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ssa-dado · 3 months ago

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24 - Logos

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, SMUT Summary: A few weeks ago, Aaron had read a passage from Plato's Symposium - "And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself... the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment." He hadn’t fully understood it. Not until he found himself sitting on your couch at 3 a.m. Warnings: + 18 MINORS DNI (I will ground you) alcohol consumption, some cuss words here and there, VERY GRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE SEX because I'm a weirdo, it's basically porn with philosophy (not in the middle of it - of course - I'm not that weird), dirty talk, unprotected sex, piv, oral sex and a lot of pining. Hotch is a whore. Word Count: 18.9k Dado's Corner: I don’t know, I’m both proud and deeply insecure about posting this. It’s my first time writing smut. Ever. I have no idea if it’s good. No idea if it’s too much or too little - if I over-explained things or if I didn’t explain enough. It’s their first time actually sober, and they’re supposed to be a little cringe - uncertain, hesitant, not entirely sure what to do with each other or where they fit and that’s deliberate. I wanted it to feel real - flawed, messy, something that isn’t just perfect and seamless, but human. There’s good and bad, there’s laughter and uncertainty, there are tears of joy and tears of fear. And I just hope it feels like something.

masterlist ; mandatory first part because if you skip this, you'll be utterly lost and it's not my fault

In Stoic philosophy, logos represents the rational principle that governs the universe, uniting logic, physics, and ethics into a cohesive worldview. It is the divine reason permeating all existence, structuring nature according to order and necessity.

In Stoic logic, logos manifests as the foundation of rational thought, guiding human reasoning toward clarity and truth. Mastery of logic enables individuals to distinguish between valid judgments and deceptive impressions, ensuring alignment with reality.

In physics, logos is the active, organizing force (pneuma) that sustains and directs the cosmos. Everything unfolds according to its rational design, making the universe an interconnected, purposeful whole rather than a realm of randomness.

In ethics, living in accordance with logos means harmonizing one’s will with nature’s rational order. By cultivating wisdom, self-discipline, and virtue, individuals align their actions with universal reason, achieving tranquility and moral integrity in a world shaped by necessity and change.

Happiness is a complex concept - or at least, it became one once thinkers like Aristotle started overanalyzing it.

He distinguished between fleeting pleasure (hedonia) and deeper fulfillment (eudaimonia), and ever since, that debate has been stitched into the fabric of western culture.

Now, most people unknowingly follow this hierarchical model of happiness, never realizing it originated from a handful of bored, existentially troubled men desperately trying to intellectualize their own misery.

Maybe that’s why it’s considered completely normal to ask if someone is really happy - because centuries of philosophy decided that happiness alone isn’t enough – it had to be the right kind of happiness.

And yet, even you weren’t immune to that trap. Because standing there, dancing with Aaron, you admitted to yourself that you were, in fact, truly happy.

Not just for yourself, but for him - for the man who, for the first time since signing his divorce papers a few months ago finally looked light. Not weighed down. Not lost in some invisible battle in his mind. Just… happy.

And the moment felt so sweet, a microcosm where locking eyes with each other was ordinary conduct in such close proximity, where neither of you felt the need to temper that undeniable - if slightly terrifying - undercurrent of chemistry.

Just the understanding that this was safe, that this was allowed.

And somehow, that made it even sweeter.

Not just the warmth of it, not just the effortless way you fit into this tight space together, but the inescapable fact that your probably borderline-manipulative plan to drag him out of his self-imposed exile - had actually worked.

"Now you have to tell me how you managed to get not only Rossi but Hotch to join us tonight, sweet Teach - what kind of sorcery did you pull?" Penelope beamed, not even giving you a second to breathe after you’d opened the door to your apartment.

Ever since she got shot and still struggled with being alone in her house, the two of you had built this little ritual - getting ready together, spending a few hours just the two of you in your apartment before a night out.

A win-win, really, considering you also took your time settling into this place, figuring out how to make it feel like home. Penelope had even been the one to help you unpack your very last box, and now this little tradition had taken root.

She brought the wine, you experimented with vegan appetizers - some more successful than others - and the two of you would rant, gossip, and talk about everything and nothing. But, most importantly, Penelope took on the herculean mission of wrangling your ridiculously high-maintenance team into one place for a night out.

It was a diplomatic nightmare. The venue had to be quiet enough for Spencer but still have music good enough for Derek, serve whatever mocktail JJ was obsessed with that month, and somehow accommodate Emily’s inevitable last-minute curveballs - which, incidentally, was how Spencer found himself at a drag show for the first time.

Shockingly, he’d been asking to go back to that bar ever since.

You, meanwhile, were more like Penelope’s unpaid secretary. She desperately needed one, given the sheer level of effort it took to coordinate this mess.

"You asked, and I delivered," you said, shrugging. "Told Rossi that Hotch was coming, told Aaron that Rossi was coming too - he actually turned out to be much easier to persuade."

"I wonder why… oh, right," Penelope sing-songed, eyes gleaming. "Big Bossman has a soft spot for you, smiley little thing."

You rolled your eyes. "The fact that we’re friends doesn’t change that he is infuriatingly stubborn once he makes up his mind. So annoying."

"Nine years of ‘friendship’" Penelope quipped, stretching the word out suspiciously.

"Actually, it’s ten," you corrected, sipping your wine as you settled onto your kitchen stool.

Penelope gasped - full dramatic hand-to-chest gasp. "Oh my STARS and MOONS! Ten years?! And you didn’t tell me?! What did you do? What did he do? Just the two of you , alone somewhere private, existing in your natural secretive habitats like the little pretty, reserved, woodland creatures you two are… especially now that he’s divor-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Pen!" you cut her off before she could run that train straight off the rails. "How many times have I told you we're-"

But no. She didn’t let you finish.

"Oh, Teach!" she grinned, eyes sparkling enough to concern you. "I was just suggesting you two do something to celebrate… something you two love to do. You know, stay up all night bonding over files… bending over files…"

You choked.

Actually choked.

Wine went straight up your nose, burned your throat, and splattered all over you, going everywhere.

Your counter.

Your floor.

Your poor, innocent, pristine white pants.

Penelope screamed - but not in horror, in absolute, unhinged delight.

"OH MY GOD," she cackled, slapping a hand against your back like that would somehow help you breathe again. "I HAVE NEVER BROKEN YOU SO FAST."

You wheezed, still coughing. "Penelope-"

She wiped a fake tear from her eye, grinning. "Oh no, sweet pea. You absolutely just got - wait." She paused mid-celebration, tilting her head as if she had just made a discovery.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the amount of damage she was about to inflict - "Much like I imagine Aaron Hotchner could do."

A horrible, inhuman noise clawed its way out of your throat - your last dying breath, probably.

Penelope lost it. Full-body laughter, already snatching a towel but making zero effort to hide the criminal glint in her eyes.

"I’m just saying," she went on, barely containing herself, "you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed have this whole agonizingly slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they, tragic yearning thing going on, and you know I’m right."

You groaned, dabbing furiously at the stain. "There is nothing slow-burn about a decade-long friendship."

"Aha! So you admit it’s a burn!" Penelope beamed, pointing at you like she had just cracked a conspiracy wide open.

The more you dabbed, the worse it got - just like this conversation, apparently. "Oh, no, I never-”

"All I’m saying is," she steamrolled over you, completely unfazed, "the energy you two radiate is so thick I could slather it on a bagel. Toasted chemistry. Smothered in slow-burn spread. One time I saw him look at you like you personally hand-crafted happiness from scratch just for him. Like you reached into the fabric of the universe and said, ‘Here you go, Hotchner, a reason to believe in joy again.’"

You paused, glaring at her. "That is insane."

She ignored you, fully in the zone now. "And don’t even get me started on the way you look at him when he isn’t paying attention."

You looked at him completely normally. Totally neutral. A textbook, regulation-approved gaze.

Even Anderson looked at him with more fervor than you ever did - and as far as you knew, he wasn’t even into men.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And how exactly do I look at him, Penelope? Enlighten me."

She grinned - dangerously - and leaned in like she was about to drop the biggest bombshell of your life. "Like you already know what he looks like naked and are trying very, very hard not to think about it."

You froze.

For exactly half a second - which, unfortunately, was half a second too long.

Penelope’s entire face dropped. Eyes huge. Mouth hanging open. A moment of stunned silence. And then-

"OH. MY. GOD."

Your stomach plummeted. "Penelope, don’t-"

"OH MY GOD. YOU DID."

"Penelope," you tried again, desperately attempting to rein in the chaos - but, to your credit, you did at least try to keep your voice level.

"JESUS, MARY, AND EMILY PRENTISS, YOU TOTALLY DID THE HORIZONTAL TANGO WITH AARON HOTCHNER. YOU SNEAKY LITTLE MINX. HOW DARE YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME?!"

"Penelope, for the love of-" you started, but of course she chimed in again.

"WHEN?! WHERE?! HOW?! DETAILS, WOMAN!"

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face because there was no getting out of this.

"Once," you muttered. "Nine years ago."

Silence.

Then, with the most scandalized expression you've ever witnessed on her face, she shrieked, "ONLY ONCE?!"

You threw your hands up. "Yes, only once! And never again."

"WHY ONLY ONCE?!" she shrieked, as if you had just admitted to committing the single greatest injustice known to mankind.

You exhaled, bracing yourself, hoping that a little honesty might finally get her to calm down. "Because, at the time… I might have had a bit of a crush on him. And we were coworkers. And it wasn’t exactly… ethic-"

"FUCK THE ETHICAL!" she screamed, thrilled by the sheer scandal of it all.

You should have seen that coming."Penelope!"

She flailed her arms so violently she nearly knocked over her wine glass, eyes wide "You had a crush on him?! ON HOTCH?! AND YOU ONLY DID IT ONCE?! Oh, I cannot with you right now. You are so infuriating sometimes! You have the emotional restraint of a saint, and I do not mean that as a compliment."

"We were both drunk, and it was a mistake. It happened, we moved on, and that was the end of it. We’re friends, and that’s all it’s ever going to be." you said, unwavering. " Honestly, I don’t even think about it anymore - sometimes, I even laugh about it."

Penelope squinted, gears visibly turning in that devious head of hers, already cooking up something absolutely unhinged. "Mmm-hmm. Okay. Fine. Sure. Let’s pretend I accept that. But-"

Oh no.

"-if it were to happen again, hypothetically speaking, do you think it would be even better now that he’s aged like a fine, expensive, top-shelf wine? And, and, anddd - follow-up question - on a purely objective, scientific level - how would you rate him? You know, visually?"

"Penelope!" you groaned, but unfortunately, your traitorous brain had already started answering the question.

Yes.

And no comment.

"Okay, okay, fine, no ratings," she huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard you were surprised she didn't sprain something. "But-"

This was it. Your moment. Time to end this madness with a good old, firm, satisfying -"No."

But, of course, that would have been too good to be true.

She continued "-would you say he's more on the impressively sized side or-"

"Penelope, please." You were already suffering.

She waved you off like your dignity was a minor inconvenience to her scientific research. "Listen, I’m just saying," she went on, tone now fully deranged, "the man carries himself like he’s got something to be confident about. Big hands, big energy, big…"

You froze. "Do not finish that sentence."

"BIG, HUGE D-"

Time to draw the line.

You shot up so fast your chair went flying, rattling against the floor as you grabbed your phone.

Penelope screeched. "Wait - what are you doing?!"

You scrolled, thumb unwavering, and hit call. "Giving you a direct source."

Her soul left her body. "NO. NO, YOU WOULD NOT-"

You absolutely would.

And you did.

"Come on," you said, completely deadpan, as the dial tone rang. "It’s just Aaron."

Penelope malfunctioned. She glitched like a corrupted file. She stared at you, horrified, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"He’s just 'Aaron' to you?" she whispered, her hands flailed before slamming onto the table as if physically stabilizing herself. "No last name? No title? Just oh, you know, my casual little ex-lover, Aaron? Just ‘hello, this is a man I have been biblically familiar with, Aaron?’ Just ‘we had sex nine years ago, and now he’s simply Aaron, like we’re old college roommates and not two people who have seen each other naked’"

…Hmm. Well. Yes?

To be fair, you’d never really thought about it before. It just… happened. One day, he was Hotch, then - sometime after that night - he was Aaron. And after that, you never really stopped.

No big discussion, no conscious decision - just a shift so seamless that you hadn’t even registered it until right now, in this very moment, with Penelope practically having a full-body breakdown in your kitchen.

Not important. Moving on.

Because, frankly, you had bigger concerns - like how you were about to experience instant, irreversible consequences for your actions, since the call, after one, two, three rings-

Connected.

"Hello?" His voice came through the line - slightly huffed, a little breathless, like he’d just moved across the room.

"You took a while to pick up," you said casually - a joke, a throwaway comment.

There was a pause. A beat.

And then, in that deadly flat, unbothered tone of his, he answered, "I was still in the shower."

You froze.

Penelope froze.

Somewhere, on the opposite side of your living room wall, your elderly neighbor Mrs. Lee - who had been subtly not subtly eavesdropping through the thin drywall of your apartment - probably froze.

You could feel Penelope vibrating beside you, gripping your arm so tightly she was cutting off circulation, meanwhile, your brain was running in circles, slamming against metaphorical walls, and screaming into the void because-

Aaron in the shower.

Aaron, freshly out of the shower.

Aaron, picking up the phone, standing there, probably half-naked, hair wet-

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

You leaned back against the counter, schooling your expression into something completely unfazed. "Well, now I feel bad for interrupting."

"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. It’s just that Penelope had something very important to ask you," you said, glancing over at her with the most innocent, borderline sadistic smile you could muster.

"I - what - no, I don’t-" she sputtered, frantically shaking her head and waving her hands.

Aaron, still completely unaware of the impending disaster, said, "What is it, Penelope?"

Dead silence.

Garcia looked like she had been struck by divine retribution.

"Go on," you mouthed, biting back a grin. "Ask him."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

Just the sound of sheer existential regret.

"Garcia?" Aaron prompted, his tone patient, if slightly concerned.

"I - um - hi, sir Sir," she finally managed, voice several octaves higher than usual. "I - I just - well, you know - um. How was your shower?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

Aaron, completely unfazed, just answered like this was a normal human interaction,"It was fine."

"Good! That’s great!" Garcia blurted, nodding furiously at no one in particular. "Love a good shower! Love hygiene! So important! Huge fan of cleanliness! Showering - what a concept! Water? Incredible. Soap? Revolutionary. Scrubbing? Life-changing. Anyway, I have to go bye!"

And then she hung up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break the phone.

You just stared at her.

She just stared back.

Then, in perfect sync -

You both screamed, laughing.

"You traitor!" Penelope wheezed, still half-laughing, half-mortified.

"You were the one who wanted answers!" you gasped, nearly crying from laughter.

"Not from him directly!" she shrieked, burying her face in her hands like that could somehow reverse time - but she was laughing anyway, because this was, undeniably, the funniest and most horrifying thing that had ever happened.

"Well, I just saved you the effort," you teased.

She ripped her hands away from her face, wild-eyed. "You made me ask our boss about his shower."

"You made me listen to your entire dissertation on whether or not he’s impressively sized - I feel like we’re even."

You still somehow winced thinking back about it.

She groaned, collapsing against the counter. "I will never recover from this."

"Oh, I’m sure you absolutely will," you said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Do you want more wine?"

She lifted her head just enough to nod. Begrudgingly.

You poured, sliding her glass across the counter. Then, with the kind of magnanimous generosity only wine-fueled chaos could inspire, you added, "And - because I am a good friend - I will allow you one question about that night. One. With a detail."

Penelope snapped upright faster than the speed of light, gasping. "Oh, this is the best day of my life."

You chuckled, shaking your head, sipping from your own glass too. "Make it count."

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then, she leaned in and whispered- "Was it at least good enough that you'd do it sober?"

You nearly choked, again. "Penelope!"

She lifted a hand. "No, no, no, this is a very fair, very respectable question."

Sure, a question that required another sip of wine to be answered, especially because at this point you literally had nothing more to lose. "Penelope, I would do it sober, wide awake, fully caffeinated, after eight hours of sleep, in a well-lit room, with a legally binding contract ensuring I’d remember every single second."

Penelope screamed.

"OH MY GOD," she wailed, collapsing onto the counter. "THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE NIGHT."

You took another sip, completely unfazed, as she flailed so hard she nearly launched herself off the stool.

"I NEED TO LIE DOWN," she gasped, gripping onto the counter for support. "I NEED TO CALL EMILY. JJ – OH SWEET LITTLE JJ – SHE’S IN NEW ORLEANS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW”

"You need to calm down," you deadpanned.

She pointed at you, accusatory, still half-breathless from screaming. "You were gonna take this to the grave. You were gonna let me die not knowing this. ME. PENELOPE GARCIA. The person who has kept all of your secrets and asked for nothing in return except unfiltered chaos."

"I was absolutely going to take this to the grave," you confirmed, refilling your wine.

She let out a dramatic gasp. "YOU MONSTER."

You shrugged. "You survived."

She slammed a hand on the table. "You know who wouldn’t have survived?"

You tilted your head. "Who?"

She leaned in, eyes glinting. "Aaron Hotchner."

You made a low, strangled noise in the back of your throat.

"Oh, he absolutely wouldn’t have survived if he knew this just came out of your mouth," she continued, giddy, thriving off the absolute chaos she had unleashed. Then, dead serious - "Text him right now and tell him."

You slammed your wine down. "I am definetely not texting him that."

"Why not?!" she howled.

"Because I told you - I’m never doing that. Ever. I’m serious. If I could go back in time and relive that sober? Sure. But not. Now."

She narrowed her eyes, assessing, calculating.

"Okay, okay, alright then - next question." she said too fast, taking a sip like she was preparing for battle. "Do you think he’d do it sober?"

You opened your mouth - but nothing came out. Because you hadn’t actually thought about that before.

Penelope gasped so loudly that you were surprised the walls didn’t shake. "OH MY GOD, YOU DON’T KNOW."

"I-"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IF HE THINKS ABOUT IT, WHAT IF HE REGRETS NOT DOING IT AGAIN."

"Penelope," you said slowly, carefully, " you know what? I have reached my limit. This conversation is getting put away. We are going to the bathroom, I am curling your hair, and we are talking about something else."

"You know, Teach," she mused, stretching luxuriously as she grabbed her wine glass. "You have a really weird way of showing love."

You took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of your glass. “I agree - it’s because I hate you just as much as I love you, PG. Opposites aren’t really opposites, you know? They kind of fold into each other - love, hate… same fire, same burn. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”

You were actually proud of this philosophical pearl of wisdom. Penelope? Not so much.

She cut you off immediately. "Oh my GOD, this explains so much. This is exactly why you and Hotch looked like you were about to fuck in the middle of the bullpen yesterday."

"PENELOPE."

She pointed at you, completely unbothered. "OH NO NO NO - I was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly you two were arguing about the profile like you were in some kind of battle for dominance, standing way too close, talking way too low, making way too much direct eye contact."

"We were disagreeing about the profile."

"YOU WERE HAVING A MENTAL THREESOME WITH THE PROFILE BETWEEN YOU."

You let your head drop onto the counter.

She kept going. "It was totally foreplay - and then, mid-argument, he even took you to his office."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. "We went to his office to continue the discussion in private."

"Sure..." she grinned, skipping toward the bathroom. "Fine, fine. But just so you know," she threw a look over her shoulder, "if Hotch ever does take you to his office for anything other than work, I expect a full report."

Oh fucking hell.

"I hope your curls come out uneven," you muttered, grabbing the curling iron.

"I hope you get stuck in an elevator with him," she shot back.

You narrowed your eyes. "I hope you trip in your heels tonight."

She grinned wider. "I hope Hotch sits across from you at the bar and just stares at your lips the whole time."

You scoffed. "I hope your mascara smudges so bad you look like a raccoon by the end of the night."

She perked up. "I hope you two sneak away to the bathrooms at the bar, and you have to keep quiet while he-"

"PENELOPE."

She continued, undeterred, "I hope he backs you up against the bar, leans down all serious like he’s about to tell you something important - and then just whispers the filthiest thing you’ve ever heard."

"I hope you break a heel on the way there and have to borrow one of Morgan’s sneakers."

"I hope he offers you his jacket and you realize it still smells like his cologne and suddenly you’re thinking about it again."

"I hope you stub your toe so hard you rethink everything."

"I hope he says your name in that low voice of his, and for a split second, you remember exactly what he sounded like nine years ago-"

"I hope you spill something on your dress and have to go home early."

She cackled, victorious. "I hope you wake up in his bed and don't regret a single thing."

And maybe, exactly because the two of you had this conversation, you shouldn’t have agreed to go to the bar together in a single car – hers.

You should have seen this coming.

Indeed, as you and Aaron made your way back to the bar, drinks in hand, you spotted Derek and Penelope approaching with a very specific look on their faces.

Derek clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, "Teach - Babygirl had too many drinks to drive, I’m bringing her back home, can-"

Aaron didn’t even let him finish.

"I’ll give the professor a ride," he said immediately, smooth, confident, like he had already made up his mind before Derek even spoke. "You go, Morgan. See you tomorrow morning."

You barely had time to process how utterly inevitable this was - how there was no escaping the tension that had been building up all night until the very moment you stepped out of his car and reached your apartment door.

And then - Penelope smirked.

The smuggest, most self-satisfied, most evil little smirk in existence. You hoped, deeply and sincerely, that this wasn’t her plan all along - but judging by the way she waved so innocently as Derek dragged her away, eyes twinkling like the devil himself-

Yeah. You were doomed.

You were doomed the second you and Aaron stepped out of the bar and, with zero effort, he pushed open the massive, heavy wooden door like it weighed nothing at all. Casual. Effortless. Like he hadn’t even thought about it.

Just naturally stepped aside, one hand braced firmly on the doorframe, the other resting lightly against the door, waiting – watching - as you walked past him.

You were even more doomed when you reached his car and - of course - he opened the passenger seat for you too.

Didn’t even let you reach for it yourself.

Just beat you to it with ease, pulling it open - but instead of walking away immediately, he lingered for half a second longer, his hand still resting on the handle, holding it just firmly enough so he could be the one to shut you in himself.

Like this wasn’t already a lost art. Like this was just how things were supposed to be.

To top it all off, he got in, and as he backed out of the parking spot, his arm reached behind your headrest, fingers resting exactly there, his body leaning in just slightly closer as he turned to glance over his shoulder.

You had never wanted to fight for your life more.

Not because of the closeness.

Not because of the way his short-sleeved polo shifted, muscles tensing subtly, biceps flexing just enough as he turned the wheel -

No.

It was because he chose this exact moment to mutter, in that low, distracted, completely serious voice, something about the structural failures of public infrastructure.

"Parking lots aren’t properly illuminated," he murmured, half to himself, half to you, as he pulled out of the space - leaning in just enough for you to be wrapped in the warmth of his woody cologne. "Streetlamps are too far apart - against regulation. Visibility’s compromised."

You blinked.

