#but he thinks he’d blow our minds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

athenamikaelson · 2 months ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Pt. 20

Word Count- 3.8k

Warnings- Swearing, injury, stick, Theo, Klaus, Theo and Klaus

“We’re going to go meet Bonnie’s birth mother. Want to join us?”

I blow out a low breath as Elena tells me her day plans over the phone. I ponder her question momentarily and then glance at Theo, who is currently curled into a sad ball on my bed.

“I would but…I’m on Theo watch duty. Gotta make sure he doesn’t have another mental breakdown,” I whisper the last part into the phone but Theo must’ve heard because I hear him mutter “bitch” at me.

“Yikes… How’s he doing,” Elena asks wearily.

I blow out another breath as Theo wails loudly, “You hear that?”

“Oh… definite yikes. Well, call us if you need anything ok? And, please stay inside, or don’t go anywhere near Stefan.”

I huff, “Ya trust me, I’m staying as far away from that bastard as I can.”

“You talking about Stefan,” I hear Theo growl out and I shush him.

“Tell Bonnie I’ll kick her mother’s ass if things go south,” I say into the phone and Elena’s voice gets muffled as she says something to someone near her.

“Bonnie says she will and she appreciates it,” Elena laughs.

We then say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone and remember the elephant in the room.

“You’ve really got to move on dude. It’s not like he’s dead,” I sit down on the edge of my bed and my brother sits up and glares at me. He’s wrapped up in a fluffy pink blanket so his glare is more pathetic than scary.

“Mind yourself, woman,” He bites, “What if your Gilbert left you?”

I begin to roll my eyes at him but stop and frown.

“SEE! You’d be in my position if your book buddy left you! So don’t come bitching at me because my SOULMATE left me,” He cries out and I let out a long breath.

“Can’t you have your mid-life crisis in your room?”

“The internet says you're not supposed to be alone in times of mourning,” He quickly responds.

“Ya well,” I rub my forehead, “You're giving me a fucking migraine.”

At the mention of my head, Theo frowns and leans closer to me inspecting my head, “How is your head? I swear to God as soon as I get my hands on that stupid bitchass motherfucking vampire imma kill him.”

I smile softly at him and sit back, “I’m fine now. And promise me if you see Stefan you will run the other way,” I say trying to hide the slight fear in my voice.

“Y/n he hurt you, I’m not going to just-”

“Theo! Please! Do you see how you are acting because Jeremy left you? If something were to happen to you…I’d be one hundred times worse than this. I couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist, alright? And Stefan he’s… not himself right now. He doesn't care about me and he definitely doesn’t care about you. So, promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

Theo nods and grabs my shoulders, bringing me in for a hug, “I’d lose my shit too if you weren’t here. That’s why it sucks I can’t defend you. Seeing you in the condition you were the other night was horrible.”

I think back to when Klaus dropped me off, and Theo was right at the front door to see it and also see the absolute wreck I was.

“I know and I’m sorry you had to see that,” I apologize.

Theo shakes his head, “You have nothing to apologize for,” Theo stops talking and then side-eyes me, “Also… would you like to explain to me why exactly Klaus, the Original hybrid, was on our front porch dropping you off?”

“Well…”

Flashback

The dark forest flies by me as Klaus drives down the dark road towards my house. An awkward silence fills Klaus’ expensive SUV as I stare at my fingers that are resting in my lap. You would think for someone who loves to hear himself talk so much he’d be yapping away but after he practically carried me to the car, and placed me into my seat, he hasn’t said a word.

After another moment I let out a sigh, “You didn’t have to take me home…I could’ve rode with Alastair.”

Klaus doesn’t move his eyes away from the road, “With Alastair’s track record of making sure you come to no harm…I decided I should start taking things into my own hands.”

I frown, “So what? You’re going to start stalking me now?”

Even in this poorly lit car, I can’t miss the small smirk on his face, “Hypothetically.”

“Great,” I say sarcastically.

Everything is silent for a moment until a car with its high beams on drives by us and I wince and let out a gasp of pain at the intrusion of light on my already pounding head.

“Here,” I hear Klaus’ voice and a biting sound and have to fight the urge to puke again when I see him bite into his wrist.

“Hell no,” I shake my head, “I’ll live with the headache.”

Klaus pretty much growls, “Sorry to burst your bubble, Princess. But, that little headache of yours is most likely a concussion. And I can’t have you falling asleep tonight and not waking up because of it. So just drink.”

I shake my head defiantly and watch his wrist heal itself, “I’ll live.”

Klaus turns and glares at me and if I was in a better state I would glare right back at the bitch but I’m so worn down that I just stare back at him. Klaus’ glare drops when he sees I’m not glaring back at him.

“Y/n, just drink…”

“What’s a mate?”

The car swerves and I quickly grab the closest thing to me which happens to be Klaus’ hand that is lying on the center console. Images of Stefan and the bridge flash in my mind and I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack. Or dying. I could definitely be dying too.

“Y/n! Y/n focus on me,” I hear Klaus’ voice in my head but I can’t seem to focus on anything or stop the panic attack that is building.

“Fuck it,” Is all I hear before the air is being taken out of my lungs and my face is being squished by Klaus’ large hands. It takes me a moment to register why I feel a pressure on my mouth but when I open my eyes and see Klaus’ face before mine I realize…Klaus is kissing me. Klaus whatever his last name is, is fucking kissing me. His lips are on my lips at this very moment. Holy shit.

I know I should push him off me but I’m going to blame it on my lack of consciousness right now because I’m leaning into him. I’m kissing him back.

Klaus pulls away from me a moment later and I stare at him wide-eyed. I bring my shaking hand up to my lips and trace my bottom lip with my finger, trying not to think about how right it felt to be that close to him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Klaus’ voice pulls me out of my stupor.

“Then…why did you?”

Klaus leans back and it seems like he’s trying to make as much distance between him and me as he possibly can, which sends a stabbing pain to my chest.

“You were having a panic attack. What I’ve learned over the years is that holding your breath will stop it.”

At Klaus’ reason, a wave of embarrassment flows through me. I can’t figure out why but, a sense of rejection fills me as well.

“Oh,” I softly say, “I’m sorry.”

I can feel Klaus’ stare as I look back down to my hands.

“Why are you apologizing?”

I shrug, “For freaking out. And for making you,” I point to my lips embarrassingly, “Y’know.”

A bigger wave of embarrassment runs through me at the sound of Klaus’ laugh.

“Trust me, Princess,” Klaus tugs on the end of my hair lightly to gain my attention, “Kissing you is the opposite of sorrowful.”

I look at Klaus’ who has a mix of a smirk and a smile on his face and I nod quickly before looking away, feeling a warmth build throughout me.

I notice now that we’ve pulled off to the side of the road.

“We can go now. I’m okay,” I gesture to the road ahead and try to catch a glimpse of Klaus out of the corner of my eye but he’s still staring at me.

“Not until you let me heal you.”

I shake my head, “You vampires keep trying to get me to drink your blood and it’s weird.”

Klaus’ eyes darken, “What other vampires?”

I shrug, “Just like Damon, and,” I pause, “Your brother.”

“You’ve drank Elijah’s blood but you won’t drink mine?”

Klaus’ harsh voice bites at me and I flinch back in my seat.

Klaus’ glare instantly drops as he runs a hand over his face, “You have no reason to flinch around me. I’d never… I’d never do anything like that to you.”

I frown at the man who has uprooted and ruined my friends’ lives over the past 4 months and shake my head, “Are you serious?!”

Klaus stares at me for a moment before leaning back in his seat again, “I’ve never laid a hand on you or your brother.”

At the mention of Theo I stiffen, “How do you know about him?”

Klaus looks at me with an “Are you serious” look.

“Alastair,” I say knowingly and growled.

“He’s not the best at protecting but he is great at getting information.”

I pause for a moment and then glare at him, “If you ever try anything against Theo, I swear to whatever Gods are out there I will-”

“Slow it, Princess,” Klaus raises a hand stopping me, “Your brother has nothing to fear from me. Hurting him is hurting you.”

“Why is not hurting me of importance to you? Because of what Stefan said in the car? We’re mates?”

My question has Klaus leaning forward and starting the car again.

“Seriously,” I exhale at him and he doesn’t spare me a glance.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I go to rub my hands over my face but Klaus’ hand grabs mine stopping me.

“You’re going to hit your wound. Put your hand down.”

“Why can’t I ever just know the truth? I’m so sick and tired of everyone hiding things from me like I’m so fucking kid! I haven’t been a kid in years and I can handle a lot more than you fuckers think I can.”

Klaus watches me for a moment and then shakes his head, “I don’t think you understand.”

“No, I understand you perfectly! I understand you’re just like the rest of them!”

“Y/n. Listen to me,” Klaus leans back over to me so my full attention is on him, “First of all, I’m nothing like anyone that you’ve ever met before, so don’t insult me. Second, I don’t think you’re a child. I can see it in your eyes, that look that mirrors my own. You and I are the same, Astin Min. And third, it’s not you that can’t handle it. It’s me.”

I stare at Klaus and he stares back at me.

“Why can’t you?”

Klaus runs his tongue over his teeth before letting out a sigh.

“Question for question,” He shakes his head slightly, “Correction. Question for a favor.”

I narrow my eyes at him and frown, “What kind of favor?”

Klaus smirks, “You drink my blood. I’ll answer your question.”

I groan as I stare at him. The idea of drinking his blood disgusts me but staying in the dark pisses me off.

“Fine. Let’s get the over with,” I lean over the console toward him and open my mouth.

Klaus seems to be almost surprised by my agreement as his eyebrows slightly raise. His eyes go towards my open mouth and for a moment in the dark car, I could swear a hint of red tints on his cheeks. But before I can stare too long Klaus bites into his wrist and presses it to my mouth. I think I’m about to vomit when the warm liquid hits my tongue but instead, I groan at the delicious taste. Embarrassment has me quickly pulling away and wiping my lips.

Klaus on the other hand is smirking like the fucking devil he is, “It’s better than Elijah’s, isn’t it.”

I glare at him, “I’m going to swing on you.”

Klaus releases a hearty laugh and I feel my upper lip twitch at the sound.

“It’s your turn Jackass,” I cut his laughing off and he rolls his eyes.

Klaus puts the car in drive and for a moment I think he’s going to back out of our deal but then he clears his throat.

“I’ve gone a thousand years without a weakness, Y/n. A thousand years with no one having any leverage over me, other than my father.,” He pauses at the mention of Mikael, “You threaten that. A thousand years, and now my biggest threat is an 18-year-old girl.”

He bitterly laughs out the last part as if he can’t believe it’s true.

“I’m no threat to you. You’re the great big bad hybrid. I can’t even run up a flight of stairs without getting winded. How could I ever harm you?”

Klaus turns to me and his eyes go towards my wounded head before turning back towards the road.

“You have no idea.”

—

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew how to get to my house without me telling you,” I say as I go to open my car door but Klaus speeds over to my side and opens it for me.

Maybe he and Elijah are related.

“You can ask, I can’t promise you’ll like the answer,” Klaus says as he helps me out of the car.

I get out and try to walk on my own but a wave of tiredness flows through me and I feel my knees buckle. Thankfully, I feel Klaus’ arm wrap around my waist to keep me up.

“What the hell?!”

Theo’s screeching voice has me cringing in pain and I can hear Klaus growl from beside me.

I open my eyes to see Theo running out of the front door and down the steps to me, wrapped in my fucking comforter.

“Unhand her you bitch,” Theo yells and points his finger at Klaus who looks entirely unimpressed with my younger brother’s antics.

“Theo, chill the fuck out and go back inside. I’ll be in in a moment,” I try to wave my brother away but he shushes me and grabs me out of Klaus’ arms.

“What kind of brother and manly protector would I be if I left you alone with this,” Theo glares at Klaus, who still has a hand on the bottom of my elbow, “thing.”

Klaus’ eyes go from my brother’s face to the giant lavender blanket wrapped around him, “I would insult you, but I know about your lack of male figures in your life. So this,” He gestures to the blanket, “Is not your fault. It appears your sister has just raised herself a sister.”

I swallow a laugh as Theo looks like he’s about to internally combust. He lets go of me and if it weren’t for Klaus’ hand on my elbow I probably would have fallen. Klaus narrows his eyes at my brother because of his actions.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Theo puts his fists up and I laugh at the amount of stupidness.

I look over to Klaus who’s standing next to me and he meets my eyes for a moment and then rolls his own.

“Klaus.”

“Well listen here Klau-”

Theo stops.

“Wait,” Theo’s eyes go from wide to wider as his mouth drops open when he realizes who he just tried fist fighting. Theo slowly drops his fists, “Did you just say Klaus?”

Klaus seems to be beside himself for getting this kind of reaction out of my brother and I glare at him, “The one and only.”

Theo stares wide-eyed at the Original for a moment before turning around towards our lawn. I think he’s going to make a run for it but he quickly leans down and then turns back. I watch in awe as he throws a fucking stick at Klaus, bonking the hybrid right in his pretty face.

“Quick, sister,” Theo yells as I feel him rip me out of Klaus’ arms and starts to drag me up the stairs.

“Theo! Hold the fuck on, you dumbass,” I pull away from my brother as we make it to the porch and he stares at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“What the fuck are you doing?!?!?”

“He’s not going to hurt us,” I tell my brother, “Or at least he wasn’t until you threw a fucking twig at his head.”

I look down at where Klaus is standing. I try to fight it but a loud laugh escapes my lips when I see him glaring up at us with the small twig breaking in his left hand.

“Luv, I know I made a promise about not hurting him, but I think I might have to break that,” He bites out and I instantly stiffen and move in front of my little brother.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” I threaten him and we glare back at each other.

“This sexual tension is freaking me out,” Theo’s voice takes my focus away from Klaus as I turn to glare at my brother instead.

“Shut up, Theo!”

“Oh, let the boy continue,” Klaus snarkily says and I turn back to glare at him. Thankfully the dark look from before has vanished and is now replaced by his usual smirk.

I feel Theo’s hand tug on mine and I squeeze his. Theo talks a tough game but I can feel the shaking coming from his hand.

“He hurt you Y/n,” Theo whispers to me as he stares wearily at my bloody head.

“Did not,” Klaus retorts.

Theo turns his attention back to the Original, “Did too!”

“Did no-”

“Jesus Christ stop you two,” I groan and rub my temple with my free hand, “Theo it was Stefan who hurt me. Klaus actually…helped me. I guess.”

I turn to see my brother’s confused face and can hear Klaus mutter “She guesses” under his breath.

“Stefan did this to you,” Theo questions, and as I nod his weary look turns to one of anger, “Fine. Then grab that stick we’re going to go stab Stefan instead.”

Theo begins to walk back down the steps and Klaus raises the stick up for him to take.

“I’ll join you, mate.”

I pull my brother back with a huff, “Theo go back inside. Now.”

Theo goes to argue but I glare at him. With one last huff and an “I’m watching you” gesture to Klaus, he walks back inside. But I can see the living room curtain push open slightly so I know he’s still watching.

“You two are definitely related,” Klaus growls as he looks up at me.

“Sadly,” I respond.

Klaus and I stand there for another moment just watching each other and I feel my face warm up.

“Well…um. Thank I guess,” I say awkwardly and turn to the front door.

“Y/n,” Klaus’ voice has me stopping and turning over my shoulder to look at him. He looks like he’s about to say something else but then clears his throat.

“Good night.”

—-

“YOU KISSED HIM?!?!?”

I roll my eyes as Theo stares wide-eyed at me.

“Technically, he kissed me,” I respond and Theo shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh you kissed him back,” He says and looks at me like I just committed the worst sin imaginable.

I look down at my hands as a wave of shame washes through me.

“You can’t tell anyone, Theo. Seriously. Not Jeremy, or Elena, or anyone,” I look at my brother worried.

Theo narrows his eyes, “Why not?”

I give him an “Are you serious” look.

Theo thinks for a moment and then nods, “Oh, ya. Crazy Pyshco that killed your best friend and is harassing all your friends now. Ya, secrets safe with me.”

I grab Theo’s hand, “Theo, I’m serious.”

Theo squeezes my hand, “I promise. Sibling pact and shit….Also,” Theo smirks, “Was it good?”

I frown, confused, “Was what good?”

“The kiss,” Theo smirks evilly.

I smile sweetly at my brother and then hit him upside the head with my hand.

“Ow, woman. Don’t be putting your filthy hands on my precious hair.”

“Your greasy hair,” I say back and he stares at me in shock.

“How dare you! It is not greasy,” He tries to fight back but when I raise an eyebrow at him he quickly stands up and runs to my mirror. The screech that leaves his mouth as he stares into the mirror has me rolling my eyes.

Theo quickly drops my blanket on the floor and runs out of the room. Not even 2 minutes later I hear the water from the shower turn on. I quickly stand up, shut my door, and then lock it.

—-

“Wait, so that means I can’t fist-fight Bonnie’s mother,” I ask Elena.

Elena called me as soon as she got home from her trip with Bonnie to meet Bonnie’s mother. I guess Bonnie’s mother ended up losing her magic when she did a spell to desecrate Mikael 16 years ago but is willing to try to get her magic back to help her daughter open the unopenable coffin or some shit. There’s so much going on in this town that everything’s starting to mesh together.

“No…I mean at least not right now,” Elena jokes and I huff.

“Fine. But if she hurts Bonnie I’m throwing my fist right into her throat,” I pretend to jab the air as I put the phone in between my shoulder and ear.

“Are you fighting the air right now,” Elena asks and I stop.

“No….”

Elena laughs, “Well, if you do need to fight her I’ll be there rooting for you.”

I smile, “Thanks, I appreciate it,” I pull up my towel that is wrapped around my body.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay,” I tell Elena and she agrees and I hang up the phone.

My still-wet hair leaves shivers on my body as I open my bedroom door and walk inside. But when my Y/E/C eyes meet brown eyes I stop.

“Hello, Elskan. I think you and I are long overdue for a chat.”

498 notes · View notes

luveline · 5 months ago

Note

I need more Hotch x teacher PLEASE, I’ll take anything 😭🙏🏻

Mr. Hotchner —call me Aaron, he always says, because he’s a bully— walks across the school grounds with his son stuck to him.

According to your colleagues, Jack used to be more outgoing. Not extroverted, but friendly, with many friends and lots to say. But after the passing of his mother a few years ago he’s become a quieter child. It’s not uncommon to see him glued to his father or his Aunt Jess before school.

You tuck your hands in your cardigan against the early summer morning chill. “Hello,” you greet as the Hotchners approach. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Aaron says. His smile is a rare and lucrative sight; whenever he smiles at you like this, as though you’re some wonder he’s happened upon accidentally, it betters your whole day.

