#workaholics unite

[sercphs]

@ancicntforged asked:

"You know Seth, you're not going to be able to carry out your assigned duties if you collapse from exhaustion."

"I'll be fine, Feixiao. I'm not the sort to collapse from exhaustion after six days of work. You should focus more on your own efforts, and I can pick up anything you need so you can focus."

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ever the workaholic, he is.

[lettersnorth]

The coffee was doing its job, both warming and waking Aislinn up. She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been at it in the storeroom, but then again, that was always the way of it. Rarely aware of her own physical needs until something pulled her from her work and she came up for air.

"How bad was his state?" Rhua asked out of the blue, glancing in Aislinn's direction. "You mentioned you could fix his damage, but. You're here right now." something she'd caught onto. And a reason to blame herself if she'd been a distraction from the urgency it carried.

Aislinn shifted a bit, like the weight on her shoulders had resettled and she was trying to make it somewhat bearable. “He’s a bit banged up.” It’s non-committal while still committing to the idea that things weren’t great. “Locomotion’s off, pieces of the tissue shell missing but it had already deployed a sealant to stop fluid leak. The repair unit should jump-start the tech in the tissue to start filling back in. Don’t ask me what’s in it. There’s a lot about the how and why of the design I don’t know. As far as internal workings, I won’t know until I let the diagnostics run. I like to do that before I go cracking him open.” She pushed off the table edge and held back from scrubbing a hand over her face. Instead, she gave Rhua her best calm and measured look. “But aye, I should get back and see how DOT’s getting on. I’ll keep you updated.”

After a beat, Aislinn spoke again, her voice gentling, "Most everything can be fixed, Rhua. Sergius made it in here on his own two feet. Just takes some patience and time." Probably. Maybe. She didn’t add that part. It looked like Rhua didn’t need Aislinn to share her self-doubt. She needed her to be the capable tech-wizard that could fix anything.

Rhua was silent for a time. She knew Aislinn was right. She was still mortified at the fact he'd made it back and she hadn't noticed until the drone gave her one of the handful of frights of her life. One part of her thought it had just been that bad, and worrying her wouldn't do anything. The other also thought it was that bad, that he hadn't had even the chance to send any pings. Neither really left room for hopeful thinking, like giving him a light scolding, joking about suplexing him halfway into the snow if he did something like that again, or being able to laugh it off if at all. "Bionics or any tech reminiscent of an organic being is not my specialty." she started, opting to still leave the offer open. "But. If there's anything I can do to help. .. Please, let me know.." a small plea really.

There was already too much on her plate, Jackal's presence had amped everything by keeping her on eternal edge. But even then, she couldn't just focus on work completely and wait for Sergius to be fixed just like that. "I. .. have many things I still need to do. Town's barely learning how to function without machines. But I'll still do what I can to go see him. 'Tis the least I could do even if he complains later about efficiency."

Aislinn hummed in the back of her throat. “Knowing Sergius, he probably would, too.” She agreed. “Town’s got to be putting a lot on you but aye, if I need a hand, I’ll check with you first.” She nodded. “But, remember. Eat. Sleep…” She trails off and ends up just shaking her head. “I can’t even say that with a straight face. Feel too much like a hypocrite. Right. Back to it.” She offered Rhua one last reassuring nod of her head before she headed out.

Rhua could only nod slowly as she offered a polite nod. She doubted she'd sleep until she collapsed, Aislinn was right. But at least there were two hypocrites in on this. As much as not going right away settled horribly with Rhua, she could trust Aislinn enough to try and help her friend. Heh. That label feels off. She wasn't exactly used to calling anyone that after all. But... It was back to work. She knew she'd at least make sure Aislinn had something to eat before showing up some time later.

[kesaluliloveyou]

ABOUT THE MUSE: 001. MUSE FAVOURITES ! (For Ailidh)

⌇— activity:  Honestly, it’s probably work. She really is a huge workaholic – she loves being productive, she loves keeping busy, she enjoys the minutiae of her job. After that, she loves reading. A huge bookworm, when she’s not busy with work, she’s normally curled up with lots of coffee, a good book, something yummy, and some soothing music on in the background.

⌇—   animal: It’s definitely cats. Before having to move to Nanba for her job, Ailidh was a proud cat-mama to four different cats. She had initially bought a brother and sister from a breeder of Maine Coones. They were her big babies and she spoiled them rotten. Her former apartment had a stray problem and she also took in two strays – one an almost pure black cat, except for an upside down heart-shaped mark on it’s forehead that was a pale gray and one a big orange tabby that was missing part of one of its ears. While she responsibly rehomed them before leaving, she misses them dearly every day and wishes she was allowed another pet cat in Nanba.

⌇—   book: Ailidh would say this is impossible, as there’s too many great books she’s read and there’s so many fantastic books she has yet to read. Her tbr pile is stacked quite high and constantly growing. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Class, Little Women, Little Men, Emily of New Moon, Sherlock Holmes, The Little Prince, and The Outsiders were all novels that really influenced her as a young reader, while she got really into Stephen King, Lovecraft, Poe, Junji Ito, and other horror writers in her teen years. As an adult, she re-reads old stories from her youth and teenage years that she adores, along with a lot of urban fantasy, biographies, manga, horror, and cozy mysteries as an adult.

⌇— celebrity:  Ailidh doesn’t stay up on a lot of celebrity gossip or get too involved with the world of celebrities. There are, of course, actors and actresses that she’s a fan of, musicians whose work she enjoys, but I think the closest she gets to celebrity worship is with authors. There are authors she absolutely worships and getting the opportunity to meet them would be a dream come true to her. Unfortunately, most of the ones she really loves are dead so that dream is impossible, but I will mention that I think she’d love the opportunity to meet Warshan Shire, Jim Butcher, Stephen King, or R.L. Stine.

⌇— colour: It’s probably blue – at least, that’s the colour that she buys the most of. Most of her interior decorating is done in pale blues, pale mint greens, and baby pinks. Her clothes though – all mostly black. She’ll sometimes add pops of colour by wearing rich plum purples, sapphire blues, or dark forest greens or emerald greens. If asked the question though, she’d probably have a little bit of trouble coming up with an immediate answer, as it’s not something she really thinks about.

⌇— cologne or perfume:  It depends on the reason she’s wearing perfume. Her day to day perfume, worn mostly for work or just running errands, is MYSLF by Yves Saint Laurent. However, for date nights or fancier occassions, she wears Black Opium by Yves Saint Laurent.

⌇— designer:  I feel like, if we’re talking well-known, classic designers, Ailidh would very much be a Givenchy girl. She likes their classic, elegant, modest approach and has saved enough for at least one dress from their ready-to-wear collection. For most of her day to day, she buys either thrifted or vintage or shops on online websites like ModCloth that specialize in that more vintage style that she prefers.

⌇— family member: Ailidh isn’t especially close to her parents. She calls them maybe once a month and while she enjoys the chats, they’re not extremely close parts of each other’s lives. She’s the oldest of three children, and I would say she’s closer to her younger sister and brother than she is to their parents. They keep in touch more frequently through social media. She would say that she couldn’t pick between her siblings and has no favourites between them, but she tends to get along the best with her little brother. 

⌇— food:  Ailidh isn’t a picky eater. She will eat most anything, as long as it doesn’t contain nuts. She’s very allergic to that, to the point where she always has at least two Epipens on hand – on in her purse, one at home. She eats a lot of quick meals, as she doesn’t like to waste time on things like cooking. Cup noodles, sandwiches, crackers and cheese, and things along those lines, things easy to eat while she works, are her go-to’s. She loves Indian food though, especially curry, and that’s normally her restaurant picks when she goes out to eat.

⌇— flower:  Again, this is a question that would really stump Ailidh if she was asked. She hasn’t ever really thought about it. She actually loves all types of flowers and makes sure to have a bouquet on her desk at all times, as it makes her day happier. She normally will just pick whatever bouquet speaks to her at the time. Thinking about it though, she would have to say carnations of any colour.

⌇— gem:  Ailidh doesn’t actually like most jewelry containing precious gems. They’re often too glittery, eye-catching, and ‘gawdy’ in her opinion. She prefers her jewelry simple and dainty, often just pure gold. The only ‘gem’ she really has any jewelry of is jade. She likes the colour of it and she has more luck finding delicately carved jade jewelry.

⌇— holiday:   Ailidh, with her love for horror novels and movies, counts Halloween as her favourite holiday. She loved everything about it as a child and has kept that childlike wonder and love of the spooky holiday as she ages. The biggest thing she misses, being at Nanba, is seeing trick or treaters and having her Halloween traditions. It’s also one of the few days off from work she’ll demand – she has long-standing Halloween traditions of either going to Halloween parties, spook trails, haunted houses/mazes or whatever scares she can find on Halloween.

⌇— movie:  This is another one that Ailidh would have trouble deciding. Again, it’s one of those situations where she feels she’s watched so many good ones and has a ton of other highly-recommended ones that she knows she’ll enjoy. I think, if pushed enough, she’d probably decide on to say it was one of the big horror franchises she loves, going between any of them, but the truth that she’s a little ashamed to admit would be that her favourite movie is the old cartoon ‘The Halloween Tree’ based on a Ray Bradbury novel that she also enjoys.

⌇— musician:  Ailidh’s music tastes are eclectic and she enjoys most genres of music. She has too many favourite musical artists to list, so someone would have to really narrow in on a particular genre. She has a guilty soft spot for pop girl groups, though, for those who want a secret of hers.

⌇— scenery:  Ailidh holds a deep connection with the ocean. Almost all of her vacations with her parents as a child were to beach towns and her happiest memories are often in these places. The ocean both soothes her and amazes her with its pure and primal force. In a way, being stuck on an island for her job at Nanba is actually kind of dream because, at any point, she can always see the ocean she loves.

⌇— scent: Ailidh prefers more gourmand smells – things like vanilla, caramel, chocolate, coffee, or honey. A lot of her perfumes tend to have some gourmand over or undertones and when she buys scented candles or scented body lotions, hand cremes and such, she tends to go for those types of fragrances.

⌇— song:  She doesn’t have one. It’s constantly changing. Not only is she the type of person who really gets fixated on one song that she enjoys and makes it her favourite for a little bit until the next song gets her, but she’s the type who gets songs stuck in their head super easily. An earworm will catch her and she’ll adore it until something else gets to her.

⌇— sports team: Ailidh doesn’t really watch a lot of sports. They hold very little interest to her. She probably couldn’t even name more than a couple big-name sports teams and doesn’t know the rules of most popular sports. She’s not even ashamed of this – it’s just not her thing.

⌇— television show:  Ailidh doesn’t watch a lot of television. She tends to watch more movies than tv and it’s mostly because she just doesn’t have a lot of time, what with her busy work schedule and all. When she does watch television, it’s normally Wrestlemania, Firefly, shonen anime, Sailor Moon, or Madoka.

⌇— weather:  She’s one of those weird people who actually enjoy winter. She loves snowstorms, but there’s also something about a crisp, clear winter day, with lots of fluffy snow around, the sunlight glinting off of it and making it sparkle, hot coffee in her mittened hands, that is just perfect to her.

⌇— vacation destination: As mentioned, she did go to a lot of beach towns on vacation in her youth. Because of that, and all the fond memories of those vacations, she definitely would gravitate towards beachy vacations. Hawaii would be lovely, Moorea, Bali – things like that would definitely appeal to her. However, in something no one would expect of Ailidh, she’s also a huge fan of classic cars. She’s working on restoring one herself and the idea of a road trip in an restored classic hot rod, or on her motorcycle, would also be a dream to her.

[pencilpat]

Some misc BLU Demo sketches I coloured

He's best buddies with Spy & Engie, they could be something more if they weren't all so obsessed with work

[electric-ecclectic]

"An even smaller price to pay for knowledge. I'll crack your back if you crack mine."

@electric-ecclectic said ー Sometimes shrimping up is all you can do to get work done 😔 it makes for a very crunchy back.

      A small price to pay for an ounce of ✨𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓��𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏✨

[britanniabay]

Hardworking Princess Anne in 2015 at HMS Albion

Courtesy of Ben Shread

[lilacerull0]

...treating oneself as a bit of an experiment... putting myself in any situation which i feel i can't cope with...