It was so incredibly Hotchner of him to be thinking about streetlamp regulations at a time like this that you nearly lost your mind.

But you couldn’t even react, because then he turned on the car radio. And instead of some normal, pre-set station, it booted right into his most recent activity.

Which meant - of course - it immediately picked up in the middle of whatever custom CD he had been listening to on the way to the bar.

You had exactly one second to register the unfamiliar tune before it clicked - this was from whatever Broadway musical he was currently obsessed with.

Oh, he was such a loser.

You turned your head toward him, but Aaron - unfazed, unbothered - simply reached forward and turned the volume down to a casual, background level.

Like this was all perfectly normal.

Like you hadn’t just caught him.

"Aaron." You bit back a smirk.

He kept his eyes firmly on the road, expression unreadable. "Hmm?"

"Which one is this?" you asked, already knowing the answer but needing him to say it out loud.

"Wicked," he muttered. Then, quickly -"I can change it."

"Oh no, no, don’t you dare, Hotchner." You chuckled, settling in. "Always wondered what your music taste sounds like."

He exhaled deeply. "It is not only this-" he started, trying, truly trying to make you understand the complexity of his other music tastes, to defend his honor, but – they just started singing. And he knew.

He knew.

You were never going to let him live this down. Better off saving his breath.

Hilarious, and the best part? He didn’t even know he was.

Halfway through, you tilted your head, listening. "So this whole song is about two girls absolutely hating each other because they’re complete opposites, but they’re forced to be roommates?"

"Pretty much, yes." His answer a little too quiet, and - though he tried to hide it - deeply embarrassed.

You grinned. "It kinda sounds like they have a crush on each other," you commented, trying your best not to notice how his fingers tapped the wheel, completely in rhythm with the song, while his face remained perfectly composed - extremely normal about something he so clearly wasn't at all.

"That’s the whole point," he said, deadpan, keeping it short.

"Oh “ You blinked. “Do they get together at the end?"

"Unfortunately not." He sounded so genuinely bitter about it that you nearly laughed. "They become best friends, though."

Though, judging by the way his gaze flicked toward you for half a second, he wasn’t entirely sure if you were still talking about the musical - or something else entirely.

Especially when you simply hummed, turning to look out the window. "Best friends."

"Yes. Best friends." His fingers tightened on the wheel.

And damn if you didn’t let the silence linger just a beat too long.

"They don’t get together because they’re completely different, so they’re not compatible?" you asked, your voice just a little too earnest.

"Not because of that," he started. "It’s because one of them becomes a political fugitive and is declared a national threat, while the other is essentially forced into being the corrupt government’s PR puppet."

Ah. Okay.

There was no possible way to explain it in a way that didn’t completely kill the mood - impossible, really. But he tried anyway.

"Although," he added, keeping his voice even, measured, like this was not something he had many thoughts on, "they do have a really dramatic goodbye, where they sing about how much they changed each other’s lives and how they’ll never be the same again."

He felt you turn toward him, and though he kept his eyes on the road, he felt it - that shift in your attention, God knows on what, though.

"Best friends," you repeated.

He gripped the wheel just a little too tight. "Best friends," he confirmed, again.

A beat. A pause. Too long.

"And you think it would have been better if they had been together?" Your question landed way too heavy, like you knew exactly how much weight it carried.

Like you knew exactly how his mind worked, how he had spent far too long thinking about this, not just in the context of some musical, but in general.

He exhaled, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, but his grip tightened again.

And then-

"Fuck yes," the words left his mouth way too fast.

So fast that he heard you laugh before he even saw you smile from the rereview mirror of the car.

And God - that laugh.

It wrecked him.

Not because it was loud or sudden, but because it was yours. Because it was real. Unguarded. Effortless. Because it was him that pulled it from you - and it was then, in that moment, that he knew.

He was so, so fucked.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t some sudden realization, some reckless thought that had just wormed its way into his mind out of nowhere.

It had been there. For a long time. Ten whole years.

He had just never let himself look at it too closely.

Because if he did - if he let himself really think about it, about how he felt like he was burning alive every time you looked at him like that - it would be too much.

It would consume him.

And he could not, would not, risk this unless he was absolutely sure.

Unless he knew you wanted him too.

Unless he knew you burned for him the same way he was combusting for you in real time in this car.

And that terrified him, because he was not sure.

Because you laughed like it was just funny.

Because you smiled like this was just a conversation.

Because you did not look wrecked.

Not like he felt.

So instead, he cleared his throat, steadied his grip, and forced his voice into something casual, distant - yet still, somehow, not completely backing down. "You think they should have ended up together too, then?"

Not ‘do you think I’m wrong’.

Not ‘do you disagree’.

But - you think so too.

Like some small, cowardly, pathetic part of him needed to hear you say it.

There was a pause - not a long one, not anything noticeable if he wasn’t paying attention. But he was.

He was paying attention to everything.

To the way your breath hitched just slightly, to the way your fingers twisted at the hem of your sleeve, to the way you turned your head to look at him.

“Obviously.” You gestured toward the radio. “You don’t harmonize so effortlessly with someone you’re just calling a ‘friend.’ That’s literally just denial with extra steps.”

He almost told you that harmonizing perfectly was the entire point of musical theater. That it was scripted, practiced, designed to fit together.

That it didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t, because he knew what you meant. “So you believe in that?” he asked, voice steady, casual, like this was just another discussion.

You raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

His fingers tapped against the wheel, once, twice – thoughtful - before he finally spoke. "That some people are just... deluding themselves."

The shift was small, but he felt it. Your smile didn’t falter. Your posture didn’t change. But something in your expression - in your eyes specifically - shifted.

It was dangerous, talking to you like this.

Because you noticed too much. Because you understood more than most. Because you saw through things - through people - with a clarity that was often unnerving.

Especially when it came to him.

Especially when he wasn’t sure he was ready to be understood like that.

It was your job, afterall.

"Oh, absolutely," you said easily, your tone way too light for his liking. "People are the most oblivious to themselves. We exist in a perpetual state of contradiction - endlessly chasing clarity while fiercely protecting the illusions that comfort us. We reshape our own realities, bending them to fit the narratives we can live with, refusing to confront the truths that feel too heavy - even when they’re staring right at us."

And didn’t he know - hadn’t he always known - how precise you could be with words in moments like this? The moments where he wasn’t, the only moments where he wasn’t precise at all.

How effortlessly you could thread meaning into silence, weaving it into something he could either acknowledge or ignore.

How your gaze lingered just a fraction too long, like you were offering him a choice.

And he didn’t know whether to turn away from it - or step straight into it.

Because for once, he couldn’t read you and that terrified him.

He had spent his entire life seeing through people, understanding them before they even understood themselves.

Yet here he was, in the quiet of his car, in the space between you, not entirely sure who you were talking about.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

So he did what he had always done.

He lived with it.

With the sound of his heart thundering louder than the music - louder than your occasional singing along when something familiar played, or the rhythm of your voice alternating with his as you both filled the car with conversation about everything and nothing.

Each block closer to your apartment building felt like a loss, something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it. He was already mourning the night before it was over.

And neither of you seemed to want it to end, given how relentlessly the talking continued, stretching time as far as it would allow.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that it even occurred to either of you that you were standing outside in the cold, leaning against the driver’s side door, your arms wrapped around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. He was still in the car, window rolled down, engine still running, caught between staying and leaving.

It made him ache, interrupting you mid-sentence to point it out. “You’re shivering,” he said quietly, apologetic, as though he were to blame for the biting chill in the air.

It made him ache even more when, instead of brushing it off or saying goodnight, you invited him upstairs, at how his jacket was discarded somewhere along the short path to your building’s entrance, now draped over your shoulders along with his arm, pulling you closer.

It was ridiculous how, even with two jackets on, the only thing keeping you from freezing was his arm.

What was even more ridiculous - hideous, really - was how he should have been the one freezing, left in nothing but short sleeves, yet somehow, standing there with you wrapped up in him, he’d never felt warmer in his life.

So warm that he didn’t even notice the chill of the night.

So warm, in fact, that he didn’t even need the blanket you handed him when you both settled into your living room, waiting for the heating to kick in. He let it drape over his lap out of politeness more than necessity, as if pretending to care about staying warm.

Now, you sat on opposite ends of your couch, shoes abandoned by the door, both of you leaning on the armrest closest to the other, legs angled toward one another, the space between you steadily narrowing. Distance itself felt like an insult, your arms resting along the back of the couch so you could still face each other, still hold onto the moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away.

And he didn’t dare lose sight of your eyes.

It was in that exact moment that a memory surfaced—some weeks ago, sitting alone in his living room, reading Symposium, a book he only picked up because he had seen you so engrossed in it on the jet. Because he had wanted to understand what had captured your mind so entirely.

And everything that followed - a whole night of texting, deep conversations neither of you ever brought up again, like always.

His eyes had analyzed the book twice, dissected its structure, its meaning. And yet, only now, in the absence of it but in your presence, did he finally understand that one passage.

"And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself… the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment."

He understood.

Because he couldn’t look away from you - not now, not ever.

The world outside was so quiet that every word exchanged between you felt magnified, as though the universe itself had leaned in to listen. And when even your whispers felt too loud, you shifted closer, scooching toward him on the couch.

Just a few inches at first.

And then he did the same.

You moved again. Then so did he.

And suddenly, your crossed leg was draped over his, the fabric of your tights brushing against his jeans as naturally as if it had always been there. His left hand settled somewhere near your knee - hesitant, not gripping, but resting. Shy.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only tether to the concept of time, because what he’d assumed to be ten, maybe fifteen minutes revealed itself to be a full hour.

3 A.M. And neither of you seemed to care.

By then, his hand had already found the courage to rest between your thighs, still safely on your knee. Though it didn’t take long before his thumb began moving on its own, tracing slow, idle patterns over the thin fabric of your tights.

He didn’t say anything about the way your foot brushed his calf, or how his name on your lips sounded softer in the early hours. Or at how all of this mutual care betrayed his mind, cracking open a small window to what it could have been.

Yet somehow, it felt far more like a glimpse of what it could be.

“Aaron,” your said, soft enough that it sounded more like a thought than a spoken word.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was just his name. Him.

And somehow, that made it all the more devastating.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested on your knee. He followed your gaze, and in that moment, even though he’d memorized every fleck of color in your irises, their absence felt like a loss.

So dull that his thumb stilled its movements across your knee under your inspection, as if the simple acknowledgment of the two of you now might shatter everything.

He braced himself for a shift - for the game you always played, where lines were drawn, and walls went back up. Where the closeness between you was something fleeting, fleeting enough to pretend it never existed.

But then, you looked back up.

And instead of retreat, instead of scolding or teasing or anything he expected, there was something else entirely. “I really don’t want this night to end.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard you right, but the look in your eyes left no room for doubt. You weren’t just talking about the night… and neither was he.

But he didn’t know how to give you the honesty you deserved without completely unraveling, not until his thumb resumed its gentle movements on your knee - more to selfishly steady himself than anything else.

“Neither do I,” he admitted finally, even if each second was daring him to say more, to close the space between you entirely. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not yet.

It was you who moved first.

Plato said that ‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Maybe he was right, because as your hand slid down his arm, it felt like a verse being written. The way your fingertips barely grazed the surface of his skin, tracing the map of his veins with a tenderness you hadn’t realized you possessed, pretending the warmth under your fingertips didn’t make your stomach tremble, until finally, your touch lingered on his knuckles.

A pause, hesitant. Then, almost instinctively, you laced your fingers with his. It felt... inevitable. Natural in a way that terrified you.

“Didn’t expect you to be this warm,” you murmured, your voice light, almost teasing, though you couldn’t hide the way it trembled.

You finally found the courage to meet his eyes. Hazel. Searching. Devastating.

And you weren’t afraid of what you saw, you already knew. What terrified you was that, with one touch, you might have unraveled something too fragile to survive.

His gaze fell to your joined hands, his thumb gliding softly over the back of yours, speaking in the ineffable language of touch.

“I didn’t expect to feel this… right,” he said, the words so quiet they felt more like a confession than a statement.

The smallest smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in just a little more. “Aaron…”

And that was it.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slipped away entirely. Before he could overthink it, his hand came to rest against your cheek, his calloused palm cradling the softness of your face.

Gentle. Steady. Tender.

The contrast was almost startling, culminating in the soft whimper that escaped your lips as the cold metal of his watch grazed your neck. And so, apologetically, his thumb began to move, tracing gentle patterns along your cheek, as though committing every curve, every subtle shift, to memory.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, your hand slid to his wrist, holding him there, your thumb tracing the same delicate patterns along his inner wrist, matching his movements with the same ease that echoed in the way you ordinarily mirrored each other’s posture, each other’s language.

His gaze flickered to your lips. “You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself here,” he just said, now without a hint of regret, not when your eyes searched his with the same intensity he felt pulling at his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached him, but he heard them as clearly as if you’d shouted.

His breath came shallow now, his gaze searching yours, as though looking for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the quiet, unspoken truth reflected back at him.

And so his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer - so close that, without thinking, you moved to straddle him, your knees settled on either side of his hips.

“I-” he stammered, as he looked at you wide-eyed tilting his head back slightly, before shaking his head, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

“Sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face as you realized just how intimate the position you’d claimed truly was – the cruelty of not having even thought about it once before moving, how it was the only way to still communicate with his eyes.

“No,” he said quickly, almost shy, but the way his thumbs brushed your sides betrayed how much he didn’t want you to move. “Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, though you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips more than once.

“…Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, his eyes wandering across your face.

It wasn’t just a question; it was a moment stretched taut, as if he was buying himself time, wanting to keep this moment balanced on the edge of the razor for just a little longer.

On this space of tenderness, where care outweighed desire, where everything still hung in the balance, where there was still time to hold back, to savor the precipice, waiting for one of you to risk it.

You nodded. “Very.”

The smallest, warmest smile flickered across his lips. “I’m happy you are,” he murmured.

How could he be even so sweet? How could he, in the middle of this - when your body was pressed so close to his - still be so considerate, so cautious, so Aaron?

How could his hands, now steady on your waist, have only settled there after he’d murmured a careful, overly-polite, “May I?”, the formality of it, juxtaposed with the intensity of his touch, was enough to make you giggle.

“Please don’t smile at me like that when you’re this close,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rasp, his gaze fixed on your lips.

You couldn’t help but grin wider. “Why not?” your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw.

“Because,” he began, his lips twitching up, “it makes me forget how to think.”

Crazy, really. The idea that Aaron Hotchner, the most precise and methodical man you’d ever met, could forget how to think. Thinking was practically the core of his being, wasn’t it?

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Because if forgetting how to think meant losing himself, then you were the cause. You had undone him.

Shaken the core of a man who had carved his entire existence around reason – or at least, tried to fool everyone into thinking so. And now, here he was - disarmed by nothing more than a smile, a touch, and the mere proximity of your lips.

If existence is rooted in thought, and Aaron’s thoughts were consumed entirely by you, did that mean his existence was yours to hold? Did that mean, right now, he existed only because you allowed him to? Couldn’t be that.

Still, how dizzying it was to consider how quickly you’d become his undoing – yet, perhaps what was even more terrifying was the way he seemed to welcome it.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, like a confession meant just for you. His dark eyes searched yours, their intensity almost overwhelming. “You do undo me.”

Your breath caught. “How did you even manage-”

But he didn’t let you finish. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his nose brushing yours in the faintest of touches.

And so your eyes closed together, as if the nearness alone was too much to bear, especially when his lips hovered so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

How paradoxical it was that you both desperately craved each other’s mouths, yet now, in this unbearable closeness, neither of you could summon the courage to take the last step.

How you continued lingering in the tension, your breaths mingling, your bodies pressed so close that those strong hands of his, still firmly on your waist, urged you even further onto him.

Neither of you wanted to bear the responsibility of what came next. What was about to happen. What was meant to happen. It wasn’t a game anymore. You were done waiting.

You wanted him. Now.

You were ready - to let it all go.

“Aaron,” you whispered, looking into him.

And as always, he seemed to be the only one who understood you, he began to trail kisses across your face, soft, slowly, taking his time.

Your temple.

The side of your right eye.

The curve of your cheek.

Down to your jawline.

Then, he traced his way back up, planting one final kiss at the very edge of your mouth.

When he pulled back, intoxicated, his eyes found yours - wet, shining, unguarded, just like his.

“Please, ask me to stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

“Aaron, I can’t,” you murmured, the words trembling on your lips as your breath mingled with his, the space between you growing thinner with every passing second.

The moment.

How do you measure a moment like this?

One tick of the clock. Two tears slipping free from both of you. Three uneven heartbeats, each louder than the last.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

You should have probably expected that your first kiss would taste like salt, the tears trailing down your faces mingling somewhere in between and masking the real sweetness of it. How the flavor of each other’s mouths was obscured, just as you’d both hidden your true feelings for so long.

It was so cruel in its irony, yet somehow, it fit so perfectly that neither of you could bring yourselves to care.

Because his lips were too soft against yours for your own good, the gentleness of his hand gripping the nape of your neck pulling you closer, while the other rested against your tear-streaked cheek, damp from both the lingering press of his lips moments before and your tears.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t to retreat - it was to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, even as his own streamed freely, unchecked.

And as much as you wanted to keep going, to lose yourself in the solace of his mouth, something greater pulled you both in.

Without hesitation, you collapsed into each other’s arms, clutching tightly as though the world around you was slipping away, tears soaking into the other’s shoulders.

Was it penance? For realizing too late how simple this could have been? For all the wasted years, the missed chances, and the pain endured in silence?

Or was it just acceptance -that only now were you both ready to bear the weight of this, to hold each other completely, to disappear into one another?

Maybe that was the point.

Because in that embrace, unplanned and unbidden, came a feeling so familiar it ached.

That same resonance in your chest, the same connection of that first time you ever held him like this, nine years ago in your old apartment, when his walls cracked just enough to let you in.

And so the memory bleeds into the present, and it’s almost unbearable how much has stayed the same, and yet, how utterly everything has changed.

That stupid Hegel wasn’t wrong: the synthesis always becomes a new thesis, a cycle repeating itself. The moment was reborn, again and again, every time.

But damn, how it changed with every turn.

The same, yet entirely different.

The weight of then. The depth of now.

It was all there, in that fleeting, aching embrace. Not just holding on to each other, but to every version of yourselves that had come before - and every one still waiting in the future.

Even as the moment began to fade, as you pulled back - both drawn by the undeniable hunger to find each other’s mouths again - the synthesis was already shifting, reshaping into something new.

Another storm, another struggle, another antithesis loomed ahead, but always, always, the cycle reached for a new synthesis. And Hegel, damn him, was right again.

The cycle never ends.

But neither, it seemed, did you.

Competing with each other, as always.

Neither of you willing to back down, both so eager to claim the other that it became impossible to tell who started the second kiss, it just… happened.

This time, there was no softness, no hesitation - just urgency. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right where you wanted him, while his hands gripped your lower back.

The moment your lips parted, offering him the faintest invitation, he deepened the kiss without even thinking it twice. His tongue slid against yours with so much hunger you were intoxicated, only for you to interrupt with a sharp bite to his bottom lip.

He growled at the challenge, he had to one-up you, returning the favor by sinking his teeth into your jawline, as if to stake his claim all over again, a sound so low and primal it seemed to vibrate straight into your skin, making you gasp and tighten your hold on him even more, eager to hear it again.

Damn him and his competitiveness.

You couldn’t help but meet it head-on, your hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back, feeling every shift, every flex as he moved against you.

He broke away briefly, not to stop, but to catch his breath as his lips found new territory. From your mouth to your jaw, and then down to your neck, your head tilting back reflexively, granting him even more access.

He smiled against your skin, insufferable even now, and when his lips returned to yours, that grin only widened. You kissed him again and again, but since his stupid smile kept getting in the way, you ended up kissing his teeth more than once.

Damn him.

And yet, you found yourself smiling like a fool, because how could you not? There was no way you could be making him feel this way, yet here you were - both of you lost in it, pushing and pulling, both refusing to surrender.

The more you had of each other, the more you wanted, never satisfied, never close enough, as though the only way to end this ache was to somehow crawl into each other’s skin.

And so, blame the position.

Blame the dress you’d chosen tonight, skimming your thighs, leaving so little to the imagination as it rode up with every shift against him.

Blame the way your kisses had shifted, growing hungrier, messier, more tongue than lips, more heavy breathing than words.

Or blame his new-found obsession to place wet kisses on the spot just behind your ear just to hear you gasp, while he had the audacity to hum into your neck, utterly satisfied with himself, like he was savoring your every reaction to the exquisite work of his mouth.

Blame his body, the way he pressed against you, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips, then lower, settling on your ass with a grip that didn’t make the things any easier.

Blame the way his growing bulge rubbed against you through the rough fabric of his jeans, the friction hitting exactly where the ache was blooming, pulling shudders from deep inside you.

Blame all of it - the kisses, the position, the maddening press of his body against yours - because it only made you more desperate.

The carnal realization of just how badly you wanted him, left you unable to stop. Your hips moved instinctively, grinding against his hardness, the rhythm of your kisses syncing with the desperate roll of your bodies.

Thank God his jeans were dark, because you were sure by now your arousal was leaving its mark on him, soaking into the fabric, leaving evidence of just how far gone you were – and if he noticed, if he felt it, the way his grip tightened on your waist told you he didn’t care.

If anything, it spurred him on, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, neither of you could stop moving.

The worst part? You didn’t want to. Not even a little.

What was even worse than this? The fact that Aaron, ever the master of timing, felt the need to comment on the obvious.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked breathless, lips flushed and slightly swollen from yours.

No shit, Sherlock.

You didn’t hesitate. “Aaron, do I look like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

That even managed to earn a chuckle from him – speaking of victories - “Just… wanted to make sure you’re alright with this pace. We’re not exactly taking it slow, you know?!” he rasped, as his hands slid up and down the sides of your hips.

No shit, Sherlock, part two.

Was he worrying about you or himself?

You tilted your head, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes softened as soon as they were met with yours. “Aaron,” you cupped his cheek. “Do you want to take it slow instead?”

Shit. What if you’d misread him? What if this hesitation wasn’t about concern for you but second thoughts about the entire thing? You hated yourself. How could you even think that-

“Not really,” he admitted, his lips curving into the most kissable smile. “I just… don’t want you to regret this. I’d wait forever if you asked me to, but right now…” His words faltered, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Right now, I don’t think I can. But only if you want it too.”

Oh God, how considerate he was.

Oh God, how much you never trusted anyone as him, how safe did he make you feel, how it almost brought tears to your eyes because you’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at, cared for, wanted like this.

Oh God, how much you didn’t want to respond with words, to just take his hand, guide it between your legs, and let him feel exactly how much you needed him.

But words it was, then.

“I do, Aaron,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. I want this. I want you. But…” Your lips curled up. “Not on my couch. Could we maybe hold out until the bedroom?”

Ah, yes. Turning 30 had officially made you someone who prioritized the longevity of their furniture over their sex life.

How responsible.

How tragic.

