stomach continued to simmer. 

You stopped yourself from nodding again, this time letting out an affirmative hum which pleased Remus as he watched Sirius’ hips stutter as he refrained from forcing his length all the way down your throat.

“You can suck harder bunny, it’ll feel good and he’ll tell you if something hurts or doesn’t feel good, gotta trust him to do that.”

Taking his advice you sucked more harshly at the member inside of your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head while looking up at him to gauge his reaction, he was still looking down at you, unblinking as though if he lost sight of you for even a moment the pleasure would stop. 

Remus slid his body behind yours so that your back was pressed to his chest with his cock achingly pressing into your bareback, smearing precum along your skin.

“Gotta hollow your cheeks Pup, like this,” His fingers found their way to either side of your face, pressing gently on your cheeks until he could feel the cock inside of your mouth. “It’ll feel good for him, make it tighter like it would be if he was fucking your cunt.”

One hand quickly abandoned your face, sliding its way down your stomach until his fingers were brushing the top of your lacy panties before slipping just his fingertips beneath the material. He simply cupped your pussy possessively, not working his fingers between your folds or into your hole, but just resting there, clutching you.

“Fuck Moons,” Sirius gritted, “She’s a fucking natural, hollowing her cheeks so prettily for me it’s like fucking her actual cunt.”

You whined at his words, squirming once again trying to relieve the ache burning between your thighs, the way he spoke to Remus, to Sir, like you weren’t even there. It was deliciously objectifying, degrading, and you loved it. 

Remus smiled into your neck as he moved to nip at your ear, the contact subtle, but still enough to have you shivering as pleasure tickled at your nerves which felt frayed and exposed, with every motion, every exhale against your skin it was like on fire had been set to each of them individually.

“Gonna make him feel even better now poppet, bob your head up and down and you’re gonna take your hand,” He took one of your hands, which had been resting on your thigh, and guided it to the base of Sirius’ member, “Just move it a little bit, on what you’re not able to fit into your mouth, don’t wanna neglect it.” 

Following his instructions you worked the exposed length of him in your hand as you bobbed your head up and down the rest, taking about half of his cock into the velvety warmth of your mouth. Running the brunt of your tongue along his shaft you acted upon the courage you felt surge through you, using the hand not at the base of his cock to grapple at his balls. 

You were more than pleased with the strangled moan that fell from Sirius’ lips, you’d gotten groans out of him earlier but not a moan. Remus noted this as well, his mouth still pressed against your ear, “Look at that, he’s so pretty with his head thrown back like that, moaning, and all because of your mouth.” 

One of his fingers found your bottom lip which was dripping with saliva, and he ran the pad of his finger along the cushion of your lip, pressing gently. 

“How’s it feel, Pads?” Remus looked up at the other man.

“She was born to suck cock,” He exhaled sharply as you took him deeper in your mouth, making a point to continue to hollow your cheeks.

The hand cupping your sex slid a finger between your folds, collecting your wetness on a singular digit causing you to jump at the contact before you rolled your hips towards his hand nonverbally begging for more.

Moving his lips to suck dark purple hues into the delicate flesh of your neck Remus spoke into your skin, “Once you make Daddy cum then it's your turn Bunny, don’t be greedy, you gotta give before you get.”

Taking his words at face value you became even more determined to make Daddy cum, knowing that not only would it be a personal feat, your first blow job, but that when it was done you would be getting so much more.

Breathing in sharply through your nose you willed your gag reflex not to act up as you pushed your head down on his cock, taking in as much of Sirius as you could which you were pleased to see that it was a majority of his length inside of your mouth by the time you hit your limit. 

You sucked more harshly at his member, swirling your tongue around what you could before Remus rose from where he had rested behind you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before moving to stand next to Sirius. You whimpered when his fingers slipped from your cunt but were intrigued as you watched through your lashes. Observing as Remus’ hands slipped under the smaller man’s shirt, palms running up and down the toned planes of his stomach as he meshed his lips with the other man’s.

You were unsure but you thought that you heard a command for Sirius to rid himself of his shirt as he quickly undid the buttons, letting the dress shirt fall to the floor with Remus’ quickly following suit.

Watching the two men make out with each other, Remus’ hands nestling themselves in Sirius’ long hair and Sirius’ gripping at Remmy’s bare ass, spurred you on in your efforts to make him cum.

Adjusting Siri’s length so that it sat comfortably in your throat and that so you could feel where it bulged against your throat before you swallowed around his length.

If the feeling of his load being shot down your throat wasn’t indication enough that your little trick had done the job then the sharp, “Fuck” the man released from above you certainly was. 

You swallowed his cum just as you had his spit before easing yourself off of his length, taking extra care to keep your teeth from his sensitive cock. Looking up at him with wide eyes you watched him lay his head on Remus’ chest as marks similar to the ones left on your neck were left on his, and though yours were beginning to feel a bit tender you knew that Sirius was loving his as much as you were loving yours.

“Did I do a good job Daddy?” You looked up at him owlishly, cocking your head to the side.

“Fuck Moons if you don’t fuck her I will,” Was all you got in response as Remus chuckled into the newly bruised skin of his lover pulling away to assess you. 