[carriedreamerxx]

Voice acting is so much fun!

Throat: Screw...you...bitch. Was that last scream really necessary????!

.... yes?

[wandasaura]

PAINTED ALL MY NIGHTS

summary — your mommy was mean, but your daddy could be downright cruel. it makes for an interesting night when they both decide to leave you wanting until you’re not sure how much more teasing you can take, and even then, they’re not going to give in easily

warning(s) — established relationship, daddy kink, mommy kink, mild pet play, dumbification, humiliation, degradation, praise, teasing, butt plugs, dry humping, shoe humping, inspection kink, oral, fingering, choking, crying, pussy spanking, mentions of chastity belts, begging, orgasm control/denial, edging, overstimulation, forced orgasms, squirting, oral fixation (brief), finger sucking, ¿arousal tasting?, mean mommy wanda, cruel daddy natty, aftercare, men/minors dni

A soft current of chilled air swept beneath the thick desk your body remained crammed beneath, adding goosebumps to the array of blemishes against your satin skin. How you’d managed to acquire a collage of bruises on your shins wasn’t quite a mystery, but like a canvas speckled with vibrant acrylic paints, the evidence of their existence was undeniable and honestly laughable. The summer heat was thick, falling over your quaint little town as if its intention was purely to suffocate those that resided near the shorelines of New Jersey, but even beneath an office desk, curled into a tight ball, head resting on plush thighs the color of warm sand, the low thrum of the air conditioner remained a steady presence keeping you cool. A hum, softer than a whisper stolen in a overstimulating crowd, slipped off your lips when manicured fingers the color of divine cherries embedded themselves within your undone hair, scratching tenderly at your scalp that had yearned for attention since you’d wiggled your way underneath the desk your girlfriend worked at. That was how you’d acquired so many faint yet assuredly purple bruises, crawling across wooden floorboards and banging your limbs on hard wooden corners just trying to be close to the women that you love. 

Your eyes, a beautiful definition of color that had somehow become the lifeline your girlfriends hadn’t known they’d been missing until they met you, looked up, just barely able to steal a glance at the woman working at the desk you sat beneath. Her own eyes, a kaleidoscope of unreplicable blues and greens, were trained to the litany of emails that had collected since the night before when she’d sat in the same place for hours attempting to respond to them all. Perhaps you had been ignorant, but before your world had been remade into what it current is, you’d never given professional trainers much thought; had never dwelled on the profession long enough to consider how in demand they are amongst military units and police squads, but your girlfriend, the one who was just slightly older than the other, had made a name for herself out of that very profession, and each day that she wasn’t stolen from you by obligations to train the cities sharpest officers, she spent an unhealthy amount of hours answering emails that all demanded to know when she was free next, and how far she was willing to travel for her services. 

“You okay down there, puppy?” The tone of her voice was low, and admittedly husky from minimal use throughout the endless day that had befallen you, but equally soft as it fell against your attention deprived heart and showered you in warmth that wasn’t nearly as cruel as the unwavering heat that plagued the streets of West View. A sweet blush fell over your cheeks, a strangled whine slipping off your lips as you rocked your hips against the wooden floorboards, searching for something more; something adamantly forbidden. “Use your words, please.” 

With a displeased grunt, your brain foggy despite the little action your wanting body had seen since you’d woken up tangled within cold bed sheets, you pieced together a simple sentence, direct enough to convey your desperation, but just sweet enough that your workaholic girlfriend would forgive your bluntness easily. “Want you.” It was so simple, so telling, so pure, and yet it wouldn’t be enough to convince her and you knew that. Your Mommy was mean, that was an unchanging factor in your sexual endeavors, but your Daddy could be downright cruel if she felt like it. 

Another hum filled the air, though hers was prominent, filled with simple dominance that made your belly coil in unattainable pleasure and fear. “Is that so?” She chided, not tearing her gaze away from her desktop screen for even a second to take in the sight of you curled up so sweetly in a ball by her feet. Had she looked down, taken just a simple glance at your disheveled state, she would’ve noticed the dark patch adorning the center of your cotton panties, she would’ve noticed the way your pebbled nipples poked through the thin tank top clinging to your torso in an effortlessly enticing manor, she would’ve noticed your desperation glazed eyes and arousal flush cheeks, but she didn’t, and you knew that it was purposeful. She was diminishing you to be nothing but her brainless pet, and as hard as you fought to stay coherent and clear-minded throughout her trickery, it was working too well. 

You’d known the game she was wanting to play since she’d coaxed you into taking one of the fancier plugs that had been purchased for your puckered hole early that mid-morning. You’d been eager to play, wiggling your hips and pushing back on the fingers that gently worked you open at a pace so slow it rivaled drying paint, but she’d found restraint since the last time you’d played this game, and patience was ever so slowly ebbing away from your wanting body. A whine, high pitched and entirely petulant fell off of your lips when nothing was given to you in the aftermath of her taunt. You rooted harder against the light oak floorboards, bracing your palms mere inches in front of your body, hoping that the balanced pressure would provide you relief, but all you’d accomplished was alerting her of your sneaky actions, and so carelessly a shoe covered foot jutted out to become your undoing. A sob broke through your lips the second her shoe nestled itself between your trembling thighs, giving you a silent ultimatum that unfortunately, you weren’t desperate enough to take up just yet. The unspoken demand was simple; ride her shoe or stop whining, but humiliation was engraved in the degrading task, and your brain, a helpless pile of submissive mush, hadn’t been undone quite enough to take the bait. 

Settling back against the floorboards like you’d been prior to your short-lived act of defiance, her shoe a bulky presence beneath your body giving just enough pleasure to not be forgotten about entirely, you dropped your flush cheek to her upper-shin once more, nipping at her unblemished skin in frustration. Her fingers were quick to reprimand you, nestling into your undone hair and pulling sharply, giving you no ounce of grace despite being the cause of your misbehaving. 

Another hour passed after that without so much as a glance in your direction, and then another, and then another, until the sun was sinking beneath the shorelines of New Jersey being replaced by moonlight that glimmered against every reflective surface in the home office. Your girlfriend, the artist, was due home soon. She’d been called away to her gallery early, preparations for a mid-season showcase taking up most of her time nowadays, but you could always count on her comforting presence before the canvas of sunset could melt away entirely. You whined as you shifted against the floors, rocking your sopping cunt into your girlfriend's shoe incidentally, an electric pulse of pleasure shooting up your spine and tangling into the center of your belly where one off sparks had been shooting off at for hours. It hadn’t been intentional, your only intention had been to relieve your aching bones for a few simple seconds, but instead you found yourself tethered to the source of pleasure you found despite the humiliation that just barely crossed your mind, and again, your hips rocked, and again, pleasure shot through you like a bullet train. 

If your girlfriend noticed how you humped her shoe and clung to her leg and whined and whimpered and twitched with pleasure, which she most definitely did, nothing was said. There was no demand to stop that followed your curious movements, no assurance that despite your disgusting act you were good, so good, no verbal humiliation regarding how disgustingly needy your brainless pussy was. There was nothing, and the lack of attention only brought forth a new wave of discomfort. You cried out helplessly, uncoordinated movements becoming sloppy and desperate, but the tears that spilled down your cheeks like tantalizing rivulets did nothing to interfere with her concentration. It was becoming equally too much and not enough, the game was becoming less fun, less enticing, but you wanted her, and you needed her, and you hoped that eventually, before your thoughts spiraled so deep into despair that only Wanda could pull you back up, that she would notice. 

Miraculously, she did. When your grinding slowed, and your sobs intensified, and you weren’t sure if you were trembling as a result of found pleasure or desperation for her, she reached down, corralling you into her lap with gentle movements and tender touches. Your sodden panties dragged along the thin material of her biker shorts, and with a mind of their own, your hips searched for relief against her, grinding and humping and wiggling so intensely that the chair rocked in time with your movements. Your face found peace in the shallowest pit of her neck, lips sucking marks onto her smooth skin, tears dampening strands of hair that had become trapped between your body and hers. 

“Such a good girl, I have. The best girl. The best puppy.” She cooed softly, her fingers holding tightly to your waist, guiding your movements with leisure, inching you closer and closer to an explosion of relief that would have you falling deep into a pit of paralyzing submission for hours. When her other hand, the one that had never been laid against your waist, dipped further down, gliding against your spine until it reached the swell of your ass, you realized just briefly that this had been the end goal the entire time. She wanted you pliable in her hands, she wanted you so desperate that despite your conflicting emotions you sought pleasure from her simple body. A sharp moan fell into the air when soft fingers pressed against the plug nestled between the globes of your ass. The plug, a heart shaped jewel the color of your favorite shade of pink, pressed into you firmly, not entirely dissimilar to how it had pressed into you when you sat flush against the floorboards, but there was an added spark now that her fingers were the one provoking such sensations. “No, you don’t get to cum. Just feel it, pretty puppy. Just enjoy how good Daddy’s making you feel.” She was quick to reaffirm that forbidden rule, and your tears were quick to start again, blubbering sobs and pleas falling off your lips and you ground your clothed core into hers, your clit catching on the waistband of her biker shorts each time she guided you higher. 

“My my, what’s going on in here?” Another voice, a softer voice, broke through the heavy fog restricting your mind from fully recognizing what’s happening around you. You hadn’t heard the front door close, hadn’t heard her heels clanking against the floorboards as she discarded her blazer in the living room and set her thermos of coffee down on the kitchen island, you hadn’t heard her kick off her stilettos by the stairs before she padded her way up to Natasha’s office. You hadn’t heard any of it, but you heard her now, and you reached for her with determination, your face flush and damp with tears that your Daddy was far too proud to have been the result of. 

“M-Mommy!” You sobbed weakly, sparks of pleasure still paralyzing you in place on Natasha’s lap, however with Wanda home now, with your Mommy present, you could only hope that relief would make its way to your pulsating clit quickly. She never could resist the sight of your tear stained face, even if Natasha found it delectable. Mommy was hard, she was firm and she was ruthless, but at the end of the day you were just her precious little baby eager for attention and she was more than happy to give you that. It was Daddy’s puppy that could endure the wrath of denial and endless teasing, but now, your brain lingered on the verge of two headspaces that clashed so violently it was as if two separate people resided within your desires and neither one was ready to relinquish control, and your overstimulated, underwhelmed body wasn’t quite sure where to settle in the aftermath of such an emotionally charged lead up to this moment. Everything was too much, but nothing was enough to state the desire burning holes into your judgment. Natasha had broken you. That had been the game all along, you were just too naive to realize until now. You’d played the part of a dumb puppy seamlessly, grinding on her shoe, on her lap, biting at her legs and at her neck… you’d been the perfect puppy for a few agonizing hours, but now you were ready to be Mommy’s baby; her spoiled little princess. 

“Oh no, Mommy’s not going to save you now, little minx. You look so pretty making a mess on your Daddy’s lap.” Wanda’s laugh was your favorite sound. It was sweet and twinged with innocence, despite the hardships that had befallen her in life, but as if fell over you now, as it crashed against your shorelines it was harsh and unforgiving, cold and threateningly eerie. A sob rippled through your chest, and pathetically your head fell against Natasha’s shoulders, your hips fumbling to an abrupt stop as you gave up. It was too much, it was all too much. You needed your Mommy, you wanted your Daddy, you didn’t want to be the one pushing toward an orgasmic explosion of relief. You wanted it done to you, wanted to be their pretty little toy that they used however they pleased, and yet they weren’t giving you that satisfaction. “You need help, is that what this is about? Mommy’s little baby can’t do it on her own?” 

You peeked out from Natasha’s shoulder, beautiful eyes that stole breath from healthy lungs glazed over so heavily that the gleam of moonlight slipping in through the curtains framing the window reflected off of them dazzlingly. You wanted your Mommy, and she had so cruelly refused to help you. A guttural sob slipped off your tongue, and defenselessly you surrendered to Natasha’s persistent touches, your hips twitching of their own volition when she pressed harshly against the base of the plug nestled deep within your puckered hole with addictive strawberry flavored lube. The tank top that clung to your torso was damp with sweat and tears, giving easy sight to your pebbled nipples that rubbed and brushed against Natasha’s chest teasingly. You’d been successfully undone, not a single coherent thought in your head, and yet it wasn’t enough for them, it would never be enough for them. 