And yet, neither of you moved. It took a second - or two, or three - for both of you to gather the energy to even try standing after spending what felt like an eternity tangled up on your poor, overworked second-hand couch…

…a poor overworked second-hand. Hm. Now there was a pattern.

You hated yourself a little for how evil the thought was. Poor couch, poor him.

Not that it wasn’t true. But still - evil.

Still nearly as evil as the absolute disaster you’d made of his hair with your hands while you were making out. A fitting match for the flush on his face and the state of his half-untucked polo, which you’d been yanking at so fervently it was a miracle it hadn’t come off entirely.

Speaking of things you couldn’t stop noticing, the sight before you now was definitely a huge… huge walk with him to your bedroom. Because surely your hallway hadn’t been this long before.

Or maybe he was thinking the same thing, because just as you reached the doorway to your bedroom, he turned you, your back pressing against the wall before you even had time to push the door open.

You didn’t expect him to be this passionate – and desperate, when his mouth was back on yours, claiming you in a kiss so hot and wet it that the wetness surely wasn’t exactly isolated to your mouth at all.

You gasped, caught completely off guard, and that was apparently all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, and it was so good that you barely managed to catch your breath, let alone remember the damn bedroom door.

“Aaron-” you managed between breathless kisses, barely stringing the words together.

As if you could talk.

As if you could pretend to hold any moral high ground here when your leg was already wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. And oh, he was there - all of him. Thick, hard, and pressing against you.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass, “I know,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your skin. “I know. The door.”

Oh, but why did his voice have to sound like that - so low, so wrecked… so unfair.

Anyway, the door.

Not that it mattered, apparently, because he didn’t move. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re not exactly working on it,” you managed to gasp, and oh, you were so proud of yourself for having the strength to bicker with him even now, even like this.

Of course, Aaron, being Aaron, couldn’t resist biting back.

You felt the curve of his lips against your neck, he chuckled as his teeth grazed the hollow of your throat. “Well,” he murmured, returning to nip at your earlobe. “What about you?”

The man was infuriating. And hot. And so completely overwhelming you could barely think straight.

“I’m very busy right now,” you managed to counter, though what you really meant was that your back was far too occupied arching into him, practically begging for more.

At least he somehow found the self-control to pull back after what you could most graciously describe as an obscene amount of very enthusiastic dry humping. You were both so doomed. His hands steadied you just long enough for him to fumble for the doorknob.

And then the second you crossed the threshold, all bets were off.

His lips - no, his mouth - were on yours again, the kiss so heated it was more teeth and tongue than finesse. Probably because it hit you both at the same time - the realization of just how painfully simple it would be to strip the other bare.

His polo? A quick tug away from being tossed aside. Your dress? One little zipper stood between it and the floor. No barriers. No obstacles. That was all it would take.

And it was as if he read your mind because without a word, his hands found your waist and spun you around, pulling you back against him.

You barely had time to gasp before his head dipped to your neck, as his fingers found the zipper of your dress way too easily without even having to look. Just before he moved it, he paused. “I might’ve left a mark.”

Oh no, what a pity…

“Make it two,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand slid into his hair, pressing his head right where you wanted it.

And because Aaron apparently took instructions very well when they suited him, he bit down, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver, the sharpness of it immediately soothed by the warm drag of his tongue.

The sound you made was embarrassing - breathless and high-pitched – that only seemed to spur him on, since in less than a second, the dress was pooling at your feet, leaving you bare save for your tights and underwear.

Mismatched underwear.

A good lace bra - at least there was that - with the most comfortable white cotton grandma pants you could have pulled from the depths of a multipack that were, by how the things have been going now, almost certainly transparent. Perfect.

Not that any of this was supposed to happen, of course.

You hadn’t exactly planned on getting laid by your… what even was he? Your best friend? Your boss?

An objectively gorgeous man with dark eyes that burned into you, whose voice could make your knees completely weak? The person you’d been quietly, stubbornly, and stupidly in sexual tension hell with for a decade?

He was all of that. He was none of that. He was Aaron, and whatever Aaron Hotchner was to you, you hadn’t planned on getting laid tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever ungodly hour it was now.

But plans didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Not when his hands were sliding over your body like you were something he’d wanted for so long that touching you now felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Not when his lips found yours again, claiming them in a way that made you wonder how either of you had ever survived without tasting each other.

And certainly not when the moment your back hit the mattress of your bed, his full weight pressing into you fully, how your legs opened instinctively, welcoming him, pulling him closer, your body arching into him like it was chasing something only he could soothe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere.

“God, you’re so clothed,” you shot back without thinking, your quick wit betraying you yet again, unsure whether to curse yourself for ruining the moment or to thank your sarcasm for always wanting to keep things… balanced.

But instead of appreciating your humor or giving you the satisfaction of stripping him, the insufferable man had the audacity to bypass your comment entirely.

With a swift motion, his hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it somewhere into the abyss of the room without so much as a second glance.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, a flush creeping up your neck at the brazenness of it. “I was referring to you, Hotchner.”

“Eventually,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before capturing them again in a kiss that effectively cut off any protest you might’ve had. Clever man.

And so he started his descent, a study in patience, still hopelessly romantic about it, as if the situation weren’t already infuriating. Because even though you knew for sure he could feel the way your nipples had hardened against him, he still took his time.

Kissing his way down your throat, spending far too long mapping out the curve of your collarbone with his mouth, fingers just hovering - like he wasn’t already touching you everywhere.

And then, finally, his hands moved. Possessively. His palms covered your breasts, kneading them in a way that sent sparks ricocheting through you, his lips pressing a single, scorching kiss right in the middle of your sternum.

That did it. That had your thighs clenching on instinct, a desperate attempt to manage the growing fire low in your belly.

But you refused to let a sound escape.

Oh no. You weren’t about to give him that satisfaction. Especially not when he got to enjoy the full view of you laid out beneath him while you were left with only the delicious flex of his biceps.

Biceps, which, while spectacular, were not the bare expanse of his back. Not the firm ridges of muscle you knew were under that godforsaken polo, the one thing keeping things uneven between you.

He seemed to catch on to the game you were playing, though, because without warning, his mouth closed over one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak so perfectly that it had your breath catching in your throat.

At the same time, his fingers found the other, pinching, rolling, teasing - the combination so damn lethal when paired with the languid flicks of his tongue, sending shocks straight to your clit.

Still, you bit your lip, stubbornly holding back the sounds he so clearly wanted to pull from you, even if the ache between your thighs was unbearable now - a dull, insistent throb that begged, no, pleaded for attention.

Attention that the insufferable man was withholding.

Or, unlike you, he simply didn’t want to rush… damn him. He was making it impossible to keep up the charade.

Because every flick of that damned talented mouth of his - now moving onto your other breast - every brush of his fingers, every sound he made against your skin that revealed just how hungry he was of your flesh, was undoubtedly designed to unravel you, piece by piece.

Every piece, that is, except for your poor, neglected, throbbing clit.

And of course, he was enjoying every second of it. Smug bastard.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his lips still grazing your nipple, “sounds are appreciated.” …Oh, fuck him.

“So is nudity,” you managed to snap, though your voice trembled, betraying just how close you were to falling apart.

He stilled. Lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. And then he smirked.

Ah. That smirk. Never a good sign.

Especially not when paired with the way his hands started working your tights down - so slowit was almost unbearable. Always careful, always considerate Aaron. But God, right now, you wanted him ripping them off you.

His gaze swept over you, his eyes instantly darkened as they dettled on the on the damp patch at the center of your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rougher, as his thumb grazed over the edge of the fabric.

Before you could process how pleased he was with himself, he spread your legs further, settling himself between them. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you down, and he started trailing kisses along your inner thigh.

From the knee.

Oh, come on.

Still, you hissed at the contact, at the way his mouth devoured your thighs like he was savoring every inch of them.

Like this, this was what he lived for. Worshipping you.

And the way his lips moved, how drunk he looked as he worked his way upward, kissing, sucking, biting - just enough to make you twitch, the way his breath shook when he exhaled against your thigh - it only made it worse.

The closer he got, the more impossible it became to hold back the sounds slipping from your lips.

And then - one last kiss, right there, where your thigh met your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmured, and before you could even think about responding, his tongue flicked out, tasting the arousal that had trailed up to where his mouth lingered.

Oh. What a whore.

“You’re such a who-” you began, but the words barely escaped before he bit down lightly on your clothed clit, sharp enough to send a jolt through your entire body and rip a strangled cry from your throat.

Your reaction must have been exactly what he wanted, because his fingers replaced his teeth immediately, pressing against you through the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, there you are,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down the length of your slit. “For a second, I thought I wasn’t doing it right.”

You scoffed, or at least you tried to. The sound barely made it past your lips before breaking into another sharp, breathless cry as his fingers rode back up, pressing against your clit in slow circles, the cotton barrier dulling the sensation just enough to drive you insane.

One, two, three strokes - then you stopped counting, too caught up in the feeling of him until he finally tossed the fabric aside, making you feel the cool air against the wet heat of your core, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t touch.

Just -

"You're a goddess."

He stared for so long that you started to wonder if he was waiting for you to say please, some kind of power play.

Your lips curled slightly as you lifted your chin. "If you think I’m going to beg you now, Hotchner, I’m absolutely not.

Apparently, you had never been more wrong in your life.

Because his head snapped up so fast it was almost comical - except for the way his entire face flushed. Not just with arousal - well, yes, definitely with arousal - but with something else.

The way his mouth parted slightly before he swallowed, his throat bobbing, his gaze flicking away for half a second like he had to collect himself, undoubtedly made you think-

"I was actually…" he cleared his throat, "asking for permission."

Oh. Oh. Apparently, someone couldn’t hide being a bottom for more than a few minutes.

Aaron ‘Attitude’ Hotchner? Gone. Reduced to sheepish glances and waiting for permission like a damn Victorian gentleman the second he actually looked at your cunt.

Hilarious.

"You have it," you murmured.

That was delicious.

And because he was so whipped, he didn’t just dive in immediately. No. Of course not. He had to come all the way back up first, had to kiss you before anything else.

And then he was gone. Gone from your mouth, gone from your chest, gone from anywhere but exactly where you wanted him most.

The very first swipe of his tongue across your folds obliterated any coherent thought, reduced your world to this - to the wet heat of his mouth, to the steady press of his hands holding you open, to the obscene sounds of him devouring you.

There was nothing but him, the way his tongue curled against you, the way his lips closed around your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the way his name tumbled from your lips and melted into the deep, guttural moan he let out as he first tasted you.

And honestly, you couldn’t decide what was hotter - the way his sounds came in perfect harmony with your own cries, or the fact that he was so vocal while eating you out, like it brought him just as much pleasure as it did you.

And it probably did.

Because he lapped at your dripping cunt like a man starved, frantic, desperate, moving with such a hunger that made your fingers dig into his hair, gripping tight like you could somehow hold on to reality through him.

But he didn’t want space. Didn’t need it. If anything, he leaned in further, groaning low against your soaked, swollen cunt, letting you drip down his chin as if he loved the way your arousal was entirely coating his flushed face.

Loved being drenched in you. Loved ruining himself on you.

“Aaron-” your voice broke, your hips jerking up into him, needy. “God, your tongue is unreal.”

And oh, he heard you, loud and clear.

Because his immediate response? Teeth. A quick, sharp graze of his teeth against your clit, followed by a suction so deep, so overwhelming, it ripped a scream straight from your throat.

Fuck him.

“Your-your mouth is unreal,” you stammered, correcting yourself, because apparently, he wasn’t letting you off the hook without acknowledging his full range of talents.

Smiling against your skin - as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he had a praise kink, too.

“Sorry,” he said with a kiss to your inner thigh as his thumb kept working on your clit. “I just thought you were a thorough one, Professor.”

What a whore.

“Oh, fuck you for calling me ‘Professor’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” you shot back.

“Oh, it does,” he admitted with no shame whatsoever. “I just wish you could feel how much.” His gaze flicked down, daring you to follow it - to the thick, aching bulge straining against his pants, so hard it had to hurt, so obvious it made you clench around nothing.

How cruel of him.

“Keep talking to me like that, Aaron, and I’ll crush your head with my thighs,” you warned, voice shaking, hands fisting into the sheets because he was still teasing, still circling with his thumb instead of putting his damn mouth back where you needed it most.

“Please do,” he said.

And then he gave you exactly what you wanted. His tongue plunged into you, pushing past the unbearable emptiness, giving you something to clench around, something to grind against, something to drown in.

And because he was, apparently, crafted to be the most infuriatingly perfect thing to ever exist - his nose pressed against your clit with every movement, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you so intense your legs tried to snap shut around his head.

He was faster. Stronger. Hands tightening against your thighs, keeping them spread as he pressed you further, pinning you down so he could devour you properly. And when your thighs twitched again, reflexive, desperate-

"Stay open for me."

That awful, awful sound. That little flick of his tongue against his teeth, a wordless tsk of disapproval - he did it every time, every single time, and it should have pissed you off but instead, shot straight through you, coiling low in your belly, leaving you breathless, made you arch into his mouth, made you-

"Still, please," he growled, more desperate now, fingers tightening like the control freak he so obviously was. Apparently, the man simply could not function if his so-called work space wasn’t perfectly in order.

Some things never changed.

“You’re such a hypocrite, it was-” Your breath caught on another roll of his tongue, hips jerking up against his face. “It was you who begged me to-”

"Mm," he hummed against you like he was thinking about it, his mouth hot and slick as he pressed deeper, let his tongue flatten. "And?"

…And then his lips closed around you, sucking just right, and you broke. You felt it coiling, tighter, tighter, low deep in your stomach.

"Aaron, I'm so close."

"I got you," he murmured, suddenly warm, suddenly gentle - because despite all the arrogance, the smug little smirks, he was nothing but a softie. All bark, no bite. Well… except for the other kinds of bites. "Don’t worry. Let go."

Then his tongue flicked - once, twice… and you were gone.

Shattered apart, trembling beneath his mouth, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking, desperate. The pleasure hit sharp and fast, so intense it almost hurt, your muscles locking up as wave after wave crashed through you.

But he didn’t stop. Not until you’d come on his face just one more time.

So his tongue was back on you before you could even recover, dragging you higher, keeping you there, refusing to let you go. His mouth was relentless, but his fingers - God, his fingers.

How many times had you daydreamed about them? How many nights had you imagined the way they’d feel sinking inside you, stretching you open, fucking you deep and slow until you couldn’t think?

A reasonable number of times. That’s what you told yourself.

So it only made sense that you were impatient now, desperate to feel them inside you instead of just ghosting along your soaked folds, teasing, tracing, dipping in just enough to have you thinking, finally -

Only for him to pull away again, just as fast.

“Need some help finding it, Hotchner?” you bit out breathlessly, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the whimper it ended on. “Don’t be embarrassed. I can guide you if-”

Before you could finish, one thick finger thrust deep inside you, cutting off your words with a strangled moan.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said smugly… oh, he definitely did.

The stretch of just one finger had you reeling, but then he added a second without hesitation, the fullness making you gasp. Two of his fingers felt like three of yours, stretching you perfectly, pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you moaned, gripping the sheets as he started to move faster, stroking that perfect spot again and again until your vision blurred.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice so low and rough that made your toes curl, unable to respond if not with a whimper.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured, his lips brushing your thigh as his fingers curled deeper, pressed just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips, his own voice dark with approval. "God, you’re so wet."

Your cheeks burned because well, wasn’t he right?!

The evidence of it was everywhere - slicking his fingers, his hand, his face, and the way he said it, so casually, like he was just stating a fact, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

"Damn, you’re so fucking good," you gasped between shattered breaths.

“Mm, so is this cunt,” he shot back between licks, groaning as he felt you flutter around his fingers.

What a dirty, dirty mouth. And damn, if he did he put it to use.

It didn’t take long. Barely a few more thrusts of his fingers into your slick, throbbing cunt, barely a few more drags of his tongue against your clit - before he had you unraveling completely.

Your body seized, back arching clean off the bed, a sharp, helpless cry ripping from your throat as you came so hard you almost sobbed.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers kept fucking into you, curling just right, stroking deep, drawing out every last shudder, every last desperate moan. His tongue never left your clit, flicking, sucking, keeping you there, forcing you to take every wave, every aftershock, dragging you through it until your thighs trembled around his head, until you were whimpering, pleading, too overstimulated to handle another second.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips gliding up your body, dragging sticky, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until his weight was pressing you into the mattress again, until you were surrounded by him, the scent of sex thick in the air, his mouth still hot and wet against your skin.

"God, you’re a fucking vision when you come," he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing over your jaw as his hand slid up to cradle your face.

And then he kissed you.

Deep, filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation, letting you taste yourself on him, letting you feel the slick mess he’d made of you, the evidence of how thoroughly he had devoured you.

Romanticism truly was dead.

“Still too clothed,” you whispered, voice low, teasing, as your fingers trailed from his jaw down to his chest, nails scratching lightly over the fabric of his polo, feeling the heat of him beneath it. Annoyingly in the way.

“You’re very welcome to change that now,” he huffed, smirking, giving you another quick, teasing kiss, the barest brush of his lips over yours.

Who were you to refuse?

Your hands moved swiftly, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, over his head, before tossing it somewhere behind you - who cared where? That would be his problem in a few hours anyways.

And oh damn-

If you thought the polo highlighted his frame, without it he looked absolutely massive. His chest, his shoulders, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin - it was almost unfair how goodlooking he was.

You leaned in to kiss him, letting your fingers roam all over him - probably lingering a little too long on those broad, perfect shoulders. Honestly, you were doing your best not to bite them.

Mostly. A little nip didn’t count, right? Surely it was allowed. To test. It wasn’t your fault they looked like they could carry the weight of the world - and you - without breaking a sweat. But of course, he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know that his shoulders alone were making you go feral.

So you distracted him the best way you knew how - your lips pressing against his neck, soft at first, teasing, before nipping lightly at his pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to earn you a sharp inhale.

Still, even as your lips worked to keep him occupied, your thoughts betrayed you.

You were sure you’d implode the moment you saw his back - the way those muscles would shift and flex. Just the thought of it had your pulse racing. Thankfully, he was still facing you, so you had a little more time to live. But not much, considering the way your mind still found a way to betray you.

Because now all you could picture was his weight on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down with no way out. Now all you could feel was the phantom stretch of him, the way he’d fill-

Right. His jeans. Still in the way. Still ruining your life.

You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to move lower, fumbling with his belt and zipper. If your hands trembled, you’d blame it on how hard you were trying not to stare at the thick bulge beneath the denim. Trying being the keyword, because at this point - you weren’t better than a man.

His jeans hit the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, making it quite difficult to ignore the outline of him anymore - thick, hard, already straining against the fabric, the damp spot at the tip teasing at just how ready he was.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you glanced up, silently asking if you could take things further. He gave a small nod, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

Your hands turned momentarily shy as you hooked your fingers into the band, slowly tugging them down. He sprang free, thick and hard, flushed at the tip, already glistening with slick arousal, and God, you swore your mouth went dry and then wet all in the span of a heartbeat.

You couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, “God,” as your fingers wrapped around him, thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head, smearing the wetness there, spreading it over the burning skin.

The reaction was immediate.

His head tipped back, his grip on your hips tightening, trying hard not to just rut into your fist like some desperate, touch-starved needy thing. But he was trembling , his self-control fraying one slow stroke at a time as you worked him over, your fingers squeezing around the slick head before dragging back down his length.

"Fuck," he muttered, the sound wrecking you, shooting straight between your legs.

“You’re so-” you started, but the words failed you. What could you even say? You were too distracted by the weight of him in your hand, the way he twitched against your palm and the way the thick vein along his shaft throbbed with every stroke of your hand.

All you knew was that you wanted him in your mouth. Wanted to drag your tongue along that vein, wanted to feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, wanted to take him down until tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The need burned in your gut, tight and relentless, but still, it wasn’t enough. Because as much as your mouth ached for him, the fire between your thighs was worse. So much worse.

“Aaron,” you breathed, voice shaking as you looked up at him, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, still stroking him, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell with every movement of your hand.

His eyes - dark, heavy-lidded - met yours, his breath coming uneven, jagged, as he rasped, desperate, "Take whatever you want."

“I want you.”

Aaron groaned, his lips twitching into something that might have been a smile if he wasn’t so wrecked with desire. “Come here,” he murmured, as he leaned down and kissed you. And God, what a kiss.

Before you knew it, he had you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his broad shoulders framing your view of him. He settled himself between your legs, his mouth moving to your jaw, then down to your neck, at the point there was no doubt in a few hours you’d wear a turtleneck to work.

Still, he paused, hovering just above you, his lips brushing against yours as he asked one more time, “Are you sure?”

At this point, if you weren’t aching for him, you might’ve had the patience to be sarcastic. Something like, No, actually, I’m not sure. Let’s both get dressed again and see if that helps.

“Aaron, I’m literally begging you,” you said, exasperated, though you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes – if he just wanted you to beg him he could have simply asked. You would have never said it out loud but at least he could have tried…

“Just making sure,” he said so softly his voice seemed even deeper than it already was, but his hand slid between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds, and the way he groaned when he felt how wet you were made you shudder.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if confirming what he already knew.

You didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on, but apparently, Aaron Hotchner could always prove you wrong.

And ever the hopeless romantic - because apparently, he was so much of a kisser - he kissed you again. It wasn’t fair, honestly, how good he was at this, how much intention he poured into every press of his lips , every flick of his tongue, every sharp little pull at your bottom lip that had your hips rolling up against him. It was infuriating.

"I’m on the pill," you gasped between kisses, cutting straight to the point because at this rate, you were about two seconds away from losing your mind.

"Good," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours again. "That’s good."

Of course it’s good, Aaron. As if you were trying to create another insufferable Hotchner. One man who could argue his way out of anything was already more than enough for the world.

He shifted, aligning himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against you, dragging through your slick folds with just the slightest roll of his hips. The stretch, even in just the promise of it, had you gasping into his mouth.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, still searching for any sign of hesitation. Classic Aaron.

And because he was Aaron, of course he kissed you again, stealing what little breath you had left as he began to push inside.

Holy fucking-

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filling you inch by inch, his cock sinking in with a slow, thick glide that made your head tilt back into the pillow, your mouth falling open as sounds escaped your lips - a moan, then a gasp, and a whimper.

When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach, you swore you might break, and you loved every second of it. How the hell did he even feel this good?

"Jesus Christ," he gritted out, breath hot against your jaw.

He paused, his cock throbbing inside you as he let you adjust, his lips ghosting over your jawline with kisses so soft they felt almost reverent, as though the slight ache of the stretch was something he needed to apologize for.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You involuntarily clenched down around him in response, "Fucking Christ," he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours for a moment. “You’re going to kill me.”

And fuck, if the second he started moving you weren’t utterly determined to hear every name of every deity from his long-lost religion tumble from his lips, as long as it meant he kept thrusting so deep inside you – making your breath catch from the mere drag of him pulling his entire length out before pushing it back in.

“Fuck Aaron, you feel so good,” you gasped, your hands tightening on his biceps.