“Good morning, Jack,” you say, a gentle prompt to see what mood he’s in.

“Hi.”

“Hi, buddy. You got your reading diary filled out?” you ask.

“Yeah. Me and dad read Marlo again, I hope that’s okay.”

You bend just a bit to be smaller, “You can read anything you want to.”

“Dad says so too.”

You and Aaron share a look. “Dad’s always right, huh?”

Jack nods emphatically. Aaron edges a half step closer to you, looking as though his hand is itching where he’s tucked it in his coat pocket. There’s something in it, you realise. He pulls it out and offers it to you covertly.

“You left this behind,” he says.

It’s one of your bracelets. You open your palm and let him tip the bracelet into your hand, curling your fingers closed, but not before the brush of his thumb has made you miss it against your cheek.

“Oh, wow, I assumed I lost it.”

“No… it must have fallen down between my bed and the nightstand.”

You glance around, not as covert as you wish you were. It’s not that you and Aaron can’t date, but you perhaps shouldn’t, and besides that things are so new between you that it isn’t anyone else’s business either way. Plus, you have Jack to think about. He doesn’t know you’re seeing his father yet.

You smile gratefully and tuck the bracelet into your pocket. “Thank you.”

“Jack!” a blonde little girl called Sadie races up to you all and smiles wide. “Do you want to come and play with me? I want to try cartwheels before we go in.”

Jack looks up at Aaron, who nods and leans down. He kisses his unwrinkled forehead. “I should be going soon. Be good today, okay?”

Jack says his love yous as he jogs away with Sadie, his lunchbox forgotten in Aaron’s hands. “Want me to take it?” you ask.

“Oh, yes. Please, honey, if you don’t mind.”

Again, his hand brushes yours as he hands it over, his skin a reminder that he’s touched you now, and kindly, gentle fingertips trailing down your back as you dozed with your face against his chest. He’s so… perfect, in a way, such a caring person, you’ve never felt like this about someone. His proximity makes you wish you could go home with him now or follow him to work. It’s an achy feeling without being sore.

“I never mind.” You watch him carefully as you talk, “It’s nice to get to see you every morning.”

“It would be even nicer if we could’ve had the whole morning together,” he says agreeably, fondly. “Did you check your calendar for me? How are things looking next weekend?”

“Very open for nice men who bring me jewellery.”

“Don’t start,” he says quietly, his hand twitching toward yours, “or I’ll blow our cover.”

“I wish you could.”

“Me too, honey. I’m going to talk with Jack about it again this weekend.” He beams. “I wonder if he’ll change his tune this time.”

When Aaron brought up the idea of you and him together to Jack, it had been as a simple hypothetical: How would you feel if me and Miss L/N wanted to be friends, Jack?

He was ecstatic. Then we can see her all the time! he’d said. Aaron’s next port of call is to introduce the g-word.

You and Aaron meet eyes, looking at one another, his hand creeping closer and closer to your side. He takes the end of your cardigan into his hand and feels it between his fingers, the slight touch, slightest movement of the fabric against your shoulder sending a shudder down your arms and chest.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asks.

“You aren’t busy?” you ask, surprised.

“Of course I am, I always am. But I think I have to see you.”

Oh, you have to, you could tease. But you really need to see him too. “Just text me when you want me and I’ll be there,” you say, looking away from him toward the children and their racing.

You’re glad you aren’t looking at him when he next speaks. “I always want you, but I have to go. Have a good day, honey, alright?”

Jack’s lunchbox creaks in your hand. A funny soft kiss would be nice here, his smile pressed to yours. Maybe one day you’ll get one out in the open. “Thank you. Have a good day, too, Aaron,” you say, only looking up at him when you’re sure he’s crossed the school grounds to the parking lot.

He looks back over his shoulder to you twice.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

1K notes · View notes

noneuclideanwhimsy · 5 months ago

Text

@gmanwhore you already know. All of them.

reigen core

#🌌he’d like to come and meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds🌌

11K notes · View notes

noneuclideanwhimsy · 1 year ago

Text

We’ll begin with a spin,

Travelling in a world of my creation

What we’ll see will defy explanation…

A redraw of a drawing from 2021, original under the cut!

#🌌he’d like to come and meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds🌌#fanart #half life #half life gman #gman #hl2 #my art #artists on tumblr

15 notes · View notes

shy-writer-999 · 3 months ago

Note

are there any character you think would get hot and bothered by a good spar with their s/o? how do you think think they’d act once they get worked up in that manner?

hmmmm... Zoro and Shanks are my answers right off the bat, but I could also imagine this with Ace, Kid, Smoker, and Law (if he felt like humoring someone enough to spar with them). I’ll sketch out some (nsfw) thoughts w/Zoro and Shanks—see below the cut! No anatomy mentioned, but for Shanks’s portion there are pet names, among them, princess. also thanks for putting this in my inbox it was such a treat to think about! (✿˘ω˘)˘ε˘˶ )

Zoro (✿˵ ꒡3꒡˵)

He’s amused that anyone thinks they’d be able to match his speed enough to spar

When you get into it though, he’s surprised because he underestimated you

He didn’t expect you to be as much of a challenge as you are, and your brains work in such different ways that your next move is often unpredictable, haki aside. You keep him on his toes

What starts getting him hot and bothered is seeing you work up a sweat. Your panting and heaving breaths remind him of how you sound in bed, and it starts to make his mind wander. He observes how lithely you parry, how gorgeous you are with a flush over your cheeks

You catch him off guard because his mind is elsewhere, and when he blocks your sword, your faces are inches away from each other

The intense and serious eye contact you hold with him when the sparring sessions get heated starts to get him really worked up

Zoro wants to finish the sparring session, but he wants to fuck you too—he does a mental balancing act about which of these should come first

He blocks one of your lunges so forcefully that your sword goes flying, and then he chucks his off to the side and basically pounces on you (you saw that coming a mile away); he’d want to make out and get handsy, then he’d pick you up and fuck you senseless

Zoro is partial to grunting and groaning out whatever comes to mind when he’s buried deep inside, along the lines of “it's so fuckin’ hot when you fight me," "you're so pretty when you're violent, I might just let you land a blow next time," and “I wanted to fuck you the whole time”, etc.

Shanks (´ ᴗ｀✿)

Shanks loooveeessss any chance he can get to spar with you

Seeing how good you are at it turns him on

He just loves someone who is good at what they do and who throws themselves into it passionately

When you spar, you’re both having a great time—you exchange banter, smiles, cheeky side-eyes, and some mild trash talking

Even with the banter, he’ll sweet talk you the whole time

His hair looks so good as he dodges and parries your advances. He’ll push his hair back from his face with one hand as he effortlessly dodges your blows

When you almost get him, he says something like “What, can’t you try any harder than that, angel?” or “almost had me that time, princess”

Shanks pays special attention to how your eyes flutter, how you’re perspiring, how your chest moves up and down with each breath—he admires your beauty and gets so distracted that you actually manage to pin him. Your sword is at his throat, and he breaks out into a grin. He'd say something like "you look even more gorgeous than usual holding a sword at my throat, baby" or "shit, sweetheart, be careful where you put that thing”

When you’re both tuckered out and sheathe your swords, he’ll pull you tight by your waist unexpectedly, or he’ll grab a handful of your ass as you walk away.

“Done already, sugar? Don’t you want to continue our session inside?”

He’ll pull you into sloppy kisses and when he’s feeling spicy, he’ll either carry you off to the shower or just fuck you right there on the spot. While his cock is in you, he'd call you sweet names and praise you. He'd be a fan of telling you that he's "never seen someone so gorgeous wield a sword" and that "you got me so worked up, it's only fair that I return the favor"

446 notes · View notes

jaeyunverse · 1 year ago

Text

kiss cam

pairing: yang jungwon x fem!reader

genres: fluff, frenemies to lovers, high school au, basketball au

wc: 3770

warnings: profanity, mentions of kidnapping

summary: you were fully prepared to spend valentine’s day alone. yang jungwon was fully prepared to blow your mind.

note: i know i’m off season but i still hope y’all enjoy <3

masterlist

It was Valentine’s Week and you were absolutely, extremely, horribly miserable.

You didn’t particularly care about the celebrations, but the feeling of loneliness first began to creep in when the student council appointed a Valentine’s Day Dance committee and made them decorate the entire school.

There were banners and streamers hanging everywhere. The culinary club was selling heart-shaped cookies and the broadcasting club was busy urging students to get their dance invites every few hours. You wished the PA system would malfunction and they would finally shut up.

Some boys even had the genius idea to capitalise Valentine’s Day and ask people out on behalf of the students who paid them for their services. They called themselves Cop-Your-Crush.

Classes were being interrupted all day long. You were witnessing a grand proposal being made multiple times a day. Just today, you had seen three girls being asked out and each proposal had been better than the one before.

Karina got asked out through a song the choir group sang for her. She quite literally burst into tears because her boyfriend, Soobin, still remembered the song they had first kissed to.

NingNing got asked out when a member of Cop-Your-Crush sweet-talked Mrs. Kim into letting him take over her presentation. He’d prepared a cute montage using the pictures provided to him by her boyfriend.

Yeji got asked out by the cheerleaders. They had prepared a special cheer for her, courtesy of Heeseung, also a member of Cop-Your-Crush, and his girlfriend, Chaewon, who was cheer captain. They were both Yeji’s best friends and had spared no expense in helping her boyfriend deliver a memorable proposal.

You thought the entire concept was corny, but it would have been nice to have someone ask you out too. You didn’t even have any expectations. Just a simple Hey, will you be my date to the Valentine’s Dance? would have sufficed.

Needless to say, you were irritated and cranky. You were debating begging your mom to let you skip school tomorrow. It was the thirteenth of February, so Valentine’s spirit was definitely going to be at an all-time high.

You slammed your locker door shut. Slumping against it, you clutched your books to your chest and sighed deeply. If only you had the courage to ask your crush to the dance. It was sort of surprising that he still didn’t have a date.

He was really attractive and really popular. You wondered why—

“Keep moving, dummy,” a voice popped from behind you, and you couldn’t help the groan that left your mouth. Deciding to not acknowledge the person further, you pushed yourself off the locker and turned to leave in the opposite direction. However, they seemed to have different plans for you. Throwing an arm around your neck, Yang Jungwon twisted you around and said, “Class is this way.”

“Piss off, Yang,” you snapped, trying to not stumble as he dragged you along.

“Are you coming to the basketball game tonight?” Jungwon inquired.

He wasn’t much taller than you, so when you glanced up at him, you found your faces only a few inches apart. “Why?”

“We’re playing Riverside High. You know there’s a bet between our schools, right? Losers have to jump in the lake at midnight.”

“Okay. Let me know if you lose and I’ll meet you there to enjoy your humiliation.”

Jungwon narrowed his eyes and flicked your forehead. You let out a sound of protest and slapped his hand away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I have better things to do,” you retorted. “I’m supposed to pick up my sister after her soccer practice and drive her to her friend’s house for a sleepover.”

“That can be taken care of,” he answered immediately. “Riki will do the chauffeuring in your place.”

You snorted. “No.”

“C’mon!” Jungwon complained, moving to stand in front of you. You crossed your hands and raised an eyebrow. “I need you at the game tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because—” he hesitated— “because we always win when you’re watching from the stands. You’re our lucky charm.”

Jungwon was making absolutely no sense. The Bears of Eastwood High were one of the best. They didn’t require lucky charms to win games. Besides, you’d never benefited from the so-called fortune Jungwon claimed you possessed. He definitely had an ulterior motive for wanting you at the court tonight.

“You won the Christmas game,” you pointed out. “I wasn’t there that day. I was with my family at my childhood home.”

“Well, I thought you were at the game,” Jungwon corrected. “That’s why we won.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. Stepping past his figure blocking your way, you said, “You need to get rid of these superstitions.”

“Please!” he begged, following after you the way a lost puppy would. “Winning tonight would give us a ticket to regionals! Can’t you let me have this?”

The desperation in his voice was so evident that you couldn’t help the crack that appeared in your resolve. You weren’t one to believe in luck, but you still carried an Omamori to stay safe.

You hadn’t exactly been the recipient of any good fortune lately, but your life had been sailing smoothly. Come to think of it, you’d probably subconsciously begun to depend on the charm.

You were a hypocrite for making fun of Jungwon’s superstitions.

“Fine,” you relented. “I’ll come. But—” you added immediately upon seeing a wide grin replace the pout on his face— “after I’m done with my chores. I’m not leaving Hyeri with Riki. He crashed his car into a trashcan last week. I was with him. My life flashed in front of my eyes.”

Jungwon looked slightly amused. “Do you think you might be able to make it before half-time?”

“Easily.”

“Nice,” he popped. The two of you had arrived at your classroom, so he ruffled your hair and bid you goodbye before making his way towards his friend group. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you muttered to yourself.

You finished dropping your sister earlier than expected.

Her soccer practice had run short and when you’d checked your watch after seeing her off, you’d realised that the first quarter of the game would be ending in a few minutes.

You glanced up at the screen displaying the scores as you walked into the gymnasium.

8-3. Eastwood High in the lead.

Good luck was a scam. Shaking your head, you searched for your best friend, Eunchae, in the stands. Your eyes stopped on a girl who was aggressively waving her hands in the air.

You smiled and waved back, making your way to her.

“I was worried you’d be late,” Eunchae said.

You hummed. “Hyeri finished her practactice early so I was able to get here quicker. I don’t even know why Jungwon asked me to come. We’re in the lead.”

“Better safe than sorry,” she popped. “Second quarter just started. We should pay attention.”

You turned to look at the court. While you’d been talking to her, Riverside had scored a 3-pointer. Eastwood was only 2 points ahead now.

You could hear both schools’ coaches screaming despite the loud noise of the audience. Cringing a little when Mr. Jung blatantly cursed at Jungwon and told him to get his head out of his ass, you decided Eunchae had been right about being better safe than sorry.

“Timeout!” Riverside High’s coach yelled. “Timeout!”

The whistle rang and the playing 5 went jogging over to the sidelines. Jungwon’s eye caught yours as he scanned the stands and you waved at him awkwardly. He smiled and waved back, looking rather relieved to see you.

“You guys are so cute,” Eunchae commented.

You whirled on her. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying!” she exclaimed, raising her hands defensively. “Jungwon and you would make a really good couple.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Other than the fact that he’s completely whipped for you?” Eunchae shrugged. “You’re into him as well. No! Don’t give me that look! I know you are. I’m not fucking blind, Y/N. You say he’s annoying but I don’t see you pushing him away. I think you love the attention he gives you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling awfully exposed. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I though?” She raised an eyebrow. “You both are together all the time. You can pretend all you want, but I know your petty and childish banter is just a cover for the horrible amount of flirting that’s hidden underneath.”

“I don’t flirt with him!”

“He flirts with you and you entertain him! You claim to dislike him but hang out with him at school everyday! An idiot could tell by looking at you how much you enjoy being around him.”

You glared at Eunchae. “I don’t appreciate being psychoanalysed.”

“You just don’t appreciate the truth.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what’s stopping you from asking him out to the dance, but I hope you come to your senses. You don’t wanna regret missing out on someone who cares so much for you.”

Thankfully, the whistle rang before you could formulate a reply. The game began again, and you focused your attention on the court.

It was Eastwood’s way and the ball was in Jungwon’s hand. He aimed high and his eyes set on Jake who was standing at the far end of the court. However, instead of throwing the ball with all his might, he only flicked his wrist.

The ball bounced between a Riverside player’s legs, and Heeseung, who was waiting a little behind him, grabbed the ball immediately. Instead of dribbling, the boy passed the ball right back to Jungwon.

Jungwon caught it without stopping and sprinted to Eastwood’s side of the court. Your jaw dropped when you saw him manoeuvre his way through Riverside’s defence so flawlessly. Even though you’d watched him play multiple times, you’d never really been able to comprehend how good he was.

He’d covered the court by himself without needing to stop or backtrack. It was as if he knew the opponent’s move even before they decided to make it.

The crowd went wild the moment Jungwon executed the layup effortlessly. The whistle for half-time blew a few moments after and Eunchae turned to you.

“That was so good!” she squealed. “He could go pro so easily!”

“He could,” you agreed. “He really is very good.”

You had to admit—watching Jungwon in his element made your heart beat at speeds you didn’t even know it was capable of reaching. You convinced yourself it was the adrenaline and the anticipation from watching the game. Your dad never sat still whenever he watched his favourite team play in the World Cup.

“It’s time for the Kiss Cam.” Eunchae nudged you with her elbow. You turned to look at the big screen hanging from the roof of the gymnasium. The camera focused on Juyeon and Chaeyeon. The couple grinned and pointed at their recording on the screen in excitement before the latter grabbed the former’s collar and pulled him into a kiss.

You felt a smile form on your face. You’d always thought the two of them were one of the cutest couples in your school.

The camera then focused on Mr. Hwang, your biology teacher, and Mrs. Jung, your calculus teacher. You hooted and joined everyone else in the stands as they encouraged the two teachers to kiss.

Whoever had decided the Kiss Cam victims was a genius. Mr. Hwang and Ms. Jung were the youngest faculty members in your school. It was a popular opinion amongst students that they looked cute together. Some even placed bets on whether it would be Mr. Hwang to make the first move or Ms. Jung.

Naturally, the two of them didn’t kiss. They just smiled in embarrassment and waved at the camera, asking it to focus on someone else instead.

You waited eagerly to see who the drone would target next. A jolt passed through your body when you saw yourself on the screen.

Eyes widening, you shook your head and tried to tell them that you were single. The camera didn’t move despite your protests, instead zooming out to include Eunchae in the frame instead.

You paused.

Looked at her.

Considered.

Raised an eyebrow.

“I’m down if you—”

“To your left, you idiot!” she exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and whirling you around.

Yang Jungwon was standing in front of you with flowers in his hands. His hair was dripping with sweat and his cheeks were flushed. He was panting, but there was a shy smile on his face.

Your heart stopped as he got down on his knees and the entire gymnasium burst into cheers.

“Hey,” he popped.

“Hey,” you answered with much effort. Then added stupidly, “You’re on your knees.”

“No comment about the flowers?”

“Not when you’re on your knees for me in front of the entire school.”

“Oooh, I didn’t know you were so kinky.”

“I didn’t know this was why you begged me to come to the game.”

He laughed and the sound was like music to your ears. You were nervous. You were rambling. There was no way he was going to ask you to the dance. He wouldn’t be stalling so much if he was. He wouldn’t—

Oh.

He was giving you time to wrap your head around what was happening. This was clearly intended to be a well-planned surprise meant to catch you completely off-guard. He—

“Yeah, I would’ve been really bummed out if you hadn’t shown up. My efforts would have been for nothing.”

“So I’m not actually your lucky charm?”