“Come here, my darling girl. Let Mommy take a look at what’s bothering you.” Your cheeks, already so tenderly flush that they felt hot to the touch, became alight with nervous energy as you wiggled out of Natasha’s grip and reached out firmly for Wanda, not willing to take her rejection again. It never came, thankfully, and within seconds you were nestled against your Mommy’s chest, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume and acrylic paints. She preferred oil, but she’d been working on one last canvas that had only felt right to be constructed with vibrant purples and oranges from her acrylic collection. It didn’t matter much to you. Wanda smelt like coming home after a strenuous day, and so intimately you snuggled closer, still sniffling and writhing for pleasure to consume you. 

Her footsteps were soft, practically inaudible as she padded across the wooden floorboards and brought you to the bedroom that hadn’t been seen since you’d come to find Natasha when sunlight was still painting the endless sky a hue of admirable baby blue. Your back met the soft bed sheets when Wanda threw you down, her touch lost for merely a few seconds before thumbs, stained from spilled paint, pried your thighs open, leaving your sodden panties on full display for her to enjoy. A shy whine rippled through your chest as you attempted to close your legs, but all that came of your weak protests was a curt tutt and a firmer hold. 

“My my, sweetheart. Your panties are awfully wet. Mommy can see your little clit just begging for attention right through them. I bet that feels so icky, huh?” She cooed tauntingly, her unmanicured finger falling between your open legs, her paint stained nail tracing the softest line across the expanse of your clothed pussy, merely smearing arousal across the already sodden fabric. A strangled whine caught in your dry throat, your desperate gleam not nearly enough to convince her to relieve you so early on. “Let me have a taste, hm? Let Mommy see what all the fuss is about.” 

Her words alone hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the sensation of a warm tongue flicking curiously against your hardened bud, a mixture of saliva and arousal further dampening your panties as Wanda leaned down to firmly taste your glistening core, her strangled moans of enjoyment sparking sensations deep in your belly that had your eyes fluttered closed and your hips grinding up to find more; more pressure, more stimulation, just more. It was over as soon as it had begun, and a whimpered protest fell into the air as you blindly reached down to grab fistfuls of neatly tamed waves, trying desperately to pull her face back down to where you needed her most. She was unrelenting, smiling down at you so sickeningly sweetly that you yearned to kick her away and roll over in a huff of frustration, but temptation got the better of you, and desperately you rolled your hips against thin air, hoping to seduce her into giving into your desires. 

“M-Mommy! It’s achey!” You babbled desperately, wiggling pathetically against the bedsheets that had seen many strenuous endeavors over the last few months. Just the thought of how many times you’d come apart beneath them on these beige gingham sheets left you desperate, and the thought of adding another orgasm to the collection of passed ones had you panting. 

“Oh, I’m sure it is achey, sweetheart. Your little pussy’s so needy, Mommy might just have to lock her up, huh? She gets you in so much trouble, always crying for attention, always desperate to be full. I think it’s time we teach her how to act, hm?” Wanda continued to coo, all while her fingers rub soft patterns and shapes into the soaked fabric of your pastel pink panties, though the damp patch had turned them a hue so vibrant there’s not a single paint in Wanda’s collection that could match it accurately. You shook your head adamantly at the idea, a sob clawing up your throat at her proposed suggestion, and she laughed. “It’s not up to you what Mommy does, little girl. You’ll just take it like a good girl, won’t you? You’ll let Mommy do whatever she wants to you?” 

You couldn’t help but nod, blubbering into your hands that had come to hide your face at some point between her lips on your clothed core and her fingers tracing minuscule details. You whined when she spread your legs further, painfully aware of how your clit throbbed and pulsated against the fabric of your panties, enough for her to take notice and flick her fingers against your sensitive bud in tune with its rhythmic beating. A open palm slap was the sensation that startled you, and a pathetic whimper filled the room as your eyes shot open and you witnessed Natasha standing beside Wanda, her eyes trained on your core, her palm glistening despite the barrier between your core and her hand. 

“How many can this slutty puppy take before she comes from a spanking alone?” Her words are directed at Wanda, her attention split between your dazzling girlfriend and your glimmering core. Not an ounce of attention falls on you, from either her nor the artist also filling the space between your open legs. It’s humiliating, entirely dehumanizing, but it fuels your arousal further, and pathetically you grind upwards, hoping to come in contact with her palm once more, even if the touch is harsh and unforgiving. “Looks like the dumb pet wants to find out.” 

The first spank is heavenly, a harsh blow aimed directly at your quivering opening that’s been void of stimulation all day, but the second is cruel, aimed straight at your unsuspecting clit that throbs and pulses in the aftermath of the blow and has you writhing from that intense mix of pain and pleasure. A strangled sob rips your throat apart, your eyes wide and pleading for relief do nothing to soften Natasha’s reserve, and again she strikes you between your legs, and again your core reacts before your brain can catch up to what’s happening. It’s by the sixth that you can feel it happening. Your legs are shaking, trembling, fighting to close but Wanda holds them open and leaves you vulnerable to the assault. Your chest is rising and falling so fast that your breath comes out in strained pants. Your eyes are shut, fingers holding fistfuls of bed sheets that do nothing to ease your panic. You’re close, so close, one last hit and you’re falling over the edge into bliss that’s been sought after for days. It doesn’t come. That’s exactly what you’d been dreading, the edging. The signs had been painted across Natasha’s face since she pulled you up into her lap and had reaffirmed that you weren’t allowed to cum, but now it’s fallen over top of you like a bucket of ice water and it’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and you can’t control yourself when you sob and kick at them, wriggling around like bed like the plush sheets beneath your hands will be any comfort. 

“Please please please please! No Daddy! No! No no no! Please! Please! P-Please! Been good! I-I’ve been good! Been a good girl! Pl-Please!” Your words are a barely coherent jumble of sobs, and you’re faintly aware of Wanda attempting to coax you back into place, but all that dwells on you is the constant denial of relief, of attention, of affection. It’s too much, and you’re so desperate, and you’ve been so good, and you know that you’ve been good. Why isn’t that enough? Why can’t it be enough? “Wanna cum! Please! Please Mommy! Please! Please I was good! I sat with Daddy and-and I kept the plug in and I-I was good! Mommy I was good! Please! No more teasing! No more! Please! I can’t! I can’t-”

You’re faintly aware of the bed dipping beneath the presence of another body, but only when Natasha’s firm hands cup your cheeks do you realize that she’s cuddled up beside you and her hands are tenderly brushing away rivulets of perspiration and tears from your face. She kisses you sweetly, slowly, savoring the sight of you so undone from their simple touches, but there’s an etch of concern entangled with her captivating features, enough to tell you that it’s ending, it’s finally ending. 

“Do you need to safeword?” She asks tenderly, brushing strands of unruly hair away from your damp face. There’s no sight of disappointment, of underlying anger, just genuine care and concern, which has been all you wanted for hours. 

You shake your frantically, soft cries slipping into the silence once again. The thought of losing them after enduring so much just to get that blissful reward of an orgasm has you scrambling to make sense of your feelings, but they’ve jumbled your brain, fried your independence. You’re at their mercy until you regain their bearings, all you can manage is a soft, frantically whispered. “J-Just want you. P-Please! I’ve been good!” 

“You’ve been so good, malyshka. So so good. My best girl. Let Mommy help you now, hm? Let her make all the aches go away.” Natasha speaks to you tenderly, resigning from her role as cruel daddy for the night, content to simply lay by your side, a reassuring presence as you prepare to submit to your Mommy. 

Wanda works your panties off softly, caressing your thighs as she brushes against them, taking in the sight of your cunt, bare of coarse hair and blemishes, looking absolutely delectable as it glimmers beneath soft ambient lighting and undiluted moonlight. Nobody had thought to turn the lights on when they entered, but the soft night light in the corner of the room provided more than necessary as she lowered her lips to your clit and didn’t hold back. 

The first suckle at your overstimulated bud was euphoric, and your back arched high off the mattress as you scrambled to twist your fingers into her hair, desperate to keep her close to your core though she wouldn’t have pulled away regardless of your persistence. She laps at you with intensity, using her paint stained fingers to hold your lower lips apart and dig right into her meal without care for how harsh or animalistic she appears, her nose bumps your clit as her lips moved south, her tongue poking into your weeping entrance and attempting to drink the arousal that had pooled there after hours of being trapped beneath thin panties. When her fingers slip into you, two to be exact, you can’t control your whines and moans, and so profusely you beg for permission to fall off the edge of the cliff and drown yourself in orgasmic bliss that rivals the chill of ocean waves in summertime. 

“Go ahead. Let go, baby girl. Make a mess on Mommy’s fingers. You can cum, it’s okay. You can let go now. You did such a good job, such a good job, my angel.” Natasha whispers into the darkness of the bedroom, her lips flush against your temple as she works you up more, her fingers pulling and twisting at your nipples still hidden beneath a sweat drenched tank-top. You feel disgusting, sticky and slick with sweat and tears, but it’s not enough to pull you away from this moment, and when her hand, the one that hadn’t been permanently glued to your breasts, found your throat, nor squeezing but applying just enough pressure that it reaffirmed her gentle dominance over you, you gave into the orgasm that had been begging to be unleashed. 

You didn’t have time to come down from that first high before Wanda was doubling her efforts between your legs, her fingers jackhammering into your entrance as her tongue traced circles and flicked at your once deprived bud of nerves. You shrieked, whining so petulantly that Natasha cooed sweetly against your temple and continued her gentle movements against your tits, pulling your tank top up just enough to reveal them to the cool breeze that swept through the room, accompanied by the low thrum of the air conditioner. 

“No more! N-no more!” You attempted to squirm away from the undeniable pleasure Wanda was provoking, but to no avail did you succeed, weakened from hours of crying and arousal. Natasha remained by your side as Wanda scratched at your thigh and hips with the fingers that weren’t knuckles deep inside of your cunt, leaving faint pink marks in the wake of her grip and touch. 

“You wanted to cum, puppy. You wanted Mommy to make you cum, so now you’re going to take it, okay? Can you do that?” Natasha hummed softly, kissing you again, an easy method of distracting you though you didn’t protest, eagerly reciprocating the kiss and assuring that her own world was painted in vibrant colors for the few seconds that she allowed your tongue to tangle with hers. “Good girl. My good girl. You’re doing so well. So well for Mommy.” She coaxed you through the second orgasm that tore through your belly at an accelerated pace, just barely able to contain her surprise as your core released an onslaught of juices aimed straight at Wanda’s face. A cry of humiliation left you, but it was soothed quickly by the woman between your legs, her tongue soothing the ache in your clit before it was gone entirely. 

“Shh, we’re all done. All done.” Wanda’s mouth shone brightly beneath the moonlight with your arousal, her chin dripping as she leaned above you, offering her fingers which you eagerly took into her mouth. The taste of your core was prominent, familiar as you’d been in this position a few hundred times over, but it brought peace to your hazy mind and you melted firmly into Natasha now. “You did so good for me, my little princess. So so good. Mommy’s so proud of you.” She kissed you softly, replacing her fingers with her tongue that tasted so prominently of your orgasm and arousal that you couldn’t help the whine of submission that filled the air. 

“What can I get you, princess? How about some goldfish because I’m sure Natasha didn’t take a break for lunch like I told her to.” Wanda sent a pointed glare at Natasha, who bashfully shrunk into herself and shrugged half-heartedly. Lunch had most definitely slipped her mind, and she cursed beneath her breath when she realized you’d put up a fit if she tried to drag you downstairs for dinner. 

“Mommy stay.” You whined, attempting to reach out and pull Wanda down onto your body, but Natasha had already seen that coming, and had tangled her fingers with yours. 