And damn him, because he loved it - loved your praise so much that a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, even as his breath came uneven, ragged. “Fuck, you look so beautiful from here,”

He leaned in, his hips still moving, his lips brushing against yours just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, to taste the promise of his kiss. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, making your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper.

The shift in angle made his next thrust hit you in a way that tore a cry from your lips. He must’ve felt it - the way your body tightened around him, the way your nails sank into the strong muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake - because his pace quickened, each thrust better than the last.

And damn it if he didn’t fuck you so good.

“Right there,” you gasped, arching your back as the head of his cock hit that spot “Oh, Aaron-”

“God, I love how you say my name,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as he planted a kiss on your temple between thrusts.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the dark, thick strands of his hair that clung to his face, his brows furrowed all concentrated, his cheeks flushed, jaw tight, and God, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

How stupid, how utterly reckless, it was to feel yourself falling for him all over again. And not just falling - but plummeting, freefalling into the abyss of him. Exactly now, exactly like this - when he was buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was carving himself into your soul.

How shallow, how ridiculous, to let your pupils blow wide with hunger, to let your chest ache with something too tender, too raw, while your body burned for him like this.

Because it wasn’t just the way his hips buckled into yours, wasn’t just the rhythm of his thrusts, wasn’t just the stretch and fullness that made you gasp. No, it was the way his name tumbled from your lips like it was the only word you knew, and the way he rasped your name back, hoarse and desperate, like it was his prayer.

The wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the creak of the bed beneath you - it was way too loud for the early hours, you knew that. Too wild, too shameless, probably waking every neighbor you had, giving them the privilege of hearing his name tumble from your lips and yours from his.

But how could you care? How could you even think about anything beyond him, especially when he shifted suddenly, leaning back and lifting your legs over his shoulders?

“Like this,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His hands gripped your thighs, steady, holding you in place as he adjusted himself, his cock driving deeper - God, how was it even possible to feel this full?

His next thrust stole the breath from your lungs, and the one after that made your vision blur, leaving you gripping the sheets, then the bedframe, his arms - anything you could reach.

“I got you,” he rasped, his tone softer now, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was absolutely wrecking you, you might’ve laughed at how he said it. So casual, so reassuring, like he wasn’t currently fucking you out of your mind.

And then, just to make sure you were well and truly destroyed, Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your trembling leg. A kiss. Soft and lingering, like he wasn’t simultaneously driving into you with enough force to make you think about it for days. A true gentleman, really. Absolutely chivalrous.

“Oh, fuck you,” you managed to gasp, your voice shaking as your nails dug into his arms.

He smirked, his hips snapping forward harder, making your back arch off the bed.

“I believe I already am,” he shot back smoothly, and damn him - despite the situation, or maybe because of it - you laughed.

The sound made him pause for a fraction of a second, his brow quirking as his lips twitched into something softer, something that could almost be called tender if he wasn’t currently wrecking you.

He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss you - except you were still laughing, leaving him kissing your teeth instead of your lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice filled with faux exasperation, as if it weren’t entirely his fault. But the way he looked at you, his eyes soft and sweet despite the hunger blazing behind them, made it clear he wasn’t serious at all.

“I really hate you,” you managed to say, still laughing, the words breathless and shaky.

“Liar,” he countered smoothly, his lips curving into a grin of his own before he kissed you properly this time, slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs. “You’ve never hated me at all.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the next thrust silenced you, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, leaving you gasping instead of speaking.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice thick, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Bastard. Oh, how he’d pay for this. Just… not now. Not when the heat in your stomach was building too quickly, you could already feel your toes curling, your legs trembling where they rested on his shoulders.

“Aaron-” His name spilled from your lips in a broken cry, your hands clutching at him desperately, your body trembling beneath him.

“I know,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven as it fanned over your lips. “You’re close. I can feel it. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.”

And then, just to destroy you completely, he spat on his fingers. The sound alone sent a shiver through you, but watching him, seeing the way he reached down and slid his slick finger to your clit, circling it, left you utterly wrecked.

That alone was so unfairly hot you were surprised you didn’t come on the spot just from seeing it.

“God,” he groaned, his hips keeping the same rhythm as his fingers worked you over, the combination of his cock driving into you and his fingers basically breaking you apart. “I’m close too. Come for me. I want to feel it - I need to feel you.”

And there was no stopping it. The pressure snapped all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your body clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm ripped through you.

“Aaron,” you cried out, his name falling from your lips in a broken, desperate plea as your cunt clenched around him so tightly that it pulled a guttural groan from his chest.

His movements stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep one last time, his head tipping back, lips shaping into your name.

You felt him spill inside you, the hot rush of him filling you, the heat prolonging the throbbing waves of your own climax, as your body convulsed with the lingering echoes of pleasure. It was too much. Too raw. Too perfect. The kind of climax that left you completely destroyed, your mouth falling open as you tried and failed to even catch your breath.

Your limbs felt boneless, your heart was about to burst out of your chest, a haze in your head. Wow.

Aaron’s thrusts slowed, his movements becoming languid as he guided you both through the final waves of pleasure, his hips rocking into you softly.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside you, his body collapsing onto yours, every muscle undone, spent, his breath hot against your neck. His skin was slick with sweat, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and fuck, you never wanted him to move.

A slow, lazy kiss landed on your shoulder, his lips lingering there for a second before he murmured, "Are you okay?"

Really?

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, as your fingers threaded through his beautiful damp hair. “Okay?” you echoed, still struggling to breathe, still feeling the aftershocks of him inside you. “Aaron, I think you might’ve just killed me.”

He huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh if he had the energy, and just because he was perfectly positioned - completely wrecked, head buried against your shoulder, practically melting into you - you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It felt almost paternalistic, sure, the kind of kiss that came with the smug satisfaction of having him completely undone over you, like he might fall apart if he even tried to move. The salt of his sweat clung to your lips, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of the tears you’d swallowed earlier. It felt better - so much better.

Aaron sighed against your skin, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but was too exhausted to bother, he pulled out, leaving you wincing at the sudden emptiness.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze dropping to the mess he’d made of you, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost proud. But, of course, because Aaron fucking Hotchner couldn’t let you have five uninterrupted minutes of post-orgasmic bliss without switching into Mr. Practical, he tilted his head and said, “You should probably clean yourself up.”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Wow. Romance is truly alive and well.”

He grinned just enough to make you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “Where do you keep your towels?” he asked.

“Wow,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed. “Absolutely fantastic. I give you my soul, and in return, you turn into a housekeeper.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple before standing and stretching.

And, of course, because the universe hated you, he looked absurdly good doing it. Broad shoulders, sweat-slicked skin, and the faint red lines your nails had left down his back. God, his back. Huge. Muscular. You really wanted to-

“Dramatic?” you scoffed, snapping yourself out of the borderline feral train of thought. “I just had the best orgasm of my life, and now you’re asking me about towels. What’s next, changing my bedsheets?”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. “Best?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mock surprise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

You groaned, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“No, no,” he continued, turning back toward you, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. “Say it again. Best orgasm of your life? Because I recall giving you three - you might need to pluralize that.”

Oh, how cocky he was. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him, unfortunately the man also had perfect reflects. “So, where are these towels?”

“In the bathroom,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “Third drawer on the left. Please, by all means, go do your very important post-coital housekeeping.”

He chuckled as he made his way to the bathroom, and you watched him go, biting your lip as your gaze drifted lower. Because of course you looked. How could you not? The way his muscles moved as he walked, the strong lines of his back leading down to that quite flat yet perfectly sculpted-

“Stop staring,” he called over his shoulder without even looking back.

You scowled, sitting up and grabbing the other pillow to hurl at the bathroom doorway. “I wasn’t staring!”

He was no fun.

“You know,” you called after him, unable to help yourself, “it’s a shame you’re so good in bed, because you are the single most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Funny,” he shot back from the bathroom, his voice echoing slightly. “You didn’t seem too annoyed about it five minutes ago.”

Not that you had been even a little annoyed when you woke up right into his arms - despite the fact that you distinctly remembered falling asleep holding him.

“How much time do we have?” you murmured, your words muffled as your head stayed nestled against his chest.

“You’ve got 1 hour... I got half” he chuckled, then continued “I need to head home and get changed.”

But his arms instinctively tightened around you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. Like he could pretend, just for a little longer, that there was still time.

“How amazing would Agent Hotchner be if he just called to say we had the weekend off?” you said, tracing patterns of his flexed bicep tighetened around you.

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it rumbling beneath your cheek. “I doubt Agent Hotchner even has the strength to get up and take his phone from his jacket.”

“Well, since I’m feeling so generous, I could go and hand it to him,” you offered with faux magnanimity, but before you could move, his hand slid to the back of your head, pressing you back into him, while the other hand gripped your waist.

“Stay,” he said too softly for your own good.

You smiled against him. “I could stay longer if we didn’t have to go to work, you know...”

He chuckled again, this time shaking his head in amusement. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raised. “Sweetheart?”

And there it was.

Fuck.

Was this the time to tell you? That if he’d been smitten before, now he was utterly undone? That despite making a living solving puzzles, he couldn’t think of a single scenario in which he wasn’t yours?

It was logic, wasn’t it? A proposition is true if it’s reflected in reality.

And this was his truth: he was yours. Irrevocably, undeniably yours.

There wouldn’t be a more evident fact - not until the marks you’d left on his neck and chest faded away. But even then? He would still belong to you.

Damn the stoics for being right.

“Sorry,” he said, as though the endearment had slipped past his guard.

Before he could say more, you tilted your head up and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His startled expression was so genuine that you couldn’t help yourself - you kissed him again, determined to wipe it off his face.

His lips curled into a smile against yours, and when you finally pulled back true to form, he couldn’t resist deflecting. “If you’re trying to charm me into giving the day off, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s not going to work. Even if you keep kissing me.”

You laughed and leaned up to give him another kiss. But this time, you didn’t stop there. You moved down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “I just want to make sure you understand the opportunity you’re blowing here,” you murmured into his skin, your lips ghosting over his pulse.

“The reports aren’t going to fill themselves,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Oh, neither was your cu-

“You sure about that?” you teased, nibbling gently at his collarbone as your hand trailed lower, brushing over where something was definetely starting to grow in between his boxers, making him hiss.

“What’s the matter?” you asked innocently, your hand now resting over his hardening cock, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’re devouring my neck at seven in the morning,” he managed.

“Devouring? Not yet.” Your lips descended again, this time grazing over his collarbones, the faint scrape of your teeth dragging along his skin. When you bit lightly at his chest, his sharp inhale was all the reward you needed. “But don’t worry, I plan to.”

His mouth opened like he was about to fire back, but before he could, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the slick head, smearing the precum as if you had all the time in the world. “So,” you started lightly, as he cussed at your touch, “what are you going to do with the hour we have left?”

He tried to respond, he really did.

“I-” His breath hitched when your tongue darted out to trace just above his lower stomach.

“Well?” you pressed, lifting your head to look at him, your grin so sweet it could’ve killed him. “Breakfast? A shower? Or, you know, something else?”

“Breakfast sounds…” He barely managed to get the words out before his voice broke entirely, his body jerking slightly when your tongue flicked out to tease the tip of his cock.

“…like a good idea,” he finished weakly, though you weren’t convinced he even knew what he was saying at this point… better like this anyways.

“Good,” you hummed, dragging wet kisses along his length, while your hand kept moving, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his cock twitched in your hand. “So, Aaron, what do you feel like having for breakfast?”

His head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping him as his fingers tangled in your hair. “God,” he rasped, the word dragged out of him so pitifully it was almost tragic.

You grinned against his skin, looking up at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s not in my fridge,” you replied deadpan.

“Sweetheart…” He was absolutely desperate as your kisses moved lower, your tongue tracing a path along the underside of his cock.

“Hmm?” you hummed innocently, as if you didn’t notice the way his grip tightened in your hair or the slight tremble in his thighs.

He didn’t answer - but his phone did instead.

The sharp buzzing from the pocket of his discarded jacket in the living room shattered the moment.

Both of you jerked back, adrenaline ripping through the haze, already halfway off the bed before you even thought about it.

It was clumsy, both of you scrambling, bumping into each other as you stumbled toward the sound, breathless for entirely different reasons now.

Aaron got to it first, answering with the efficiency of a man who had switched back to work mode in an instant.

The call clicked on, and a voice - male, urgent - filled the room. "…The two bodies. The man died from a gunshot to the head, though he was stabbed multiple times post-mortem. The woman died from stab wounds."

You stilled.

Aaron’s face hardened. Rocher’s victims.

The ones he had been taunting you with.

"Agent Hotchner, there’s one thing…" the agent on the other end hesitated.

Aaron’s eyes sharpened. "What?"

"These bodies were killed exactly fifteen days ago," he said.

Aaron froze, you felt it at the same time he did - fifteen days ago.

You and Aaron had been interrogating Rocher exactly fifteen days ago.

He hadn’t killed them himself. He couldn’t have.

You were both there.

Your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you spoke.

“He had a partner,” Aaron said, his arm sliding around you instinctively, pulling you closer before you even realized you were starting to breathe too fast.

“Did you manage to identify the victims?” he asked.

“Yes - the man’s name is Michael Fowler, 34, a lawyer, junior associate at Madison & Green. The woman is Renee Hudson, 22, student at Columbia University, enrolled in the faculty of…”

You didn’t even know why you tensed so much.

The answer was obvious before he even said it.

“…philosophy.”

The call ended, but the silence left behind was louder than the voice on the line had been.

And in that silence, you could hear everything - the inevitability of it, tangled with the sound of the tears slipping down both of your faces.

And when your gaze flicked to Aaron, when his arm instinctively pulled you closer, you knew - without a word, without a glance – you’ve been both staring at the exact same spot on the wall.

Because it wasn’t just the age gap.

It wasn’t just the coincidence of numbers.

It was what made it undeniable.

A lawyer.

And a philosopher.

And the way your broken voices found each other in the quiet, harmonizing each other’s names in perfect, unintentional sync, just a few rushed heartbeats later.

Almost like in the musicals.

Almost sweet.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

I sincerely apologize - but the cockblocking was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, they'd never keep their hands to themselves. Honestly, with a job like this, interruptions are basically a given. If I had a nickel for every time these two got cockblocked by a phone call, I’d have two nickels - which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happeend twice.

Ahem... so, uh, let me know what you think... of this. All of this. I need your feedback because I am currently gnawing at the edges of my enclosure

#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds

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jellykyunnie · 3 months ago

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˗ˏˋ Entry : 059 - Lover! HSR Men x Fem! Reader: Period Cramps ♡ ˎˊ˗

꒰ Dan Heng, Aventurine, Caelus, Sunday ꒱

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕟𝕘 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Dan Heng is actually a veteran in taking care of girls during their periods. Why? You have March 7th to thanks for that. His poor friend's cramps are hell so he stepped up to assist whenever he can if Himeko isn' present to soothe her.

So when it comes to you? It's no problem really, he even enjoys the fact that you're relying on him for this since it shows that you trust him entirely.

Does he track your period schedule? Definitely, he has a tracker installed in his phone that he always checks. Periods are tricky and he wants to know incase anything wrong comes your way.

A little overdevoted of him, but you're not complaining. Why would you?

He has everything prepared a week advanced before your period.

Heating pads? Check. Extra napkins? Check. Snacks? Check. Chocolates? Check. Medicine for cramps? Check. Plushies? Washed and ready.

"Is your stomach acting up? No?" Dan Heng asks as he secures the blanket over you after placing a heating pad on your belly.

"I hate being a girl..." You complain, curling up further beside him for comfort.

"I know, but just for a few more days, it'll be alright" He says, stroking your head lovingly. "How about a movie? There are a bunch of new movies I managed to download."

"Okay..."

You actually passed out halfways into the movie, which Dan heng of course predicted already since he had the lights in his room already turned off. He changed the heating pad on your stomach first before tucking himself back in.

"Goodnight," Dan heng mumbles, placing a peck on your forehead before pulling you in for a cuddle.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝔸𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"There we go" Aventurine gently settles you down on the bed after placing an extra towel on it. "Is that better, love?"

You nod, cuddling the teddy bear he bought you just because you're on your monthly hell.

Your period week is strictly a no-gambling and no-business-trips time for Aventurine. Even if his bosses and the other stonehearts decide to bug him into doing stuff.

He values your happiness and comfort above all else, even work. So to hell with them if the ipc blows up out of nowhere during your menstruation. Aventurine will just throw a middle finger at them and laugh at their misery.

Aventurine was so dedicated he spent hours reading books about periods and even goes so far to research good napkin brands that wont make you itch.

He wants nothing more than the highest of qualities for his beloved who is going through a lot just because a woman's body decided to evolve suffering like this. he even has some doctors on stand by just incase anything goes wrong.

Of course, we can't forget his philanthropic side— this peacock man needs to spend his money on you even for the littlest things. You'll be having brand new jewelry, cosmetics and perfumes coming in rapid succession for you as well as a barrage of kisses to go along with it.

"My poor princess, are you sure you don't need anything else?" He asks, kissing each and every one of your fingers. "Should I order some shortcakes for you? Or should I call the doctor to check on you?"

"Vasha... I'm not bedridden..." You say.

"I know, but I would rather not risk anything happening bad, so if anything hurts too much you must tell me" Aventurine simply smiles.

"Your kisses are more than enough"

"Who am I to say no to that?"

And with that, he dives in to pepper your precious and pretty face with pecks.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ ℂ𝕒𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕤 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"Okay, everything is settled" Caelus nods to himself after making a makeshift pillow fort in his bed for you to snuggle in.

The plushies he had ordered just arrived in time with your menstrual cycle. He made sure to ask March 7th about this just to be sure too. He can't screw this up—

Yeah, he's acting like he's about to go through something major or something. What an idiot.

Your lovable idiot atleast.

"Cae? I'm back" You say, walking out of the bathroom after changing your napkin. "???"

"Ah... Well" Your boyfriend sheepishly scrtaches the back of his head as you glance at the makeshift fort he managed to make during your time in the bathroom. "I figured I should make a fort so we could snuggle up more?... I don't know"

"You're cute" You laugh, kissing his cheek before crawling into the fort he made. "I like the fort, maybe you should keep it"

"I'll order more pillows and a canopy for my bed then" He grins before going in after you. "I'm not really good at taking care of you, my bad"

"It's fine, just you being with me is more than enough and I'd much rather cuddle with you" You wrap your arms affectionately around his waist. "Just be you as usual, that's more than enough."

"I should be the one comforting you" Caelus pouts, rubbing your cheeks together just so he can elicit a sweet giggle from your lips. "If there is is anything I can do, please just tell me what you need and I'll do my best"

"You're really like a puppy" You muse, kissing his cheek lovingly.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕪 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Just like Dan Heng, Sunday is a veteran at this. His mother died before his sister had her very first menstrual cycle. And although there were servants around to assist— he still took the initiative to help Robin himself because he was her brother.

The result of that? He's absolutely good at taking care of you during your period. Much like Dan Heng, he has a period tracker on his phone and prepares everything in advance the week before your period starts.

But of course, Sunday actually memorized your cycle dates, he just prefers to be more organized and to fouble(triple) check everything

It's much more important for him to be assured that eveything is ready.

"Not like that, you'll make your stomach hurt even more, dear" Sunday says, putting down the book he was reading and reaches out to rub firm but gentle circles around your tummy. "I know it's different for each woman, but this is the method I used on my sister when her cramps are bad. Is that better?"

"Yes..." You nod weakly, melting into his massages quickly. "You're really good at this"

"it's only because I took care of my baby sister a lot" Sunday replies, keeping his gentle pace to help ease your pain.

"Robin must miss you" You mumble.

"It's alright" He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "I miss her too, but one day we will reunite. But right now you're the main character. You need me since your cramps as especially bad during the first few days of your cycle."

"What did I even do to deserve you?" You whisper, slowly drifting off to sleep the further he massaged you.

Sunday wouldn't reply until you finally gave in to the call of sleep.

"I need you more than you need me" He finally says, replying to your unconcious state while pressing his lips on your forehead. "So let me do this, it's the least I can do since you never gave up on me"

꒰ 🪼 A/N: This one is a bad fic but I'm really deep in writer's block. I'll try to get it in my next one. For now please be patient with me qwq. I hope you guys understand huhu. I'll try to make more comprehensive and better fics:3 ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

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starsinthesky5 · 7 months ago

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why do you like me so much then? || joe burrow x reader

description: why do you like him so much? everything you said made him sound like a lackluster boyfriend, so why did you like him so much?

a/n: this is either really bad, chaotic, all over the place, or just yapping. sorry. the fact that this was supposed to be a blurb?? yeah. i cannot write blurbs LOL.

thanks to @joeyb1989 and my anons for giving me inspo for this! and to joe with that sexy, bratty eyebrow raise that I can never move on from

word count: 9.2 k

warnings: angstttt, smutttt, fluff

————————————————

3 hours. That's how long it took you to get ready tonight.

You spent an uncharacteristic amount of time carefully positioning each strand of your hair, ensuring that each piece was perfectly curled and set. You made sure every piece of jewelry from your delicate necklaces to your sparkling earrings and bracelets, all of which were gifted by your boyfriend, shimmered in the warm light and reflected a soft glow. Each stroke of makeup had to look flawless to complete the look, your eye shadow blending in seamlessly as you perfected your small winged eyeliner. The silk sage green slip-on dress you wore–with a delicate lace trim–fit your body like a glove; highlighting every aspect of your beautiful figure perfectly.

You looked amazing and you felt amazing for the first time in a long time. The past few weeks had been filled with strangeness and ambiguity and you were in desperate need of a change of pace. The strangeness came from how you and Joe had been a bit distant from each other lately, which was uncommon for you two. You were constantly attached at the hip, utterly fixated on each other to the point where the mere thought of being apart would lead to a state of misery and endless complaining. But this past month, you couldn’t be more disconnected from each other. Joe had been so wrapped up with football training this past month to the point where it felt like you two barely saw each other, and that didn't sit well with either of you. You always used to make so much time for each other no matter what, but recently it felt like you two stopped trying.

Every time you thought of planning something to do together such as a little lunch date at your favorite cafe, or a relaxed hike around the park, even just ordering takeout and eating together on the couch while watching a movie, it would always get moved or put off till the next week because Joe had something come up. Either it was more training (which was understandable), more brand shoots (somewhat understandable), or even because he wanted to hang out with the guys--completely not understandable.

You were never the kind of girlfriend who would keep her boyfriend away from his friends, especially because you actually really liked Joe's friends and greatly appreciated the support they gave him, but when he started using them as an excuse to pass on spending time with you, that's when you became a bit bitter. You were the most understanding person when it came to the things Joe had going on in his life. You knew that he had a lot on his plate and couldn't always be fully present for you, but he always tried his best to be. Or at least he used to.

Passing on training and brand-related work was hard, but passing on hanging out with his friends once or twice so he could go through with the plans he made with his girlfriend was fairly easy.

It should be easy, right?