“Of course, you are. I feel the luckiest when I’m with you.” Your chest swelled with an emotion you couldn’t identify. The gymnasium faded into the background and all you could hear was the sound of your heart thudding against your ribcage and Jungwon’s voice as he asked,

“Will you make me lucky again by accompanying me to the Valentine’s Dance?”

The game had ended twenty minutes ago.

Eastwood had won by 10 points. You’d thought the difference was pretty good but your Mr. Woo, your school’s coach, didn’t seem to share your opinion. He’d claimed that Riverside never even should have been able to get within 15 points of Eastwood.

He’d been especially tense in the second half of the third quarter when the opposition had begun scoring back to back baskets. It had all worked out in the end nonetheless, all thanks to Yang Jungwon, the MVP of the match.

You still couldn’t believe he’d asked you out and you refused to believe he’d done it in such a grand way.

He was the definition of a jock and goofed around in school all day long. He was charming, sure, but you’d never known he was capable of pulling off something this big.

You’d never even suspected he was a romantic.

Your phone dinged and you unlocked it to check who was texting you.

[eunchae]: wya?

[y/n]: parking lot!! are u here? i’m leaning against my car

[eunchae]: noo i’m home :( btw are u still waiting for him??

[y/n]: yeah he asked me to but the team hasn’t come out of the gym yet

[eunchae]: yikes i heard mr. woo was hella mad we only won by 10 points.. maybe he’s yelling at the players right now

[y/n]: i’m p sure he is LMFAO

Your fingers hovered over your phone’s screen as you waited for Eunchae to type her reply. However, before she could send it, you felt the device being grabbed from your hand.

“What the—” you started, but relaxed when you saw Jungwon standing in front of you with an amused expression on his face. “Yang.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Someone could have easily kidnapped you, you know?”

“We live in the most boring part of the town.” You snorted. “Baek Seung threatening to chop his neighbour’s tree on local TV was the most interesting thing that happened this year.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be on your guard,” Jungwon said and moved next to you, leaning against the side of your car as well. He was wearing black sweats and a red hoodie. He smelt of cheap soap and his hair was damp, making you realise that he had probably showered. “Besides, Baek Sung actually followed through. We have a real criminal in our ranks.”

“Didn’t you literally let five sheep loose in our middle school three years ago?”

“That was just a harmless middle school graduating prank.”

“There’s no such thing as a middle school graduating prank.”

“Tell that to the current 8th graders who are planning their prank. I hear they’re going to stuff the hallway outside the principal’s office with helium balloons so she won’t be able to leave.”

You stared at him, a small smile playing on your lips. Jungwon’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a millisecond before he looked into your eyes again.

“Why did you ask me to the dance?” you asked and turned on your side to face him. It was a stupid question but you were genuinely curious.

Eunchae was right before. Jungwon flirted with you all the time and you always entertained him. You enjoyed the attention he gave you. But if this thing between you was just platonic, and if it was never going to progress into something real, you needed to know now.

You didn’t want to hope and wait for something that was never going to happen.

“Sunoo said I was an idiot for not shooting my shot with you,” he replied and turned on his side too. “He threatened to make a move on you if I didn’t get my shit together before Valentine’s Day.”

You snorted.

“Oh, also,” Jungwon added. “I really, really like you.”

You felt a tidal wave of emotions override your senses. Euphoria, nervousness, breathlessness, giddiness, uncertainty and this inexplicable urge to squeal washed over you.

Your heart went haywire inside your chest when Jungwon leaned closer to you and dipped his head so that his face was right in front of yours.

“You’re blushing,” he whispered.

You squeaked and buried your face in your hands. He grabbed your wrists and gently moved them out of the way. “Can I kiss you?”

“I think that would be a health hazard,” you croaked, looking at anywhere but him. “My heart is beating concerningly fast right now. What if I drop dead?”

“I can do CPR.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a small smile. Your heart beat slowed down and you began feeling at ease. You wondered if Jungwon could tell that this was the first time someone had confessed to you.

The entire concept of dating and being in a relationship was foreign to you. You doubted Jungwon had much experience in the field himself since he’d only had one girlfriend in kindergarten, but he seemed confident.

You trusted him to take over the wheel and guide you through the strange waters of love.

“Okay,” you breathed and closed your eyes. “Kiss me.”

His hands cupped your cheeks, his soft lips brushing against yours. You sucked in a breath and just stood there, not really knowing what to do.

Your hands itched to grab onto something, so you shifted closer to Jungwon and clutched the front of his hoodie in your fists.

He smiled against your mouth as you rose on your toes and tilted your head to the side.

But then you realised something and hastily broke the kiss. Jungwon stared at you in confusion, but before he could ask what was wrong, you blurted, “I like you too.”

There was a pause. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so you clarified, “I thought I should make that clear. I mean, you confessed but I didn’t confess back even though I feel the same way and what if you thought I wasn’t into you. I am into you, by the way. I’ve been crushing on you since forever but I never knew how to say it—”

Jungwon swooped in for a second kiss and you melted in his arms. You could get used to the feeling of his lips on yours. They fit together perfectly.

“You are so cute.” He giggled after detaching his mouth from yours. Resting his forehead against yours, he continued, “Eunchae told me last week. She urged me to confess because she knew your stubbornness would never allow you to make the move.”

“What?” you exclaimed, jerking away from him. “Where’s my phone? Give me my damn phone, Yang!”

He grabbed arms before you could lunge at him and search him for your device. “Relax!”

“I’m going to kill her!”

“Why?!”

“Because—” you sputtered, struggling to get out of his grip— “because it’s embarrassing! I was pretending to not like you but you knew I was crushing on you the entire time!”

“It’s not embarrassing!” Jungwon said. “It’s normal—Y/N stop!”

You let your body fall limp in his arms. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re seriously not going to let Eunchae’s nosiness stop us from having our first date, are you?”

“What?” you asked and moved out of his grip.

He shrugged and shoved his hands into pockets. “It’s nothing special. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for some food.”

“Oh,” you replied blankly. “Don’t you have a celebratory dinner with your team though?”

“I can ditch them.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Let me correct myself: I already ditched them. I want to spend tonight and celebrate with you.”

Your heart swelled with happiness. “Really?” When was the last time someone outside of your parents prioritised you? You genuinely couldn’t remember.

“Of course. Do you wanna get some McDonald’s?”

You nodded, but before he could make his way to the passenger’s seat of your car, you said, “Just so you know, I feel the luckiest when I’m with you too.”

Yang Jungwon kissed you for the third time, and by no means was it the last, or even close to the last one you shared that day.

1K notes · View notes

kiwriteswords · 17 days ago

Text

It's a Wonderful Life

“You’ve really had a wonderful life; don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it all away?” It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 16k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, implied age-gap, Christmas, fade to black smut, mentions of Spencer and Sean's addiction, alluding to depression, hurt/comfort, proposal, happy ending, parallels to the movie It's a Wonderful Life (1946).

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner is given a profound glimpse into two alternate realities: one of love, family, and warmth with you by his side, and another of cold emptiness without you—forcing him to confront what truly makes life worth living and to fight for the future he never thought he could have.

The cold December air nipped at Aaron Hotchner’s face as he drove home in silence, his mind tangled in a storm of emotions. The Christmas lights twinkling from houses along the way blurred in his vision, unacknowledged. His hands gripped the steering wheel, tighter than they needed to be, the faint tremble in them betraying the turmoil he rarely allowed himself to feel.

It had started with a conversation over dinner, but it had ended in the first real fight the two of you had ever had.

Hotch leaned back in his chair earlier that evening; his suit jacket hung neatly over the back. You had joined him in the small nook of his office, where the two of you often had late-night dinners during busy weeks. The meal was simple, but it was warm and comforting, much like your presence had been since the moment you entered his life.

"I was offered a new position today," you had started, your voice tentative yet steady.

That alone had caught his attention. He set his fork down, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "What kind of position?"

Your hands toyed with the edge of your napkin, betraying the nerves you were trying to suppress. "It's more administrative. I'd stay with the Bureau, but it’s a stable office job—better hours, better pay."

He froze. "You’d leave the BAU?"

The words came out sharper than he intended. His voice edged with disbelief and something deeper—something darker. The possibility of you leaving felt like the ground shifting beneath him and his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

Your expression tightened, and you met his eyes with quiet resolve. "I’ve been thinking about the future, Aaron," you replied softly.

The future. The word hung in the air like a challenge, forcing him to confront the pieces of himself he kept buried. He leaned forward, his posture tense. "The future? This has always been your dream. You worked harder than anyone to get here. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, but your voice cracked. "And I’ve loved every second of it. But…"

"But what?"

You drew in a deep breath, the kind that signaled you were about to say something that might break you both. "I want a family, Aaron. I want marriage, a home, children. And with this job—our job—I don’t see how that’s possible. Time isn’t slowing down. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want those things."

His frown deepened, and an old, familiar fear crept into the back of his mind. He was losing control of the conversation—of the life he’d carefully pieced together after everything had fallen apart.

"We’re happy now, aren’t we?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with desperation. "What we have works."

You stared at him, hurt flickering across your face. "Maybe it works for you. But I can’t put my life on hold forever, hoping you’ll decide you’re ready for more."

The words struck him like a blow. He could see the pain in your expression, but all he could feel was confusion—and fear. His mind raced, spiraling into the memories he tried to avoid: Haley’s voice, full of hope and love, as she’d begged him to leave the BAU. Her laughter, distant now, overshadowed by the gunshot that had stolen her from him. The hollow ache of watching Jack’s childhood unfold in glimpses, between cases and fleeting moments of normalcy.

"Marriage? Kids?" he asked, his voice growing strained. "You know what happened last time. You’ve seen what this job does to families."

"And I know you’ve never let yourself believe that it could be different," you said, your voice rising slightly though it remained gentle, imploring. "I’ve been patient, Aaron. I’ve waited because I know how much you’ve been through, but I need to know if you see a future with me that includes those things. Because I do. I love you, and I love Jack, but this… this isn’t enough for me anymore."

Your confession shattered something inside him. He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he ran a hand over his face. "This isn’t just about me," he muttered. "The BAU… it’s who I am. It’s what I know."

The unspoken words clung to the air between you: It’s what I’m good at. The only thing I’m good at.

"And what am I to you?" you asked, your voice breaking now, laced with a pain that cut deeper than he could bear.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you. "You’re everything to me," he said, quieter now, his tone weighted with sincerity.

"Then why does it feel like I’m the one compromising everything for us?"

The silence that followed was unbearable. Hotch’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to form a response, but the words wouldn’t come. He had spent years convincing himself that sacrifice was inevitable, that his happiness would always come second to his duty. But now, standing before you, he was forced to confront the truth: he was afraid. Afraid to hope for more. Afraid to let himself believe that he could have the life you wanted without losing it all again.

Finally, you stood. "Maybe we need some time to figure this out," you said, the sadness in your voice like a knife.

He didn’t stop you as you grabbed your coat, nor did he stop himself from walking out shortly after.

As he drove aimlessly through the city, the weight of your words bore down on him. You’re everything to me. But was it enough? Could it be enough when he couldn’t see a way forward that didn’t end in failure?

He wasn’t sure. And that terrified him more than anything.

Now, as he pulled into his driveway, the emptiness of his home struck him in a way it hadn’t in years. Jack was with Jessica tonight, and the quiet was suffocating.

Hotch sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the darkened Christmas tree in the corner of the room. He thought about you—your laughter, the way your presence filled the spaces in his life he didn’t even realize were empty until you came along. He thought about how you made him feel younger, how you reminded him there was still a world outside of the job. And yet, he thought about the BAU—the cases, the purpose, the duty he had given everything to uphold.

The weight of Haley’s memory pressed down on him, the scars of his past bleeding into the uncertainty of his future. He had chosen the job before, and it had cost him everything. Now, he was faced with a similar crossroads, and he wasn’t sure if he could make a different choice.

You wanted more—deserved more—and he wasn’t sure if he could give it to you. The fear of failing again loomed large, and the thought of bringing another child into his chaotic world felt reckless.

But the thought of losing you?

That was unbearable.

Hotch leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the life he had built with the life you wanted to build together. All he knew was that the person who had softened his edges, who had reminded him of life beyond his office, was slipping away.

Hotch sat alone in the quiet of his living room, the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting faint reflections on the window. His hands were clasped together, resting against his chin, as his gaze drifted to the photograph of Haley on the mantle. She was smiling—bright and full of life—in a way that felt like a distant memory.

"I don’t know what to do, Haley," he said, his voice low and gravelly, barely louder than a whisper. "If you can hear me… if you’re listening, I could really use a sign right now."

He waited, his heart heavy. There was no reply, of course. No flicker of the lights, no ghostly whisper. Just silence.

He huffed a bitter laugh and leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. "I don’t even know why I’m doing this," he muttered. "Talking to the air like it’s going to fix anything."

The quiet apartment seemed to mock him. Frustration bubbled to the surface. He stood abruptly, pacing in front of the mantle. "I’m trying here, Haley. But it’s… it’s hard. She wants things I’m not sure I can give her. Marriage, kids—a life I failed at before. And I’m scared. Scared of failing her like I failed you."

His voice cracked on the last word, and he stopped, gripping the back of the couch tightly. His head bowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Still, there was no answer.

"Of course," he muttered to himself. "What was I expecting? Some magical solution?"

Resigned, Hotch made his way to bed, his mind a whirlwind of unresolved thoughts. He climbed under the covers…alone, the ache of the empty space beside him sharp and unyielding.

When Hotch woke, he was immediately aware that something was… off.

The bed was softer, warmer. And the room smelled different—clean and faintly floral. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

The room was beautiful. Cozy. The walls were painted a soft, calming color, adorned with family photos. The curtains were pulled back just enough for the morning sunlight to stream in. And beside him, nestled under the covers, was you.

Your hair was splayed out across the pillow, and your face was serene, framed by the soft glow of the light. You looked peaceful, utterly at ease, and Hotch’s breath caught in his throat.

He frowned. He hadn’t gone to bed with you—hadn’t even spoken to you since the fight.

Before Hotch could fully process what was happening, a burst of energy erupted into the room, breaking through his daze like a ray of sunlight piercing a cloudy sky.

"Daddy!"

The high-pitched, joyful voice startled him. A little girl—no older than six—bounded into the room with the kind of uninhibited enthusiasm that only a child could muster. Her curls bounced as she launched herself onto the bed, landing directly in his lap with a squeal of delight.

"Merry Christmas Eve!" she exclaimed, her bright eyes—so familiar and yet so new—peering up at him with unfiltered adoration.

Hotch froze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. Her wide eyes mirrored his own, and her smile, so radiant and full of life, was unmistakably yours. She was a perfect blend of both of you, a living, breathing embodiment of the life he never dared to hope for.

"Daddy! It’s Christmas Eve, and you promised we’d bake cookies today!"

Her small hands tugged at his arm insistently, her excitement infectious despite the whirlwind of confusion clouding his mind.

"Daddy!" she repeated, her impatience tugging at his heart in a way that left him reeling.

Your soft, melodic laugh broke through his haze. "Give Daddy a second, sweetheart," you said, your voice warm and filled with the kind of love that always managed to center him. Propped up on one elbow, your face was still groggy with sleep, but your amusement at the scene before you was unmistakable.

Hotch’s gaze shifted to you, his heart lurching at the sight of the simple diamond ring on your finger, its match glinting on his own hand. His mind raced, trying to make sense of this impossibly vivid moment. This wasn’t his life—or at least, it hadn’t been the night before.

Yet here you were, here she was. A family.

"Daddy!" the little girl exclaimed again, her insistence pulling him back into the moment.

"I—uh, of course," he stammered, his voice unsteady as he tried to process the surreal joy of her presence.

You reached over, placing a gentle hand on her back. "Why don’t you go see if Jack is downstairs yet, and we’ll be down in a minute?"

She squealed in excitement, her tiny feet thudding against the floor as she dashed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a stillness in her absence that felt almost deafening.

Hotch stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of amazement and disbelief. He had spent years learning to compartmentalize, to push through even the most harrowing moments with unwavering focus. But this? This left him utterly unmoored.

"You okay?" Your voice broke through the silence, soft and grounding.

Hotch turned to you, his throat dry. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, though the word felt like a lie. "I’m… fine."

You studied him with that quiet understanding that always managed to disarm him, your eyes searching his as though you could see right through to the heart of his turmoil. Before you could press further, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements abrupt.

"I just need a minute," he muttered, making his way to the bathroom.

Inside, he closed the door and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping its edge as though it might steady him. His reflection stared back at him, his face etched with the weariness of someone who had seen too much and felt too deeply.

Turning on the faucet, he splashed his face with cold water, the sharp chill cutting through the fog in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her—the little girl with her bouncing curls and infectious grin. His daughter. The thought felt foreign and overwhelming, yet undeniably right.

He had never imagined himself as a father again. After Haley, after everything, the idea had seemed impossibly distant. He knew too much about the weight a father carried in a daughter’s life—the psychology of those relationships, the influence he would have on her sense of self-worth, her view of the world. The responsibility of it loomed large, and yet…

Yet, in those few fleeting moments, he had felt something blooming inside him—something warm and tender and wholly unexpected. A fierce, overwhelming love that took root so quickly it left him breathless.

Hotch closed his eyes, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The thought of this little girl, of being her father, filled him with a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt in years. She was so full of life, so utterly unguarded in her joy. And you—somehow, you had become the cornerstone of it all, the thread that tied this family together.

The possibility of this life—of mornings like this, of laughter and love and everything he had told himself he didn’t deserve—was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he straightened. This wasn’t his reality—or at least, not the one he had known. But it was real enough to feel, to touch, to hope for. And as he stepped back into the room where you waited, he found himself wanting nothing more than to hold on to it for as long as he could.

The day began in earnest after breakfast, your daughter bounding into the living room, her tiny feet thudding excitedly against the wooden floor. "Daddy, we have to finish the tree!" she declared, her enthusiasm boundless.

Hotch found himself kneeling beside her at the tree, helping her carefully hang ornaments on the lower branches. She held out a fragile glass snowflake, her small hands trembling with excitement. "Like this, Daddy?"

"Just like that," Hotch said, his voice gentler than he expected. He steadied her hands, ensuring the ornament found its place without mishap. His heart clenched with an emotion so fierce it almost overwhelmed him. He barely knew this little girl—this version of her—but he loved her as though he had always known her, as though she had always been his.

Jack entered the room, taller and older than Hotch’s mind could quite reconcile. He carried the star meant for the top of the tree, a symbol of the role he now seemed to embody—a young man on the cusp of a bright future.

In this reality, all of Hotch’s doubts and fears of how Haley’s death, his job, Jack’s childhood would affect his outcome in life had disappeared.