“Mommy will be back so soon, pretty baby. She’s going to get you some fishies and a water, and she’s going to grab your favorite blanket from downstairs, and Daddy’s gonna wipe you down and get you dressed in some comfy pajamas. How does that sound?” Natasha easily directed Wanda to gather all of the things you’d undoubtably ask for in a few minutes when the haze of your submission lessened and your tired muscles became apparent. The Sokovian didn’t linger, instead she jumped straight into action, leaving one last kiss against your lips before she disappeared downstairs, hoping you had enough energy to get at least a couple of crackers into your body before you fell asleep. 

You only agreed because you hadn’t really had a choice to begin with, but still Natasha worked with your fussy attitude and got you wiped down with a damp washcloth and redressed in pajamas that were really just stolen pieces of her and Wanda’s casual attire. When the Sokovian returned, your favorite cup in her hands filled to the brim with room temperature water, you were cuddled into Natasha’s chest, biting softly at her fingertips as she attempted to keep you awake, some animated movie playing on the tv screen above the dresser on the wall opposite the large bed you occupied. She smiled softly, throwing a protein bar at Natasha’s head, before she took you into her arms, cuddling you into her chest, wrapping you tightly in your favorite throw blanket. 

You nuzzled into her chest, begrudgingly taking a sip of water when she held the straw up to your lips persistently. It soothed your scratchy throat instantaneously, subsequently allowing your previous hours of screaming and moaning to become a distant memory until tomorrow morning when you woke without a voice. The goldfish she did not get so lucky with, offering a small handful to you as you zoned into the sound of her heath beating rhythmically beneath your ear and focused on the kaleidoscope of colors morphing across the tv screen. You whined, wiggling away from her hand rather fussily, and she knew better than to agitate you farther, so rather than keep persisting, she ate them herself and pulled you in closer, her heart and soft whispering to Natasha lulling you to sleep in minutes. 

“You really have to stop forgetting to eat lunch.” Wanda sighed amusedly, bringing up the age-old concern that had a near prominent spot in their conversation log. Natasa laughed sheepishly, one hand falling onto the small of your back as you turned further into Wanda’s chest, while the other reached to turn off the obnoxious film you strangely adored. 

“It’s not my fault when this one decides to camp out beneath my desk.” She weakly defended, laying a tender kiss to the back of your head, your hair smelling faintly of the shampoo she kept in the upstairs shower. 

“Oh sure, blame her because she’s not awake to defend herself.” Wanda retorted, rolling her eyes in exasperated fondness as she tangled her fingers into your still disheveled hair, hoping that when morning rolled around, you’d still be soft enough to request that she did your hair before she left for the gallery. 

Natasha paused, a wrinkle of affection twinging her expression before she leaned forward and embraced Wanda in a tender kiss above your head. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Wanda hummed against her lips, letting her eyes flutter closed as she took in the simplicity of this moment with the both of you.

[easy-there-leftovers]

A Question Unasked

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: In which your ambitious, workaholic nature makes Spencer wonder if you've got a crush on Hotch. This slight hitch in his plan causes him to miss a few signs.

[A/N]: Can be seen as a filler from Spencer's perspective of certain scenarios from "Mixed Messages" and a prequel to "As Cool As I Think I Am", but can also just be a standalone

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, allusion to inappropriate workplace dynamics (it's not true, relax lol), slight description of canon-typical violence, mildly inaccurate timeframe | word count: 4k

Spencer looks up from his endless stacks of files on his desk to look at the girl on the other side of his desk. Only a single carpeted walkway really separating them.

He could easily just get up and walk right to her. Ask the burning question that's been on his mind since the Arizona case, but he can't.

Why is that?

He's been your friend for a while, and he's known you for a while longer.

With his eidetic memory, he remembers so clearly when you first started working together. He remembers your starched blazer and pressed blouse, a stark contrast to his swimming-in-sweaters look, and how that alone let anyone know that you were serious about uniform and protocol.

You were, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, and a fresh graduate just like him.

You were smart, beautiful, and started working at the BAU as early as he did.

And because you were new and young, one of the senior agents had been assigned to supervise your progress. So much like how he was mentored by Gideon, you had been mentored by the unit chief himself; Aaron Hotchner.

He'd like to think that he learned a lot from Gideon. He wasn't the type to hold his hand throughout a case, which he is thankful for, but he had been there to encourage him to think more outside the box. To let his mind be more flexible and creative. To see things from every conceivable angle. Leaving no stone unturned.

He supposed you learned a lot from Hotch as well. With your calm exterior, polite demeanor, and calculating mind that occasionally colored your less polite vocabulary-- He didn't know what Aaron must've been like in his junior years, but he supposed that having you as his colleague was essentially the same experience.

What he does know, however, is how close you are to your boss. Or is it your work?

Either way, you being glued to your work almost always meant that you were glued to him by proxy. You two being the first ones in and the last ones out showed that you spent three-percent more of your time with each other than the rest of the team, and two-percent more than with him.

Granted that had changed as of late, but still!

That didn't leave him a lot of time to ask you if---

"Dr. Reid, if you keep staring at me, I don't think you'll be able to finish your action reports on time." You had said without lifting your eyes from your folder.

Having been caught, he cleared his throat with a small 'sorry,' and directed his head back down to his still endless stack of files. The action earning a couple of chuckles from the bullpen where the rest of your colleagues had certainly seen, or at least heard, the exchange.

Not long after however, he saw Hotch from the corner of his eye lean over the railing outside his office. Calling for you both to meet him inside with his usual stern expression.

Spencer noticed how you got up, eyes still zeroed in on one of your files, and continued on your way up and into the unit chief's open door.

A clear sign that you had been invited there often enough that you didn't need to see where you were going.

You expected it.

He sighs and makes his way into the office as well. Dreading what the meeting could even be for, though he's confident he hasn't done anything wrong.

***

"As you might have noticed in our previous cases, I've paired you two to work on the more analytical aspects of it together. With these changes, we've been able to work twice as fast, and we’re thankful for the help."

Whatever Spencer had been expecting, it was not this. His raised eyebrows evidently agreed with him.

It wasn't everyday that Hotch complimented someone like this, much less in the proper environment. And if your respectful posture, but shining eyes in slight pride were anything to go off of, this was something new for you too.

As he was about to voice his thoughts, you had spoken up.

"Sir, Dr. Reid's knowledge in a wide array of subjects has certainly helped with our investigations. Though I'm afraid I haven't done much aside from ensuring it's accuracy and-"

"No! I mean--," He looked to see you already looking at him in slight confusion before continuing.

"She's been a huge help so far and has allowed me to exchange ideas with her to build a more accurate profile. Not to mention that her ability to mediate between departments has been beneficial to gaining access to pertinent information! So I think she's done plenty for the investigations as well." His voice dwindles as he realizes he's rambling on praises and he suddenly feels warm under the scrutiny of both his boss and his colleague.

He just didn't want anyone thinking you weren't doing anything by being humble. Especially since you're both so young.

Thankfully, it's Hotch who speaks up again after a beat.

"So what I'm hearing is that you're both satisfied with this arrangement?"

You both nod carefully and he smiles a small smile at that.

"Then we'll be carrying on with this pairing into the foreseeable future. Should there be any concerns about this arrangement, see to it that it goes through me. We can't afford to lose either of you." He says it with a finality that prompts both Spencer and you to leave with a nod, but the thought is instantly corrected when he speaks again.

"Oh and agent?" He looks only at you, but Spencer looks back as well out of instinct. "A private word, if you please."

Spencer sees you nod without a second thought and he takes it as his cue to hurriedly leave.

***

It hasn't been that long, Spencer argues with himself, since he left the unit chief's office. The blinds aren't drawn, he would know since he'd been looking at them periodically, so he also knows that nothing untoward is happening.

Yet something is bothering him about it.

From his position on his desk, he can see you and Hotch discussing something on his table very seriously, but he also sees how your eyes rarely leave the face of your superior. He can't quite see your expression due to the distance and the light, but he has this sinking feeling that it's a lot like the one from earlier.

He scoffs at the thought. If he wasn't thinking so rationally, he would've thought-

"Does she like Hotch?"

"Who likes Hotch?"

The new voice makes him whip his head back so fast to see Morgan with a confused face. Upon further examination, he sees him holding something that was definitely supposed to be flicked at him if he hadn't been caught so off guard.

He internally debates to voice his opinion, but he does anyway.

"Do you think that she likes Hotch?" He gestures with his eyes to their supervisor's office.

"You're asking me if I think 'little miss perfect' has a crush on a man that's hitched?" Derek echoes back with the use of your nickname. One that he coined as a playful jab at your no-frills behavior.

Spencer cringes when he hears it back though. He didn't ask this to get you in trouble, but it might come across that way now.

"Who has a crush on married man?" Elle joins in, and he only shrinks into his seat more.

"I'm not asking if she has a crush on him! I just want to know if she might like him and--what it is that she likes about him..."

The two exchange looks before looking back at him. Fully knowing that that's not the reason why he's asking, but they humor him anyway.

"Reid, what makes you think she likes him and not literally anyone else?"

"Well. there's her preference for prolonged eye-contact, a common indicator of interest for one. Her being in constant proximity to him, a sign that shows comfort in certain contexts, and then there's the amount of time they spend together."

The last one might be a bit of a reach, considering how you all work in the same area, but at this point he just wanted someone to tell him that he was either absolutely right, or crazy.

"Kid, that's crazy."

Duly noted.

"I'll say.” Elle chuckles out her response. “I haven't thought about it all, but those signs don't really mean anything. It just sounds like she has a habit of looking at whoever's talking to her." She notes, sharing her experience of being on the receiving end of your rather intense gaze.

His other friend adds onto that.

"And the whole closeness thing? You've seen her, she's like a computer with the way she works. She's a workaholic. And Hotch is another. It's just math, Reid."

Spencer furrows his eyes at the man's statement but before he can ask further, he sees you coming out of the office and staring at the small crowd that has now formed at his desk.

"Is something going on here?" You ask with tense brows. Eyes flickering to and fro.

He couldn't really think of something on the spot, but thankfully Derek had one at the ready. "Was just caught trying add my stack on to pretty boy's plate."

He sees you let out a small 'hm,' and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

He sighs in relief as he feels a firm pat on his back from Morgan.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking." He says before leaving to go to his own desk as well.

Spencer doesn't know what good that would do, especially now that he's worried one of his colleagues have caught wind of him liking you, but he at least takes note of it.

--------

He does not, in fact, take note of it until very later.

The team had been called to San Diego to deal with someone they had been calling, "The Tommy Killer." An unsub that had a preference for gluing his victims' eyes open.

As they were reviewing the scene in the jet, they had noticed a few stanzas of a literary work had been left behind at the scene.

"It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death and a Lady." Spencer had mentioned from where he stood.

"A 17th Century ballad?" Morgan had asked him incredulously from his seat, but it’s you who answers.

"One where a woman tries to bribe Death with all that she has in exchange for a little more time to live. Naturally, he doesn't allow it. Claiming that she was undeserving of an exception that even kings were denied of."

Spencer looks up from his own copy to see you still looking at your own from beside Hotch. With your brows furrowing in thought, he almost sees the actual gears in your brain turning.

"So what, are we looking at a literature professor of some kind?" Elle asks which immediately perks him right up.

"Well, actually anyone with access to the internet today. You should see what comes up when you type in the word, "Death" into a search engine." He laughed absentmindedly.

"Reid, no wonder you can't get a date."

Morgan's words made him frown, but he brushes it off.

Hotch, as previously discussed, then called on for the both of you to look deeper into the messages. To see if there was anything new that could be inferred.

He nods at him, and looks up. Expecting you to still be looking at Hotch as well.

Instead, your eyes meet his, but you quickly look back onto your file.

Reid thinks it's just a coincidence.

***

"Creepy, huh?" JJ had asked you two as she approached where transcripts of the written messages were tacked onto a board.

Spencer had been focusing so hard that he was caught off gaurd by her sudden appearance. Fully expecting the area to just be for you and him so he told her what first came to mind.

"Actually, conversations between Death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance."

Though perhaps the delivery wasn't as as good as he thought it was as JJ only stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

He thought it was interesting, really, but he supposed his slight stutter and breathy laugh at the end must have distracted her from his point.