But Joe didn’t do that. He instead moved your plans to hang out with them, and that hurt. He said that you could do the lunch date, hike, or takeout food & movie evening later on, but that 'later' rarely came around. He would just get swamped with more things and you'd be so focused on your work that you couldn't bother to bring up the subject again.

Joe noticed your increased irritation as well, but he just never said anything because he didn’t feel like it was anything serious, just you in a mood. He wasn't sure what made you so resentful all of a sudden, but he knew better than to argue with you about your sudden mood swings, especially because he knew there could be over 100 reasons for them and didn't really want to set you off even more by pointing it out.

What Joe did notice was that you two hadn't had much one-on-one time like that recently–completely oblivious to the fact that's exactly why you were so bitter–so he decided to take the first step and offer to take you to dinner at the end of the week. You were so excited when he proposed the idea of going to dinner on Friday, looking forward to spending some much-needed quality time with the person you loved the most. He told you that he'd take you to this new steakhouse in Downtown Cincinnati and then he'd take you down to the banks so you two could lay against the grassy field and look up at the stars together, something you used to do every weekend during the off-season but something had slowly fizzled out as time went by and your weekends became a bit more intense.

"Every star in the universe reminds me of how much I love you. You’re not just a part of my world; you are the center of my galaxy, and everything else revolves around the love we share," is what he told you the first time you went stargazing. Those special words have stuck with you ever since, especially the part about how you’re the center of his galaxy, but lately, it started to feel like the center of his galaxy had shifted to something other than you. You couldn't figure out when things shifted; those genuine, pacifying moments you two shared became scarily rare. In the back of your mind, you felt like you were losing him. Even though you weren't, it just felt like it, and that was the worst feeling out of them all. Nothing you did or he did made that thought go away. What you didn't or he didn't do is what made it worse.

You were determined to use this date as a way to move things back on track in your relationship, hopefully even talking about how off things had been lately, so that’s why you dedicated an unusual three hours to primping and preparing. Despite your efforts to achieve perfection, Joe’s love for you was unwavering, regardless of your appearance. He adored your natural beauty, free of makeup, and cherished your tousled, messy hair. He found you just as enchanting in your old gray sweats and one of his worn-out college t-shirts that made you look oh-so tiny. You knew how indifferent he was to perfection, but you wanted everything to be excellent tonight, even if he didn't need it to be. You needed this.

You were filled with anticipation as you imagined walking into the restaurant with him, the warmth of his hand in yours. You could almost taste the first sip of wine, feel the soft buzz it would bring, and sense the rush of emotions as you immerse yourself in the familiar and comforting bubble of your love for each other. You needed to feel that again so badly.

You took one final look in the mirror, "Damn, I look good. He’s going to love this," you whispered to yourself as your eyes navigated up and down your figure before giving yourself a small nod of approval and exiting the bathroom. You grabbed your white chanel handbag which was one of the many birthday gifts he had gotten you last month and made your way out of the shared bedroom and down the stairs, a big smile on your face as you were expecting an adorable, dressed, and ready Joe awaiting your arrival. But as you reached the last few steps, your smile dropped as you were met with the exact opposite.

You were met with a Joe dressed in gray sweatpants and an old LSU tee whose back was facing you while he was sitting on the couch, had his headset on, and was playing video games on the TV.

"Today is Friday, right?" you whispered to yourself as you pulled your phone to read the date, which showed that it was in fact Friday and you weren't crazy.

"Joe?" you called out as you slipped your phone back into your bag, slowly walking down the couple of steps you had left with a look of sheer confusion on your face. He didn't hear you, but you heard him.

"Aye, man. What the fuck?" he said loudly as he started aggressively pushing the buttons on his game controller. "How the hell did you get to level 10 when it's only been a week since the last time we played?".

His friends. He was playing with his friends.

"Of course," you scoffed as you walked over to the living room where he was, throwing your handbag onto the dining table before calling out for him again. "Joe?.... Joeeeee?" you said louder from behind him, but he still didn't look back at you.

"He has to be fucking ignoring me. There is no way his headset is this soundproof," you thought to yourself as you shook your head and walked around the couch to come into his view.

Joe looked over and saw you walking towards him, his eyes giving you a quick once-over before settling on your soft eyes which had a slow burning fire behind them. "You look nice," he mumbled to you before looking back at the TV. While he may not have looked directly at you, his words were genuine–he couldn't help but admire your alluring beauty.

“....Thanks...,” you replied with a dubious tone. “Did you forget that it’s Friday?” you asked him as you looked over at the screen and then back down to him, no response yet again.

“No, don’t go that way,” he warned his friends through the headset, completely ignoring what you just asked him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you thought to yourself again.

“Joe? Hellooo?” you called out again but waved your hands for him to see you from the corner of his eye, which he did but didn’t say anything. You were becoming increasingly annoyed with his lack of attention towards you, especially since you knew he could see you and see that you were trying to get his attention.

"Do you need something?" he finally asked as he moved one side of his headset off his ear, still too focused on the game and his friends to focus in on your conversation.

"Do I need something? Yes, I fucking need something. I need my boyfriend to go on our date with me which he promised to take me on," you thought to yourself, wanting nothing more than to scream into a pillow.

"Baby, it's Friday," you took a deep breath and said, crossing your arms as you tried to prevent yourself from flipping out on him.

"Yeah, I know," he softly laughed, putting the headset back on again and going back to the game, not even bothering to wait and listen if you had anything else to say, which you did.

You were absolutely dumbfounded by his actions; it was clear that he was intentionally overlooking you. Joe knew you wouldn't bother him like this without a good reason, especially during his video game time with his high school buddies, so his behavior was completely unjustified.

"Did he forget?" you thought to yourself, feeling your heart break a little at the thought. There was no way he forgot, right? He was the one who planned this date, how could he forget?

Your expression softened as you asked him, "Did you forget?". You didn't really want to hear his response because deep down, you already knew the answer. Admitting it meant that he actually forgot about you.

But you didn't need to hear his response because there was no response.

You looked back and forth between him and the TV, seeing how he was practically looking right through you and pretending as if you weren’t standing there in the most date-night outfit ever. Joe was oblivious sometimes, but he wasn’t that oblivious.

“Fuck this,” you mumbled, deciding to take matters into your own hands since he wasn't listening and didn't look like he was planning on listening. You walked over to the TV, grabbed the plug from the outlet behind it, and yanked it so hard that you could've pulled out the entire electrical system in the wall.

"Y/N, what the hell?" you heard from behind you, as well as the sound of Joe taking his headset off and throwing it down onto the couch.

"Oh, so now you acknowledge my presence?" you rolled your eyes and sighed heavily.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was genuinely confused.

"What do you think? I called out your name like 4 times and got no response. Then when I actually got your attention, or I thought I did, you didn't even answer my question fully and brushed me off like I was just some girl," you said as you walked closer to him, the built-up bitterness inside of you begging to be released.

"You're not just some girl," he shook his head. "You're my girlfri-," he began to say before you interrupted him.

"Oh yeah? Then act like I am. I asked you a question and you completely ignored it and ignored me," you grumbled as you gave him a look that he instantly knew meant you were genuinely pissed off.

"What do you mean? I did answer your question," he shrugged.

"Fucking barely? I told you it was Friday and was hoping that would ring a bell but it didn't, and then I asked you if you forgot but you had already put your dumb fucking headset on and either didn't hear me or didn't want to hear me," you snarled, rolling your shoulders back as the tension in your body increased and put a strain on your upper body.

"Ohhh, it's Friday? So what?" he sarcastically laughed while shaking his hands, then stood up and practically towered over you. You hated when he did this whenever you two got into a little disagreement, it felt like he was showing the power he had over you and made you feel 10 times smaller.

"Are you serious?" you asked, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks and your eyes beginning to well up with tears. It wasn't sadness that caused the tears, but a deep sense of anger.

"What did I forget hmm? Because I'm pretty sure that I already did the laundry, cleaned up the kitchen from lunch, ordered the groceries, and watered your plants outside," he asked, the bratty tone in his voice making you want to scream into a pillow and then proceed to hit him with said pillow.

You felt your bottom lip tremble as your entire body felt a wave of sadness overpower the anger you were feeling.

He really forgot.

He didn't forget to do all the other things that weren’t that big of a deal, but what he did forget was the most important thing.

"Our...our date, Joe?" you choked out, feeling a tear fall from your eye it felt like the world went silent. "Our fucking date," you said again, this time with more anger in your voice, wiping the tear trail from your cheek. So much for your flawless makeup.

Joe's heart immediately sank at the mention of the word 'date.' He had completely forgotten about the plans you had made, the plans he had made. How could he have forgotten something like this? He knew how important this date was; it was the first time in a long time that you two got to spend alone time together away from everything. Even though he never said it, he felt awful that each time you tried to plan something together, it was pushed back for some reason and never thought about again.

His eyes softened as he realized why you were mad, "Y/N, I'm so sorry...I forgot," he said.

You remained quiet for a few seconds, trying to calm yourself by taking a few deep breaths but that wasn't really working. "I shouldn't be surprised you forgot, you know? I've been practically invisible to you this past month," you scoffed, a few more tears falling from your eyes unknowingly.

"Invisible?" Joe questioned, a bit taken aback by your harsh response. Yeah, he had been spending less time with you lately, but in no way were you invisible to him.

"Yeah, invisible. It's like I'm just not here. You've been basically avoiding spending time with me and the one time you offer to plan something, you conveniently forget. Spare me, Joe," you shook your head and said.

"Woah, I wouldn't say I'm avoiding spending time with you?" he said as he took a step closer to you. "I've been busy, you know I've been busy,".

"I get that, but what about those times when you ditched doing something with me so you could do something with the guys? I understand if it’s because of training and stuff but getting ditched for your friends? That hurts. Especially when we already had plans but you moved them and little old me always went along with it because I didn't want to rock the boat," you cried, your tears breaking through and free-falling down your cheeks now.

"Rock the boat? What are you...what are you even talking about?" he threw his hands in the air and asked. "What the hell is she talking about? I know we've been spending less time together, but in no way is the boat being rocked. We're fine?" he thought to himself.

"Here you go with the oblivious act," you laughed through the tears in amusement. "Un. fucking. believable. You always do this whenever you’re in the wrong, and frankly, I’m sick of it. You're acting as if I haven't been visibly miserable the past few weeks. Oh, wait. That's just it, how would you know? I'm invisible to you," you said, your voice a little louder as the anger was once again taking over.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck I did but I don't understand why you're blowing up over this," Joe said, his hand moving to scratch the back of his neck.

"That's just it. It's mostly what you didn't do. You didn't bother to reschedule our plans, you didn't bother to check in on me to see if I was really okay with you moving our plans, and you didn't fucking remember we were supposed to go out tonight," you yelled, your breaths becoming shorter as you felt yourself turning red from slight distress. You felt awful for yelling at him, but all of the emotions you had built up this past month were coming out at once and it was not going to be pretty.

Joe stood in silence, his eyes fixed on you as you continued to express your disappointment with his recent behavior as your boyfriend. He felt a sense of unease as he realized the impact of his actions on your emotions. He knew he was in the wrong, but he was hoping you understood how hectic his schedule was and how that prevented him from giving his all to you recently.

You always understood. And if you didn't, you talked to him about it. But this time you didn't do either of those things, and that made him a little upset. Communication was a big part of your relationship and although it had been pretty off this past month, he thought you would’ve said something to him if you felt this bad about everything.

"You know, instead of yelling at me about all of this, why didn't you just talk to me about it in the first place?" he asked, now feeling a bit irritated himself. "If you felt so 'invisible' why didn't you tell me right then and there?".

"Are you really blaming me for this?" you said, looking at him in disbelief. It was unbelievable that he was trying to ignore your feelings, especially when you rarely blew up on him like this so that should tell him that you were really hurt by all of this.

"I never…I never said that," he said while sucking his bottom lip in. "All I'm saying is that we didn't need to have this big argument about it if you just talked to me about how you were feeling before,".

"That still wouldn't change the fact that you forgot about tonight," you snapped, placing your hands on your hips. When your hands touched the smooth, silky fabric of your dress, it seemed to emphasize every curve of your body, catching Joe's gaze for a moment. He felt a flutter of excitement in his stomach as he admired your figure once more, taking in every detail of your stunning appearance a bit closer than he did before. "You still haven't given me a reason," you added.

Joe's frustration was growing as he felt increasingly annoyed by your words, despite his understanding that he had made a mistake. Instead of fixing the issue, your yelling was only aggravating the situation. "You know what? Fine. I forgot. Whoops. My bad," he retorted in a tone that was both monotonous and bratty. He went quiet for a moment, thinking of a devious plan to make you even more annoyed.

But why did he enjoy making you feel irritated? Because he liked seeing you get all hot and bothered because of him. "I forgot because I was having a great time with my friends and lost track of time. I guess they were more interesting than you," he said smugly.

He knew he was being an absolute dick right now, but part of him was having fun watching you get heated over this and wanted to see you get more flustered. “Is it bad that I think she looks hot as fuck right now?” he thought to himself.

"God, your fucking attitude pisses me off sometimes," you yelled. As you shook your head, you couldn't help but feel another wave of anger towards him, even though looking around, you realized that the issue at hand was frankly trivial. It wasn't the specific problem–forgetting about the date–that got to you, but rather the underlying feeling of frustration and disappointment that had built inside of you for the past month. Tonight was just the final blow that tipped you over the edge.

Despite your irritating behavior and petty bickering, Joe was really turned on right now. Something about seeing that fire in your eyes, hearing that fire in your voice just got him going. You were taking charge, and he loved that even if he was pissed that you were arguing with him about something that didn’t need to be this big of a deal. You were putting him in his place and he liked that about you. He liked that you weren’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

His eyes traced a slow, calculated path from your legs, to the graceful curves of your body, to the gentle contours of your breasts, then up to the curve of your neck, before finally meeting your captivatingly beautiful face. He couldn't resist the temptation to admire your compelling appearance, making it even more challenging for him to focus on the petty argument you were having. He felt bad that you got all dressed up for a date that wasn’t happening, but he did enjoy seeing your precious cheeks turn red out of anger, seeing your body tense up in a way that was practically begging for him to relieve it.

He licked his plump lips as his eyes flashed to a darker shade of blue before saying, "Then why do you like me so much?".

Your breath caught in your throat as you were trapped by the intense gaze in his eyes. Those dangerous, smoldering, bedroom eyes always seemed to have an irresistible effect on you. The words that followed, said in a tone that ignited a wildfire within you, made you feel an almost overwhelming urge to drop to your knees in front of him. “No, No, No. I’m mad at him. It doesn’t matter how much I would love for him to take away my ability to walk right now. Keep it together,” you thought to yourself, feeling butterflies flutter through your stomach.

You remained quiet and continued to stare at him, watching him raise his eyebrows in the brattiest way possible as a result of how he easily silenced your bitching and moaning and because of how you had absolutely no response for him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he leaned over and whispered in your ear, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine. “Cat got your tongue?”.

“I’m not playing this game with you right now,” you rolled your eyes and snapped, starting to back up and walk away before you felt his warm hand wrap around your wrist and pull you right back to him.

A playful smirk danced across his lips as he pulled you into his embrace, immediately planting a trail of soft, teasing kisses along your neck, successfully redirecting your attention.

“Joe,” you whispered, trying to get out of his hold but struggling because of how he was holding you so tightly and pressing kisses all along your neck—your favorite spot to be kissed. “Oh fuck,” you lightly whimpered, feeling him nip and bite at your skin as he wrapped his hand around your neck and gently squeezed it.

“Hm? Why do you like me so much then?” he mumbled as he dropped wet kisses up to your ear. “If I’m such a horrible boyfriend, why don’t you just leave?”.

“Fuck, Joe,” you accidentally moaned, feeling him start to suck on your favorite spot which made a pang of arousal shoot up your spine. “So much for trying to keep it together,” you thought to yourself. “This has to be a massive ego boost for him,”.

It definitely was. He took pride in knowing that he could so easily make you forget about your anger towards him by simply doing what he did best, skillfully and attentively worshiping every inch of your body.

“Hm,” he laughed against you. “I guess that’s why you don’t leave,”

“You’re being a brat,” you said a few seconds later as you threaded your fingers through his frosted tips, pushing his head closer to your neck. Your actions are a complete juxtaposition to the words that came from your mouth. You were mad at him, but you weren’t acting like it. The sounds leaving your lips, your needy touch, it was all the complete opposite of what you were saying.

“No, you’re being a brat,” he said as he moved out of your neck and looked into your firey eyes.

He had some nerve to be calling you a brat right now. You weren’t the one that had been ignoring him tonight or the one that had been brushing him off all month. “Go fuck yourself, Joe,” you spat out, the bitterness evident in your words, but it seemed to have little effect on him.

“How about you fuck me instead?” he boldly said while giving you the same tempting, inviting eyebrow raise again.

“If he looks at me like that again, I swear to god I’m going to end up pregnant. Fuck. Why does he have to look at me like that when I’m trying to be mad at him,” you thought to yourself. Gradually, the intense anger, sadness, and constant irritation towards him turned into strong feelings of fierce desire, urgent need, and passionate emotion.

As you stood face to face, a noticeable tension filled the air, the heat rising as if a fire had been torched between you. His passionate gaze reached into you, sending jolts of electricity through the space. It felt as though he was silently expressing that he had the power to make you forget everything, if only you would allow him to.

And god you wanted him to.

You quickly reduced the space between you both and smashed your lips against his, his hands dropping down to your waist and holding you tightly as a smirk rose on his lips. “Told you. This is why you don’t leave,” he whispered in between the messy kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, completely melting under his fervent touch.

“Shut up,” you smirked as you trailed kisses along his jaw before he pulled your lips back to his, both of your bodies calling each other’s names as you got lost in each other.

He moves his big hands down to your ass, giving each cheek a gentle squeeze before whispering, “Jump,” in between the kiss. You do as he says, jumping and wrapping your legs around his middle as he holds you tightly, walking towards the stairs and taking you straight to the bedroom, all without breaking the restless kiss.

A few minutes later, you’re both naked and lying on the bed as Joe spends a bit more time peppering kisses along your neck, your neediness getting more and more vocal as he refuses to do the thing you actually need him to do.

“Joe, please,” you whimpered as you felt his nose brush against your jaw while he sucked on a spot on your neck, your body squirming under his large frame.

“You can’t be mad at me like that and expect me to give you what you want so easily,” he smirks after he moves from your neck and looks into your eyes with mischievous intent.

“Fuck you,” you scoffed while tilting your head to the side and refusing to look at him.

“Oh you will, all in due time, baby,” he whispered in your ear, then gently lifted you up in a tender embrace and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Straight across from the mirror.

“What’re you doing?” you ask him as he sets you in his lap, both of you facing the mirror.

“You see that, Y/N?” he asks as he points to you in the mirror. “That’s you,” he adds as he continues to look up and starts to press wet kisses around your shoulder. His hand snakes around your waist, rubbing your belly with his long fingers as they start to navigate down to your thigh.

“I know,” you sigh, tilting your head to the side as his kisses get closer to your neck.

“You’re not invisible, baby,” he says as he plants kisses in a path up to your ear as his fingers move down to your core aching core. “You’re right here,” he whispers, a moan escaping your lips as you feel his fingers slide against your wet heat.

“Joe,” you whimper tipping your head back and closing your eyes, the feeling of his hot body underneath you combined with the feeling of his long fingers at the place where you need him the most becoming too much for you.

“I see you, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear, the tip of his cold nose pressed against it. “I always see you, I always hear you. You’re not invisible,” he says before pressing a kiss to the corner of your ear, then pressing his fingers against your sensitive clit.

“Ah, Joe,” you moaned, feeling a jolt of pleasure rip through your body. Before you can move your head back forward to say something, you feel his fingers dip inside your core with no warning, earning another sound of pleasure from your lips. “Fuck,” you moaned as you practically melted into his embrace even more.

His fingers begin to pump in and out of your core, more soft groans and whimpers falling from your lips as he drops slow, hot kisses around your face. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps as he drops his head down to your shoulder again, spending more time cherishing that part of your body.

The sensation of his skillful fingers stretching you out and filling you makes you want to forget about everything that happened. Joe always had the ability to make you forget your worries and tensions in an instant, but this might have been a new record.

“Joe, please…I..,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his as your body begs for more.

"Hmm, it's not that easy, baby," he says with a smirk, his voice oozing with cockiness. You can sense the power he holds over you, and it's clear that he finds it entertaining. He is fully aware of the effect he has on you and revels in it. You hated that he could easily get you like this, but you loved it so fucking much.

His fingers continue to thrust in and out of your core, his touch becoming hotter by the second as you feel yourself inch closer to your release. “You don’t sound like you’re mad at me,” he said as he used his other hand to push your head forward so that you were looking in the mirror again.

“Fuck,” you moaned when you saw his captivating dark blue eyes at the same time as you felt his fingers hit the spot inside of you. “I…I’m so…mad at you,” you struggled to get out, a whimper squeezing in between your words.

“Sure,” he chuckled as he rested his chin on your shoulder, increasing the pace of his fingers.

You watched as his fingers disappeared in and out of your dripping heat, faint sounds of your wetness filling the room as you slowly moved your eyes back up to meet his. The look he had told you a number of things; he was horny as hell (just like you), he was enjoying seeing you struggle like this, and he was genuinely sorry about everything.

The apologetic twinkle in his eyes produced a profound and intense emotion within you, igniting a powerful and overwhelming feeling. He was fully aware of his mistake and this was his way of expressing it to you. “Joe,” you screamed as you felt the band in your stomach tighten, your body gently trembling above him as you felt overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Look at you, you’re right there, Y/N. Not hidden, not transparent, and certainly not fucking invisible. Especially not to me,” he whispered in your ear, his husky, raspy voice being the final thing you needed to tip right over the edge.

You feel an intense, deep, and warm feeling pool in your belly, you were so so so painfully close. But just to your surprise, Joe suddenly pulls his fingers out of your core, earning a dissatisfied shriek from your lips. “What the fuck, Joe,” you panted, your core pulsing at the tension that was still there, the tension you thought he’d release for you.

“Told you,” he smirked as he looked into your eyes through the mirror. “Not easy,”, a soft kiss landing on your shoulder before you feel yourself being lifted up again, turned around, and pushed down to the bed a little roughly.

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.” you groaned at him a few seconds later, your eyes having that fire in them that he so desperately loved.

“That’s your job, baby,” he winked as he kneeled down on the bed, hovering over you. “But, I’ll be nice for a little bit and help you out,”.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, but before you can, he smashes his lips against yours and rests the head of his hard cock at the entrance of your core. “You want me to give you attention? Here you go,” he mumbles a few seconds later with a cocky grin, and then you feel him push into you with a roughness that drove you wild.

“Ah, Joe,” a guttural moan escaping your lips as you scrunch your nose, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He was wasting no time with you, and you loved that.

A jolt of pleasure rips through your body again as he starts to move inside of you, his movements so thorough and intense but rough at the same time. His hand firmly grasps your waist, communicating a sense of possession and intimacy, making it clear to you that you belong entirely to him.