"Careful with the star," you called from the kitchen, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched Jack move with ease and confidence. The two of you had always gotten along so well, but this dynamic…this closeness was different. New.

Jack smirked. "Relax, Mom," he teased, his tone playful yet affectionate.

Hotch froze. Mom.

Jack had said it so casually, as though you had always been that to him. Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, and his chest tightened. The idea of you as a mother to Jack—offering him the kind of love, guidance, and support that Haley once had—hit him harder than he could have imagined.

Hotch stood back, his arms crossed, as he watched Jack balance on a stepstool to place the star.

"See, Dad? No big deal," Jack said, stepping down with a grin that mirrored the boy Hotch remembered but now carried the self-assuredness of a man.

The word "Dad" hit Hotch with equal force. Jack had always called him Dad, but now it felt… different. He was no longer the boy who had once clung to him for reassurance; he was a young man with dreams and a future Hotch hadn’t fully prepared himself to see.

Hotch swallowed hard as Jack turned and lifted his sister to place the final ornament. She squealed with joy, her arms wrapping around Jack’s neck as he set her back down. Hotch’s heart swelled with pride and something deeper—a realization of what this life meant for Jack.

Hotch stood with Jack on the porch, the crisp winter air biting at his skin, but he barely noticed. His hands worked mechanically, stringing lights along the railing, yet his focus was entirely on his son. Jack, taller and more self-assured than the boy he remembered, moved with an ease that struck Hotch as both familiar and achingly new.

Nearby, your daughter’s laughter rang out as she shaped clumsy snowballs, her giggles carrying over the yard like music. She was so full of life, so utterly free in her joy, and the sound of it tugged at something deep inside him.

"Jack," Hotch began, his voice low and hesitant. He wasn’t sure how to ask what he needed to know without giving himself away. "How’s school going?"

Jack paused, glancing at him with a small flicker of surprise. "Georgetown’s great, Dad," he said, his tone casual but tinged with pride. "Finals were rough, but it’s worth it. You’ve been saying since I was a kid that law school’s no walk in the park."

Hotch blinked, his throat tightening. Georgetown. Jack had done it. All the potential he had seen in his son as a boy had bloomed into reality. The weight of pride and relief settled heavily on his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Mom helped with the personal statement, you know," Jack continued, adjusting a strand of lights with practiced ease. "She said it reminded her of one of your old cases."

Hotch’s hands stilled. "She did?"

Jack shrugged, his face lighting with a fond smile. "Yeah. She always gets me. You do too, of course, but… having her around has been good for both of us."

Hotch swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Mom. Jack said it so naturally, so easily, as though you had always been a part of their lives. The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

Your presence, your influence—it was everywhere. In Jack’s confidence, in his steady demeanor, in the way he spoke about his future with such quiet determination. You had become part of the fabric of their lives in a way Hotch hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

"She always gets me." Jack’s words echoed in his mind, and with them came a flood of memories that felt almost like his own: you helping Jack with late-night study sessions, your hand on his shoulder as you reassured him before a big exam, the quiet way you encouraged him to dream bigger than he ever thought possible.

Hotch felt a sharp pang of shame for the doubts he’d harbored. He had spent so much of his life fearing he wouldn’t be enough for Jack, that his own failings would cast too long a shadow for his son to grow beyond. But here, in this version of reality, Jack was thriving—and it was clear that you had been an integral part of that.

"You know," Jack said, breaking the silence as he stepped back to admire their work, "she always says the same thing when I get stressed about school. ‘You’ve got this, Jack. Your dad taught you to handle anything.’" He glanced at Hotch, his expression earnest. "She believes in you a lot. So do I."

Hotch’s breath caught, the raw emotion of Jack’s words threatening to undo him. For years, he had carried the fear of failing his son, of not giving him the stability he deserved. But here, Jack was telling him—showing him—that those fears had no place in this life.

The weight of Jack’s confidence in him pressed down like a warm, grounding force. And more than that, the knowledge of your role in this, the way you had seamlessly woven yourself into their family and filled gaps he hadn’t even realized were there, left him in awe.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to the yard, where your daughter was now attempting to build a snowman, her tiny hands patting at the uneven mounds of snow. She glanced up at them and waved, her wide smile so radiant that it nearly took his breath away.

He turned back to Jack, his voice quieter now. "Having her around has been good for both of us," he echoed, the words thick with meaning.

Jack nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah. She’s kind of the best, huh?"

Hotch let out a small, breathless laugh, his chest swelling with a combination of love, gratitude, and amazement. "She is," he agreed softly.

For the first time in years—maybe ever—Hotch let himself feel the full weight of his happiness. It was raw and visceral, a sense of completeness that filled every corner of his being. He had spent so much of his life bracing for loss, for failure, that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to simply be.

But here, on this porch, with Jack by his side and your laughter mingling with your daughter’s in the background, Hotch let himself believe in this life. He let himself marvel at the way you had become the glue holding them together, the way your love had transformed not just him but Jack, too.

Later inside, the house buzzed with quiet warmth, the kind of comfort that came from a life well-lived together. Hotch sat at the kitchen table, your daughter perched on her knees beside him as she smeared icing onto a gingerbread man. Her fingers were sticky with red and green frosting, and there were sprinkles everywhere—on the table, in her hair, and even on the floor.

"You’re doing great," Hotch said softly, his voice tinged with admiration.

She beamed up at him, her wide grin lighting up her entire face. "Thanks, Daddy!"

The word still struck him like a blow, even after hearing it several times that day. It wasn’t just the title—it was the way she said it, so full of trust and adoration, as though he had always been her safe place.

Her eyes, so much like his own, gleamed with pride as she held up the gingerbread man. "Look! He’s wearing a bow tie like Uncle Spencer!"

Hotch’s lips twitched into a rare smile, his heart aching at the love and joy this little girl brought into his life. He hadn’t gone to bed knowing her, and hadn’t prepared for the tidal wave of love and fierce protectiveness that now surged through him. The thought of her not existing in his old reality, of never hearing her laugh or seeing her mischievous grin, was unthinkable.

From across the room, you glanced over, wiping your hands on a dishtowel as you moved toward the table. "Looks like you two are making quite the mess," you teased gently, your voice warm and full of affection.

Hotch looked up, meeting your eyes. The soft smile you gave him sent an unexpected wave of emotion coursing through him. You leaned over, brushing your fingers lightly across his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

"You’re going to need a bath after this," you told her, laughing softly as you ruffled her hair; it was dark like his.

"Mommy, I’m not that messy," she protested, though her giggles gave her away.

Hotch’s throat tightened. You moved through this life with such ease, your presence a calming force that seemed to anchor not only him but also Jack and your daughter. He could see the impact you had on Jack—a confidence and sense of belonging that had been missing in his early years after Haley’s death. And now, with this little girl, you had created something Hotch had never thought possible: a family that felt whole.

As you turned back toward the stove, you spoke casually over your shoulder. "The team is still planning to come by the day after Christmas. Emily was saying she’s bringing a new board game for everyone to play."

The mention of the team grounded Hotch further, the realization settling in that this life wasn’t an abandonment of his work. It wasn’t a replacement—it was an enhancement. The BAU was still intact, still part of who he was, but it wasn’t all of him anymore. He had a life here, too.

"Emily’s going to lose," Jack chimed in from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a mug of hot cocoa.

"She always does," you teased, grinning as you poured another cup. "And Spencer’s going to keep track of every rule she bends."

Hotch let out a quiet laugh, the first real laugh he’d felt in days. He could picture it—the team gathered around the living room, bickering over rules and strategies while your daughter insisted on being on Uncle Derek’s team because "he’s the strongest."

You crossed the room and placed a hand on Hotch’s shoulder as you set a fresh mug of cocoa in front of him. "You’re quiet," you observed, your tone soft and knowing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. He didn’t know how to put into words the storm of emotions inside him—the love he felt for you, the overwhelming awe at the life you’d built together, the sharp ache of fear at the thought of losing it all.

You seemed to sense it, your hand squeezing his shoulder gently before you kissed his temple. "You’re allowed to be happy, Aaron," you whispered, your voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

As the evening wound down, Hotch found himself alone with you in the living room. Jack had disappeared with your daughter to wrap last-minute gifts. The two of you sat side by side on the couch, the lights from the Christmas tree casting a warm glow around the room.

Looking around the house all day, the walls and surfaces filled with framed photographs. It warmed him to see a photo staring back at him of Haley--her spirit still alive in this universe. Then, beside it, a photo of his family here with Jess. How, somehow, in this reality, they seemed to make it all work.

"You make it look easy," Hotch said quietly, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"All of it," he said, gesturing vaguely. "The kids, the house, the balance."

Your smile was soft but tinged with understanding. "It’s not always easy, Aaron. But it’s worth it."

He nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. The band shone with more than just light, but meaning on his finger. He wanted to say more, to tell you how much this life meant to him, even if he wasn’t entirely sure it was real. Instead, he reached over, taking your hand in his.

You squeezed his hand gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You’ve always been worth it, too," you said softly, your voice full of conviction.

That evening, after you had tucked your daughter into bed, Hotch lingered in the doorway of her room, unable to pull himself away. The soft glow of a nightlight illuminated her tiny face, peaceful in sleep. She was curled up beneath a blanket decorated with snowflakes, her little hand clutching a well-loved teddy bear that looked as though it had seen countless adventures.

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest oddly grounding. He was overwhelmed by how much love he felt for her—a little girl who hadn’t existed in the life he remembered but now felt as though she had always been a part of him.

How could he reconcile the intensity of these emotions? Hours ago, he hadn’t even known she existed. Now, the thought of waking up to a reality where she wasn’t here left him hollow.

"You okay?"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft and soothing as always. He turned, finding you standing in the doorway, your expression filled with quiet concern. You looked at him the way you always did—with that gentle understanding that both disarmed and anchored him.

He nodded, though his voice came out thick and unsteady. "She’s incredible."

You smiled, stepping closer until you were beside him. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him into your warmth. "She adores you, Aaron," you said quietly. "You’re a wonderful father."

Hotch closed his eyes as your words settled over him. He wanted to believe them, wanted to hold on to the life he was seeing now, but his mind was a storm of doubt.

"I don’t feel like one," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your expression soft but resolute. "You are," you said firmly. "You’re everything she needs. You always have been."

Hotch swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He thought about Jack—how he had failed to give him the kind of stability he’d needed after Haley’s death. Jack had grown up too fast, forced to carry burdens no child should bear. But in this reality, things were different. You had been here, filling the gaps he couldn’t.

And this little girl… she had been given a life Jack never got.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t know how to do it with Jack, and I still don’t. What if I fail her?"

"You won’t," you said softly, your hand resting against his chest. "You’ve already given her more than you realize. You’re here, Aaron. That’s what matters."

He looked at you then, his heart aching with a mix of love and fear. You were his anchor, the person who had somehow made all of this possible. And as much as he wanted to let himself believe in this life, a small voice in the back of his mind kept whispering doubts.

"I don’t deserve this," he said finally, his voice raw.

You shook your head, stepping closer to cradle his face in your hands. "Aaron, you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "And so does Jack, and so does she. We deserve you."

Your words hit him like a tidal wave, washing over the walls he had built to protect himself. He wanted to believe you, to believe that this life was real and that he was capable of keeping it.

As he held you tightly, he let himself imagine it—really imagine it. Waking up every morning in this house, hearing the sound of your laughter and your daughter’s giggles. Seeing Jack come home for the holidays, confident and thriving. Sharing in the messy, imperfect beauty of this life you had built together.

It was everything he hadn’t let himself hope for.

But with that hope came fear. What if it wasn’t real? What if he woke up tomorrow and it was gone?

Or worse—what if it was real, and he chose wrong?

You rested your head against his chest, your presence calming the storm inside him. "It’s okay to be scared," you murmured. "But we’ll figure it out. We always do.."

He closed his eyes, letting your words sink in. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that this life—the one he had thought was impossible—wasn’t just a dream.

It was a choice.

And it was his to make.

Hotch tightened his arms around you, his hands instinctively finding the curve of your back, the warmth of your body grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. You fit perfectly against him, as though you were made to be there. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind wasn’t spinning with doubts or contingencies—just the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his chest and the soft rise and fall of your breath.

He let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the snapshots of the life he’d been too afraid to let himself imagine. A small, messy art project on the table in the corner. Your daughter’s drawings, taped proudly to the fridge. A framed photo of Jack, smiling wide in a Georgetown sweatshirt, arm slung around his little sister. This wasn’t just a house—it was a home, filled with love and joy and the kind of peace he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve.

When he looked back down at you, his heart swelled with an emotion so overwhelming it almost frightened him. Your face was serene, your eyes soft as they met his, full of trust and a quiet knowing. You had always seen him—the man beneath the armor, the one who had carried so much and still kept moving forward. But now, he saw you too, in all your brilliance. The way you had carved a space for yourself in his heart and Jack’s life. The way you had somehow taken all his jagged edges and made them something beautiful.

"You amaze me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. "Do I?"

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "Every day. In ways I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words."

Your hand came up to rest over his, your touch light but steady. "You don’t have to," you murmured. "I feel it."

Hotch swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He felt the words bubbling up—words he hadn’t let himself say, even in the quiet of his own mind. I don’t deserve you. But for the first time, he didn’t want to give them power. Instead, he let the overwhelming gratitude he felt take their place.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. It wasn’t hurried or desperate but filled with purpose—an unspoken promise, an acknowledgment of everything you’d built together and everything still to come. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him to you.

When the kiss broke, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless but smiling. The room felt warmer, more alive, and he knew it wasn’t just the glow of the fireplace or the soft hum of Christmas lights.

"Come with me," you whispered, your voice like a melody, and he followed without hesitation, your hand warm in his.

The soft light of the bedroom welcomed you both, and the moment shifted, taking on a deeper intimacy. Hotch watched as you turned to face him, your gaze steady and open, your lips slightly parted. His heart pounded as though it were the first time he had ever seen you, the first time he’d ever dared to imagine this life.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, stepping closer, your hands finding his chest, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt before slipping beneath it. "So are you," you replied, your tone teasing but filled with sincerity.

His hands found your waist, and he let himself marvel at the way you leaned into him, so effortlessly trusting, so fully his. Slowly, gently, he guided you to the bed, his movements unhurried, savoring every second. He wanted to memorize this—to commit every look, every touch, every sigh to memory.

When you were finally lying beside him, the world outside seemed to fade away. The only thing that mattered was you—your warmth, your laughter, the way you whispered his name like it was both a promise and a prayer.

The moments that followed were a blur of soft touches and quiet gasps, of whispered words and stolen glances. It wasn’t just about the passion—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the unspoken understanding that this was where he was meant to be. With you.

As the night deepened, you rested against him, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the day’s events, the stark contrast of the alternate realities he’d glimpsed.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, the scent of you filling his senses. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" you asked, your voice thick with contentment.

"For this," he said simply, his hand resting over yours. "For being everything I didn’t know I needed."

You lifted your head to look at him, your smile soft but knowing. "I love you, Aaron."

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, before opening them again and meeting your gaze. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

As sleep began to claim you both, Hotch let himself drift, the sound of your steady breathing lulling him. For the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt truly at peace. And for the first time, he let himself believe that this life, this love, wasn’t just a dream.

It was his reality. And he would do whatever it took to hold onto it.

Hotch woke with a start, his breath catching in his throat as he sat up abruptly. The soft warmth of the bed, the cozy house, the sound of your laughter—all of it was gone. The room was cold and dark, the bed empty--his sparsely decorated apartment feeling emptier than ever.

His head spun as he tried to reconcile the vivid life he had just experienced with the stark reality before him. Was it a dream? A vision? His heart ached with the loss of it already, the memory of your touch, your voice, your presence slipping through his fingers like sand.

The shrill ring of his phone broke the silence, and he reached for it on instinct.

"Derek?" His voice was groggy, but the name left his lips with a hope he couldn’t quite place. Maybe Derek could make some sense of this.

"Hotch," Derek’s tone was clipped, almost irritated. "You coming in or what?"

Hotch frowned, glancing at the clock. It was Christmas Eve…again, yet there was no warmth or camaraderie in Derek’s voice. "I’ll be there soon," Hotch replied, the unease in his chest growing.

He hung up and stood, pausing by Jack’s room as he passed. Pushing the door open, he found his son—a young man now, just like in the other reality—but the scene before him was starkly different.

Jack was sprawled across the bed, his room messy and cluttered with discarded clothes and fast food containers. The blinds were drawn, and the air was stale. Hotch’s chest tightened as he took it in.

"Jack?" he said softly, stepping inside.

Jack stirred but didn’t wake, his face a reflection of someone weighed down by something invisible but heavy. Hotch’s heart sank. This wasn’t the confident, thriving young man from the other reality. This Jack seemed lost, unmoored, and aimless.

The sight of him broke something in Hotch. He thought of the pride he’d felt watching Jack lift his sister to place the star on the Christmas tree, the warmth of Jack calling you "Mom." That version of his son had been supported, loved, and encouraged.

But this Jack had none of that.

Hotch arrived at the BAU with a growing sense of dread. The bullpen was unusually quiet, the festive atmosphere of the season nowhere to be found. The team sat at their desks, their expressions strained and tired.

Derek was pacing near his desk, his jaw tight. Emily and JJ were in a heated discussion across the room, their voices low but tense. Penelope’s office was empty. Rossi sat at a desk, rubbing his temples as though trying to stave off a headache. The energy was fractured, the harmony that had once defined their team completely absent.

Hotch scanned the room, his heart sinking further when he didn’t see you.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asked, his voice betraying the urgency he felt.

Derek looked at him sharply. "Y/N?" he repeated, as though the name itself was foreign. "You’re really asking that? Are you okay, man?" Derek asked, but less of a caring way and more of a what the actual fuck, way.

Hotch frowned, confused by the response. He didn’t push, instead retreating to his office.

Later, as the team gathered for an impromptu briefing, the team’s comments throughout were surprising for him to hear. The complaints of spending the holiday together weighed heavily on Hotch with guilt. It did suck when they had to spend time away from their loved ones, but usually, they toughed it out--now, it felt like an inconvenience to be together.

During a break in the briefing, Rossi, uncharacteristically frustrated, spoke up. "Hotch, any idea what Jack’s plans are? I heard he got fired from that last job."

Hotch stiffened, his jaw clenching. "He’s… figuring things out," he said curtly, though the words felt hollow even as they left his mouth.

"Like Sean, huh?" Rossi muttered under his breath, the sting of the comparison sharp and deliberate. His tone carried an edge of judgment—something uncharacteristic for Rossi and yet cuttingly clear now.