He turned to look at you for help, but you too had been focusing on the messages and wouldn't be available to do that. So he just agreed with JJ’s sentiment, which seemed to be enough for her to leave.

He sighed out in relief.

"The lady never answers. Have you noticed it yet, Dr. Reid?" You turn to him as you ask.

He immediately refocuses on to the case and tries his best to reply after his prior blunder. "Oh uh-- Right, the dialogue in the ballad seems to be fractured. Well, it's more of a monologue than a dialogue seeing that there is no exchange of information."

A small smile graces your lips at that, and you gesture with a nod to go report your findings.

"So it is. Let's get going."

He follows you to where Hotch and Elle were discussing the sexual aspect of the crime and sees you take your place next to your mentor. The same position you were in when he was blowing out his birthday candles, as he also inserts himself into the discussion.

"Sir, we believe what the unsub has written at the scenes are most of the first three verses of the same ballad." You deliver, prompting your mentor to raise his brow at that.

"Most of?"

"Yeah, it's only one side of the conversation." Spencer adds. "There's no betwixt." He takes pride in your shared effort, which makes itself known by the smile that adorns his face.

Unfortunately, his satisfaction, isn't met with a positive reaction either as he sees Elle desperately trying not to make eye-contact, and your supervisor staring at him very pointedly.

He's thankful though at the little chuckle that you quickly try to hide behind a cough and a cover of your mouth to appear more professional. Quickly looking down at the ground.

He's happy that at least someone thought his joke was well-placed.

He continues to explain your theory about how the Lady in the narrative never answers, and that's enough for both Hotch and Elle to at least think about it.

Their attention is quickly stolen away however at an incoming call about a failed attempt nearby the precinct.

Quickly excusing themselves to get onto the scene as soon as possible, you see them call Gideon on their way out. Watching them as they leave the department doors.

But Spencer keeps his eyes on you as the thought just dawns on him.

You were the first one on the team to laugh at his jokes.

***

The more cases he works for the BAU, the more he realizes how much of his work isn't theoretical anymore. He feels it in the weariness in his eyes, the weight on his chest, and the shake of his hands.

Or maybe the shake is from the cold.

After all, he had dressed for the warm, California air. So now that he was in the cool, air-conditioned jet, he was seriously regretting not packing a sweater, at the very least.

He makes his way to the back of the aircraft after another successful investigation, and that's where sees you.

You had opted to shed your typically structured blazer on the seat beside you, leaving you in a softer blouse, both in color and form, that made everyone around you know that you were officially off duty.

It's a nice look on you, he thinks. A slight departure from your usually stern and hardened exterior. He wouldn't mind seeing a more relaxed version of you every once in a while.

A version of you that looked more your age and not constantly under the pressure of doing well.

He momentarily wonders if that's part of your mentor's influence as well.

He freezes a bit, as if catching himself in some depraved daydream, and takes a few steps back to return to the more vacant areas of the craft.

Before he can get any further though, you see him and beckon for him to come over with a tired wave of your hand.

"How's the flight treating you, Dr. Reid?" You ask, drowsiness lacing your tone as he sits on the seat opposite of you.

"Oh, it's the same as always, I guess. A little colder than usual, but that's to be expected. By the way, we’re actually lucky that we haven't experienced some semblance of turbulence yet on our flights, considering that the likelihood of it has increased by seventeen-percent in the last decade."

You laugh at that. "You really know just what to say, huh?"

He doesn't see it as funny as you do, so it seems. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or--" "There's no need to apologize, sir. I find everything you have to say interesting, whether you mean it to or not."

He stays silent at that, suddenly nervous, and tries to make himself comfortable. He does so in the hopes that he can finally steel himself to ask you that question.

He talked to Elle earlier when they were waiting for the unsub's call. Asked her if she thought it was weird that he knew what he knew, and if it had anything to do with his inability to get a date. She had reasoned with him that it was because he didn't ask, but it couldn't be that simple, could it?

He mulls it over in his head before sighing. Opting to give up and just wait for a more opportune time.

Besides, jury’s still out that you could very well be pining over his boss.

The action, however, seems to remind you of something.

"Before I forget," You look into your baggage, rummaging around before finally finding what it was you were looking for.

You ask him to close his eyes, which he obediently does, and you place a thick rectangular box into his awaiting lap.

The sudden shift in weight causes his eyes to open, and he is certainly surprised to see what was on there.

"What is this?"

"It's your birthday. There wasn't a good time to give it to you, so might as well."

He takes the box into his hands and shakes it a little.

From the sound alone, or near lack thereof, there could be a multitude of things inside it. He looks at you questioningly and you only smile and gesture for him to open it.

He takes his time in doing so, and he doesn't know how or why, but he finds your reactions to his movements much more amusing than whatever could be in the box. As if you were more excited for him.

He finally peers into the now open box to see some sort of purple cloth. A ribbon of geometric designs cutting through its middle and he stares at it in wonder.

"It's a scarf!"

You smile at him, and he was thankful that the rest of the team were either asleep or just not paying attention as it allowed the both of you to savor the moment with at least some semblance of privacy.

"I've noticed that you had a tendency to wear a lot of layers. I wasn't sure if it was because you were cold, or you just liked dressing that way, so I made an educated guess and got you something practical."

And just like that, he's over the moon.

He immediately goes to put it on with a wide smile, paying no mind that it paired so badly with the short sleeves of his button up.

Not that he would know, nor care.

And just when he had been feeling cold earlier too! "Thank you so much. This means a lot to me, especially since you don't usually give gifts."

You shake your head. "I don't, but it's not everyday one spends their twenty-fourth at the BAU."

He continues to observe the cloth that now hung around him. Smoothing his hands over it as he does with an expression unreadable to you.

You worry a bit and hurriedly mention, "I'm sorry if it isn't your color. I see purple show up on your mismatched socks more than any other color, so I just assumed. If it's any consolation, purple is a great color to contrast the warmer hues in brown eyes?"

He flushes at your admission, but matches your urgency to set you straight. "No! Please, I actually really like it-- It's beautiful."

You breathe out a sigh in relief and nod slowly at that.

"Speaking of the color, did you know the origin of purple dye is actually quite fascinating?" His voice filled with enthusiasm. With his eyes, bright, and filled with a child-like fascination that makes your chest feel warm at the sight.

"Historically, purple dye was incredibly rare and valuable, which is why it became associated with royalty and nobility. The earliest known purple dye, known as Tyrian purple, was produced by the ancient Phoenicians around 1200 BC. It was derived from the secretions of a particular type of sea snail, the bolinus brandaris, found in the Mediterranean Sea."

He paused for a moment, wondering if he was boring you, but sees that you're still very much paying attention to him.

"The process to obtain this dye was incredibly labor-intensive and complex. It required thousands of these sea snails to produce just a small amount of dye. The snails would then be collected and left to decompose in large vats. After several days, a gland from the snail was extracted and crushed to produce a purple mucus. This mucus would then be exposed to sunlight, undergoing a chemical reaction that transformed it into the deep, rich purple dye we commonly associate with our modern day equivalent."

As he kept going, he suddenly remembered what Morgan had told him all those weeks ago.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking."

So he does just that.

He observes the way that your shoulders are more relaxed, how your eyes never stray from him, and how the small upturned curve of your lip makes itself known as you rest your cheek onto your propped up fist.

How he has your undivided attention and yet you don't even look the least bit bored of what he has to say. Only silently appreciating and subtly nodding along with the slow blink of your eyelids.

All clear signs of unguarded comfort, and or interest, in his presence.

Had you really been looking at him like that all this time?

Now the idea of you liking your boss seems silly. Especially when you’re looking at him the way he imagines himself looking at you.

"I did know that, actually, Dr. Reid. At the time, Tyrian purple wasn't only desirable for its rarity, people said it was also incredibly lightfast. That it was resistant to fading under the sun and the weather. Not to mention all that hard work that just to get a single gram of it. Then again, modern studies do claim that its lightfastness was, in fact, not an accurate feature as it's color diminished when it was exposed to light and UV radiation."

You laughed a little again, as if remembering some anecdote, and that sound was steadily becoming one of his favorite sounds. Following only after your speaking voice.

"Fortunately for you, doctor, I could only afford a synthetically purple-dyed scarf. Though that means that you won't ever have to worry about it fading under the sun."

Hands up in faux surrender, you give him a tired smile that he returns with one of his own.

A calming silence enveloped the both of you as you continue to bask in each other's presence.

At some point you doze off, draping your blazer on top of yourself to shield yourself from the cold, and that's when he starts considering Elle's words again.

"Do you ever ask anyone out?"

"No,"

"That's why you can't get a date."

He nods to himself, and reclines a little more into his seat. Snuggling into his new scarf that still has the faintest smell of you.

Maybe he will ask you out on a a date later.

_____________________________

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[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

full fic sequel: three-part honesty

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[felassan]

Some notes from today's new BioWare Blog post, which contained some new character insights and also gave some information on what is coming next and when:

Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations in the game

Lucanis is bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic. He was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. He's constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. There's a lot of love between him and Illario

As Zach is a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying

Neve is a Shadow Dragons rebel who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. Epler: " [she is] the working class hero trying to make her hometown better"

Emmrich is sincere, friendly, scholarly, sophisticated, eager to teach and learn, a well-meaning but oblivious academic, with a "hot nerdiness". He assumes everyone has an academic's curiosity so can be pedantic on select topics

The Mourn Watch are revered in Nevarra but odd at best and evil at worst outside of it

Nick: "I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this."

"Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch."

The world has changed a lot since DA:I

Harding has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle

Harding loves her mom. She loves to write letters home and is always talking about her mother. She likes plants and raising plants. She has grown and is a veteran now, a trusted voice at the table

Footage of the full DA:TV @ SDCC companions panel should be available in a couple of weeks

Next month there will be a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and the reveal of the release date

[emphasis mine]

And this paragraph:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships."

[source]

[ceesimz]

Kissing a Fool

This is a classic sick fic - a quick trip to the out of hours doctors but nothing extreme.

If there was one thing that Alexia was, it was determined. That was what had gotten her to the place she was today, with countless trophies and awards in her possession, stadiums filled by fans adorning jerseys with her name and number, an endless amount of brands desperate to work with her, and millions around the world idolising her.

However, nobody was perfect.

Sometimes, Alexia's determination can, and will, bleed into pure stubbornnes. And that's when things can start to go a little downhill.

It all started one morning when she woke up beside you with a certain scratchiness in her throat and a dull ache behind her eyes. She ignored it, obviously.

Ignored it throughout your shared morning routine, paying you no mind when you asked if she was okay due to the disgruntled furrow in her brow and how she squinted uncomfortably with every slight increase of light. She also ignored it as she kept her sunglasses on whilst moving from her car to the main building for training, again acting none the wiser to the face you pulled at her as she walked around the facilities with the glasses still firmly planted and seemingly going nowhere anytime soon.

"Ale, you know you can't wear them for training?" You wonder amusedly as she holds the door to the locker room open for you. Shockingly, she doesn't reply, she just answers with a noise that can only be described as a huff. "If your head is hurting, take some pills before we start. Don't be stubborn."

"No. Todo está bien." She offers a tight-lipped smile as a consolation to her bare-faced lie, and the only thing you can do is sigh, nod, and leave her be until she finally gives in.

Though, in her world, giving in wasn't even a concept, nevermind an option. As expected, she woke up the next day feeling so much worse, to the point where she had no appetite and even if she wanted to eat, her throat was in way too much agony to simply just entertain that thought.

That was something you didn't realise though, because she normally had breakfast whilst you showered in the morning, meaning you didn't spot she had skipped that step. You also overlooked the fact she'd been completely non-verbal that day as she dared not to speak through fear of her voice failing her. It was only when you were rushing around, last minute of course, to pack your training bag when you needed her help.

"Ale, where are my new boots?" You called out from the bedroom, knowing she was at least somewhere in the flat. When you didn't get a response, you groaned frustratedly and marched out into the kitchen.

"Did you hear me?" You ask where she was seated at the kitchen island, slowly drinking a mug of honey and lemon tea whilst scrolling through her phone.

"I can't find my boots. Ale!"