His body was telling you that you weren’t losing him, that you could never lose him. You could never lose him because he would never let you, he’d never let go of you.

“Fuck, Y/N,�� he moaned as he felt your hands travel to his hair, gently tugging on the strands as you rested your lips on his neck. He begins to snap his hips against yours hard, every thrust sending you further back into the bed and making you forget about everything that ever bothered you in your entire life.

“Joe…fuck, I’m…,” you panted. “Fuck,” you trailed off.

“I know, baby. I know,” he smiled.

He continues to thrust into you and sets a pace that makes you feel like you’re practically flying through the clouds. It feels euphoric the way he knows exactly how to send your body to its pleasure, almost other-worldly. He was just so good at it.

The way he was worshipping your body, basically fucking the anger out of you was something your brain couldn’t comprehend. He was the only person who was capable of doing this to you, getting you so frustrated, hot, and bothered, and then having you completely and utterly raw the next second–emotionally and physically.

Joe was aware that your anger towards him and his recent behavior stemmed from genuine pain. He deeply regretted causing you this pain and slapped himself mentally, repeatedly, for making you feel invisible, even for a second. You were the center of his galaxy, and he needed you to know that you still were and nothing had changed.

He moves his lips back to yours, capturing them in an intimate kiss that stifles your moans. The delicious feeling of his cock filling you up and his lips against yours is all you could have ever wanted. The way he was moving against you was creating a haze in your brain, almost like a lavender haze.

The haze surrounded you, signaling that you were immersed in a love that consumed every part of you.

Joe consumed every part of you. He was the lavender haze, and you wanted to stay in that haze for as long as humanly possible.

Even though you were mad at him, you couldn’t stay mad at him. He loved you and you knew that, and now he was showing you that he did. This was his way of reassuring you that he was right here with you.

“Baby,” he moaned, feeling himself get lost in the pleasure you were bringing him. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned.

“Joe, my god,” you whimpered, feeling your already built-up release getting stronger again. “I’m so close,” you whined, feeling him somehow quicken his pace. You looked down at him, watching how he roughly pounded into your wet heat and how his muscular body was glowing in the soft light of your bedroom.

“Cum for me, baby. I know you’re there,” he moaned in your ear before dropping his head to your neck.

“Ah,” you whimper, feeling your body start to tremble again, you were just seconds away from letting go.

One particular hard, well-placed thrust later, you were screaming his name as you pushed your head back into the pillow to brace yourself for your orgasm. You felt like a dam had just burst, and the pressure built against it was finally free. Wave after wave of pleasure rips through your body as Joe keeps hammering into you and each time you feel your high come down, it shoots right back up because of his movements. The feeling of your walls wrapping around him, squeezing and hugging his cock made him smile, almost as much as the sound of his name leaving your lips like a sacred chant.

“Joe,” you whispered, feeling yourself finally come down from your peak. You looked down and saw that he was still moving inside of you, trying to reach his own peak. “Joe,” you said again as you threaded your hands into his hair and lifted his head, “Flip us,”.

He looked at your glossed-over eyes with his tired ones, a dirty smirk forming on his lips at the idea of what you were asking him to do. “Okay,” he winked, wrapping his big hands around your torso and easily flipping you over all in one go. Despite how tired he was physically, he could never be too tired for you.

“He’s so fucking strong. Fucking hell,” you thought to yourself as you straddled his waist, taking in his tousled golden curls, his thick muscular chest which was coated with a thin layer of sweat, and then his large cock–which was practically calling for you.

You grabbed his erection, guiding the tip between your drenched folds as you saw his face contort in pleasure and a hiss leaving his lips–he was close. You lifted your hips from his and sat up on your knees before lining up his cock with your core and sinking straight down onto it. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned as he closed his eyes, his hands landing right on your ass with a light ‘slap’.

You leaned forward and placed your hands on his pecs, sliding up and down his cock at the same pace he was pounding into you. “Yeah,” you whispered as you felt yourself feel a shock of pleasure coarse through your vein, just as Joe felt coursing inside of him.

“Y/N, baby,” he groaned, “You feel so good, fuck,” he said while digging his head back into the pillow, having the time of his life watching you take over and ride him into oblivion.

“I know,” you said to him with a cocky grin which made him raise his eyebrows again, the same way he did earlier.

It was that same bratty, sexy, that made you think ‘get me pregnant right the fuck now’ eyebrow raise.

“Fuck,” you moaned after you saw him raise his eyebrows and his cock hit that spot inside of you.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, feeling his ego shoot up because even though you were in ‘control’, he was still, actually in control. Especially over you, and it was so obvious.

You continued to slide up and down his length, occasionally moving back and forth as his moans got louder and his grip on you got tighter. His eyes were fixated on your breasts that were bouncing up and down right in his view, his hands were stuck to your ass and were kneading your plush skin, and his hips were starting to thrust up into you.

“I’m close, fuck,” he moaned as he felt your walls tighten around him–you were close too, again.

“O- oh, fuck,” you whimpered while falling forward, your chest pressed against his. “Joe, you’re so fucking…,” you trailed off as a moan interrupted your sentence. “I’m gonna cum,” you whispered against his swollen, plump lips.

“Y- yeah, me too,” he panted, snapping his hips into yours harder. A few seconds later, your bodies moved against each other in perfect harmony for the final time as both of your releases hit at the same time, both of you feeling like your breaths had just been taken away by the intensity of your orgasms.

“Joe,” you screamed, feeling your high hit you again like a ton of bricks, stars filling your eyes as your second release soaked your lower halves as you felt Joe’s cock twitch inside of you.

“Fuck, Y/N…oh my god,” he rasped as he shot hot spurts of cum inside your wet, hot cunt, slowly thrusting whatever came out back into your core. His hands were gripping your hips now, so incredibly tightly that you were sure they would leave a small bruise. You looked down and saw how his nose was scrunched up, how his bottom lip was stuck between his teeth, and how his eyes were filled with love, regret, and admiration towards you.

A couple of minutes later, you were both lying next to each other, trying to catch your breath and make sense of everything that happened in the past hour or so. Joe turned his head to the side to look at you, taking note of how you were biting away at your bottom lip–something you did when you were anxious.

You were in fact anxious. Your argument was bad, and whatever happened on this bed was amazing, but where did it actually get you? Yeah, you were much calmer and in your senses (kind of?) for the most part, but you had hardly talked about the reason you two even got to this point.

Joe, with a mix of feelings, let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. He gently put his arm around your bare shoulder, pulling you close to his warm chest. Amid your overwhelming confusion, he became your safe haven even though he was the reason you were confused in the first place.

You felt the gentle touch of his lips as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. He then rested his mouth and nose against it, inhaling your natural fragrance. This simple act brought him a unique sense of comfort that no one else, not even his friends, could provide. It was this deep connection that made him realize the need to apologize to you. You were right, you were always right.

“Baby?” he asked you, causing you to look up at him with your tired eyes.

“Y- yeah?” you rasped, your voice scratchy from the activities you were partaking in just a few minutes ago.

“I’m so, and I mean so fucking sorry for what I did,” he sighed. “I really didn’t mean to make you feel invisible or ignored this past month, you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry that I haven’t been giving you the attention you deserve lately, especially because you do so much for me, more than anyone ever has or ever will,” he sniffled, his eyes welling with tears.

“Joe,” you pouted, moving your hand to cup his soft cheek and rubbing your thumb under his eye, seeing how glossy his eyes got all of a sudden. “It’s okay, I promise,”.

“It’s not, Y/N,” he said with another gentle kiss to your forehead. “I told you that you were the center of my galaxy, and you are. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t anymore, that’s so fucked up. I should’ve talked to you about all of this and shouldn’t have expected you to say something first. I was the one that needed to get myself straight and I’m so sorry that I let things get to this point,”.

You felt his hand moving in gentle, soothing circles on your back, providing a comforting and secure touch. In his arms, your worries and tensions seemed to melt away in two distinct ways: the intimacy you shared in the bedroom, and the reassuring feeling of his current actions.

“I just felt like I was losing you,” you admitted. “I was scared that we were drifting apart and I just-,”.

“No,” he interrupted. “You’re not losing me, baby. You’re never going to lose me,” he softly said as he moved his hands into your hair. “I’m not gonna let that happen, not now and not in 15 years when we’re middle-aged and have two kids running around and are arguing about who has to drive the kids to school the next morning,” he smiled.

A soft chuckle left your lips as you imagined what he was saying, an image of your promising future with Joe filled your mind–and it was oh-so sweet. “Obviously you. I need beauty sleep,” you chuckled.

“Noted,” he smiled as he pulled you closer to him as if you weren’t already stuck to him like glue. He opened his mouth to say something again, and the tone of his voice knew that what he was about to say could easily make you cry, “I don't think I could find the right words to describe the depth of my love for you. What I feel for you overpowers any other emotion I've ever experienced. It's as if my soul has finally found its missing piece in you. I will choose you, again and again, without hesitation. No one else can make me feel the way you do. You mean everything to me. When I look at you, I see my life partner, my best friend, my everything. You have the unique ability to improve every aspect of my life–every laugh becomes brighter, and every tough day feels more manageable because you're there for me. You have given me a type of love that I never thought possible, and I'll forever treasure the way you've positively impacted my life. My love for you is something I'll wholeheartedly protect because no one else will ever have my heart the way you do. From the moment we met, I felt something unique about you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, and I know I never will. You're my heart, my soul, and the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. No one else will ever come close to producing the feelings I have for you, and I'll always do everything in my power to ensure you feel as cherished and adored as you deserve.” he said while playing with your messy hair.

You felt tears falling from your eyes after he finished talking, you didn’t even realize when you started crying, but you were. “Wait, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he softly said as he leaned down and cleaned up your tears by placing kisses on each droplet. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his softness so adorable and genuine.

“It’s okay, Joey,” you grinned, a few sniffles coming from your nose. “I’m crying because of how much I love you. What you said…that means a lot,”.

“I mean it, Y/N. I’m genuinely so sorry for tonight, for this past month, for all of it. You are always number 1 for me and I need to show you that more from now on. I don’t deserve you at all, but I have you, and I won’t overlook something as valuable as you or not take advantage of the fact that you, this amazingly sweet, sexy, empathetic, down-to-earth, incredibly genuine, kindhearted, funny & sometimes slightly boring…” he started to say before you interrupted him.

“Ouch,” you giggled as you patted his chest, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“...boring but unpredictable, loving, insanely beautiful, and charismatic girl has my heart in her hands,” he finished saying. “I love you, Y/N. I need to do better for you, and from this moment on I will. You deserve to be loved with 150% effort and I’m going to make sure you do. The guys can wait. I’ve spent enough time with them for them to go a couple of weeks, even months without seeing me. It’s you and me now and forever,” he said to you, his soft, loving eyes acting as a mirror to his soul–which showed his genuine and raw intentions and were exactly as he was describing to you.

“I love you, Joe,” you smiled as you felt him brush his lips against your lips before planting a deep, passionate kiss to them.

“Time to get things back on track,” he said a few seconds later, sitting up on the bed and bringing you with him. “It’s too late for our dinner reservation but I’m going to get it shifted to tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to the banks for some stargazing and a late-night picnic. We can pick up some pizza and ice cream from that place by the stadium on our way,” he nodded, talking you through the plan as if he had thought about this deeply, but he didn’t. He was coming up with all this on the fly. “Then tomorrow morning after we wake up, we can go on a little hike in that part by my parent’s house in Athens. It’ll be a drive but we can hike around there since it’s so pretty this time of the year and see my parents, maybe even get lunch with them at our favorite cafe over there before heading back home for dinner tomorrow night. On Sunday, it’s a full lazy day inside. We’re going to stay in our pajamas all day, do a Twilight movie marathon because I remember you saying you want me to watch them with you, order food to the house for lunch and dinner, maybe even bake some cookies or something, and then spend the rest of the day in bed. Preferably with no clothes,” he grinned.

You were left speechless as you looked at him, impressed by how effortlessly he had drafted these plans without considering his own weekend schedule. The sight of him thinking on the spot filled you with affection, and your heart swelled with a mix of emotions.

You leap forward and wrap your arms around his neck as you smother his face with gentle kisses, “I loveeeeee youuuuuuuuu,” you giggle, feeling him wrap his arms around your waist and hearing his soft chuckles in your ear.

“I love you too, baby. You’re the shining force at the center of my galaxy, the light that everything else revolves around. Like the planets drawn to their sun, my life is pulled by your existence, and I know that for us to thrive, our orbit needs to be steady. Every moment with you is a delicate balance of love, trust, and effort–each one keeping us aligned, making sure our world doesn’t drift apart. I’ll protect that balance, making sure that no matter what forces try to interfere, we stay on track, always revolving around the core of what we’ve built together," he says to you, his heartfelt words, his embrace, the genuine look in his eyes all making you fall deeper in love with him.

"This is why I like you so much," you grin as you meet his baby blues, answering his question from earlier.

"What do you mean?" he asks you, licking his lips as he uses his hand to move his hair back.

"I like you because you're the most thoughtful, raw, incredibly well-spoken, smartest, nerdiest, most adorable and manly, genuine person I've ever met in my entire existence. You make me mad sometimes, but you also know exactly how to fix what you did and make everything even better than it was before. You're always making an effort to fix things. Yeah, you can be a dick, asshole, and oblivious idiot sometimes...,".

"Hey!" he gasps, acting like he was offended over what you said.

"But you're my obvious idiot and I love you for everything you are. You love me, like really love me and I know that and you never fail to make me know that. Also because you're like super sexy and I can't get enough of you and that damn eyebrow raise," you giggled.

"Oh, you like that?" he asked, giving you that eyebrow raise again.

"Do that again and we're staying in this bed the rest of the night," you smiled at him and said. "I might even end up pregnant by the end of it,".

Joe was stunned at your words, "Damn, so you really like that," he slowly nodded with a smirk.

"Really may be an understatement. Just know that you don't want to be inside my brain whenever you do that eyebrow raise," you winked. "I don't think we have enough anti-horny spray to get rid of the thoughts in my head,".

"Being perpetually horny is good for the soul, babe. Embrace it," Joe smiled as he leaned in and slowly kissed you in a way that made your toes curl and your body light on fire.

He fell back down against the pillows and brought you down with him. "Joe," you said in between the kiss, "We have to go," you smiled.

"Another round won't hurt," he said while giving you the eyebrow raise again, now knowing what it did to you.

You rolled your eyes, "Fuck, you're going to use that every damn time from now on, aren't you?".

"Maaaybe," he grinned as he brought you back down to his soft lips.

–The End–

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joeburrow #joey burrow #nfl imagine

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0mg-bird · 7 months ago

Text

Look Of Love~ S. Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: All the moments you had to tell him exactly how you feel, and yet it comes down to this one, where the words ‘I love you’ might save his life.

Warnings: Violence, angst, Reid being a kicked puppy, blood, tw! Tobias Hankel!

Season 2 Reid x Fem! Agent! Reader

Everything was going fine, wasn’t it? Well, about as fine as you can consider a case about a serial killer who believes he’s doing the work of God, to go.

But he was fine.

And that was what made things fine.

Well, until the whole thing crumbled and there was a sharp pain in your lungs that isn’t about to cease. JJ and Spencer left to find the location of Tobias Hankel’s home, that was about an hour ago. You had watched as he holstered his gun, preparing to get into the car and leave you.

“You’re still not coming with me.” He says towards your silent pining.

“Spence.” You argue, though he just turns to look at you amused.

“We’re just going to talk to this guy, he’s just a witness. They need you here.” He reasons, reassuring you with a smile.

His words always seemed to calm you down, it’s like magic, the Reid effect. So you nodded and rolled your eyes as he tucked your hair behind your ears, a quirk he’s always done because he knows how much you hate your pointy ears.

There was no argument, you and Spencer were the closest ones out of the rest. It’s a kind of peaceful friendship, the two of you just played in harmony so well. He knew all of your secrets, you knew almost all of his, and you weren’t shy to tug on his arm or secretly join your hand in his under the table during meetings. Spencer was more than okay with it, learning that’s just how you act with people you are comfortable with.

And while the two of you were convinced it wasn’t a relationship the team would bat an eye at, your friends often had secret discussions in regard to you.

“This whole ‘friendship’ scheme…do they really buy it?” Emily asked one morning as she watched you take a drink of coffee and cringe at the too sweet taste, then give it to Reid and take the one he had been drinking.

Reid isn’t a fan of germs.

But in his mind, yours aren’t so bad.

“Oh no, they’re still convinced they’re just close friends.” Morgan chuckled, answering the woman’s question.

“She loves him.” JJ added in a matter of fact tone. “It’s honestly a little sad…she doesn’t want to admit it out loud.”

“Why?” Emily’s brows furrow.

“Afraid she’ll ruin the friendship.” Morgan simply says.

At that, the female agent scoffs. “Reid’s obviously in love with her, no friend looks at another friend that way.”

They watch intently at the eye contact being shared, and how expressions change when Reid walks away from you.

“They look like kicked puppies.” JJ frowns. “Morgan, go talk to him, I can’t stand this anymore.”

The man looks at her in confusion. “And say what? I can’t just tell a man how he feels.”

Emily argues. “Reid doesn’t know what he feels, he’s confused, put him out of his misery.”

As Morgan goes to open his mouth, Hotch appears with his signature scowl and the conversation was dropped and done with.

Though it was never forgotten.

The entire team saw the lovesickness between the two of you…and yet, you couldn’t fix it.

There were plenty of times you could have confessed, many perfect moments that were ruined by your fear of the feeling not being mutual.

And after a while, the words seemed to try and escape on their own accord. Like in the moment he goes to leave and you call to him one last time.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit?” He said, scanning your face intently like he always seemed to do.

“Yeah, see you soon, I lo-”

Your heart beats loudly in your ears and you seal your lips, feeling betrayed by your own words. He looks at you, puzzled, then leaves.

You should have told him.

You should have just told him.

Because now, gun drawn, searching Hankel’s house, Spencer is no where to be found.

JJ was in the barn out back, looking rather disheveled and scared when she was found, but she was safe and unharmed and Spencer was gone.

“We thought he was just a witness, I swear. Then Reid figured out he was the UnSub and...” JJ said to you over and over, feeling guilt in her bones, blaming herself for his abduction. She swore that she should’ve stayed with him, not split up like he said to. She means well…you just can’t think straight.

The team stayed inside the house overnight, working off of minimal hours of sleep, and daybreak came and you were sitting on the couch with your head in your hands, thinking of some plan on how you were going to find him.

“Hey.” Penelope greeted as you walk into the room with a multitude of computers she was searching for any clues.

“Hey.” You sigh, leaning on the desk beside her. “Anything yet?”

She shakes her head. “No, sweet pea.”

You watch the videos of war and destruction on the screens, the right kind of fuel for a split personality maniac like Hankle.

“If Tobias is living as three people, and his father is the one that’s the evil side of his brain, then I think that’s who has taken Reid. We’ve been thinking like Tobias, we need to be thinking like his dad, right?” You question, turning to Morgan as he walks into the room.

He nods. “It’s a good idea, yeah.”

Suddenly, the computer screens in front of the three of you go black.

“What happened?” Morgan asks.

“I don’t know…” Penelope answers…

She tries to get the screens back up, but to all of your surprise, the live stream that comes on is something more horrific than what you were previously watching.

“Spencer.” The name leaves you as well as all the air in your lungs.

There he was, your pretty boy, sat in a chair, bloody and bruised and out of it.

Morgan yells for the others, but you’re frozen in place.

“Track him, Pen.” You say in a panic.

“I can’t, Hankle is only streaming this to his home computer.” She says in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” You worry. “This is some kind of joke? This is just for us to see?”

She nods slowly.

The team watches closely, listening to the way Hankle forces Reid to choose an innocent couple to get murdered.

You seriously think you’re going to be sick.

He struggles on the screen, choosing someone to be spared torture instead.

And as fast as he was in front of you, he’s gone from the live feed even faster. You stare at the blank screen with red eyes, then leave the room completely.

A full day wasted, you weren’t close enough to find him. You go back to couch and prepare for another sleepless night.

At some point, you must’ve fallen asleep, because you wake with a start at the feeling of something being different.

You make your way to the computer room where everyone is hunched over, looking at a map Penelope brings up.

“Good, you got some sleep.” Hotch says, barely sparing you a glance as you enter.

“What’s going on?” You ask, leaning into Morgan’s side.

“We think we found him.” He says to you, watching your eyes widen.

“What?” Your voice cracks and any lingering feeling of sleep is gone.

“We’re heading out in five.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Tying your hair up and rubbing your face, you pull a kevlar vest on and cinch the velcro shut. The entire car ride to the little shack, you’re twitching.

Everyone shares a look, because the way you act now is the whole reason they didn’t wake you when the live feed was back up. If you were to watch the way Reid was being beaten, Gideon isn’t sure you could handle it.

The team storms the shack, and you try hard not to lose hope when you come up empty handed yet again.

You curse to yourself. “They were here.”

“They couldn’t have gotten far, they’re on foot.” Hotch nods, immediately turning back out to search the cemetery you were in.

On high alert, you search through the dark, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“We’re gonna find him.” Morgan promises, but you can’t focus on anything besides locating Reid.

Closer and closer, you can almost feel it in your bones, the way your instincts guid you in a direction.

The only thing that halts your step is the sound of a single gun shot.

No.

No, it wasn’t going to end like this. It couldn’t.

Quickly, you head to that noise with your partners following after you.

“Spencer!” You shout, voice raw. “Spence?”

He looks up from Tobias’ body, and it’s like the entire world stops spinning. He’s there, he’s alive, he’s breathing ragged breaths and it’s all okay.

Hotch is there to help him to his feet, guiding him to stumble forward until he gains his footing. His head is dizzy and his hearing might be a little echoey but in a single moment, you’re there.

He grips onto you like you’re his lifeline, and you wrap your arms around him, stumbling to support his weight. A hand in his dirty hair, he feels your touch and knows you have to be real. That it’s your real form here that’s fighting to hold back tears and not the visions he’d see when he was out of it.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.” You promise, knowing he might not realize he’s shaking and mumbling.

Pulling back just a few inches, he’s leaning his forehead to yours and breathing too quickly.

“Hey, hey.” You say softly, gently cupping his face. “Look at me, Spencer, look at me, sweetheart.”

He sees the deep look in your worried eyes and tries to form a sentence, but for once, his big brain can’t figure out what to say.

You do though.

And for once, you aren’t scared to say it. Actually, you’re afraid of not saying it.

“Spence.” You breathe out, he breathes in like your air is what matters. Your hand gently smooths blood soaked hair back, trying to get him to calm down.

He says your name in reassurance to himself.

“Hey, I’m right here.” You say. “I’m right here, and I love you.”

His brain fog seems to clear, his confused brown eyes are searching your face like they always tend to do, and those three words are making a small smile pull on his cracked lips.

The hospital trip is almost too brief, just enough for him to get checked out and cleaned up, then you’re back on the plane to head home.

Curled in the corner of the small couch, you are barely asleep like the others, listening to music, head leaned against the wall. That’s before gentle hands pull your headphones off your ears.