The words hit Hotch like a blow to the chest. His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his composure, but the comparison to his younger brother twisted in his gut. Rossi's words echoed the fear he had buried deep inside for years: that Jack would follow the same troubled path Sean had.

Hotch said nothing, his mind racing. Jack had always been a bright, curious boy, full of potential. But in this reality, all of that seemed to have withered away. The son he had once seen as a reflection of his hopes and dreams was now a reflection of his deepest fears.

Without you—without the love, warmth, and stability you had brought into their lives—Jack was floundering. Hotch’s mind raced with fragments of information he’d tried to ignore or rationalize: Jack had dropped out of college after struggling to keep up with coursework, citing stress and disinterest. A string of failed relationships followed, each one leaving Jack more withdrawn and disillusioned. And then there were the whispers Hotch had overheard about Jack spending nights out at bars, drinking heavily, maybe dabbling in something stronger.

The thought alone made Hotch’s stomach churn. Jack had avoided talking to him about any of it, brushing off questions or deflecting with sarcasm. The distance between them felt like a canyon, wide and impossible to bridge.

Hotch thought of Sean, of all the ways he had failed his younger brother, and the memories burned like acid. Sean’s struggles with addiction, his inability to find direction, his resentment toward Hotch for being the "golden child"—all of it had haunted him for years. And now, seeing the same patterns emerging in Jack, he felt paralyzed.

His worst nightmare was coming true.

Rossi’s voice snapped him back to the moment. "You’ve gotta do something, Aaron," he said, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "Before it’s too late."

Hotch looked at Rossi, his expression carefully blank, but inside he was panicking. What could he do? Jack wouldn’t listen to him now—he was too angry, too bitter. And in truth, Hotch couldn’t blame him. In this cold, fractured reality, he had been too consumed by work, too emotionally unavailable, too afraid of repeating his past mistakes to see how much Jack needed him.

"Thanks for the insight, Dave," Hotch said tersely, his tone dismissive. But as he turned back to the case file in front of him, his hands trembled.

He had failed his son.

The thought burrowed into his mind, heavy and unrelenting. Jack was slipping further away, and Hotch didn’t know how to reach him. His choices had created this reality, this version of their lives where Jack was lost, where he had no anchor, no role model, no sense of security. Without you, the person who had brought balance and warmth to their family, Hotch couldn’t even begin to imagine how to fix it.

Later, alone in his office, Hotch sat staring at the framed photo of Jack as a young boy—his bright smile, his mischievous eyes. He had once believed Jack’s future was limitless, that he could be anything he wanted to be. But now, that future felt precarious, teetering on the edge of a cliff.

It wasn’t just the loss of Jack’s potential that gutted him—it was the loss of connection, of trust, of love. Jack didn’t look up to him anymore. He didn’t confide in him or seek his advice. And Hotch had no one to blame but himself.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He had been so focused on protecting Jack from the pain of his own failures—his divorce from Haley, the trauma of losing her, the grueling demands of the BAU—that he had failed to see how his fear had driven a wedge between them.

Jack didn’t need perfection. He needed a father who was present, who cared, who listened. And in this reality, Hotch hadn’t been that father.

The sharp pang of guilt twisted in his chest as he thought of you. In the "better" reality, you had been the glue that held their family together. Your warmth and insight had softened his edges, and your unwavering belief in Jack had given the boy the confidence to thrive. But here, without you, everything had unraveled.

Hotch buried his face in his hands, his mind a chaotic swirl of guilt, regret, and desperation. How had he let it come to this? How had he become the father he had always feared he would be—the one who failed to protect his child, to guide him, to give him a sense of purpose?

The answer was painfully clear: he had pushed away the one person who could have helped him build something better. And now, without you, his life was as cold and hollow as the winter wind outside.

And Jack? Jack was paying the price.

Hotch sat in the silence of his office, the weight of his choices crushing him. He had lost you. He was losing Jack. And for the first time in years, he didn’t know if he could find a way back.

As the day dragged on, Hotch found himself alone with Spencer. The younger man’s nervous energy was a welcome distraction, but Hotch’s mind kept circling back to you.

"Spencer," Hotch said abruptly, breaking the silence. "How’s Y/N?"

Spencer froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Why are you asking about her?"

Hotch frowned, the unease in his chest growing. Spencer's voice had almost a protectiveness, cluing Hotch into the fact that he really hurt you.

"Just… curious."

Spencer hesitated before answering. "Y/N left the Bureau years ago, Hotch. After… after you two split."

Hotch’s breath hitched. "She left?"

Spencer nodded, his tone cautious, looking at Hotch a little confused. "It was bad. For both of you. She took some lower-paying office job, and last I heard, she cut contact with the team completely."

Hotch’s heart sank. He couldn’t imagine you—so full of life and passion—confined to a life that stifled you. He couldn’t imagine you not talking to Emily, Penelope, or JJ. He couldn’t imagine you blowing off your conversations with Spencer, Derek, or Rossi.

"And you," Spencer continued hesitantly, "haven’t been the same since after she left years ago. You shut everyone out. Even Jack."

Hotch stared at him, the words hitting like a physical blow. The reality he was seeing now was starkly clear. Without you, everything fell apart.

As the day wore on, Hotch couldn’t shake the ache in his chest. He thought of you constantly—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you had brought balance to his life.

The case, too overwhelming to solve for the BAU, a defeat Hotch was not used to facing. By the casualness in his team members, apparently, this was the norm for the last few years. The BAU had lost all credibility. Penelope, having left the unit shortly after you, he found in the system, citing differences as her reasoning.

Throughout conversations, he learned that the job had put a major strain on JJ’s marriage. She and Will are currently separated. Rossi is weathered and aged, threatening to leave almost every day. Derek was not the pillar of strength he once was. Spencer struggled with staying sober without the stability of the team and purpose here. Emily was bitter and callous. And you…far from here.

This life—cold, strained, and broken—was unbearable. Jack resented him. The team resented him. And he resented himself.

As night fell, Hotch sat alone in his office, staring at the small, untouched Christmas tree in the corner. He thought of you and the life he could have had—the little girl with his eyes and your smile—the family he had let slip away.

Breaking from the defeated BAU, Hotch did some investigating into where you currently lived. All he could think about on the way over is that a messy day like today, the only thing he could think that would make him feel better was you.

By the time Hotch reached your apartment, the December air had turned bitterly cold, but he barely noticed. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one colliding with the next. The memory of Spencer’s words—of how devastated you had been after the breakup—clawed at his chest. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t reconcile the image of you as you had been—vibrant, loving, full of life—with the bleak picture Spencer had painted.

He hesitated at your door, his breath visible in the icy air. From outside, he could see faint light through the curtains, but no Christmas decorations adorned the windows, and no festive wreath hung on the door. It was jarringly unlike you.

For a moment, he considered leaving. But the thought of not knowing—of letting this version of reality remain unexamined—pushed him to knock.

The door opened slowly, and there you stood.

Hotch’s breath caught. You looked so different from the woman he remembered. The light in your eyes was gone, replaced by something hardened and distant. Your face was drawn, your expression wary.

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, but whatever flicker of emotion appeared was quickly replaced by a cold, guarded look.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice sharp and brittle.

Hotch hesitated, his throat dry. "I… wanted to see you."

"Why?" you snapped, your tone cutting through him like a knife. "Haven’t you done enough?"

The words hit him hard, but he forced himself to stay calm. "I know it’s Christmas Eve, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain what he was doing there when he barely understood it himself.

Your laugh was bitter, devoid of the warmth he remembered. "You’ve already ruined it, Aaron. It’s been years. Just say what you came to say and leave."

His chest tightened as he took in the room behind you. The apartment was bare, no sign of the festive spirit you used to pour into your home. The absence of it felt like a glaring void, an unspoken testament to the way your life had changed.

"Y/N…" he began softly, but you cut him off.

"Don’t," you said sharply, stepping back and crossing your arms as though physically shielding yourself from him. "After everything you said the last time we spoke, you have no right to be here."

Hotch swallowed hard, shame washing over him. "What did I say?"

Your expression darkened, pain flickering across your face. "You really don’t remember, do you?"

He shook his head, and the movement seemed to snap something in you.

"You told me I was asking too much," you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You said I was selfish for wanting a life you couldn’t give me. That I didn’t understand what it meant to love someone like you."

Hotch flinched, the weight of your words landing heavily on his chest. He could hear the pain in your voice, see it in the way your shoulders tensed and your hands clenched.

"And then you left," you continued, your voice rising. "You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us. You just decided it was over and walked away."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t finished.

"You broke me, Aaron," you said, tears welling in your eyes. "I’ve spent years trying to put myself back together, and now you show up here--on Christmas Eve, nonetheless, like none of it ever happened?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he said quietly, his voice thick with regret.

"But you did!" you snapped, the tears spilling over now. "And you don’t get to come here and pretend to care now. You don’t get to ruin this for me, too."

Hotch stepped back, his heart pounding. The raw pain on your face was unbearable, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. He had always prided himself on protecting the people he cared about, but in this reality, he had done the exact opposite.

"I’m sorry," he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "Just go, Aaron. Please. I don’t want to see you ever again."

The finality in your voice was like a dagger to his heart, but he nodded, knowing he had no right to stay.

As he walked away, the cold biting at his skin, Hotch felt the full weight of this reality settle over him. Without you, his life was fractured, unbalanced, and cold. Jack was lost, the team was falling apart, and he was a hollow version of himself.

But worse than any of that was the knowledge that he had done this to you—that his choices had robbed you of the light and joy that had once defined you.

And as he stepped into the night, the memory of your daughter—the little girl who didn’t exist in this reality—flashed through his mind. Her laugh, her smile, the way she had looked at him with so much love and trust.

He couldn’t choose this.

He wouldn’t choose this.

Hotch returned to his dim apartment, the silence pressing against him like a suffocating shroud. The small Christmas tree in the corner stood dark and undecorated, a glaring reminder of how hollow this reality was. Here, there were no lively photos of the team, his family…even photos of Haley were gone. It was impersonal and cold. He instinctively glanced at Jack’s room, but it was empty.

"Jack?" he called, his voice echoing in the stillness. No response.

Hotch pulled out his phone, dialing his son. The line rang for an agonizingly long moment before Jack answered, his voice sharp and irritated.

"What?" Jack snapped.

Hotch inhaled deeply, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Where are you? It’s Christmas Eve, Jack."

"I’m out," Jack replied curtly.

"You’re out? It’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve. You should be home."

Jack let out a bitter laugh. "Home? What home, Dad? The one where you bark orders and don’t listen? The one where I’m just a failure in your eyes?" Jack scoffed, “You spent the last five Christmasses working anyways, all of the sudden you’re looking for me?”

"Jack," Hotch said, his voice firm, though his heart ached at the accusation. "You’re not a failure. But you need to take responsibility for your actions. I’ve been trying to help you—"

"Help me?" Jack interrupted, his tone venomous. "You’ve done nothing but push me away. You didn’t even notice when I needed you."

"Jack, listen to me—"

"No, you listen," Jack snapped. "I don’t need this right now. Just… don’t bother calling again."

The line went dead.

Hotch stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear as the dial tone hummed in his ear. Jack’s words stung, but what hurt more was the truth behind them. In this reality, he hadn’t been there for his son. He hadn’t given Jack the support he needed, the stability he deserved.

Hotch set the phone down slowly, his chest tight. The memory of Jack in the other reality—thriving, confident, and happy—burned in his mind. This version of his son, lost and angry, was a painful reminder of everything he had lost.

He moved to the couch, sitting heavily as his thoughts spiraled. The day had been a relentless barrage of heartbreak, from the fractured BAU to the devastating encounter with you. Now, even his relationship with Jack was slipping through his fingers.

Hotch closed his eyes and whispered, "Haley."

He hadn’t called her name in years, not like this. Not with desperation lacing his voice. "I don’t know if you can hear me," he said, his voice low and trembling. "But I need… something. A sign. Anything."

The room remained silent, the emptiness almost mocking.

Hotch exhaled shakily and rose, his body heavy with exhaustion. He climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the day replayed in his mind. The image of your face, twisted with pain and anger, was the last thing he saw before he drifted into a restless sleep.

He woke Christmas morning to the same cold, empty apartment. For a moment, he hoped—prayed—that the nightmare of the previous day had been just that. But as he looked around, reality settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Jack’s door was still open, and the room was still empty. The small tree remained dark and lifeless.

Hotch felt panic rising in his chest. He reached for his phone again, dialing Jack. It went straight to voicemail. He tried Spencer next, but the call rang out unanswered.

The hours crawled by as Hotch moved through the day in a haze. He paced the apartment, his mind racing with thoughts of the life he had glimpsed—your laughter, the warmth of the home you had built together, the joy in your daughter’s eyes.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling as he clasped them together.

"Haley," he said again, his voice breaking. "Please. I don’t know what to do."

The room felt impossibly silent, but he pressed on, his words spilling out like a dam breaking. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I thought I couldn’t handle it—marriage, kids, everything. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."

He dragged a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. "I need her, Haley. She makes everything better—me, Jack, the team… she makes life better. And now she’s gone, and Jack’s gone, and everything is falling apart."

His voice cracked as he whispered, "Please let me go back. Let me make a different choice. I’ll do anything. Just… let me go back."

The tears came then, unbidden and unstoppable, as he buried his face in his hands. For years, he had carried his pain silently, locking it away where no one could see. But now, it overwhelmed him, spilling out in the form of desperate, broken pleas to a woman who could no longer answer him.

As the day wore on, the weight of the world pressed heavier on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders. The image of you—the way your eyes had brimmed with pain when you saw him—haunted him. The memory of Jack’s angry words burned like a brand.

And through it all, he clung to one hope: that somehow, he would wake up to a chance to make it right. To choose you. To choose the life he now knew he couldn’t live without.

The knock at the door startled Hotch from his restless thoughts. He stood slowly, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair before crossing the room. When he opened the door, Jess stood there, bundled against the cold, holding a casserole dish wrapped in foil.

"Jess," he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Merry Christmas," she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She moved past him, her presence filling the otherwise empty apartment.

"You didn’t have to come," he said, watching as she set the casserole down on the counter.

She looked back at him, her expression soft but knowing. "I figured you wouldn’t have much of a Christmas meal planned."

He wanted to argue, but the truth of her statement stung too much. "Thank you," he said quietly, the words feeling hollow in the vast emptiness of his apartment.

Jess turned to him, studying his face for a long moment. "What’s wrong, Aaron?"

He hesitated, his instinct to guard his emotions kicking in. But the weight of the past day—the haunting reality of what his life had become—pressed down on him, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"I don’t know where I went wrong," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I’ve been thinking about… everything. About Jack, the team, Y/N… and I just—" He stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I couldn’t let myself want it. A life with her. Marriage. More kids. I told myself it was better this way, safer. But it wasn’t."

Jess tilted her head, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. "Aaron, what makes you think you couldn’t have had those things?"

He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Because I wasn’t enough, Jess. I couldn’t make it work with Haley. You sure as hell saw that first-hand. I couldn’t be the father Jack needed me to be. And with Y/N… I couldn’t even let myself try."

Jess’s expression softened, but there was steel beneath her empathy. "Aaron, you’re not the same man you were when you were with Haley. You’ve grown. You’ve learned. And you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for that."

Hotch shook his head, the self-loathing bubbling to the surface. "But it wasn’t enough. Jack’s lost, the team’s falling apart, and Y/N..." His voice broke. "I hurt her, Jess. I pushed her away because I was too scared to let myself believe I could be good enough for her."

Jess stepped closer, her voice firm but gentle. "Aaron, let me ask you something. Do you remember what it was like when Y/N was around? How Jack was with her?"

He blinked, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jess said, her tone softening, "I’ve never seen Jack as happy as he was when Y/N was in his life. He opened up more. He smiled more. He trusted more. And you…" She paused, giving him a knowing look. "You were lighter with her, Aaron. I’ve known you for years, and even with Haley, I don’t think I ever saw you as carefree as you were with Y/N."

Hotch swallowed hard, her words stirring memories he’d tried to bury. Nights spent laughing over takeout, Jack tugging Y/N’s hand to show her his latest drawing, the quiet moments of comfort and understanding that had made his world feel less heavy.

"She brought something into your life that you didn’t even realize you needed," Jess continued. "She brought balance. Joy. And Jack? He thrived because of her. Not just because she cared about him but because she loved you. And he saw that."

Hotch looked away, his chest tightening. "I failed her, Jess. I failed both of them. I couldn’t let myself hope for something more because I was too afraid of losing it."

Jess sighed, her tone taking on a sharper edge. "Aaron, do you think Y/N didn’t know what she was getting into when she chose you? She knew your past, your fears, your baggage—and she still chose you. She didn’t need you to be perfect. She needed you to let her in."

He shook his head, his voice barely audible. "She deserved better."

"She deserved love," Jess countered, her voice steady. "And you had it to give, Aaron. You still do."

Hotch felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes but blinked them back, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I don’t know if I can fix it," he admitted, his voice trembling. "Jack… he’s slipping away, and Y/N… I don’t even know if she’d want me back after everything I’ve done."

Jess placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "Aaron, you’re not the man you think you are. You’re not some cold, unfeeling workaholic who’s incapable of love. You’re a man who’s been hurt, who’s been scared, but who still shows up for the people he cares about. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t erase the good you’ve done."

He looked at her, his expression raw. "What if I could go back? What if I could choose differently?"

Jess tilted her head, her gaze steady. "Then what would you do?"

Hotch didn’t hesitate this time. "I’d choose her. I’d choose Jack. I’d choose… all of it. The mess, the risk, the uncertainty. I’d take it all because life without it… without her… it’s unbearable."

Jess smiled faintly, her hand squeezing his arm. "Then maybe it’s not too late."

Her words hung in the air, a quiet challenge that made his chest tighten. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile spark that whispered of the possibility of something more.

"You’ve always had a way of making things right when it mattered most, Aaron," Jess said, her voice softer now. "And if anyone can do it again, it’s you."

As Jess turned to leave, the warmth of her presence lingering in the room, Hotch found himself holding onto that spark with everything he had. For Jack. For Y/N. For the life he’d almost let slip away.

Hotch woke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart racing as though he’d been running. The room was warm, filled with the soft light of morning creeping through the curtains. He sat up abruptly, his eyes darting around. The cold, lifeless apartment from the nightmare reality was gone.

This was his room. His reality.

He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely able to contain the flood of relief coursing through him. It was Christmas Eve again—he was back.

Hotch ran a hand over his face, trying to steady himself. The vivid memories of what he had seen—Jack’s messy, unmotivated life, the disjointed team, your pain—lingered like ghosts. But so, too, did the warmth of the life he could have with you: the laughter, the home, the little girl with your smile.

He wasn’t going to waste this chance.