He frowned looking at you as he noticed that you were still in your underwear, “Up,” He ordered, once you were on your feet he was in front of you in a single stride, strong, scarred arms were extending around your torso to undo the clasp of your bra, pulling the straps off of your shoulders allowing the garment to fall to the floor before kneeling in front of you to tug your panties down which you then stepped out of.

“On the bed,” He ordered simply, your panties hanging from the crook of his finger as he moved to deposit them in the pocket of his blazer, cock bobbing in the air as he moved about the room.

Positioning yourself on the bed, on your hands and knees you caught a glimpse of Sirius lounging on an armchair in the room, cock resting against his thigh as he recovered from his first orgasm of the night. He shot you a lazy smile before raking his eyes along your form, studying each ripple and ridge hungrily. 

On your hands and knees, you felt uncomfortably vulnerable but you knew it was all worth it when you felt Remus settle in behind you, his hands moving to grip your hips and pull you back towards his pelvis.

You pushed your bum back towards Remus as you felt the head of his cock run through your soaking folds, you were almost embarrassed by how wet sucking Sirius off had made you but you couldn’t quite summon the energy.

“Don’t rush bunny, I got you, I promise,” With one hand guiding his cock and the other anchoring you to him he pushed just the head of his member inside of you. You clenched around him, trying to suck more of his length up into you because though you technically had him you needed more.

Not feeling particularly patient himself Remus wasted no time before pushing the entirety of his length inside of you, growling as your cunt pulsed around him. 

“Sir!” You moaned feeling yourself stretch around him, having never taken his cock before you weren’t ready for the way that he stretched you so wide it was bordering on painful just barely avoiding tipping over the edge. 

Allowing you a moment to adjust to his length he pulled out of you until his member barely rested inside of you before thrusting himself all the way back in. A hand running down your back signaled for you to arch your back for him which of course you did.

His pace was fast but deep, the depth of his strokes consistent as he reached depths inside of you you hadn’t even known existed before. Pistoning his hips in and out of you the rhythmic sound of skin slapping up against skin filled the room and you could feel his balls slapping up against your clit which each and every thrust.

“Pretty bunny,” Remus’ low voice sounded through the room, accompanied by the sounds of your skin against each other as he leaned back to watch his member disappear in you before pulling back out, “Such a pretty bunny for me, so sweet and innocent aren’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” You responded, allowing your head to drop and hang as you fell onto your elbows rather than your hands.

Sirius tutted as he rose from his seat in the corner, his beautifully tattooed body still glistening with sweat as he began pumping his cock while walking towards you, “Please, she’s not a pretty bunny, she’s a little cum slut. Dumb little bunny.”

You whined out at his degradation, your eyes squeezed shut as a wave of pleasure coursed through you causing you to let out a ragged breath. 

“See, she likes it, dumb bunny.” Though you couldn’t see him you were sure that he was grinning wickedly down at you.

“No m’not! I’m a pretty bunny,” You insisted, though your message was a bit undercut as you slurred your words.

“That’s right, pretty bunny,” Remus cooed, groping the globes of your ass in his hands, squeezing the flesh before pulling away to observe the handprints he left on your skin, if only for a moment.

“She wants to be, but she’s not, she’s just a cock hungry slut.” Sirius countered and you looked up at him with pleading eyes, desperately seeking his approval but all you got was a sneer as he pumped his cock next to your face.

“Not nice, Sir says you’re mean,” You whined as Remus continued to thrust in and out of you, rather enjoying watching the interaction between his two lovers.

“Oh is that right? Well, I don’t fucking care if I’m mean, you’re a dumb fuck bunny and if telling you that is mean then oh well,” He grasped your jaw in between his hand, forcing your head up at an uncomfortable angle to make eye contact with you, “Guess I’m mean.”

The whine you released at that was perhaps the most pathetic of the night, you felt pathetic at the gush of wetness you felt at his words, the pleasure in your belly progressing from a simmer to a boil as Remus’ hand reached around to find your clit, pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t listen to him,” The man buried deep inside of your cunt told you, “You’re my pretty bunny, keep on being my pretty bunny, prove Daddy wrong.”

It was all too much, the contrast between Remus’ praising words and Sirius’ harsh ones, the sight of Sirius’ tattooed hand working up and down his shaft, Remus’ pace in and out of you and his hand on your clit. 

It was just all too much.

You could barely see straight as the pleasure boiling in your belly overflowed, like hot lava flowing you felt pleasure flow through your veins as you climaxed. Your orgasm left you feeling warm in every nook and cranny as your eyes rolled back into your head. It felt like you were underwater as your thoughts swam around you, mingling with the noises in the room around you.

Your head was still heavy as you opened your eyes which you hadn’t realized you’d squeezed shut, you jolted forward as Remus continued moving in and out of your pussy, trying to get away from his cock. Your orgasm had been electrifying leaving you sensitive but Remus didn’t seem to be relenting.

“Don’t recall telling you you could cum Poppet,” Remus said from behind you, and that’s when you realized why he wasn’t stopping, “Maybe Daddy was right, maybe you are just a dumb bunny.”

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1. Food.

2. Books.

3. Art. (I study art history)

4. Movies and music.

5. My Crushes. (Right now, Ben Barnes)

He is so cute