Your eyes open and turn to see Spencer, sitting down beside you.

“Hey.” You whisper.

He sets the headphones down. “Hi.”

“You feel okay?” You ask, noticing the way he pulls your knees away from your chest so you sit normally.

He nods. “I feel about as good as someone who just got beat up would.”

You smile at his humor.

He tucks the hair framing your face, behind your ears, as always. “I was in and out of consciousness when you found me, I think, so I need to make sure that you actually said it and I wasn’t just lucid dreaming.”

You reach up to grab his hands. “Said what?”

He takes a deep breath. “That…you love me?”

His eyes are hopeful and wide, that’s what makes you nod.

“You weren’t imagining it…I love you, Spence.”

A smile forms on his face. “That’s good then.” He says, sure of himself.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

That when he flips your hold of his hands and joins one in his. “Because I love you too.”

There it was, the confession you’ve wanted for so long. There’s a moment of silence, then your free hand cups his jaw and he moves so close, your lips part just to breathe out slowly and then he’s there. Kissing you.

It’s soft, like you’ve been doing this for years.

He licks his lower lip after he pulls away, trying to savor the taste. Brushing your forehead to his for a second, you lean back and motion for him to follow. There’s no words that need to be spoken as he makes himself a bed in your lap, lying on his side that hurts the least and presses his face into your stomach.

Out like a light, the both of you.

Morgan nudges Emily a while later when they both wake, and he motions over to the lump on the couch. The woman grins.

“It took no interference at all.” She says.

Morgan smirks. “Nope, just a near death experience.”

Hotch scowls as usual. “We’re going to have to talk to HR about this.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fanfiction #x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #fluff #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubbler x reader #spencer reid x fem!readr #fem reader #spencer reid x fanfiction

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feeder86 · 8 months ago

Text

Maxed Out!

Those few seconds were pure heaven. Josh’s jaw dropped when he saw his new neighbor step out of his truck and start strutting a little way up the path towards his front door. Out from the corner of his curtains, he gasped at the man’s beautiful face and imposingly strong body; his t-shirt fitting impeccably well, the biceps on full show and the delicious pecs thrusting themselves forwards. Never in his life had he seen a man he had admired quite so much. But then the guy turned, giving Josh a great shot of his tight, muscular glutes and strong thighs on full display in only a pair of tight gym shorts. He was going back to the truck, the passenger door opening where a guy was just getting out as well. Like a gentleman, he went straight to him, took his hand and eased him out.

That was when the moments of bliss ended. Just as Josh was getting over the disappointment that his hunky, new gay neighbor was not single, the image of his boyfriend made his breath catch in his throat. It was a face he hadn’t seen in almost ten years and had dearly hoped he would never see again. He could feel his heart racing and his eyes bulging. It couldn’t be! Nathan? The guy who had made Josh’s high school existence an absolute misery. Fuck! Was he going to be moving in right next door? Josh wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Surely he wasn’t such a bad person that he would be deserving of this?

As if to rub salt in the wound, the beautiful, new, incredibly tall guy stooped down to kiss Nathan on the lips and he wrapped his strapping arm over his shoulders, both of them gazing upon the house they had just purchased. In his shock, Josh hadn’t realised that he had strayed out from behind the curtain, only noticing how exposed he was when the new guy caught his stare and smiled at him, waving politely at Josh through his window.

Instinctively, Josh threw himself back, filled with embarrassment. He couldn’t let Nathan see him. No way! Everything he had done in life seemed to evaporate: his successful career, his weight loss. He was reduced to being that shy, overweight, 280lbs eighteen year old boy no-one wanted to be friends with.

Josh swallowed. He really had come a long way since those days. Back then, he had been timid and unsure of himself at the all-boys school he attended with Nathan. He hadn’t been able to make friends quite like Nathan could, seemingly effortlessly. And, despite the fact that they were both out about their sexualities, it was only ever Josh who was made fun of for it; alongside his large, round belly and broad, dimpled, under exercised butt. In fact, rather bizarrely, the abuse was usually instigated by Nathan himself, who wanted to position himself as the cool, sporty and fun gay guy of the year group, doing his best to ensure that any homophobic bullying was sent Josh’s way instead. The tactic worked flawlessly.

Since then, Josh had fully embraced his sexuality and now maintained his low weight for over two years. College had been awesome and everyone in the neighborhood loved him here. So why hide out and pretend that he didn’t have the courage to face his old demons head on? Without even registering what his body was doing, Josh found his feet were suddenly leading him out of the door. It was, once again, that ridiculous side of himself, so desperate to please; the part of him that had made him such a target in high school; that made him open his own front door and smile at them both warmly in greeting,

“Hello!” he sang, wanting so desperately to speak only to the new guy, yet unable to tear his eyes from Nathan as the boy visibly grimaced in recognition of Josh. “Congratulations on the new house!” he smiled, hearing a slight crack in his voice.

As if sensing his lover’s disdain, the handsome, new guy looked down at his boyfriend in amusement. Nathan was being rude, and he knew it, so he unhooked his arm from his shoulder and strolled across the grass to shake Josh’s hand alone. “Nice to meet you,” he smiled in a deep, charming tone that sent a spark of lust through Josh’s whole body. “My name is Max,” he explained, turning back to his boyfriend and pondering. “But something tells me you two already know each other already…” he grinned, as if this scenario was all quite funny to him.

“Yes!” Josh tried to smile; his heart beating a mile a minute and feeling like his whole body had been transported back ten years as he was staring into the eyes of his bully, desperate to get away unharmed. “We were in school together,” he nodded, noticing for the first time that Nathan wasn’t quite as slim as he had been back then. His stomach was slightly thicker, as were his thighs and chest. He had a slight puddle of fat under his chin that should have given Josh confidence, considering all the weight he himself had lost in the last two years to become the slim, healthy-looking, pretty boy at long last. But… it didn’t. Despite being in the best shape of his life, Josh still felt like the fat boy Nathan used to target every day. “It’s lovely to see you again, Nathan!” he tried.

Nathan scowled and huffed. “Sure. You too,” he spat insincerely, averting his eyes back to Max straight away. “Honey, could you get my box from the back of the truck?”he asked.

Max sighed, playfully rolling his eyes at Josh. “Sure thing, Honey,” he called back, ripping off his t-shirt to reveal the incredible, muscular physique underneath as he prepared to set to work unloading.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Josh asked them both, like a glutton for punishment. All he really wanted to do was to get inside and hide away.

Max seemed to look him over; his thin physique and 150lb frame, dressed smartly in a well ironed shirt. “No,” he replied, assessing Josh to be fairly useless for the physical moving and carrying that would be his chore for the next hour. “I’ll be fine,” he smiled, giving him a charming wink.

Nathan waited until Max was out of earshot. It was a tactic Josh remembered well, already bracing himself. “You can stop looking at Max like that,” he grunted at him. “We’re not friends,” he hissed. “You were a prissy little no-body in school and…” he continued, eyeing up and evaluating Josh’s well maintained and impeccably manicured front yard, “...you’re clearly just the same now.”

“Nathan, this is silly…” Josh tried once more, summoning all his resolve. “We’re grown adults.”

“You think because you’ve lost a few pounds I’m going to let you be friends with me?” he laughed, always keeping an eye that Max wasn’t listening. “Go home, Josh. And stay there.”

Reeling, Josh did indeed go inside, cursing himself; imagining what a fool he had made coming out to greet them like that. Why did he have to give Nathan the satisfaction of even trying to be nice to him? Why couldn’t he accept that the guy would never tolerate him?

The teenager inside of Josh made a grab for control. He opened the cupboards and started whipping up a batch of cookie dough. He ripped open the ice cream and began spooning it into his mouth, knowing that food had been the only true comfort for him back in those dark days of high school. He would have been that way all night, gorging himself, had Kelly from next door not stopped by, knocking on the back door and seeing the mess in the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re making your famous oatmeal cookies for the new neighbors?” she’d assumed, full of smiles.

Josh nodded, pleased that a plausible excuse had just fallen so easily into his lap. Of course it had been Kelly who had been one of the first to introduce herself to the new couple next door. The woman thrived on the suburban gossip and would actively make it her mission to get around everyone on the street, sharing what she had gleaned from the fresh arrivals.

“They’re such a lovely couple, aren’t they?” Kelly went on. “Nathan works from home, y’know? His family owns a big share in the haulage company over by the docks. That’s probably how he landed a guy like Max! He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” she swooned. “I bet the family are rolling in it!”

Such a thought had crossed Josh’s mind too. Sure, Nathan had always been a good-looking guy, but he wasn’t as slender, nor as athletic as he had once been. Even to the untrained eye, Max seemed more than a little out of his league these days. Then again, Max seemed to be doing pretty well all by himself; his own sizable construction business’ name printed down the side of the two trucks they now had on the driveway. What reason would he have for settling for a slightly chubby guy from a wealthy family when he was clearly already doing well for himself already?

“I think they’re going to fit right in here,” Kelly nodded. “Nathan’s even coming with us to yoga class on Wednesday!”

Josh’s heart sank. He loved that yoga class, but there was no way he was going if Nathan was there as well. Already the spiteful boy was making a move on all his friends. He considered telling Kelly everything he knew about the real Nathan; their shared history and the bullying. But then everyone would know what a loser he had been back in high school. News like that had a way of spreading like wildfire, twisting and evolving as it passed from person to person. Could Josh handle that? More than ever, he wanted to leave his high school days in the past. Acting as if he didn’t know Nathan seemed like the best thing to do; especially if he didn’t want to be the source of neighborhood gossip.

“They smell great!” Max smiled, looking genuinely delighted at the large container of oatmeal cookies Josh had felt compelled to deliver to him after promising Kelly that he would. He’d hidden behind his curtains for nearly twenty minutes until he was sure that Nathan was inside the house, leaving Max alone in the front yard to unpack the last few boxes for the evening.

“It’s something of a tradition for me to make them when a new neighbor arrives,” Josh smiled meekly, still checking the porch to ensure that Nathan wasn’t about to reappear.

“Yes,” Max smiled back at him. “I’ve already heard about your excellent baking!” he offered charmingly. Clearly Kelly had spent quite some time telling him about all the neighbors. “Nathan is going to love these. He has quite the sweet tooth, y’know?”

Josh tried to smile back, but just the mention of Nathan’s name was enough to start making him feel as sick as he had back in high school. “Well, make sure you get to taste some as well,” he replied quietly. Back before Josh had gone on his weight loss journey, the recipe he had followed had been his absolute favorite. The cookies were far too nice for the likes of Nathan!

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!” Max joked. “Nathan is quite the glutton when he gets something sugary!” He looked sideways to check that his boyfriend wasn’t about. “It’s the reason why his ass is a lot wider than you probably remember it in high school!” he chuckled, theatrically masking one side of his mouth so that no one could read his lips.

Josh laughed, taking to Max straight away. Nathan had always been highly strung and awkward, but this guy was as relaxed and as wicked as they came. According to Kelly, they had only been together a few months. Max was the sort of level-headed man who would soon see through Nathan’s false facade. He had the air of a charming bad boy about him; someone who was rarely bettered in a battle of wits.

“Nathan’s always been a very handsome guy,” Josh conceded, not wanting to implicate himself in anything that could be considered unkind in front of Max.

“Oh, yeah, for sure!” Max smiled, nodding in full agreement. “But even handsome guys can overeat…“ he smirked. “Trust me, I doubt any of these cookies will ever see daylight again!”

Josh smiled politely and walked back to his house, his mind whirring away. Nathan would have to be very silly to let his appetite get the better of him and lose a man like Max. Josh had never imagined his old high school bully would get even a little chubby, yet there was no denying that Nathan was starting to let himself go a bit. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. The faster Max got fed up with Nathan’s expanding waistline, the sooner they could all be rid of him - for good!

The following week, Josh’s heart leapt with joy as he saw Max returning home with a full tray of doughnuts. He grinned. offering a silent prayer that Nathan would gorge on the lot and struggle to fit in his pants the next day. Despite the outward appearance of order and harmony within Max and Nathan’s house, it seemed obvious to Josh that the pair’s home must still be upside down after the big move. Why else would Max have come hom with take out every night that week, if not for that? Inside his head, Josh was adding up all the calories and just imagining what impact they may have on nasty old Nathan. Back when Josh was with his ex, he’d been verbally mocked for even looking at foods like that when he still had weight to lose. Yet, there was Max fetching and carrying it all in for him as if he had no idea how much foods like those could influence a guy’s weight when he didn’t work a manual job, like himself.

After skipping yoga for a couple weeks, Josh sensed the other ladies on the street starting to treat him a little differently; their husbands soon following suit. Perhaps it was the obvious extra pounds he was starting to carry on his stomach once more. His tummy had swollen and softened as he consoled himself with his own baking after each intimidating stare from Nathan every time he was unfortunate enough to see him outside. The others on the street were short and impatient, moving away from him as quickly as they could. There were scowls and forgotten invitations to backyard barbecues; clear signs that something was going dramatically wrong. It was happening all over again, just like last time. Nathan had spread his vicious lies and set Josh well within his sights. Josh could just imagine the guy’s smug, satisfied face after each made-up rumour he would tell. Now the neighbors huddled together with Nathan; their backs turned to Josh; an impenetrable wall. Josh watched on, filled with hopelessness, whilst being periodically glanced over at as they continued to discuss him; the outsider.

It was all too much. Josh felt like he had built up a life for himself, only for Nathan to come along and knock it all down. Pretty soon it was only the hapless Max who ever had a friendly smile for him. The ice cream, the cookies, the chocolate, they all called out to him when he came in feeling glum; Josh’s healthy eating regime shattering into a million pieces.

Clothes were tightening, the extra pounds spreading, and a reinflation of Josh’s previously toned body was a seemingly unstoppable process. His butt had always taken the brunt whenever his diet had failed him, but the build up of pure fat felt so much more extreme this time. Josh avoided the mirror, stuck to his loosest fitting outfits and attempted to ride out the winter, assuring himself that all would come right again, once the darkness ended.

It was Spring when Max was cutting the grass in his front yard. With his shirt off, Josh suspected that he wasn’t the only one on the street twitching at the curtains. Even the oldest residents could attest to the fact that there had never been such a handsome, masculine presence on this street. Not that Josh could ever hope to have a man like that now. He’d piled on so much weight over the winter months. He’d felt it all sliding back onto his body, invading his stomach and chest once more. His old t-shirts had come out of the attic, his former pants and jeans. He could feel it under his chin, bloating up his face, jiggling in his love handles and swelling up his butt; 45lbs of pure lard, developed from months of comfort eating due to the quiet isolation he now felt. Dating was out of the question; at least not until he got a grip of himself again. But when would that be?

Max was cleaning the blades of the mower when his miserable boyfriend came trotting out carrying a cool glass of lemonade for him. Wearing loose, unflattering sweatpants, Nathan hovered above his crouching man as if he was utterly oblivious as to how gigantic his butt looked. Winter had been hard on him as well it seemed, Josh smiled. It was completely transformative! Rather than being a little over-padded, Nathan’s butt and love handles had swollen to a width that would make jaws drop. This was a fat boy, without a doubt, having piled on even more than Josh himself. It wasn’t even as if he had become more shapely or especially masculine, but more like a hose had been inserted into his rear and pure blubber pumped in as much as he could take.

Max’s face lit up upon seeing his boy, rising to his feet, strapping his hands onto that big butt and pulling him in for a kiss. He seemed to revolve Nathan slightly so that his hefty rear could be seen even by those living across the street; the guy’s strong hands genuinely appearing to revel in the size of those lardy glutes.

Nathan laughed and patted the horny boy away, trotting back into the house and inadvertently giving Josh a better look at the rest of his body: that double chin, the puffy arms, the rounded tummy, the larger mounded chest. Just what had the boy been eating whilst he worked from home all these months? He had completely ballooned!

Josh’s attention turned back onto Max: a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he watched Nathan disappear from view. It had been him, Josh realised, as the handsome boy chuckled to himself and crouched back down to clean the lawnmower blades. Barely a night had gone by when Josh hadn’t caught sight of him carrying something tasty in for his lover after a long day at work. He’d enabled it all. Hell, he might as well have had his name tattooed on that oversized rump of Nathan’s. Yet… he was still attracted to the awful boy. What sort of a guy put up with a weight gain like that? Certainly not any of the ones Josh had ever dated; constantly criticising his appearance and making him feel unworthy of their love, he thought bitterly to himself. Yet, there was the completely undeserving Nathan, likely far exceeding 240lbs, and still actively garnering the attention of a man like Max.

There was no such thing as karma. Life wasn’t fair. People never really got what they deserved. Some guys were just born lucky.

It had been a slip at work that had done it. Josh was laid up on his couch resting his broken ankle and feeling more than a little sorry for himself that May. Whilst he enjoyed the freedom of being single, living alone was not always easy when things weren’t going great. Two weeks into the healing process and already the house looked a mess. He was existing off microwave meals, working from home and moving as little as possible, just as the doctor had ordered. He thought of all the times he had been there to help others on the street when bad luck had befallen them; yet no one had called round to check on him. With his parents gone and brother living so far away, Josh had never felt so isolated in his life. That was, until a large shadow crossed his window as the figure of Max could be seen in his front yard, mowing the grass for him.

Josh hobbled to the front door and caught his attention, thanking Max for coming to help even when he had not asked. His yard had never looked like such a mess; the beautiful flowers he looked forward to each summer going unnoticed, hidden behind an unruly forest of weeds and grass.

“Nathan’s away at a friend’s this weekend,” Max explained. “I’ve not got much to do anyway,” he shrugged.

Josh nodded, wondering whether even Max would dare to help him had Nathan been at home. Although he often caught the man in the front yard and exchanged a few simple, friendly words, he had always been keen to keep his guard up. He knew that, as a couple, Nathan would have spoken to him about why he didn’t like Josh. Perhaps they laughed about him behind his back. He could easily imagine that.

“Is there anything else I can do for you whilst I’m here?” Max asked kindly,letting himself in later that afternoon and stepping into Josh’s living area as he tried to get himself upright to greet the strapping man properly.

“No, you’ve already done so much! You’ve been a lifesaver!” Josh smiled. He looked down at his cast, wishing it away so that his life could get back to normal and not rely on others like he was having to right now. “What can I do to thank you?”

Max scratched his head in thought. “Maybe, when you’re better, you could make another batch of those cookies for Nathan?” he considered. “He guzzled the last batch down in no time at all,” he laughed, not hiding an element of mockery within.

Josh paused for a moment, unsure whether there was some sort of punchline coming from Max’s strange humor about his boyfriend’s appetite. “Sure,” he nodded at last. “I can do that.”

“Thanks,” Max smiled, dropping his head slightly and starting to shuffle out. But then he paused, turning back. “This must be pretty nice for you, huh?” he asked. “Nathan was such a bastard to you for being fat in high school, and now he’s the one carrying around all that extra weight? I imagine you feel pretty smug each time you see him?”

Josh stared at him. What sort of a question was that? He started to mumble a reply, realising that he didn’t even know what he was supposed to say. “Well, I’m hardly one to judge,” he finally replied softly. He hadn’t expected anyone to see him that day and his fat stomach wasn’t hidden in the slightest by the old, tight band t-shirt he’d slipped on earlier.

“Go on, admit it!” Max smirked. “You hate his guts!”

Again, Josh struggled to find words. “I wouldn’t say I hated him,” he lied.

“Why not?” Max asked. “He hates you. Loathes you, in fact! You should hear some of the things he’s been going around telling the neighbors.”

Josh frowned. “What’s he been saying?" he asked, immediately outraged. He took a breath, realising that he’d actually rather not know. He couldn’t say he’d ever really understood Max’s boyish humor, but his motives for saying these things eluded Josh. It was almost as if he enjoyed all the drama. “Okay…” he sighed, defeated.

“So, how do you feel about him?” Max pressed, not letting this go.

Not knowing what else to do, Josh shrugged and relented. “Fine. I don’t like him. Okay?“

Grinning with triumph, Max nodded with delight. “Good,” he smirked. “Make sure you channel that when you’re making him those cookies then: a little extra butter here, more sugar in there. Think of all the mean fat jokes he ever made about you,” he stated pointedly. “Make the greedy little piggy pay…”

Afterwards, Josh felt like he had slipped into a strange, alternative reality. Guys didn’t talk like that about their boyfriends; so why had Max spoken about Nathan like he was trying to stir up an old vendetta? Had they argued before he’d gone away that weekend? Was all not as it seemed next door? The whole thing could have been the start of a very scandalous neighborhood discussion had Josh been the type to share with the gossips. Not that anyone was really talking to him right now. As it was, Josh simply pondered it alone, slowly making up a batch of the cookies as Max had asked.

That Sunday, Josh yelled to Max as he headed out to pick Nathan up from the airport. He hobbled back into the kitchen, fetching the container of cookies so that he could hand them to him. The strapping man was waiting in his hallway expectantly, dressed in a smart shirt as if he was going to take Nathan straight out for dinner afterwards. His aftershave smelt enticing and the man’s eyes lit up when he saw the container so filled with cookies. He seemed genuinely thrilled to hold it in his hands.

“I hope there’s plenty of butter in these?” he asked seriously, studying the rise as if he knew what to look for.

Josh nodded, suddenly feeling under scrutiny. “You can look at the recipe,” he replied, unsure why he was so keen to please, even in this bizarre situation.

“That’s alright,” Max chuckled. “I trust you,” he whispered with a wink. “We’ve got his sister’s wedding coming up this month and I want him looking fat as fuck beforehand! He bought a suit for it months ago but… I have a funny feeling it won’t be fitting so well,” he smirked wickedly.

Max turned to leave.

“Do you…” Josh tried to ask, feeling uncomfortable with the way things were going down. “It’s just… I find it so strange. Do you not like Nathan, or something?”

Max looked like he wanted to laugh as he turned around to hold eye contact with Josh once more. “Of course I don’t!” he blasted. “Who the hell could actually like Nathan? Only absolute morons! You and I both know better than most… Nathan is not a good person.”

Whatever answer Josh had been anticipating, that had not been it.

“Then… Why are you with him?” he asked slowly, as if this was all too complicated for his brain; like he had missed some crucial detail that would tie it all together.

Max checked his watch and shrugged, no longer caring if he was going to be a little late to pick Nathan up. “I’m playing the long game,” he sighed. “Nathan and his family have been throwing their weight around for far too long in this town.” He looked at Josh as if he knew him far better than even he could realise. “Nathan’s father fired my dad when he questioned him about his business affairs; framed him for some corrupt dealings; gave my mom a nervous breakdown. We lost everything. Dad went to prison. I grew up in a trailer park with my grandparents.”

“That’s awful!” Josh tried to sympathise.

“It is what it is,” Max shrugged. “I can’t change the past.” He leaned against the wall, sighing with sadness. “I’m not the type to let bullies get away with things. But that attitude got me in so many fights back in high school, let me tell you!” he chuckled, almost with nostalgia.