Hotch padded down the hall, pausing outside Jack’s room. Pushing the door open quietly, he found his son still tucked under the blankets, his face peaceful in sleep. Jack as young as he remembered leaving him before being faced with those polarizing realities.

"Jack," Hotch said softly, leaning down to ruffle his hair.

Jack stirred, blinking groggily. "Dad?"

"It’s Christmas Eve," Hotch said, his voice unusually warm and full of excitement.

Jack sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Already?"

Hotch chuckled. "Already." He hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hey, I was thinking… what would you say to inviting Y/N over tonight?"

Jack’s face lit up instantly, all traces of sleep vanishing. "Really? She’s coming over?"

"If she’s free," Hotch said, his heart swelling at Jack’s enthusiasm.

Jack grinned, his excitement contagious. "I like when she’s here. She’s really nice. And funny."

Hotch’s chest tightened. The innocence in Jack’s words—the simple, childlike joy of wanting you around—was a reminder of just how much you had already become a part of their lives, even if Hotch hadn’t let himself fully realize it before.

Jack tilted his head, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "Do you think Santa can bring her presents here too?"

Hotch smiled, his heart aching with affection for his son. "I think that can be arranged."

Jack nodded, satisfied. Then, after a moment, he looked at Hotch with wide, curious eyes. "Do you think she could come over more? Like, all the time?"

The question hung in the air, and Hotch felt his pulse quicken. He hadn’t planned to bring this up—not yet—but the moment felt too perfect to let slip away.

"What would you think," Hotch began carefully, "if Y/N became… a bigger part of our family?"

Jack frowned, clearly trying to process the question. "Like… she’d come over every day?"

"Something like that," Hotch said, his voice soft.

Jack’s face brightened again, a wide smile spreading across his face. "That’d be awesome! She makes you smile more."

Hotch felt a lump rise in his throat, his son’s simple observation cutting straight to his heart. "She makes me happy," he admitted, his voice steady but full of emotion.

"Then you should tell her," Jack said confidently, his innocence making the words feel like undeniable truth.

Hotch chuckled, leaning over to kiss the top of Jack’s head. "You’re a smart kid, you know that?"

Jack grinned. "I know."

As Hotch stood, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. He wasn’t going to waste this second chance. He was going to make the call, invite you over, and start building the life he now knew he wanted more than anything.

The life he couldn’t wait to share with you.

The familiar hum of the bullpen greeted Hotch as he stepped into the BAU office, his mind steady and clear in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The vivid memories of his nightmare reality lingered, but they had only sharpened his resolve. He wasn’t going to let this life—the people who mattered most—slip through his fingers.

The team was scattered about, their chatter softer than usual with the holidays approaching. Hotch spotted Penelope first, her bright cardigan and infectious energy standing out even amidst the quiet hum of activity. She was leaning over Spencer’s desk, gesturing animatedly as Spencer nodded, his brow furrowed in focus.

Derek was nearby, arms crossed, wearing a knowing smirk as he watched the two of them.

"Hey, boss man," Derek called out as Hotch approached. "What brings you in on Christmas Eve? Thought you’d be at home, sipping hot cocoa with Jack."

Hotch smiled faintly, something he didn’t do nearly enough. "Jack’s with Jess for the afternoon. I wanted to check in."

Penelope looked up, her face lighting up when she saw him. "You’re here! Is there a case? Please tell me there’s not a case. I swear, if you’re here to ruin Christmas, I’ll…" She paused, narrowing her eyes. "I’ll do something very un-holiday-spirited."

Hotch raised a hand, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "No cases. I’m here to promise that we’re shutting everything down for the rest of the week. No emergencies, no files—nothing. Go home, spend time with your families, and regroup. There will always be people to save, but we can’t help them if we don’t take care of ourselves first."

The room went quiet as his words sank in. Penelope’s eyes widened, her face softening with gratitude. "Did you just… tell us to go home and take care of ourselves? Who are you, and what have you done with Aaron Hotchner?"

Spencer smiled faintly, glancing at Derek, who gave a low whistle. "Man, it’s about time. Thanks, Hotch."

Before Hotch could reply, Penelope stepped forward and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard. "I don’t know what inspired this, but I’m so grateful. Thank you, sir."

Hotch hesitated for a moment before patting her shoulder gently. "You’ve earned it, all of you."

As Penelope pulled back, Derek crossed his arms, tilting his head. "So, Hotch," he said, his tone teasing, "what’d you get Y/N for Christmas? I know you’ve got something good planned."

Hotch’s lips quirked in a rare moment of playfulness. "You’ll have to wait and see, Morgan."

Derek chuckled. "Fair enough. But if you need any tips, you know where to find me."

Hotch shook his head, amused, before glancing around. "Where is Y/N?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Spencer gestured toward Hotch’s office. "She said she’d be waiting for you in there."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, the thought of seeing you stirring something warm and steady within him. Without another word, he turned and headed for his office, the memories of the past days pushing him forward.

He couldn’t wait to see you, to start making things right, to build the life he knew he wanted—with you by his side.

Hotch ascended the stairs to his office with a purposeful stride, his heart pounding harder with each step. The memories of their fight haunted him, but they also fueled him. He wouldn’t waste another moment. This was his chance to make things right, to choose you, to choose them.

When he reached his office, he pushed the door open quickly, almost bursting through it in his haste.

You were standing by the couch by the window, your posture calm but reserved, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. Too calm, he thought. He could see the quiet hurt lingering behind your gentle demeanor, the way you were preparing yourself to make sacrifices—again—for him. For them.

It was so you, and it broke his heart.

"Aaron," you began, your voice steady but careful. "I’ve been thinking about us. About everything."

He crossed the room in an instant, his determination cutting through the air. Before you could say another word, he reached you, cupping your face in his hands with a kind of tenderness that caught you off guard.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle, cautious kiss. It was deep, consuming, and filled with all the emotion he had bottled up for too long. It was an apology, a promise, a plea for you to feel everything he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

You gasped softly against his lips, surprised, but you melted into him almost immediately, your hands finding their way to his chest. When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, your wide eyes searching his for answers.

"Don’t talk," he said, his voice low and firm but so full of emotion it nearly cracked. "Please. Not yet."

You blinked, stunned into silence.

"I’m sorry," he continued, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek. "I’m so sorry for everything I said. For not seeing what was right in front of me. For not choosing you when I should have."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head slightly, stopping you.

"Tonight," he said, his voice softening, "we’ll talk. I’ll say everything I should have said before, and I’ll listen to you the way I should have. But right now, I need you to do something for me."

Your brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. "What is it?"

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "Go tell the director you’re taking the role."

Your eyes widened. "Aaron, I—"

"Don’t argue," he said gently but firmly. "This is what you want. And you’re not giving it up for me. Not this time."

Your hand covered his, resting on your cheek, and he felt the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. "Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," he said, his voice steady. "We’ll make this work. I’ll make this work. You deserve this, and I’m not going to stand in your way. Not anymore."

Tears welled in your eyes, but the smile that broke across your face was radiant. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you, too," he whispered, his voice full of quiet conviction.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own reflecting the resolve he felt deep in his heart. "Go tell them," he said. "And then come back to me."

You nodded, your smile widening as you stood, your steps lighter than they had been in days.

As you left the office, Hotch watched you go, his chest tight with a mixture of love and determination. This was the life he wanted—the life he was going to fight for. And this time, he wouldn’t let anything get in the way.

Later, Hotch leaned against the counter in his kitchen; the phone pressed to his ear as he listened to your soft, melodic voice on the other end. It had been a whirlwind of a day, but as soon as the office had emptied out for the holidays, his thoughts had turned to you.

"Spend Christmas Eve and Day with us," he said, the words steady but laced with an unusual vulnerability. He wasn’t used to asking for things—not like this—but he wanted you there. Needed you there.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. "Are you sure, Aaron? I don’t want to intrude—"

"You’re not intruding," he interrupted gently. "Jack and I want you here. I want you here."

The hesitation in your voice melted, replaced by a quiet warmth. "Okay," you said softly. "I’d love to."

As he hung up, Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For the past few Christmases, you had always been part of the day—but always slipped out before nighttime on Christmas Eve. You had insisted on leaving early, not wanting to intrude on the traditions he and Jack had shared since Haley’s passing.

But this year, he wanted you to stay. To be part of everything.

Hotch thought back to the Christmases you’d spent together as a couple, moments that had somehow always felt brighter because of you. Whether it was the way you’d join Jack in decorating cookies—laughing as he piled on too many sprinkles—or the small, thoughtful gifts you’d slip under the tree for both of them, your presence had become the quiet heartbeat of the holiday.

He smiled faintly at the memory of last Christmas when you’d handed Jack a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside was a book he’d mentioned only once in passing during a conversation Hotch himself had almost forgotten. Jack’s face had lit up with pure joy, and Hotch had been struck by your attentiveness—not just to Jack’s words, but to the things that mattered most to him.

You didn’t just listen—you understood.

But then, as bedtime approached, you’d always reach for your coat, pressing a soft kiss to Hotch’s cheek before leaving.

"This is your time with Jack," you’d say, your smile warm but knowing. "I don’t want to take that from you."

It had been so thoughtful, so perfectly you. And every year, Hotch let you go, telling himself it was the right thing to do. But this year, everything felt different.

This year, he couldn’t imagine the night without you.

Before heading to pick Jack up from Jess’s, Hotch made a quiet but resolute decision. He took a detour, parking outside a small jewelry store adorned with festive lights. The shop was bustling with last-minute shoppers, the air thick with anticipation and cheer.

As he stepped inside, he felt an unusual sense of calm wash over him. This wasn’t a frantic, spur-of-the-moment decision. It was something he’d been carrying in his heart for far longer than he’d realized.

While waiting for the jeweler’s attention, his mind wandered to all the moments that had brought him here—not just the life they’d built together, but the stark contrast of the two alternate realities he’d seen.

He thought of the warm, bustling home from the first dream—the little girl with your smile and his eyes, Jack’s confidence and joy, the harmony of a life shared with you. That vision had awakened something in him: hope. It was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have but now knew he wanted more than anything.

Then, the second reality—the cold, fractured life without you—rushed back into his mind like a knife twisting in his chest. Jack had been lost, unmotivated, mirroring the mistakes Hotch had always feared for him. The BAU had been broken, and he had been a hollow version of himself, unable to connect, unable to truly live.

The thought of facing that kind of pain again was unbearable.

But it was more than that. It wasn’t just about avoiding regret or fear of what could go wrong. It was about embracing what was right in front of him—the way you fit so perfectly into his life and Jack’s, not as a replacement but as someone who made them whole in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He thought of the first time Jack had asked if you could come to his school play, the innocent joy in his voice as he said, "It’s more fun when she’s there." He thought of the quiet nights when your hand had instinctively reached for his, grounding him when the weight of the job became too much. He thought of your laugh—the way it softened the hardest of days, the way it had a way of filling the cracks he hadn’t even known were there.

"She’s always been the one," he murmured under his breath, the realization landing softly but powerfully.

The jeweler’s voice broke through his thoughts. "How can I help you?"

Hotch met her gaze, a rare but genuine smile pulling at his lips. "I need something special," he said, his voice steady and certain. "For someone who means everything to me."

As he browsed, each piece felt like a step closer to a promise he’d been too afraid to make until now. By the time he left the store, the small box tucked securely in his pocket, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

This wasn’t about a grand gesture or a sudden realization—it was the culmination of everything he’d known deep down, even when he couldn’t admit it.

You were the one. For him, for Jack, for the life he wanted to build.

And this Christmas, he was ready to take the first step toward forever.

The apartment was alive in a way it had never been on Christmas Eve. The faint strains of a classic holiday tune floated through the air, mingling with the warm glow of twinkling lights from the tree. A Christmas movie played softly on the television, its cheerful narration adding to the cozy atmosphere. The scent of dinner lingered in the room, mingling with the faint pine of the tree.

Hotch sat on the couch, his gaze drifting to you and Jack, who were laughing together over something you’d said. The sound of Jack’s laughter—light, unguarded, happy—was the greatest gift Hotch could have asked for.

You caught his eye and smiled, a soft, knowing look that told him you were as content as he was in this moment. There would be time for the two of you to talk later, once Jack was off to bed, filled with anticipation for Santa’s arrival. For now, though, this was perfect.

As the evening wound down, you leaned over to grab a small, carefully wrapped package from your bag. "Jack," you said, your voice warm, "I have something for you to open tonight. I thought it might be nice to add to your Christmas Eve tradition."

Jack’s eyes lit up, his excitement palpable as he took the gift. "Really?"

"Really," you said with a grin.

Jack tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a small but beautifully crafted ornament. It was shaped like a book, gilded in silver, with his name inscribed on the cover. His eyes widened, his fingers tracing the delicate engraving.

"It’s for the tree," you explained gently. "Something just for you. I thought you might like to have your own ornament to put up every year."

Jack looked up at you, his expression a mixture of awe and appreciation. "This is… really cool," he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity.

Then, after a moment, he added, "You always think of the best stuff. Thanks for being here. I hope you’re always here."

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched the exchange, the simplicity of Jack’s words carrying a weight that made his throat ache.

"Thank you, Jack," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly as you smiled at him.

Jack rose, holding the ornament delicately as he approached the tree. He carefully hung it on a branch near the top, stepping back to admire his work.

Hotch’s hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching for yours. As soon as his fingers brushed against your palm, you intertwined them with a gentle squeeze.

The touch grounded him, but it also brought with it a flood of emotion. For a brief moment, he was back in that alternate reality—decorating the tree with you, an older Jack, and your daughter. He could almost hear her laughter, see her small hands reaching for ornaments as you steadied her.

The memory of that life, so vivid and so possible, filled him with a quiet, overwhelming certainty.

You glanced at him, your expression softening as you squeezed his hand again, a silent reassurance that you were here, now, and ready for whatever came next.

Hotch didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. This moment—this warmth, this love—was everything he needed to know that he was on the right path.

The night had begun to wind down, the once-bustling apartment now quieter, filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights and the soft hum of contentment. After leaving out milk and cookies for Santa, Jack had dashed to his room, his excitement bubbling over as he prepared for bed.

Hotch followed, glancing over his shoulder at you. "We’ll be out in a bit," he said gently.

You nodded with a soft smile. "Take your time," you replied, moving toward the living room to give them their privacy.

In Jack’s room, Hotch helped him settle under the covers, pulling the blankets snugly around him. The boy’s face was lit with anticipation, his cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening.

"Okay," Hotch said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What’s the request for tonight?"

Jack grinned. "The Night Before Christmas. It has to be that one tonight, right?"

Hotch smiled, reaching for the well-worn book on Jack’s nightstand. "Good choice."

As he opened the cover, Jack’s eyes darted to the door. "Wait!"

Hotch paused, frowning slightly. "What’s wrong?"

"Can Y/N come in too?" Jack asked, his voice filled with earnestness. "I want her to hear it too."

Hotch’s chest tightened, a wave of warmth spreading through him at Jack’s request. He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. "Of course," he said, his voice soft.

He called your name, and you peeked into the room, a questioning look on your face.

"Jack wants you to join us," Hotch explained, his tone gentle but encouraging.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but the warmth in your smile was immediate. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Hotch said, gesturing for you to come in.

You stepped inside hesitantly, but Jack’s enthusiastic patting of the bed beside him quickly put you at ease. You sat down, and Jack scooted closer to make room, his small hand tugging at the blanket to share with you.

Hotch’s heart swelled as he watched the two of you. You were a natural fit here, as though you’d always been part of this family.

He began to read, his deep voice steady and calm as he brought the familiar words to life.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…"

Jack listened intently, his head leaning lightly against your arm. Every so often, Hotch glanced up, catching the serene expression on your face as you followed along. Your hand rested lightly on Jack’s back, your presence grounding him in a way that felt perfectly natural.

As the story progressed, Hotch’s voice softened, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around the three of you like a warm blanket. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace—so connected.

When he reached the final line, "'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,'" Jack let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"That was perfect," Jack murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Hotch set the book aside, leaning down to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. "Goodnight, buddy," he said softly.

Jack blinked up at both of you, his small hand reaching out to take yours and Hotch’s at the same time. "I’m glad you’re here," he said to you, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. "Me too, Jack."

Hotch’s chest tightened, the weight of the moment nearly overwhelming. He squeezed Jack’s hand, his gaze flicking to you. The tenderness in your eyes was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have, and now that it was here, he knew he would do anything to keep it.

As Jack’s eyes drifted shut, you and Hotch exchanged a quiet, knowing look, the unspoken promise between you as strong as the love filling the room.

This was family. And it was perfect.

After tucking Jack in and ensuring his dreams of Santa were safe and secure, you and Hotch returned to the quiet living room. The faint glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected off the window, casting the room in a soft, magical warmth.

You sat beside him on the couch, your presence calming and steady. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the unspoken weight of everything left unsaid lingering in the air.

Then, softly, you broke the silence. "Aaron," you said, your voice careful but earnest, "are you ready to talk? Not just about the job but… about everything."

He turned to you, his heart clenching at the concern in your eyes.

"I never wanted to pressure you," you continued, your hands folded nervously in your lap. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to make a decision just because of me. I would never want you to want something you’ll regret or resent… or not want altogether."

Hotch’s throat tightened as he listened to you. Your words were so you—selfless, thoughtful, and so in tune with his feelings that it made his chest ache.

He reached for your hands, covering them with his. "This isn’t pressure," he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion. "It’s clarity. This is everything. You’re everything."

Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, and he took a steadying breath. "I’ve been too blind to see it. Too afraid to let myself hope for more, to believe I could have this—us. But I know now."

His voice grew quieter, a tremor betraying the emotion behind his words. "I’ve seen what life could be like without you, and I can’t… I won’t go back to that. You’ve given me and Jack so much—more than I even realized until now. I can’t imagine a life without you in it."

You tilted your head, your soft smile returning. "What’s gotten into you?" you asked, your tone light but filled with love.

Hotch chuckled softly, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. "Let’s just say I had some time to think. And I’ve realized… I’ve been so afraid of failing you that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. I was scared I’d ruin this, ruin us. That I couldn’t live up to what you deserved."

Your eyes softened, and you shifted closer. "Aaron," you said, your voice steady and filled with quiet conviction, "you could never fail me. Not once. You’ve shown me more love and care than I ever thought possible. You’ve already given me so much."

Hotch’s heart swelled at your words, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his mind flashing to the alternate reality he had glimpsed. The memory of your laughter, your daughter’s joy, Jack’s success, and the harmony of a life shared with you filled his mind.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small box he had been carrying all day. When he looked at you again, his resolve was clear.

"You deserve something grand," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "A big moment, a big gesture. But I can’t think of a better time to start forever than right now."