Looking across at her from your place in the hallway by the front door, rooting through the storage cupboard beside it, Alexia shrugs half-heartedly.

"Okay, amazing, thanks for all your help. Don't blow up at me if we're late." You scoff at her, turning back to the cupboard.

Amidst your frantic search, you miss the way Alexia leans her body weight on the island counter in front of her as she stands, and the pained groan that goes with that. She walks over to the coffee table and pulls out the Nike box you were looking for from the bottom half of the unit, clearing her throat with a grimace before presenting it to you.

"Oh, thank god. Thanks, I'll be ready in literally just a minute, I swear." With a quick kiss to her cheek, you sprint back off to the bedroom to continue packing for the day.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Alexia fixes herself another honey and lemon tea that she purposely adds an ice cube to just so she can drink it before you come back in. It doesn't help at all though, and the realistic part of her mind immediately notices that is a huge red flag, but of course her workaholic mindset overrides it and shoves that thought to the side.

So when you come rushing back in, packed bag in hand, she offers a smile and leads you out of the apartment with a caring hand on your lower back.

Her untimely crash arrived later that day. The combination of a high fever and the symptoms that came with that and her illness, as well as the lack of food and the Barcelona sun, all colluded together to tear her down until all that was left was a lethargic and downtrodden shell of her.

You waited for what felt like forever as she showered, to the point where you were the only one left in the locker room. At some point she finally did walk out, her hair unbrushed and her face bright red and clammy despite the fact she had just showered, and her actions the past two days along with this appearance of hers caused alarm bells to ring in your head.

"Be honest, Alexia, how do you feel?" You question her pointedly, watching with a careful eye as she avoided your eyeline and cleared her throat for possibly the hundredth time that day.

"Fine." It was then that you realised that was the first time you'd actually heard her talk that day, and the sound of her voice sounded as comfortable as nails on a chalk board.

"Please, Ale, just be honest. You look awful." You tell her, to which she lets out a sharp breath, otherwise known as her attempt at a suppressed laugh. "What do you get out of lying about it? Nothing. If you're sick and feeling like shit, just admit it so we can figure out how to make you better."

The fact you said 'we' when talking about her being ill made the prospect of just dropping her act and accepting she's sick exceptionally more appealing, but she just couldn't do it. Tomorrow was an important Champion's League game, and there was no way she was going to miss it. Not a chance in hell.

"I am okay, I am coping. Let's go home." She managed to get out, swallowing harshly after speaking to choke down a gag due to the agonising burn of her throat.

"Will you at least take some medicine at home? There's no use feeling like this when there's things you can have to at least take the edge off." You try to compromise, knowing at the very least you will force some pills down her throat one way or the other.

She nods, finally admitting defeat to one little thing, and your stern persona softens a little. Under the light of the changing room, her face is pale apart from her rosy cheeks and there's a sheen to her forehead that indicates just how terrible she's feeling. And there was no point sugar-coating it, she really did look awful.

"Hey. Come here."

Offering your arms out for a hug, Alexia mumbles something you can't quite make out before stepping into your embrace and deflating with a deep sigh.

"It's all well and good hiding how you feel around the team, but not me. Please don't do it around me. A blind person could see you feel atrocious so please admit that and accept my help." You whisper, rubbing a hand up and down her back comfortingly.

"Don't want you to get sick." She mutters at the quietest volume she can, giving you a hint at just how much discomfort she was in.

"That doesn't matter to me. Let me take care of you. Please?" Hesitantly, she nods after a moment, so you pull back to get a good look at her face. What you're met with breaks your heart. "Oh, Ale. Let's get you home."

You do exactly that, demanding that she go get in bed the second you're through the door to your apartment. Now, in the comfort of her own home, you hope that she'll fully drop her guard down, but it seems a little trickier than you thought. She rejects the bed and settles for the sofa, though she grabs her laptop from the coffee table and opens it to start doing some work admin.

"What are you doing?" You ask when you come over with a glass of ice water and a pack of tablets.

"Work." She answers with a shrug. This was part of her routine, but you had guessed, incorrectly, that she would drop this part of the day considering how she was feeling.

"No, you should be resting." You tell her, sitting beside her and offering her the box of pills.

"I am not running on a football field anymore. I am on the couch like you asked. This is routine." Alexia answers. Her voice is barely there anymore, it was merely just a rasp, and the pain she hid was evident in each word.

"Alexia." You sigh disapprovingly, popping two tablets out of the packet for her. "If you're going to be like this, at least for the love of god take these pills."

She does as you say, swallowing them both with a grimace before turning her attention straight back to her laptop screen. You had tried your best to help her, but pressuring her further would only make the situation worse, so you relent and stifle a sigh. There was a little bit of guilt you felt at getting annoyed at her, but this was just who Alexia was. You didn't like this process, you despised it, but there would eventually be a time where she would come crawling back to you when her stubborn tendencies had taken it too far, you just hoped she was sensible about it.

It was undeniably difficult watching her as the afternoon bled into the evening, knowing at some point her meds had worn off and she was putting herself through torture for nothing. Still, she was adamant as ever that she was okay, so there was little you could do about it without causing an argument. The only positive was that she somewhat relaxed after eating less than a third of her dinner, cuddling up to you as the pair of you watched a film on the sofa.

Her blinks got slower and her eyelids drooped a little over halfway through though, so you decided it was time to usher her to bed. And if she refused, that would be your last straw before you blew up at her.

Thankfully, and quite surprisingly, she agreed and stood up before walking, very sluggishly, to your shared bedroom.

At her request, you make her a cup of the tea she'd had before and bring it to where she lay on her side once she'd done her routine, a hand covering her eyes to block any light. Placing the mug down on the table, you draw the curtains and sit beside her, one hand falling to her head to gently massage her scalp.

"Rest. Early night. Big game tomorrow." Alexia insists weakly, barely able to string a sentence together as she pats the space beside her for you to lay down.

"You've not taken any tablets, or drank your tea. I'm not resting until you do." You state, not-so-discreetly laying the back of your palm on her forehead to gauge her temperature. Her skin is burning, and you curse the pair of you for somehow not owning a thermometer in your flat. "Ale, you're really unwell."

"It's not too bad." She argues feebly, leaning up on shaky arms to sit up against the head board. You hand her the tea and tablets, watching as she winces even more than earlier whilst struggling to swallow the pills.

"Ale." You warn her. "I doubt you should even play tomorrow."

"No!" She croaks out, coughing afterwards. "I am playing. No other option."

Speechless at her defiance, you just shake your head and go about your own night routine. As you brush your teeth, you watch her through the crack in the door and see how she is when no one is around. Her face scrunches up every time she swallows, and her hand clutches at her throat too. Not only that, but you hear her let out strangled groans every so often whenever she moves, her body aching and her head pounding. This all indicates the exact kind of state she's in, and it's not one fit for a 90+ minute long, possibly intense, football game.

"Alexia, listen to me." You demand tenderly, sitting beside her again and taking her hand. "You are not well. Stop resisting that because you will only get worse. This game tomorrow, the rest of the team have it. I believe that absolutely, and I know you do too but you won't admit that aloud. I know what's going on in that head of yours; you're scared of letting people down and disappointing yourself, your family, me, and the fans. Well, I'll tell you. You won't let anyone down by not playing. People, and that includes me, just want you to be healthy. You can gaslight yourself into thinking you've not got a minor injury, but you can't do that in this situation. You need to slow down and rest before you end up in the back of an ambulance."

"It won't end like that." Alexia shakes her head.

"That was just an exaggeration, Ale. I have no doubt that you will be sensible and not let it get to that point. Please, for your own sake, prove me right." You sigh once more, flicking off the lamp to delve the room into darkness so you can settle for the night. "Get some sleep at least. I love you and I only want the best for you."

"Love you too."

The way she tucks herself up beside you for the night, her face buried in the gap between your neck and shoulder, tells you all you need to know. It's a subliminal sign of how much she needs you, a subconscious message that conveys how much she wants to give in to whatever illness she's got and let you take care of her. The thing is, she's not quite at that stage yet mentally.

So when you line up in the stadium tunnel the next day, a few people in between you both, you're staring daggers into the back of her head that she can surely sense.

Your attempts throughout the day to get her to skip just one match, where Barcelona were already winning 2-0 on aggregate, were completely futile because - shock horror! - she just would not listen. You gave her a piece of your mind multiple times, as did Irene and Marta and Mapi and other members of the Barcelona staff. What frustrated you most though, aside from Alexia's stubbornness, was Jona's willingness to put her on the pitch. He didn't think twice when Alexia confirmed with an apprehensive nod that she was well enough for the match today, and that's how you were in this situation now.

Throughout the whole first half, where Salma scored to make it 3-0 on aggregate, your eyes were on her any chance they could. By the 30th minute, her movements were sluggish and slightly lacklustre, you were adamant it was clear for everyone to see that playing today was not the right choice. Did that mean the referee or the match officials or Jona and his staff did anything about it? Absolutely not.

At a lull in the game, where the opposing goalkeeper was getting the ball for a goalkick, you jogged over to her and tugged on her jersey.

"You need to get off this pitch, Alexia. You are not fit to play." You warned her through gritted teeth before walking off without a response.

That didn't seem to deter her from continuing though, because she carried on playing like you hadn't spoken a word to her. Your fury only grew, and it took everything in you for it not to show through your actions in the game. You managed to suppress it until halftime, where you sprinted off the pitch to give Jona a lecture about the circumstances.

You were almost certain that, when Alexia walked back onto the pitch for the second half, there was steam coming out of your ears like a comedy sketch. If you thought your girlfriend looked awful the previous day, she looked even worse now.

"She snuck off to the toilets at halftime to... you know, throw up." Esmee reveals as you go to join the team huddle. That revelation just added fuel to the fire.

After the huddle, you carefully grasped her arm to give her another warning.

"Alexia, I know you were sick at the break. You need to get off the pitch, you are worrying me now." You choose a softer approach, hoping it'll get through to her.

"No. Leave it." She grunted, jogging away towards her starting position.

Turns out, as you had told her for the past 72 hours, that statement could not be more wrong. By the 60th minute, her movements were lethargic and lacked any strength or power, and each kick of the ball stole more energy from her already severely depleted endurance. Every step, every little movement felt like she was fighting a losing battle, and it was obvious to everybody at this point. Any longer and she would have had to been taken off on a stretcher.

But finally, finally, it seemed concerns were raised about her because she was substituted off. Alexia decided now was the time to give in, because truthfully she had never felt worse in her life.

The words from the staff and her teammates around her simply weren't registering in her head as she grabbed a puffer coat, zipped it up to her chin with the hood up, and staggered down the tunnel. She was freezing cold, yet to the touch of anyone else she was sure they'd be burnt at how hot her skin was. Stumbling through the door of the physio room, she just about made it to one of the beds before she collapsed down onto it.

By the time one of the team doctors caught up to her, she was shivering at an extreme level, also unable to stop the pathetic whimpers and whines that left her. The next period of time was a blur as the medics worked around her, urging her to take off the jacket as a cold cloth was draped across her neck and a bottle of water with electrolytes in it was handed to her. She sipped at it periodically, eyes tightly shut as the effect of her defiance ripped through her. With not much else to do right now but bask in self-pity, she was filled with regret and shame for letting it get to this point, where she couldn't even finish a game. If you were to ask her now, not that she could really talk, she would confess that she absolutely should not have played today.

To put it simply, she had exerted herself far too much and pushed way beyond the limits that her health could handle. Her actions were dangerous, to no one other than herself, and that paired with the worry people no doubt felt for her, eventually led to tears seeping from her eyes. She would never admit that they were mostly a result of how unwell she was feeling, no, she wasn't at that point yet.

The only saving grace in this whole thing was when you rushed into the room once the match was over. When you approached her, her eyes were still closed and she appeared to be stuck in some kind of trance. Your hand on her waist didn't alert her, neither did the hand that brushed her hair out of her face where it stuck to her forehead.

"Ale?" You whispered, jumping a little when her eyes flew open.

There was no other reaction from her though, she just looked at you with wide, frantic, fearful eyes that seemed to plead for help. It was then that you realised the trance she was in was a state of shock, and it instilled fear in you too.