Josh admired his fine, muscular body once more. Of course Max could handle himself. He was so built and tall, he wouldn’t need to take shit from anyone.

“I’ve come across many awful people in my time. Nathan is by far the worst of them all. He dated one of my best friends for almost a year. He had him working to the bone to please him, all the while fucking some guy who lived in their apartment building. He ran up a huge debt in my friend’s name, fleeced a ton of cash off him and walked away with the keys to their apartment. My buddy wrapped his car around a tree and only just escaped with his life. I saw it happening all over again, the whole cycle of cruelty that family is so good at. Only this time, I wasn’t too small to do anything about it.”

Josh nodded sympathetically. None of what he had heard surprised him, but it felt good to listen to someone else highlighting what a piece of work the woman actually was. “But, how?” he asked, still not understanding Max’s plan. “You can’t just be trying to fatten him up so that no one else will have him?” In Josh’s head, it didn’t compute. He couldn’t make the leap from the trauma of the past into the incredibly surreal present day situation going on next door.

“I sure can!” Max chuckled. “He’s a greedy boy. I spotted it in him straight away. It was always bound to happen sooner or later. I’m just speeding the process along…” He could see how sceptical Josh looked. “You know the real Nathan better than most people. He’s not charismatic, especially intelligent, or in any way kind. He’s just a pretty boy from a wealthy family. And he’s played those two cards his entire life, no matter the damage he leaves in his wake. I could tell you so much more about the things he’s done.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should…” Josh tried, hardly bringing himself to say it again “...fatten him up.” He knew, in some bizarre way, that he was possibly the only person Max had confided all of this in.

“Nathan was the one who put the drugs in your brother’s locker in high school, y’know,” Max jumped in. “He did it to spite you because you dared to talk back to him one day. He actually laughed about it when he was telling me how your brother got kicked out of school and your folks shipped him off to some military academy.”

Josh recoiled, knowing the exact and only moment he had dared talk back to Nathan in high school, now realising the devastating consequences it had had. He’d never suspected Nathan capable of planting the drugs back then. Not ever. But it was the reason Josh’s brother had gone into the army afterwards; why he had ended up stepping on that landmine.

“Nathan saw him in his wheelchair when he came here during the holidays,” Max went on. “He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even care.”

“Well, I guess he couldn’t possibly have known…” Josh tried to reason.

“Josh! When are you going to stop letting people push you around?” Max blasted, losing patience with him. “When are you actually going to stand up for yourself? Nathan has been ruining your life for years now and you’ve done absolutely nothing to try and stop him!”

Josh lowered his head. He’d always been such a timid creature, so desperate to please. But Max was right: Nathan was bad to the bone. He couldn’t find the strength to do anything about that in high school, but maybe now he could. “It’s not just the weight gain you’re using to get back at him, is it?” he asked, sensing now how sharp and clever the man before him was; ten steps ahead of everyone else, playing a game none of them even suspected.

Max nodded. “The weight gain is just…karma,” he smirked. “You don’t need to know the rest,” he stated seriously. “Keep your friends close and your enemies…” he rambled ominously. “I want to bring the whole lot of them down. That entire, rotten, corrupt family.”

“I believe you,” Josh smiled, viewing Max as the guardian angel he had always longed for. “I think, If anyone can do this, you can.”

The pair smiled at each other, understanding one another at last.

“I’ll make you some more cookies and treats,” Josh finally sighed. “I’m not saying I necessarily agree with that particular method of how you’re trying to get him back, but…I guess I’m willing to help in any small way I can,” he offered, hardly believing that the words were coming out of his mouth.

Max’s eyebrows rose up high and he chuckled in surprise. “Josh, Josh, Josh…” he tutted mockingly. “Are you serious? Or are you just saying this because you’re upset about everything I just told you?”

Josh swallowed. Max was a knight in shining armour, ready to save him from the most vile creature on Earth. Finally, there was someone willing to take Nathan on. If only he had had an ally like him back in high school. “I’m going to help you,” he stated calmly. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Once his foot was out of the cast two weeks later, Josh settled to his side of the bargain with enthusiasm. There were so many recipes he hadn’t tried in years given that he’d been losing weight. Now he was getting to have a go at them all, quietly helping his cunning neighbor get his own back on the man he was pretending to be in love with. Max would accept the treats and repackage them so that Nathan would have no idea they were especially baked for him from just next door.

“How was the wedding?” Josh asked Max as he came over to collect the cream cakes Josh had promised him before they left the previous weekend.

Max smirked wickedly, standing just inside the doorway. He had the musk of a strong, capable man after a hard day’s work, a scent which never failed to make every part of Josh tingle. “Awesome!” he nodded in delight. “Just as I predicted, Nathan couldn’t squeeze into his suit properly. He got himself so drunk on champagne that he fell over onto his huge ass for everyone to see, tearing the pants all the way through to the crotch!”

“Oh, I wish I could have seen that!” Josh chuckled, allowing more and more of his wicked side to emerge the longer he had been supporting Max.

“Here,” Max offered, pulling out his cell phone and showing Josh a picture of the tear. He leaned in closer; his strong arm holding the phone up in front of Josh’s face. It was the sort of closeness Josh looked forward to most of all. “His father was furious with him!” Max added, delighted with himself.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Josh smiled.

“So these are the cream cakes you promised, huh?” Max asked, taking the box from Josh. “Beautiful presentation, as always!” he winked.

Josh blushed a little. “Well, I know it’s just the calories you care about. But I can’t help myself. I enjoy making them look nice.”

“No, no… it all helps!” Max countered. “The fat pig can’t stop himself when they look as enticing as these! It makes my job a lot easier. Thank you.”

Chuckling with a little nervousness, Josh could hardly look Max in the eye. There was something about his enjoyment of all of this that really made him swoon for him. If he was being completely honest with himself, his efforts in the kitchen weren’t entirely about getting revenge on Nathan. These moments alone with Max were also a significant highlight. Not only was the man dripping with sex appeal, but when he spoke about how fat and heavy Nathan was getting, the whole thing seemed almost kinky and excitingly naughty.

“Well, to be fair, neither can I,” Josh admitted, trying not to take it all too seriously. “There were a couple more cream cakes in the box before I got a little peckish earlier.” He rubbed his fat stomach, knowing that the extra few pounds he’d added since baking so much for Max was its own cosmic justice for getting mixed up in this whole wicked plan to fatten up his old high school bully.

Max smiled at him in that cheeky, naughty way that made Josh’s knees want to buckle.

“My ass will soon be as big as Nathan’s!” Josh joked.

“Absolutely!” Max grinned, looking his body up and down like he was checking him out. “You won’t hear any complaints from me about that!”

Josh’s laugh caught in his throat. Was Max being serious with him? It was the most bizarre feeling he had had around him yet. On the one hand, the handsome guy was telling Josh he’d put on a few pounds. Yet, on the other… it definitely felt as if he was flirting at the same time. “I guess I’ll just have to watch what I eat from now on then…” Josh answered, if only to fill the silent void that would likely have followed had he not.

“Nah…” Max grinned. “Not every man wants to date a stick insect,” he winked. “I wouldn’t be doing any of this to Nathan if I didn’t quietly enjoy it.” He lifted a cream cake out of the container and placed it on the side. “For later,” he smiled at him. “For a man who actually deserves it…”

When Josh stood on the scales the next week, he was shocked to see that he was the heaviest he had been in over two years. He rubbed his fat tummy, able to grab full rolls of fat once again now he was 250lbs. His body was familiar and yet very different at the same time. Even at his heaviest, some 30lbs north of this, he had never carried the fat on his glutes like this before. He shook them, hardly comprehending the blubber that rocked and wobbled. But there was an even greater difference to the last time Josh was this size, one that couldn’t be reflected back at him in the mirror: a contentedness that seemed almost inexplicable. So what if he was fat again? Nathan was still considerably fatter. So what if he enjoyed his food? He’d always been a fat boy, no matter how ‘thin’ he had appeared until recently. He’d been a people pleaser for far too long. Now was the time to accept himself for who he truly was. A new Josh had been born.

“I thought I could smell you frying up doughnuts!” Max laughed, letting himself in through the back door, as he was now accustomed to doing. In this neighborhood, tongues would soon start wagging should he be seen to be coming over too often.

“I found a recipe online,” Josh smiled, still with his back to him as he fried. “I’ll put some to the side for you shortly.”

Max had found the recipe printout on the side and he whistled in delight. “Wow… you are quite the bad boy!” he teased. “This is one of the most fattening things I’ve seen you make yet!”

Josh turned, resetting the timer before the latest batch could come out. “I also made some cupcakes earlier,” he pointed to the cooling rack by the refrigerator. “I’ll put some icing on them and you can take some back with you. How long have you got?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” Max shrugged. “Nathan doesn’t know I’m back from the gym yet. He’s in the bathtub.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t get wedged in…” Josh teased, knowing that Max’s wicked sense of humour was rubbing off on him. “What a shame that would be!” he joked.

The man smiled brightly at him; that beautiful face, the wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You know, you’ve really come out of your shell these last few weeks,” Max beamed, admiring every part of him.

Josh ripped one of the fresh, sugar-coated doughnuts in half and put it in his mouth. “I’m just done with giving a crap about what other people think of me. I never realised how good it would feel just to… let it all go.”

Max seemed completely mesmerised by him as Josh ate the second half of the doughnut. He turned back around to pull the last batch out and turned the frier off. It was then that Josh heard him getting up from the stool he was perched on at the breakfast bar and come ever closer. Josh had known for a few days what would happen next; the inevitability of it all; the profound sexual tension. It began with Max’s large hands sliding onto his thicker hips. Max stooped down lower, resting his head on Josh’s shoulder and turned his face in towards his; the hunk’s sweet breath against Josh’s ear. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said,” he whispered.

Josh chuckled to himself. It was actually happening! He swivelled, his mouth meeting Max’s as they kissed sweetly and passionately for the first time. They pulled away, looking deeply into the other’s eyes before laughing and going back in for more. Max’s hands began sliding under Josh’s clothes, lifting his t-shirt off, lowering his sweatpants and feeling the fleshy areas of his body that no man had ever appreciated on him before. The sensation made Josh moan, only spurring Max on further as he lustfully consumed him. In no time at all, the clothes covering the lower halves of both their bodies were removed, Max pressing his oversized hardness into an oiled up Josh. He’d lifted the chubby boy up and placed him down upon the table, spreading his thick legs as he held the glutton’s feet aloft. The thrusting was firm, pleasurable and manic. Max pulled out, lifted his shirt off and used his tongue to warm Josh up until he felt ready to scream with enjoyment, before inserting himself back in and going at it once more. Josh felt at his large, doughy nipples as they rocked and jiggled from the motion, laying across the table top. Max too reached out for them, moaning with pure pleasure. The way he touched them was complete eroticism, bringing intense stimulation wherever his large hands went; especially when they started working Josh’s own hardness.

Josh could tell that Max was having to hold himself back. His enjoyment of his wobbling fat body was absolute. Josh could hardly believe that such a handsome, muscular man was actually making love to him, working so hard to ensure that they could both climax together. The inevitable conclusion, only moments later, was more satisfying than any sexual experience of Josh’s whole life.

Max seemed overcome afterwards, panting furiously. He lifted Josh clean up from the table and kissed him once more. “I’m falling in love with you. You do realise that, right?” he whispered sweetly, letting Josh know that, for him, what they had just done wasn’t only for fun.

Josh beamed, gazing up at the man he admired most in the world. He didn;t need to say anything back. At that moment, both of them just knew.

Having a relationship with another guy’s man was not something Josh had ever thought himself capable of. Then again, none of the men he had clumsily drifted along with since high school had ever been like Max. He was so hardworking and reliable; so handsome and kind. He brought out a side of him that Josh never knew existed, and boosted his confidence like no one had ever even tried to. The man was everything Josh could ever have wished for. But then, he was also still in a sham relationship with the guy Josh despised most in the world.

“No-one likes you here. You know that, right?” hissed an aggressive voice that made Josh jump as he deadheaded the last of the late summer blooms.

“Nathan,” Josh sighed, surprised that he hadn’t even noticed the fat lump coming towards him. Max was clearly working late, otherwise the blubbery bully would never have approached him like this in the evening. “How’re you?”

“You heard me, right?” Nathan battled on, ignoring Josh’s attempt at niceties. “No one likes you here.”

Josh continued with what he was doing. It was the first time he’d spoken to Nathan without his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I am very aware that nobody likes me around here, yes,” he replied calmly, snipping away at the faded flowers.

“You should just sell up and leave,” Nathan continued, getting closer. With his massive weight gain, he had the appearance of being even more intimidating than ever before.

Josh simply ignored him, continuing with his gardening. With so many windows facing towards his garden, there was no way Nathan would ever risk getting physical with him, as he used to when they were teenagers. However, Nathan still had the mindset of a reckless bully and needed to be treated with the utmost caution. Perhaps it was his weight that was making him feel so discontented this evening and in need of hitting out on Josh. Indeed, it was somewhat amusing to Josh that Nathan hadn’t so far tried to use Josh’s own weight gain to aggravate him. There could be only one reason for that: Nathan was well aware that he had packed on even more lard himself.

“If people don’t like me much around here, it’s because they believe a pack of lies, maliciously spread in order to ruin my reputation,” Josh simply offered in reply. “And if people actually like you, it’s because they believe all the lies you tell them in order to make yourself look better. Either way, I’d much rather be who I am, rather than you.”

“How’s your brother doing?” Nathan snapped back.

Josh took a breath. Nathan was a master at warfare. When he realised that one thing was failing to get a rise out of Josh, he could always flip to the next. It was flawlessly jarring and caught him off-guard each and every time. Josh could sense Nathan’s power growing.

“That’s one sweet wheelchair he uses these days,” the bully taunted.

In an instant, Josh felt all his patience evaporate. The end had officially arrived. There the hose pipe lay next to him. He reached for it swiftly, knowing the gun was set to the most powerful mode after he’d been clearing out the drains. Then a wicked grin filled his face as he squeezed the trigger tightly. A fast flowing jet of ice-cold water flew out, pressing forcefully into Nathan’s large, fat tummy and soaking him in an instant. The man yelled, clearly caught out by Josh’s surprising backbone. He began retreating, but Josh was in no mood to let him off, holding firmly to that hose pipe gun and aiming relentlessly towards the bully. The fat boy began moving faster, charging across his lawn and towards the safety of his own home. Josh simply followed him with the water, even as the obese man slipped and landed heavily on the grass, face-first. Even then, Josh still aimed that hose at the wide, fat rump of the boy who had tormented him for so long. Nathan quickly picked his heavy body back up and ran onto his porch, slamming his front door behind him.

Invigorated, Josh dropped the hosepipe and laughed. Nathan’s yelling had alerted several figures to appear in the windows along the street. Everyone had seen the incident, but what did it matter? Josh drew in a gigantic refreshing breath of air and bowed deeply to all of them. With a reputation as bad as his around here, he had nothing to lose. Perhaps that had been Nathan’s biggest mistake from the start.

“We could forget all about the plan?” Max suggested as a naked, thoroughly satisfied 250lb Josh rested his head against his powerful chest in bed a few weeks later. “We could just sell up and leave here together. Nathan and his family wouldn’t be our problem anymore.”

Josh sighed. Max’s offer was everything he longed for and more. Calling Max his own was a dream he could hardly dare to imagine. Falling in love had felt like the most natural thing in the world and both of them were open about having never experienced anything like it before. With the pair having lost their parents at such a young age, they knew the value of their bond and the importance of cherishing the shared love that they had. But it wasn’t time to give into it just yet. There was too much hurt and trauma to make amends for.

“Are you getting closer?” Josh asked him. “Whatever case or evidence you’re trying to gather against Nathan’s family?”

Max was quiet. “I think so,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers between Josh’s and admiring his chubby little hands. “The fatter Nathan gets, the more his family seems desperate for me not to leave him. It’s as if they admire me for sticking around. They trust me.”

“Good,” Josh replied. “That’s exactly what we need.”

“So, we’re seeing this one out, all the way to the end?” Max asked him, still quietly hopeful that they could run away together instead.

Josh raised himself up and grabbed the can of spray cream he had kinkily brought into the bedroom with them so that he could lick it off Max’s perfect body. “Of course we are,” he smiled, tilting his head back and pumping the cream down his throat, just like the fat boy inside him had always longed to do. By the time he had finished, he looked down and saw Max’s hardness had been resurrected and amplified tenfold. It was always that greedy, gluttonous, independent side of Josh that the man seemed to admire most. “Besides...” he grinned, starting to stimulate Max’s erection as he climbed on top and grabbed the man’s hands until they rested upon his fleshy love handles, “...I haven’t made that bastard fat enough yet!”

A thoroughly reinvigorated Max growled with lust, flipping the fat boy over and reversing their positions. He reached for the spray cream, grinning from ear to ear as he made love to him for the third time that night, filling Josh’s mouth with fluffy cream, one squirt at a time.

Nathan had started to upset a couple of folks on the street over the next few weeks; his true colours coming through at long last. Josh had thought things were going wrong for Nathan the moment he had tried to get Josh charged for assault and battery after the water hose incident. Despite all the many witnesses in the windows, not one of the neighbors had corroborated Nathan’s claims about the incident. Even Mr Gomez’s security cameras had bizarrely deleted the footage for that entire day. At the time, Josh had simply assumed that Max had called in a couple of favors as he desperately scrambled to discreetly assert some damage control, purely for Josh’s sake. Josh had denied everything to the police, just as Max had advised him to (once he had stopped laughing). However, it seemed once one of Nathan’s lies had been unpicked, more followed as the gossiping neighbors began to compare notes. A re-evaluation had been going on in the street and it seemed as if Josh had suddenly become worthy enough to wave to once more. It was all too little too late in Josh’s opinion, returning only a frosty raised hand in response.

Kelly had tried to muscle her way back into his life, without a word of explanation as to why she had barely spoken a word to Josh in months. She knew she was on thin ice, not daring to comment on how much weight Josh had been piling on in the time that had passed. Instead, she simply launched back into all the tasty bits of gossip Josh had missed out on whilst ostracised; discussing none more so than Nathan.

“I think they’re going to split, him and Max,” Kelly rambled as Josh dug in his winter flowering mix, barely listening to her. “He’s well over three and twenty hundred pounds! They don’t even sleep together anymore!” she whispered. “He lost his job for lying to them. He was trying to poach clients for his family’s business! Derek heard all about it. He said you’ve never heard language like it than when they caught him in the act!”

Josh smirked, having heard all about it from Max over two weeks ago. Kelly was so behind the times!

“He’ll never get another desk job again,” Kelly determined. “He’s just living off poor Max. Although, who the hell knows what he sees in him? Personally, I never liked the man!”

Josh chuckled to himself at the lie, declining the invite to join them in the yoga class that week. That ship had sailed. Even after the neighbors had backed him up with the police, it was likely more about teaching Nathan a lesson than it was about Josh himself. He had seen who his real friends were, and Kelly was not amongst them. Instead, he took himself back inside, excited to get started on a new recipe he had found that morning.

“Something smells nice!” Max whispered later, his hands wrapping around Josh’s thick waist as he stood at the stove. “Your famous chocolate fudge sauce?”

“With extra butter…” Josh teased him back.

“Mmm…” Max mumbled; his hardness pressing into Josh’s large, round rear. “You’re such a bad boy!”

“You know it!” Josh grinned, letting Max’s horny hands travel all over his vast blubbery exterior and into his underwear, warming him up like only Max could. He’d never been as fat as this in his whole life, but life as an average height, 320lb man was suiting him just fine. In Max’s arms he felt sexy and confident; a precious being to be loved and admired. He leaned his head back into Max’s chest as the man’s hands stimulated his hardness perfectly, making him moan softly as he stirred the sauce.

“And the best part is,” Max whispered, “this fudge mix is all for you. Nathan has gone back to his parents’ place for a few days. That means, he’s going to be there when they’re all arrested tonight. Every last one of them!”

“How?” Josh asked, his face beaming with surprise and shock as he turned to face his lover.

“I finally managed to copy daddy’s hard drive,” Max smirked, raising his big arms over Josh’s shoulders and kissing him sweetly. “There’s stuff on there that implicates them all. Serious stuff!”

“Will they know it was you who passed it onto the police?” Josh asked next, a little concerned.

“Not a chance!” Max grinned triumphantly; his hands now mindlessly rubbing Josh’s giant glutes. “Although, maybe you think I should lay low in your house for a few days, just to be safe, huh?” he joked, clearly aroused by their sudden good fortune. He pulled off his t-shirt and flexed his pecs in the way Josh most enjoyed.

“I like that idea!” Josh smiled back excitedly.

“Oh, yeah?” Max smirked, handling his large glutes and bouncing them in the way that made them wobble the most. “Do you think you’re ready to have a big, strong man around the house all the time? Pampering you as much as he can?” he whispered, kissing his neck passionately.

The fudge sauce was catching on the bottom and burning. Already it was ruined. But what did it matter? Max would never deny him anything he wanted. Josh would whip up some more and consume it in front of him, even as his clothes got ever smaller. Finally, he could be the greedy boy he always was inside, and with a man who had a great track record of keeping his boys well fed.

Hatred had brought them to each other, but it was love that would keep them together, no matter what came next.

“Have you met the new neighbors?” asked Sandra, watching as Max’s truck pulled into his new driveway.

“I popped over yesterday,” nodded Helen, quietly admiring the strapping Max as he got out of his truck, waving to them politely before reaching back in and grabbing a couple of boxes of pizzas from his passenger seat. “He’s certainly very handsome! And incredibly charming!” she admitted, watching Max’s strong glutes as the muscular man strutted into his new home, ready to surprise his husband.

“The other one seemed very nice too,” Sandra commented next, clearly holding back on something.

“Yes, very sweet,” agreed Helen. “If you like that sort of thing. He manages their construction business, you know. Josh does all the admin from home. Max does all the physical side of things.”

“Perhaps that’s why that one is so…” Sandra hinted.

“Yes, perhaps,” Helen nodded. “Although you do get some men who like that sort of thing,” she added, as if knowingly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Sandra chuckled. “Why else would a strapping man like that marry an enormous boy like that? I’d have a fit if one of my children tried to bring home a fat blob like him!”

“Quite right,” Helen agreed. “He must be at least four hundred pounds!”

“Oh, at least!” Sandra echoed. “Disgusting!”

“I saw them in their front yard the other night whilst the handsome one was digging up the flower beds. He couldn’t keep his hands off the fat one! I had to close the curtains in the end. No one wants to see that!”

The pair sighed with a muted longing. They’d already made their minds up about Josh. He wasn’t going to be one of them, and they’d certainly let him know that in time. However, they could all quietly envy him for the rest of their days, able to eat whatever he wanted and keep the attention of a man who would never stray. The man who didn’t need their approval, nor the expected, tedious, married, middle class lifestyle the others here had secretly tired of many years earlier.

Bullies could be found everywhere. They came in all shapes and sizes, encrusted within every walk of life and every last neighborhood there had ever been. But inside that house of warmth, love and acceptance, Josh and Max would never fail to outlast them all.

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