Your eyes widened as he slipped from the couch to one knee, the movement fluid and filled with purpose. He opened the box, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring inside.

"Y/N," he began, his voice steady despite the emotion coursing through him, "you are the best part of my life. You’ve brought light to places I thought would stay dark forever. You’ve made me believe in love, in family, in a future I didn’t think I could have. And I don’t want to spend another day without knowing you’ll be by my side."

Tears welled in your eyes as you listened, your hand flying to your mouth.

"You’ve already shown me what it means to love someone with your whole heart," he continued. "And I want to spend the rest of my life doing the same for you. For Jack. For the life I know we can build together."

Hotch’s voice softened, the faintest crack breaking through his calm exterior. "I’m not afraid anymore, because I know now. You’re it for me, Y/N. Will you marry me?"

For a moment, you were silent, your emotions catching up with you. Then you nodded, your tears spilling over as you whispered, "Yes. Of course, yes."

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, slipping the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. You pulled him to his feet, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him, the world falling away in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you smiled through your tears. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch smiled, the weight of his fears finally lifting. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

This was the beginning of the life he had seen in his dreams. And this time, he wasn’t letting it slip away.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the Christmas tree lights and the soft rhythm of your breathing as you rested your head against Hotch’s shoulder. Jack had been tucked in long ago, dreaming of Santa and the treasures Christmas morning would bring. But Hotch’s mind was far from sleep.

He gazed down at you, his fiancée now, the weight of the ring on your finger feeling almost as tangible as the warmth of your hand in his. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel this complete, this content. Yet here he was, in the glow of the holidays, with you beside him and the promise of forever ahead.

It was as if the universe had given him a glimpse into the consequences of his choices; in those alternate realities he’d seen, the message had been clear: the choices we make ripple outward, shaping not only our own lives but the lives of everyone we touch.

He thought of the cold, lonely life he had witnessed without you. Jack, floundering without direction. The team, fractured and disjointed. Himself, hollow and lost.

And then, the other life—the one with the warmth of a shared home, your laughter filling the rooms, Jack thriving with confidence, and the little girl with your smile and his eyes.

It was all so vivid still, a testament to what could have been—but also what could still be.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, lifting your head to look at him. Your smile was soft and understanding, as always.

Hotch shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Just thinking about how lucky I am," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "Lucky? You did all the work tonight."

He chuckled, his arm tightening around you. "It’s more than that," he said softly. "I’ve spent so much time thinking I had to do everything alone—that I couldn’t let anyone else in because it was safer that way. But I was wrong."

You rested your hand on his chest, your touch grounding him. "You’re not alone anymore, Aaron," you said gently. "You never have to be again."

That moment he understood that his life, messy and imperfect as it was, was wonderful because of the people who shared it with him.

"I almost didn’t see it," Hotch admitted, his voice quieter now. "How much you mean to me. To Jack. How much better everything is with you in it."

Your smile softened, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek. "You’ve always had it in you," you said. "To love, to build something beautiful. You just needed time to see it."

Hotch let out a breath, his chest filling with gratitude.

No man is a failure who has love.

And he had that now—in abundance.

As the Christmas tree lights flickered softly, casting shadows across the room, Hotch leaned down to kiss you gently, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years.

This was his life. Messy, imperfect, but so profoundly his.

And for the first time, he truly believed that it was wonderful.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #kiwriteswords #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst

275 notes · View notes

hotshotsxyz · 2 months ago

Note

“You know me better than anyone. You always have.” for the prompts if it sparks!

(buddie) (788 words) i still have so many of these prompts left lmao, hope you like this one!

“I’m fine,” Buck says, and to his genuine surprise, he really means it.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Rude, but fair. “You’re fine,” he echoes, flat and disbelieving.

Buck shrugs. “Yeah, man, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Eddie blinks a few times. “Is this what denial looks like? I think this might be what denial looks like.”

“Denial is a river in Egypt,” Buck replies cheerfully.

Eddie snorts. “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.”

“Maybe not,” Buck allows. “Still fine, though.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says.

“I am!” Buck protests. “I’ll prove it. Ask me what happened.”

Eddie heaves a sigh and stands. “I’m getting a beer. Do you want a beer?”

“I mean, yeah, but not if it's a pity beer,” Buck calls after him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie tosses over his shoulder.

He comes back with a bottle of Buck’s favorite sour, which is ridiculous because the only place that sells it is a full thirty minutes farther than the closest grocery store. It’s absolutely a pity beer.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaims.

He feigns innocence. “I already had it!”

Buck narrows his eyes and takes the bottle from Eddie. “I’m choosing to believe you, but only because I really don’t want one of your godawful IPAs.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and settles back on the couch beside him. “If that’s what it takes,” he says.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me,” Buck says accusingly.

“I am nice to you,” Eddie says. He leans his head against the back of the couch and rolls it lazily to the side to look at Buck directly. “I’ll be nicer if you can find an adjective other that ‘fine’ to describe your current state of being.”

Buck blows a soft breath out through his nose. “I’m good, Eds, I promise.”

“I just—you were more broken up about Natalia,” Eddie says softly. “Why are you so okay with this?”

And that—that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? Because Buck is fine. He’s not emotionless, but nothing he’s feeling is particularly painful or consuming. Being with Tommy was good and fun and nice, but breaking up with him didn’t feel like some terrible ending. It felt like finishing a chapter in a book that you can’t put down and staying up late because you just can’t wait to start the next one. He’s never really felt like that before.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I just am. You know me better than anyone. You always have. Why don’t you tell me?”

Eddie huffs a soft laugh. “Contrary to the beliefs of our friends and coworkers, I can’t actually read your mind, Buck.”

“I don’t know,” Buck teases, “I think you probably could if you tried.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Think of a number between one and ten.”

Eleven, Buck thinks, just to be an asshole. He grins at Eddie, who stares at him in mock concentration.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Stop cheating,” he says.

Buck bursts out laughing. “See? Knew you were a little bit psychic.”

“More like fluent in Buck,” Eddie snarks back.

He feels soft and loose, and it hits him that this is what he’d never quite had with Tommy. They were never as in sync as he is with Eddie. He’s never felt so comfortable, so known as he does when he’s here. It’s an impossibly high bar to hold a partner to, but—

Buck’s jaw drops.

Eddie’s expression shifts to vaguely concerned confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” Buck says quickly.

Eddie fixes him with an unimpressed look.

“I just, uh—” Buck stalls, frantically searching for words that haven’t quite coalesced yet in his mind. “Um. I think I—”

Eddie sits up a little straighter. “Buck,” he says, soft and worried. “It’s just me.”

It’s just Eddie. Eddie who knows him. Eddie who sees him. Eddie who makes fun of him and trusts him and treasures the little pieces of him he’s handed over throughout the years. It’s just Eddie.

It’s Eddie, and all at once Buck is realizing that it’s never going to be anyone else.

“I, uh—” Buck tries again. “I have to—I forgot to feed my neighbor’s cat,” he lies, standing so quickly that he bumps the coffee table and nearly knocks over Eddie’s mostly full beer.

Eddie’s brow creases. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Buck doesn’t think for a second he believes him.

“I’m just gonna—I’ll see you tomorrow?” Buck asks desperately.

“Course,” Eddie says.

“Thanks for the—bye!” Buck squeaks.

He hightails it out the door and throws himself behind the wheel of his Jeep. Of course he isn’t upset about Tommy. How could he be?

He’s been in love with Eddie the whole fucking time.

#thank you for the prompt anon i hope you liked it!#911 #911 abc #buddie #buddiefic #buddie fic #fic #abbie writes #abbie answers #anon

279 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 7 months ago

Text

The Favor 7

Hehe… hello. This is scandalous but I think you guys are gonna loooove it ��🤭🤭

The Favor masterlist

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 8 and 170+ exclusive writings!

WC- 6.8k

Warnings- slight angst, cheating (But is it bc they technically have permission?), Possessive H, exhibitionism, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, daddy kink (finally), degradation, etc

Y/N was slightly nervous for tonight.

Not only was she going to Harry’s house to spend the weekend there, but they were going out together to meet their friends.

After following Harry’s advice, she had tried to talk to Danny and had talked about how she felt like he didn’t really care to ask about her. He’d immediately become defensive, blowing it off as ‘you could have talked about your week and I would have listened! Why do I have to ask? We’ve been in a relationship for a while now, it should just be common practice!” But ultimately agreed to trying harder. He’d suggested they all go with the rest of the group to the pub crawl, something Y/N didn’t want to do but felt obligated to since she’d brought up him not trying. Harry hadn’t seemed bothered by the suggestion, merely agreeing and asking what time they were going to get there.

She had no clue what the dynamic between the three of them was going to be, but even more so because she felt the want to stick around Harry. He was her comfort zone right now, and maybe going out with the group was a bit of a mistake but she had to try. Didn’t she?

Sitting in the front seat of Harry’s car, she felt his hand tapping on the steering wheel. He had warmly received her, kissing her gently in the driveway before letting her get ready in his bathroom. But something was still a little off. She could feel it. She had to admit that she hadn’t expected him to be so okay with spending some of their allotted time together out and about, let alone with Danny, but she had figured he was just trying to stick to the agreement. Their Friday night hadn’t been appointed to anything specific.

Harry wasn’t much looking forward to this considering there was the tiniest bit of him that was bitter. Maybe a little more than a tiny bit, but he was trying to deny that. Seeing Danny tonight was something he didn’t want to do, maybe ever again. Perhaps it was dramatic, but seeing how he was with Y/N had royally pissed him off. The more he thought about it, the shittier this arrangement was but unfortunately he was a bit too selfish to let go of Y/N. He liked her a little too much. But that was all he’d let himself think about it.

The last thing he wanted to do was make Y/N feel bad for this considering he had been the one to tell her to try and talk this out. He’d had to say it, had to encourage her to mend relationships because she wasn’t truly his and he cared deeply about her happiness, but the selfish part of him had hoped she’d see through the feeble attempts to cover his own ass tonight.

One of the hardest things to think of though, was the fact that he had to keep his hands to himself tonight. He couldn’t swing his arm around her or adjust her hair, couldn’t rest his hand on hers. Couldn’t drag her face over to kiss him like they’d done in the bathroom stall, blurring some lines. He had to try to put boundaries in place for his own heart, but it was so difficult when he could see the nerves on her face. Looking at him as they drove like she could sense his weird mood.

“Are you drinking tonight?” He asked her softly, trying to diffuse some of the tension.

“No. I don’t really love drinking at these things.” She admitted. “I’m a clingy and horny drunk anyways. I’d probably crawl all over you.” Her nose scrunched at the thought, but it wasn’t a bad thing to him. Harry wouldn’t mind that at all, tending to her needy drunken whims- but again, she couldn’t considering her actual boyfriend would be there.

“Ah.” He nodded, flexing his hands on the wheel. “Well I’m not either. So we can pop in and stay for as long as you want before we head out.” He had no desire to go out with this group of people tonight. Really, he’d much rather introduce her to his other group of friends, the people he was far closer to, but that was crossing another boundary. Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t meant to be this complicated, lines weren’t supposed to be blurred but he found his hand twitching behind her back as she walked inside of the pub, restraining himself from placing the grip there to guide her.

Apparently no one found it weird they’d arrived together, greeting the both of them with tipsy smiles.

Jesus. Already drunk? It was barely past 9.

It was another reason Harry sometimes skipped out on things with them. They weren’t bad people, no, but he wasn’t someone who was actively looking to get drunk all the time. He found as time went on that he preferred to spend nights in quieter settings if it wasn’t at the other club. One they’d be visiting tomorrow.

That reminder improved his mood a bit as he let Y/N slide in to the booth next to Danny before taking up her other side. Her smile wasn’t the same one he usually got as Danny smeared a kiss to her cheek, pulling her in for a side hug that made Harry’s jaw click as he pulled away. It wasn’t fun to watch. It again raised the question in his brain of how the fuck he was okay with all of this? Knowing Y/N would leave with him tonight, sleep in his bed…. Harry would have been seething.

Yeah, he’d shared a few times in scenes but it wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed with his own submissives. In his relationships he could be considered an exhibitionist, sure, but it was strictly look but don’t touch. Something in his head was miswired, feeling irritated that the other man rested his arm behind her. Realistically he knew he didn’t have any right to feel that way but it didn’t stop his chest from burning as he picked up his seltzer water and took a sip.

“Are you drunk?” Y/N’s sweet voice broke through his internal struggle, making his eyes cut to them as her smile had turned to a frown.

“God, don’t nag me about it already.” The man groaned dramatically. “Yes, I’ve had a few. Were at a pub, babe. Don’t be a buzzkill, yeah? Thought you’d be loosened up by now.”

Harry stiffened, turning his head to look at the man. It was a little pathetic in his opinion, being so undone on a Friday night so early on. With his hair a mess and sweat on him from the drinks, face flushed… it wasn’t a good look. What he didn’t like even more though was the way he’d spoken to her.

“Watch it, mate.” Harry said lowly, not wanting to start a scene. Maybe Danny realized his error or didn’t want to get into it with Harry, seeing as his face paled a little before he raised his hand as if to motion he’ll back off before turning to converse with someone else.

Under the table he felt something warm nudge his hand, gathering his attention to see her smallest finger rub slightly over his in appreciation before she dropped it.

Y/N hadn’t expected to have Danny back off when Harry said it. Perhaps he was actually intimidated by him? He usually didn’t let things go easily and went on tipsy rants, usually about how women were ‘no fun’… but then again, she recalled Harry not being around for many of those. She hadn’t expected Harry to defend her either, which… fuck, made her insides flutter and squish as she felt his thigh against her own. She could feel him before she heard him, lips close to her ear as he quickly checked in on her.

“You alright?” He mumbled, trying not to get too close but failing a little bit. It was hard for her to complain when in reality she felt like she wanted to lean into him more than she wanted to cuddle her own boyfriend.

“Mhm. Just don’t go anywhere.”

Like he’d want to. It was hard to act normal in this circumstance, watching as she tried half heartedly to talk to Danny while he gave semi answers before turning back to talk sports stats. He stayed quiet, observing their dynamic under more of a microscope than he ever had before.

He could see that she was trying, even if it was just a little. Could see her face brighten as she tapped him with something else she thought of saying only for it to fall and that glitter leave her eye as he only gave little nods or ‘mhm’s or shakes of the head. His eyes went from the tv to the other guys, patting her shoulder every once in a while.

Had it always been like this? Truth be told, Harry hadn’t watched them much before. There was no reason to pay attention when Danny wasn’t talking to him and Y/N was off limits. He’d been attracted to her so he kept his distance, not wanting to interfere with a relationship.

Oh, the tables had fucking turned.

Regardless, he didn’t like it. He could feel her start to rescind into herself as she fiddled with her bracelets, pulling out her phone to check the screen for messages, nibbling on her lip as she tried to think of other things to say- and he couldn’t stand it.

It wasn’t a smart idea, no, but ever so slowly he slipped his hand over her thigh. Hidden by the table, he found her hot, bare skin under his fingertips as he slipped it under the hem of her skirt, curling over it and letting her feel him squeeze. Part of him relaxed a little bit at the ability to touch her, his hand hidden from view under the fabric, but he felt her stiffen up a bit as he did so. So under his breath, he muttered to her. “Relax.”

Y/N did. Swallowing thickly, she placed her hands on the table and left her phone open as she felt fingertips graze her inner thigh, Harry’s eyes seemingly on the television. He didn’t look suspicious at all, but she knew she had to train her face or people would know.

She’d been itching for his touch, but now that she had it she realized it was going to be a challenge to not react to him. Her body had already adjusted to craving him considering he’d shown her pleasure and safety in a way no one else had before.

Harry kept quiet as he inched his hand up further, feeling the heat of her cunt radiating through her panties and close to his hand. Her breathing was a bit heavier, he could tell from the sounds of it and the glimpses he took at her. Only when his smallest finger brushed over the humid fabric did she make a noise, only being smart enough to disguise it with a cough.

“Y’alright, babe?” Danny of course chose now to take interest in her, because of course. Y/N felt a bit fuzzy as she nodded, doing nothing to stop Harry as he applied more pressure to her cunt.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Throat’s a bit dry.” She cleared her throat, trying to sound normal while the man next to her rubbed his knuckle over her slit. He didn’t make any move to acknowledge it besides a smirk, his eyes glued to the game.

“Oh, are you gonna get another drink?” He asked, perking up. “Can you get me one? I’ll pay you back later, babe.” He smiled lazily.

“In- In a minute. I just have to answer an email.” She swallowed again, spreading her legs a bit more to let Harry touch. She didn’t want it to stop. As completely fucked up as it was, she felt her stomach burning for more. Danny had no idea Harry’s fingers were teasing her cunt, getting her more wet than he ever could. Letting her head hang down as she looked at the repeated flashing of the next letters to type, she thanked the stars her face was slightly masked by her hair. The dominant had slipped his fingers under the gusset of her panties, his middle digit entering her. Shallow thrusts of it kept it from being noticeable, but she shakily typed on her phone, whatever the fuck it was saying, as she felt him touch her.

Harry knew it was fucked too, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying this. Touching her in front of the man who clearly didn’t deserve her glittering eyes or her pouty lips, he’d take over then. He’d give her a good night she’d been hoping for. Hopefully she’d begin to see how much better she deserved, that he wasn’t going to change- but until she had that realization, he was going to help her get to it.

Sliding his hand out of her panties he knew she was pouting about it, bringing his middle to his lips to suck it clean before standing up. “M’going to the toilets.” He whispered, knowing she’d follow. Of course she would.

She was his good fucking girl.

—-

Y/N took a moment to breathe before standing on shaky legs, excusing herself for the same reason and to get their ‘drinks’- though she had an idea that he’d never get it. Wobbly knees straightened as she made her way into the dimly lit hall in the back of the place, eyes only just adjusting as she saw him leaned up at the darkest end of the hallway. Back against the wall and arms crossed over his chest, he looked a bit intimidating in the best way.

In any other scenario she’d run the other way. This was the picture of danger, walking in a dark hallway towards a tall, broad man with his arms flexed as he had them folded, but she’d never felt more inclined to take a walk on the wild side. He’d just fingered her under the table next to her boyfriend and she’d let him. Hell, she’d enjoyed it. It was wrong but it felt so fucking good that she couldn’t do anything but let him.

Over the last few weeks her body and mind had become accustomed to him and wanting to listen. It felt natural, spreading her legs for him and letting him touch what he deemed as his. He’d proven it last weekend when she’d left his house with his cum tricking into her panties as a parting gift. Her body had never reacted to her boyfriend like this, never felt that prickle of anticipation or rush in her throat at what he’d do next. It was safe to say that Danny could never give it to her the way Harry could, and she’d probably spiral about how she was pretty sure she couldn’t go without this later, but right now she was going to reap the benefits of being a good girl and listening to him.