"We think it's best we take her to the out of hours doctors. She has symptoms of tonsillitis, I doubt it is anything more severe than that, and it's just been made worse by playing today and not resting." One of the members of the medical team advised, to which you nodded instantly.

"Yeah, absolutely. Can someone drive us there please?" You asked, glancing back down at your girlfriend to see her eyes had shut again as more tears streamed from them. You took one of her hands and cupped her cheek, your thumb gently stroking over the burning skin of her face.

"Of course. We'll have it outside in a few minutes."

It was a struggle trying to get her to the car, but eventually you were in the backseat with her leaning heavily against you, her head on your shoulder. You clutched at her hand for the whole drive, filled with intense concern for the woman beside you. She could barely keep her eyes open, nevermind talk or move. To sum it up, she was ruined. And though, rationally, you knew it was all her own doing, you couldn't help but feel somewhat at fault for it getting this bad. Ultimately, there were lessons to be learnt for the both of you, and you'd be damned if you weren't going to do better next time. You never wanted to go through this again, nor did you ever want to even imagine Alexia this sick again.

The team doctor that accompanied you explained the situation to the receptionist at the sign-in desk, and fortunately there was a doctor available immediately for Alexia to see. That was a huge weight off your shoulders, literally, because the nurses helped to guide Alexia to the consultation room and assisted her in laying down on the bed.

It was quickly decided that giving Alexia an IV was the best way to start as it would provide her with fluids that she had lacked recently, before the doctor assessed how bad her tonsillitis was. He then prescribed her a round of strong antibiotics for her to take for the next ten days, something that would be a struggle due to the condition her throat was in but she'd get it done.

Now in proper care receiving treatment, Alexia was feeling slightly better and a lot less spaced out. The staff member from Barca had left a while ago once Alexia had been seen to, and for the moment the doctor had stepped out of the room to get her tablets. That left the pair of you alone now, for the first time since before the game earlier.

You were stood beside her bed, still grasping tightly to one hand as the other repeatedly ran over her hair to comfort her. Though, out of nowhere, Alexia rolled over and it worried your for a moment, thinking she might be sick, but she only dropped your hand and pulled you closer by the waist so that she could hide her face in your jersey covered stomach. With a soft smile, you let her rest there, glad she was doing well now.

No words needed to be uttered, it was a moment of silent intimacy that allowed both of you to process the events that had occurred and begin to decompress from the stress of it all. There was no doubt in your mind that your girlfriend was still feeling rougher than ever, but there was comfort found in the fact that she wasn't hiding her true feelings now. What she needed was you, that's all she wanted all along, and in this moment now she started to think she was borderline crazy for denying herself from that.

You could pin-point the exact moment she had that thought, because despite her weakness, she managed to pull you tighter to herself. Additionally, you felt her body deflate as she sighed into your shirt.

"Sorry."

Through her limited words that you had quickly grown accustomed to over the past few days, you know there are about a hundred other things she wants to say in this moment, but her voice and her vocabulary fail her. You couldn't blame her or fault her though, you never could, because that one word placed a plaster over an anxious crack that had formed with everything that had occurred.

"It's alright, Ale. I'm just glad you're on the mend now." She leans back a little and looks up at you with anxious, bloodshot eyes, and you understand the message she's trying to communicate. Your heart plunged at the broken sight of her, but you quickly reminded yourself this wasn't the time for that. You needed to relax almost as much as she did. "Don't worry about it, my love. Just relax for now, that's all I ask of you."

That seems to do the trick, because she settles back down afterwards and the last bout of stress leaves her body. Despite her weakened movements, her grip on your waist never faltered. The simple fact of it all was that you both needed the proximity right now. Love languages always came across as a bit of a farce to you both, but it was hard to deny that right now one of them was being portrayed at its utmost strength.

There was one last thing, however, that you had to do to settle those last niggling anxieties.

You move out of Alexia's space momentarily, smiling slightly at the disapproving mewl she lets out, and she watches with one eye as you pull up a chair beside her so that you're at a more equal level. She's still lay on her side facing you, one side of her face smushed against the bed which makes you let out a quiet giggle that pulls a confused look out of Alexia.

"You look a bit cute right now." You tell her, grinning when she huffed and closed her eyes. From your new position, you raise a hand and slowly start tracing your index finger up over her nose and down the right side of her face, repeating the movement over and over again. "I love you."

Her eyes opened once more at the statement you uttered, a hint of a genuine smile blooming on her face for what might be the first time that day.

"Same." Was all she could mumble, making you laugh and the sound of it caused her smile to grow.

"I feel bad for laughing but I can't help it." You somewhat apologise, and Alexia rolls her eyes jokingly.

When she gazes at you again, you're completely overcome with love and admiration for her, knowing there's not a soul on earth you could adore in the same way you do for her. At that, you lean forward to press your lips against hers, but upon first contact, she jolts away with wide eyes.

"No, amor." She grumbled despite the pain it caused her.

"Why not?" You wondered, feeling a little butt hurt at the rejection.

"You will get sick." The midfielder states like it's an obvious fact. Well, she was wrong.

"No I won't." You claim with a sly grin. When she frowned in confusion, you giggled. "I had my tonsils removed when I was younger."

A look of understanding and relief crosses her face, before she smiles and pouts up at you dramatically. To deny her now would be sinful. Her lips are a little chapped, but in the grand scheme of things, that minor fact is like a drop in the ocean, because your girlfriend is here, and she's safe, and she's going to get better, and most importantly of all, she's in love with you. In sickness and in health, right?

"You really are as white as a piece of paper, Ale."

"Stop being mean."

[mortem-writes]

1. A Widow's Bite | Simon Riley x Black Widow!Reader

Fic Masterlist- ❋ Read this on Ao3 ❋

Main tags: Innocent reader is accused of being a traitor trope, torture and interrogation, AFAB reader, questionably platonic bed sharing, strangers to lovers, sloooow burn, eventual smut, angst/hurt/comfort, kidfic Chapter word count: 1.8k

>> BUDAPEST-KELETI STATION, HUNGARY

>> November 3rd, 2019

Barkov is dead, and you are running for your life.

The city is busy despite the cold weather, and the awareness that time is running out sits heavy on the edges of your mind.

You surge through the throngs of people, and finally you enter the train station with a sense of trepidation pounding through your veins, but there are no yells, no bullets, only the sound of people bustling about the platform and the rare warmth of a pale winter sun peeking through the high windows. Your heart is throwing itself against your ribcage, and sweat beads under your collar.

Time seems to slow with every passing second as you wait in line at the ticket office. You can feel your watch leisurely tick against the rabbit-quick pulse at your wrist. You count the seconds. Feel the space between each tick stretch and unspool. You tap your feet to expel the pent-up energy, and you can feel the slim knife you slid into your boot earlier that day shift over your ankle joint with every mindless movement.

Unable to stop throwing furtive glances over your shoulder, you hand over one of your passports to buy a ticket when it is your turn, and then pick at your fingernails absentmindedly. You can't stop your eyes from darting about and scanning the crowd. There's tension stitched into every fibre and every layer of muscle in your body as you expect a hand to clamp down on your wrist or a gunshot to punch through the air or something to happen at any second, but then the ticket officer hands over to you both your passport and your literal ticket to freedom with a tepid smile. You relax— slightly.

You step onto a train heading for Warsaw with nothing but five passports, five identities, and a handgun stashed in your satchel with a bundle of cash.

The train pulls out of the station, gathering speed and, within a handful of minutes, Budapest falls behind with your past entombed within the old city walls.

>> GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE

>> VIRGINIA, UNITED STATES

>> November 5th, 2019

Barkov is dead, but his legacy is not.

At least not yet.

Despite being determined to rectify that, Laswell feels that either her skull is going to implode into a migraine or her eyes will be rendered useless if she spends any longer staring at beaming bright computer screens, and squinting at various complicated maps littered with minute scribbles and equally minute symbols.

Following the news of Barkov's death, his forces had scattered and his followers all across Russia and Urzikstan had been sent into a frenzy without a leader to guide them. The mayhem has spiralled out of control, and Barkov's bases and facilities are cropping up on the map in the dozens every time a new intelligence report lands on Laswell's desk.

The interns had long since gone home, and the clock above the door implores her to retire for the day. Laswell knows that option is probably what's healthy, but she's nothing if not obsessive at heart and a workaholic, especially when all the current leads on this case look like a massive ball of knotted yarn just waiting to be untangled.

The maps, the profiles, the photographs, the mountains of scattered files, and the wall of flickering screens— all of it— a puzzle, ready to be solved.

The job will get done, and with what the leads spiralling from Barkov look like, it needs to get done as soon as possible. As the clock steadily ticks away, and time drags Laswell into the early hours of the morning, she discovers that Barkov's secrets have secrets.

The leads spiral all across the map. France. Austria. Belarus. Poland. Siberia.

Internment camps. Massacres. Bombing civilian blocks. Trafficking weapons. Trafficking people.

The secrets unravel, the war crimes are stacking on top of each other, and the migraine sets in. She follows a lead that seizes her attention and puts a ball of dread in her stomach but seemingly leads to a dead end.

She reads for hours about young girls, often left orphaned from Barkov's killings, taken from orphanages in Urzikstan in droves and mysteriously disappearing from the face of the Earth. Laswell sits back after a few dedicated hours of digging as far as she can into the missing children. She sits and lets her mind sweep over the facts, letting her thoughts rove over the massive void of information in the middle of the story like a tongue feeling around the bloodied gums where a tooth had been. She wonders what has happened to these girls, somehow feeling that the answer to their disappearances may fill the pothole in their intelligence.

Laswell thinks of her young niece, about how her niece is now the same age as these girls when they went missing, and decides that she will find these girls at any cost, or at least make sure their story is known and whole. All the facts or none.

Sighing, Laswell pinches the bridge of her nose, lost in thought, just as the sun peeks over the DC skyline and dyes the sky in hues of purple and orange. She pulls a pack of migraine relief pills from her desk and swallows a handful of them down with a mouthful of cold coffee.

Then, just as the coffee settles unpleasantly on her empty stomach, the thought hits her as swift as lightning.

Belarus.

A money trail showed that Barkov's forces had frequently transported cargo to and from the country. She'd brushed the information off earlier, assuming they were solely transporting weapons and deeming it irrelevant to the missing girls. Now, however...

When Laswell had just begun her career in intelligence, she'd heard whispers of a covert facility buried somewhere in the snowy eastern European countryside in mission reports, and knew that half of the intelligence community believed it to be nothing more than a ghost story meant to intrigue the recruits. She knew that those who believed in its existence were convinced the KGB— now FSB— operated it long before and long after the USSR crumbled and Belarus gained independence.

Finding the base will be difficult, it had eluded the CIA for the better part of a century after all, but Barkov's death has condemned his empire to a slow death by a thousand cuts. Eventually, someone will slip up and give away the base, and the 141 will be there to wipe away the footprints of Barkov's legacy. 

>> BREST OBLAST, BELARUS

>> December 17th, 2019

Barkov is dead, and it's up to the 141 to wipe the shit stain off the map.

They don't have the full story yet, but for now Laswell has given them coordinates pointing deep into the snowy rural landscape of the Belarusian countryside.

Ghost watches a litter of workers mill around the dark tarmac like ants, clearing the runway of any stray streaks of ice and snow under a wan grey sky, and hoists his pack further up his shoulder as he and the rest of the 141 pile into a small cargo plane that looks more like a starved bird than a machine capable of flight. They amble noisily down the narrow aisle, dropping their packs into their seats and chattering amongst themselves, the sounds ricocheting off the blank walls.

Just as he’s settling in his chosen seat, someone drops heavily with a theatrical sigh into the seat to Ghost’s right. Sergeant MacTavish. Soap. Ridiculous fucking name but whatever he supposes. Soap grins crookedly at Ghost and scratches absentmindedly at a band aid taped to the jut of his bruised cheekbone — just one of many scattered across his face and knuckles that serve as clear testaments to Soap’s inability to keep himself out of trouble. 

“Laswell must be havin’ a field day, right LT?”