She didn’t say a word, standing in front of him for only a second before his hand caught her hair and wrenched her head back, a growl leaving his throat as he caught her in a brutal kiss. Her toes curled in her shoes as she gasped against his mouth, fingers gripping his shirt as she caught herself on him. There was no hesitation, opening her mouth for him and whimpering at the taste of his tongue, melting into his body while his other hand grabbed a thick handful of her ass. Pressed up against her stomach, there was no question about if he was hard or not.

He was aching. Arching into him, Y/N didn’t care if she ran out of air so long as he was touching her. “My good girl.” He whispered darkly, pulling off to give her a second. “Didn’t know y’had it in you. Did you like that?” His eyes bore into her own, her already wet cunt clenching around nothing. He owned her attention.

“Uh huh.” She breathed, eyes rounded and bleary from the shock of the kiss, her body buzzing at his touch. It felt unreal, naughty, wrong but so fucking right. She hadn’t cared about Danny in that moment with his finger buried inside of her. All the girl cared about was Harry, how he touched her, if she was being good for him, if she was pleasing him. “Sir!” She quickly added on, realizing her mistake.

“There we go. See… I dunno how you manage to be such a good girl when you’re a filthy fuckin’ slut.” His voice was low as he said the words with a smile. “Liked me fingering your cunt next to that pathetic excuse of a boyfriend, hm? Got all slippery and wet for me, let me touch you while you think no one’s looking…” A deep groan escaped his throat as he looked down at her face. Hazy eyes and eager mouth, slightly opened and wet from their kissing- he could help but think that in this moment, she was overwhelmingly his.

He tested the waters at the table, giving her every chance to stop it if she wanted, but the minx wanted it. Encouraged it, even, with spreading those soft thighs open a little more for his hand to slip against her weeping cunt. His cock had filled right then, knowing that she was choosing him over Danny at that moment. It was fucked up, sure, but he was fingering his girl right under his nose and she had followed him back here for more. He had no idea that Harry was so possessive of her, so enamored that it had scared him a bit.

Y/N only whined at his words, leaning up on her toes and buttoning their lips together once again. Harry’s overworking brain slowed as soon as he felt her wrap her arms around his shoulders, leaning up on her toes to get to him. It was his final straw.

He released her hair and took liberty to cup her ass under the skirt, lifting her up and spinning them around so his body shielded her own. Pressing her against the wall, he returned her kisses, moaning under his breath as her fingers tangled in his hair. In reality, he knew he should scold her for doing it without asking, without having instruction, but the bleeding bit of his heart wanted her to feel comfortable enough to just touch him. So, he didn’t do anything but press his covered cock against her cunt, rutting against her slowly to give them both some relief.

“I…” Y/N attempted to speak but her brain felt like it was in a cloud. Floating up higher away as his large hands held and squeezed her ass, the thin lace of her panties doing little to nothing to dull the feeling of his dick rubbing against her and nudging her swollen clit. “Fuck me. Fuck me here, H. Please.” Of course, she forgot the honorific but in this moment he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than giving her what she wanted.

Keeping her pressed against the wall he used one hand to undo his belt, frantic to open his pants for her. He knew later he’d probably scold himself for being so impulsive, for abandoning his plans to use his first load in a proper scene but wasn’t this exploring too? Playing into her exhibitionism, a bit of degrading, he was helping her. Right?

Finally, with his shaky hands making it a bit clumsier than normal, he got himself out of his pants. “You sure? You really want it?” Double checking in this instance to give her a minute to back out, she nodded hard.

“Yes. Please- I’m not drunk, I didn’t drink, I just want… Please fuck me, I’ll make it up to you later, Sir.” She pleaded. Harry liked the sound of her begging, the whining tilt to her voice only making his cock throb in his hand.

“Shhh, baby. Sh.” He scolded. “I’ll give it to you. Know you’re gagging for it, but if someone hears it’ll make me have to stop. Need you to keep those pretty noises quiet for me.” As much as it pained him, it was also fucking hot. Y/N was letting him fuck her in the dark corner of a dingy hallway, so needy that she can’t wait to go home. His fingers made quick work of her panties, tugging them to the side. There was a slight ripping sound but he didn’t concern himself with that as he ran the head of his cock over her slick slit. “Jesus… you’re soaked for me.” The awe was audible in his voice. He’d done that. No one else. “Remember your colors.” He felt drunk himself, even after being sober the whole night. “S’gonna be a stretch but I think you can take it. If you’re enough of a whore t’let me fuck you with your little boyfriend just meters away, you can take a bit of burn.”

There was no other warning before his dick began to push into her. The girl mewled, head falling back onto the wall with a thump as she bit her lip to try to stop the louder noise from escaping. It was a stretch, but his words, his degrading before it had made her clit throb. Later on she would probably feel guilty, but that was tomorrow’s problem. Right now, she had the best dick in her life sinking into her and making her eyes water at how well he stretched her out, her nails digging into the back of his neck. “Oh my god.” She whispered, looking at the man in front of her.

He was beautiful. Even in the dim light where it was hard to tell real features, she could see his eyes on her own, see his jaw clenched as he sunk into her hole. Y/N had only taken his cock a few times and that was last week. The last orgasm she had was in the bathroom stall at the cafe, and it was safe to say she’d been obsessing over the man filling her all week long. Even if she got an orgasm out of the lunch, it had made her more desperate for him to well and truly fuck her. “It’s so much, Sir.” She gave a wobbly whisper as the last bit sunk into her, finally balls deep in her. What she’d been craving since sunday evening.

“I know it is, pet. But you’re a precious little slut, so I think you can take it.” He cooed softly, beginning to give short and shallow thrusts. “Your cunt is perfect. Y’know that? As filthy as it is… s’so fucking tight, swallowing me up. You’re quickly becoming my favorite set of holes.”

And.. Oh. Fuck, that hard her moaning. Y/N wanted to be his favorite. She wanted to make all the other submissives he’s had in the past pale in comparison. Maybe it wasn’t very girlboss of her, but she wanted him to prefer her mouth, her moans, her cunt, every bit of her like he’d been haunting her mind.

“Want to be that.” She whimpered, rocking her hips the best she could in the position. “You can, you can have any part of me.”

“I know I can, sweetheart. You’re my sweet little fucktoy, a pet for me to use.” He pulled out a bit more, feeling her slick walls try to tighten in protest. It was too good, and he had to be careful not to blow his load too early. “You don’t care about anything other than being fucked. I was gonna be real nice t’you, bring you home, play with that pretty ass… Got your plugs, was gonna train that little hole all weekend to make sure you could take my cock back there. But you’re a slut, got me hard and opened your legs for me right next to your boyfriend. What would he say, hm?” Lips brushed her ear as he fucked into her slowly, her head tilting up. “What would he say if he came back here and saw his sweet little girlfriend getting fucked raw? Desperate for it, too.” He grinned against her skin feeling a little drunk with power, knowing it was turning her on too. Her cunt was getting more and more wet around him, easing the slip he had to fuck her. “Hm? Tell me.”

“He’d… he’d be shocked sir.” She swallowed her moan, eyes fluttering shut as his lips pressed sloppy kisses over the expanse of her neck. Those perfect lips of his that she’d been thinking about all week. “Maybe mad. Cause he can’t…” There was a small debate in saying it, but they both knew it was the truth. Even said boyfriend himself knew it. “He can’t fuck me the way you can.”

Fuck, if that didn’t work Harry up, he didn’t know what would. It played into his praise kink, yes, but that dark seed of possessiveness, that unhinged part of his brain that considered Y/N his own really fucking loved hearing that. “Fuck.” He drawled out the word as he thrust all the way inside of her again, stealing her breath as it jostled her. “You’re right. He can’t.” Harry growled. “He doesn’t know how to use a pretty pussy like this. Can’t give you the nasty fuck a slut like you needs.” There was no use in denying it. Something had shifted, something more animalistic in nature as he wrapped a hand around her throat, kissing her hard as he began to truly fuck her.

Her cries were muffled with his lips while his prick fucked her open. The bite of her nails in his skin only added to his pleasure, the slight unhinged feeling breaking open as he fucked her like a doll. She was perfect, he thinks. Perfect in every fucking way. If that boyfriend was out of the way, he’d put a collar on her so fucking fast her head would spin. Not only was she getting trained to his exact wants, but she had the same interests. Played into his kinks, was so eager for him, for his cock and to learn. “Such a sweet girl… but if anyone comes back here… they’re gonna see what you really are.” He panted between thrusts, looking at her face as her brows furrowed and mouth opened in a soft ‘o’.

The girl looked fucked out, used, and that’s exactly what she wants. “Fooled me at first. Shocked me… when I found out you wanted someone to rough you up, play with you. But now you’re my willing and eager puppy.” He laughed in disbelief, listening to the soft sounds of her being fucked. Sweat beaded on his brow, his cock fucking into her willing and soft pussy over and over again. She just took it so well. Like she was made for him.

“I… I…” She stuttered before letting out a choked moan, hole fluttering around his cock as he got in deep and buried into her. Her clit rubbed against his torso making her gasp, nodding her head. “There. There, please, just like that. Like that, I’ll cum.” It was frantic, eyes widening as she pleaded with him. “Please let me cum, sir. I need it, I need to cum and I need your cum so bad. I’ll be so good all weekend, I promise, I just… I need it. Please, Please…” Her babbling was slightly embarrassing but it amused him.

“Poor baby needs to cum so quickly…” He crooned. “Fuck, you’re incredible. Sucha good little puppy, eager to please the man who owns your holes.” Taunting her was fun, but he knew this couldn’t be a long fuck. Someone would come looking, and as hot as it could be in his mind, he didn’t know if Y/N would be alright with that out of the sexual haze. “Go on. Show me how my pet cums on a cock. Give me your eyes- look at me while you cum.”

His pace stayed the same, his belly and groan wet with her arousal as he felt her breathing pick up again and the hole wrapped around him start to pulsate as she looked him in the eye as he watched her fall apart on him.

Y/N felt the rush of heat over her body as she began to tremble in his arms, holding tight onto him as her brain fell back into that place he always got her to. Teetering between this dimension and the next, she let out a sob as she came on his cock. He didn’t stop, though, fucking her through the orgasm and extending it as fingers lightly pressed against the sides of her throat, giving that headrush that made it more intense.

She was making a mess of him, but he didn’t seem able to hold back anymore. Making sure she was good, he kissed her lips and muttered softly. “Color, baby. Tell me a color.”

“Green, green, please.” The submissive felt hazed. “Want your cum. Want it when we- when we say goodbye-” She was letting out the dirty bit of her mind, something she’d been afraid to say in the past few minutes but had fully come to fruition now. And it seemed to set the dominant off.

“Oh, fuck me.” He growled, giving no second chance as soon as she said it. If she thought she was being fucked before, it was nothing compared to how he pounded into her now. Dropping her down a little bit, he released her throat and held both sides of her ass as he used her cunt. It was about his orgasm now, but she could feel another one rising. “You want my cum dripping down your thighs when you say goodbye? S’that what you were saying?”

He’d never sounded like this before but Y/N liked it, biting her tongue to keep from crying out as she nodded. It’s exactly what she meant.

“Nasty fuckin’ girl. God, m’obsessed with you.” it slipped without his permission but he didn’t realize it, feeling his cock fuck into the tight, sloppy cunt. One day he wanted to fuck multiple loads into her, watch it drip out, and she’d let him because she was perfect. So perfect that she said what they were both thinking. Let her say goodbye to her boyfriend with his cum trickling down her legs and her pussy still wet from the fresh fuck. “You’re gonna be a good little girl and say goodbye smelling like me, full of me. Gonna come home with me to get fucked the way you need to while he sits and watches sports drunk off his ass.” He said through clenched teeth. “Because you’re my perfect girl. Aren’t you? Sweetest little sub I’ve ever taken. M’gonna cum so soon but I can feel it…” She was too.

Y/N didn’t know what exactly about his words and the situation that made it so hot. Maybe it was because Harry truly cared about her, he took care of her, he was doing everything she needed and she felt increasingly disconnected from the man who had suggested this in the first place. He’d said he’d try but all he cared about was his beer and the game and his friends, barely sparing a look at her while Harry had given her all of his attention every single time she’d spoken to him.

Maybe Harry was just better.

It hit her hard and fast, a second orgasm washing over her as she clung to him and felt his fingers dig into the flesh of her ass. Maybe if she wasn’t so out of her mind from the perfect fuck that has her more aroused than she could imagine, it wouldn’t have slipped, but it did. “Daddy- Fuck, Daddy cum in me. Cum in me, cum in me, cum in-” Her moan was muffled by his neck as she buried her face in it, but it didn’t matter considering his groan was loud enough for the both of them to be caught if someone was around.

Harry hadn’t seen it coming, literally and metaphorically. Her sweet, melodic, fucked out voice calling him a different honorific, one he hadn’t realized would make him feel as crazy as it did, it ended him. Made him want to hear that little voice call him that when he pumped her full of his load every single time. His balls pulsed as he filled her growling under his breath as he pinned her to the wall further with his body, trying to get his prick into her damn tummy. It stole his own air, hearing her little cries with each short thrust as he fucked his cum deeper inside of her. “Fuck, there it is. Take every drop of Daddy’s cum, my sweet girl.” the dominant whispered, shifting her weight to one hand so he could pull her face from his neck and kiss her.

It was softer, but more passionate in a different way. Something had shifted since their time at the cafe and it was palpable. There was a difference in how he allowed himself to handle her. It wasn’t just like a submissive anymore. He cared far more than he was probably allowed but there was no way to stop it, even though he’d been trying. Thumbing over her cheek, the single tearstain wiped away as he pecked her lips over and over again. “S’my perfect girl. Eager pup.” He cooed, , nudging their noses. “Are you okay? Need anything from me, sweets?” The dominant headspace was still there but it was mixed with his normal one, doting on her but understanding they needed to get out of this hallway asap and go the fuck home. His cock was still twitching inside of her, giving her the last little bit of cum that he’d been saving all week for her.

“No, I’m okay.” She smiled, that dazed look on her face. “It just feels really good.” There was a little giggle that could’ve gotten him hard again, but it stopped when she sobered up. His heart kicked up in panic as he saw the shift in her face, but she beat him to it when he went to ask her why. “Oh, god. Harry, I- I’m sorry I called you that. I don’t know why, we haven’t discussed if that was okay or-”

“It’s very okay.” He assured, placing a finger over her mouth to stop her from talking. “Made me cum, if m’being honest. I liked it.” A kiss of reassurance was given to her, but he knew that it was partially selfish too. The man found himself craving her lips a lot more than he should, and considering he hadn’t gotten a kiss from her before their escapade back here, he was the greedy one now. “We can talk about it later but there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Especially when it made me orgasm like that.” A lighthearted laugh followed. “But we do have t’go, sweetheart. I’m not done with you in the slightest.”

There was an unspoken agreement in the air as he pulled out of her, hissing at the cool air. He didn’t bother to do much cleaning as he shoved himself back inside his pants, annoyed it was dark in the area now so he couldn't see much of his cum besides some that made a slight glisten from the light down the hall. “There’s so much.” She whispered, standing on wobbly feet.

Y/N could feel it. Sticky and dribbling and spreading over her inner thighs, but it was a good feeling in this moment. Satisfying. Harry had quelled the ache he caused, and he did it perfectly. Her skirt was adjusted by the man, and she let him fuss over her because it felt good. His tender touches made her feel cared for, fingers brushing messy hair back and out of her face and thumb wiping around her mouth. “Messy girl.” He hummed, giving a smile she could make out in the dark corner they’d retreated to. “We’re gonna tell them you feel a bit ill and m’gonna drive you home since I’m leaving anyway. Alright?” Her chin was caught by his finger, curled under it as he stared at her. “Are you comfortable with that?”

Sure, they’d said so much during sex but he wasn’t about to force her into anything she didn’t want to do.

“Mhm. Jus’ wanna go home with you.” She nodded, feeling the excitement rise again in her tummy. It felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to her boyfriend who had ignored her the whole night.

“Alright, angel. Let’s go.” Resisting the urge to hold her hand, he settled on a touch on her lower back as they approached the table. He felt his cock’s weak twitch of interest as he saw her slight wobble in walking. He’d been the cause of that. “Hey, Y/N’s not feelin’ too hot and I was gonna head out so m’gonna take her with me.” He said easily as a few heads turned towards them. Danny’s was one of them, looking her over.

“Yeah, you look a little sick. Go on home, I’ll talk to you later.” He turned his head back to the TV and it took everything in Harry not to snap at him. Though when he turned to see Y/N with her bag in hand, she looked more annoyed than anything else. If she had been teary eyed, he wouldn’t have been able to hold his tongue.

Harry was still irritated though as he took Y/N’s bag for her, guiding her out of the place with a more solid hand on her back. Fuck it if people thought it was weird.

It only made him more happy she had said goodbye to him with evidence of their passion between her legs. He didn’t fucking deserve her, and Y/N deserved better.

Taking her hand, he helped her into the car and buckled her seatbelt for her. He didn’t have to, she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but he wanted to do it for her. He liked taking care of her and making her feel appreciated because it was so clearly obvious she hasn’t been.

Part of him wanted to ask how long he’s behaved like this. If she only realized it wasn’t normal when she got into this arrangement with him, or if she’d been feeling it before, but it just didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.

He knew it wasn’t right of him to get so deep, to allow his mind to wander as he drove them home with his hand on her knee and her fingers playing with his rings again. Thinking of what he should do, what it could be like if she was properly his and asking her if she really wanted to be with him after all of this. It was so difficult to work through in his brain, so many gray areas and blurred lines that seemed hard to even see the shape of anymore.

The intention had been to show her the ropes, but she was the one wrapping them around his heart and tying him up. Tethering him to her. If he was a smarter man, a less selfish one, he’d tell her they couldn’t do this anymore. He’d take her home and sit her down to explain they needed a line of separation. But he wasn’t going to do that. Selfishly and hopefully, he’d take all he could get from her and show her how she should be treated, how he’d treat her if she left the other man and let herself truly belong to him. Give her a taste of the full thing. Harry could be good for her, even if he was kind of convinced she was too good for anyone else.

“You okay?” Y/N’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, making his head turn to her with a gentler expression. She looked concerned and fuck if that didn’t do him in. The girl cared for him, but he needed to see how much. “Mhm. M’fine, sweetheart. Just thinking.” Bringing her hand up to his mouth, his heart thudding in his chest at the casual intimacy, he placed a feather light kiss on her knuckles. One by one, he was letting another piece of the line they were supposed to have clearly defined blur into obscurity.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfictions

629 notes · View notes