Ghost pictures in his mind Laswell hunched over a cramped desk for the past month just to find a measly single line of coordinates pointing them to arse fuck nowhere, and can’t help but think the poor woman isn’t having anything other than hell on earth let alone a field day. 

“Why’d you say that?” he asks gruffly, already feeling irritation seeping into him as he begrudgingly continues the conversation. 

“The CIA finally nailing a commie base after 60 years? Must be feelin’ proud o’themselves.”

“You’d think they’d be more irritated that it’s taken them that long. We don’t even know if this is it.”

Ghost discovers that Soap is the type of guy to embellish his words with expressive hand gestures, and he does so now. “Have some faith, LT. Hear both sides of the story before jumping to conclusions.”

“The only sides the CIA will know are the sides of my boot when I fit it up their arses if this goes nowhere.”

That cracks Johnny up, and Ghost looks away to hide the way the crow’s feet framing the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly under his mask. 

----------

What they find inside is nothing short of a bloodbath.

The facility was all but abandoned when they had made their way to the outer walls. No guards. No lights. No noise except the whistling of the wind sweeping over the snow.

The silence around them serves as an indicator of the deafening noise it must have taken for so many bodies to litter the floor. There are bullets embedded in the marble wall in the foyer, and the team picks their way inside over the heaps of dead guards. The blood is old enough to have coagulated, and there’s an unpleasant sticky noise every time Ghost lifts his boot to step forward.

They’re on the second level now, and the layers of spilt blood get thicker the deeper they go into the facility. Ghost passes a room before doubling back and entering, he takes a glance in and sees rows upon rows of wrought-iron beds with thin mattresses atop them. His head tilts curiously to the side as he spies a girl’s hair ribbon sprawled on the floor and a tiny pair of mary jane shoes tucked neatly under one of the beds.

Soap follows him, catching his attention silently to show Ghost the pairs of handcuffs dangling from each iron bedpost. The atmosphere is heavy, like the air in the room has a story of pain to tell and it’s suffocating them. 

Price is the one to palm his radio when they regroup and relay what they’ve seen, “Watcher-1, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that the lead’s legitimate.”

“I’ll be more glad to know if you’ve found the children,” Laswell returns crisply.

“Somebody got here before us, wiped out the whole place. ‘S a bloodbath.” The air shivers with tension. “No kids in sight now, though there’s evidence to suggest that they were here some time ago.”

A few seconds pass in silence. Ghost imagines that Laswell’s eyebrows are pinched like they always are whenever she runs into a problem or defeat. A bit more than a month of searching, for nothing more than a mass grave. 

A sigh comes over the line, but Laswell’s voice is determined. “We better find this somebody then.”

[seuonji]

彡 my days won’t end without you. — hong joshua

notes ๑ yn & svt idol!au. ever since you and joshua have started dating, he found it weird leaving work without you.

genre ๑ fluff

warnings ๑ non

word count ๑ 0.9k

from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated<3

“what do you want to eat tonight?” joshua whispered.

he came to visit you as per usual just outside your practice room. since you two have became an item, as days go by he becomes clingier and clingier. you two have started to be seen as hybe’s married couple and you two couldn’t disagree either. you two had a shared apartment and bickered like a married couple, the only thing missing was a ring on your finger.

and joshua would do anything to see you in between you and his breaks even if it’s just for a few seconds. jeonghan jokes that they should just make seventeen and your group’s practice rooms right beside each other.

earlier, he had messaged you saying he was gonna pass by your practice room which was really more of a “come outside i miss you.” demand, but to his surprise you were already outside. he nonchalantly skipped over to you but still maintained a distance. however the smile plastered on his face instantly turned into worry when he saw your exhausted expression. he didn’t even need to ask if you’re okay, he already knew the answer.

he’s been an idol long enough to understand why you looked so down. but most of all, he knew you and how strict you were with yourself when it came to your performances so as he saw you, he easily assumed you were having trouble with the choreography to your new song or your recording in the studio wasn’t satisfactory to you.

if he could hug you right now, he would.

but he can’t, thus he relied on cheering you up verbally and asked you what do you want for dinner, just to lighten up your mood and so that you’d have something to look forward to!

“what do you want to eat tonight?” joshua whispered.

“am i even going to make it out of this building before today ends?”

the day already ended actually, it was currently 12:41am, you were just too tired to have a sense of time. joshua took a peek to the clock at the end of the hallway and bit his lip not wanting to make your mood more foul.

“even if you go home at 5am or 10am, you’ll be going home with me,” he squinted his eyes showing his seriousness.

“no shua, go home, i know you’re already done with practice,” you leaned on the wall beside you to relieve yourself from carrying your tired self up.

“i can wait yn, how much longer could it possibly take?”

“i can’t get this part of the choreo down i might be here all night,” you crossed your arms, closing your eyes out of exhaustion. you were worried about how you were being perceived in joshua’s eyes but at the same time, you were too drained to give mind to it.

joshua stayed quiet. he understood the situation and why you felt this way so he really wasn’t bothered, what bothered him was how it was affecting you.

“i’m sorry,” you blurted after the silence lasted too long.

joshua took a step forward and gave a reassuring smile, “yn, don’t be sorry, it’s your job and come on, i’m your senior, you think i don’t know how tiring practice can be?” he tried to convince you he understood and that you weren’t being a burden. joshua was never one to care about treatment of juniors to seniors but he was pulling that card today.

“just do what you have to now, when you’re done, we’ll go home together and i’ll cook your favourite food. if you still feel like being a workaholic, we can go through your choreography together, how does that sound?” he tilted his head with a sweet smile

“wow, ‘go through the choreography together?’ when did you join the performance unit?”

joshua was apalled despite knowing it was a joke, “i’m seventeen i am basically the performance unit!”

your corners of your lips slowly turned into a smile as you laughed. internally, joshua felt accomplished.

“so, we’re getting out this building together, at the same time?” joshua wanted a clear answer.

“i’ll finish up as fast as i can,” you gave an indirect yes.

“that’s my yn, but also just take your time, i’ll wait.”

you bit your lip and nodded before turning to get back to practice. but just before that, joshua tugged your shirt stopping you in your tracks. as he leaned forward, his mouth levelled to your ear and there he whispered, three sweet words.

“i love you.”

you two have already said it so many times yet hearing it now, it caught you off guard but you quickly brushed it off, “see you later hong jisoo.”

“you government named me?!” he quietly screeched.

you opened the door to your practice room and stuck your tongue out, teasing him.

his eyes were wide, not out of anger but out of shock. when did you learn to get so cheeky? in reality you’ve just been hanging out with him too much.

he placed his hands in his pockets and walked away chuckling to himself. he may have told you to take your time but he really couldn’t wait for your practice to end.

you’ve heard joshua say i love you so many times, yet today, it stuck in your head making practice ten times harder than it already was.

but needless to say, you can’t wait to get over with practice and leave this building with the one you love.

[bedouinpoet]

PERMISSION

Aaron Hotchner x BAU Reader,

its a slow burn but hope you like it feel free to leave a comment. Pls be nice, my first ever fan fic (18+ only please) more to come.

y/n = your name

y/l/n= your last name

You never thought your wish to join the BAU would ever come true. It always felt like some kind of pipe dream for someone with so much baggage like you. The agreement was clear you never mention your past to this team and you get to work for the FBI rather than prison. You still remember the first day you came into work, JJ, the communications liaison introducing you to everyone at the round table. “Guys this is y/n, Agent y/L/n-“ “please just call me y/n” you quickly interrupt, she smiled understandably and nods “agent y/n is our newest member of our little family, y/n this is Agents Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Dr Spencer Reid, Agent David Rossi, technical analyst Penelope Garcia and last but not least our unit chief and team lead agent Aaron Hotchner” “just Hotch please” you felt your toes curl as every inappropriate thought crossed your mind the moment you shook his hand and he smiled at you with those melted caramel eyes

3 months later…

You all just got back from yet another gruesome case, family annihilator with a fetish for kids underwear as trophies. ‘Fuck sometimes there really is no punishment harsh enough for these guys’ you think. You are one of the last ones in the office, Reid just left asking if you needed a ride. “Nah I’ll get a taxi later I need to finish the last of this case file” Admittedly that wasn’t the full truth, you could easily finish this tomorrow even at home in your office in your apartment but…Hotch… Hotch was still here. You've had a crush on him since the first day. But…what would you be to him? You always thought as a fucked up 23 year old coworker and subordinate. You’re pretty sure he even tried to set you and Reid up on a date. You’re glad of that in a way. Even though absolutely nothing happened and you aren’t into each other in that way (and he knows about your crush). You ended up becoming best friends. Second only to your girls JJ and Pen. But you know Hotch and he won’t leave here until someone drags him out which has been your job of late. Especially since Haley filed for divorce and he signed. It’s like the guy lives here now. You keep glancing up at Hotch’s office until you finally see your opening as he closes a file, taking a deep breath, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his chair putting his hands over his head. Damn, every move mesmerizes you. You close your file and stuff them in your bag. Taking your leather jacket and head up. You knock lightly on his door, his eyes snapping open “y/n? What are you still doing here?” “Same as you ya workaholic come on I need a ride. Would you mind?” His confused eyes and eyebrow scrunch, he looks out to the bullpen like he’s avoiding this drive. “Jeeze haha if you don’t want to you don’t have to Hotch I just don’t wanna get a cab right now but all good-“ he quickly sat up. “No no I’ll drive I should probably head home….get some sleep and-“ “call jack” the words leave your mouth before even thinking. His face fell in offence. “Excuse me agent?” Agent, you notice he only ever says agent like that to you when you’re in trouble and damn does it make you wet. “Sorry! I-i-i just meant. Well. (Sigh) look this was a rough case and I know especially when it comes to cases with kids, calling jack-o-lantern puts a smile on your face….grounds you” his face softens and you see his half smile brighten the room and your heart pounds, he laughs lightly when you mentioned his sons nickname you gave him. “I never understood where you got that nickname for jack” “cause he’s a kindred spirit that loves chocolate and Halloween like my fine self duh. Now call your kid I’ll wait in the bullpen till your ready handsome-“ he immediately looked up “what?” “What?” He shifted in his chair and your heart pounds, fuck you get to conformable around him. “You called me handsome” why do you keep letting things slip. You clear your throat trying your best to be as nonchalant as possible despite every part of you heating up “yea? Your point. Just stating truths boss now dial” Hotch smiles at you again but this time….something about the glint in his eyes is different as if he is considering. You try to shake it off. Telling yourself to calm down. The second you sit back down you see Hotch laugh on the phone. You smile to yourself. You were right jack o lantern helped….

“yep just park here my apartment is just ahead but parking sucks” He parks the car and takes off his seat belt, gets out and opens your door. Always the gentleman and he does it like muscle memory. Ugh perfect you think. “I can carry my own bags ya know? I’m a big girl sir” you whisper the the end of your sentence like calling him sir is a secret. Hotches jaw clenched as you winked “and I’m a gentleman. Shall we?” Every door he opened for you. You both get into the elevator, your go bag in hotch’s big hands. The moment the doors close all you can do is stare at his hands, imagining how good Hotch could pin you to the wall and kiss you so hard until you beg for air. Even one of those hands could pin your hands on top of your head. You swallow hard as your mouth gets dryer and you can already feel your knees weak and your panties dampen. You don’t realize how long you were staring at Hotch’s hands but apparently too long “is everything alright y/n?” Fuck he stares at you, his eyebrows stern but his eyes show genuine concern and confusion. Fuck. “Y-yea sorry was just day dreaming” he smiles “anything good?” “Pshhhh wouldn’t you like to know” his eyes darken with a hint of confusion as horrified realization crosses your mind as what you just admitted. Shit. “I-I- just meant, I mean it wasn’t anything in particular” Hotch nods as the elevators doors open, he lets you pass first as he walks behind you. You get to your door as you pat your pockets searching for your keys. Hotch stands deadly close behind you. “Ugh just pin me against the wall” you think trying to shake away the thought as you find your Keys only to drop them in front of you “dammit” you whisper and bend over quickly, forgetting how close behind you Aaron really was. You feel his front pressed against your ass as you grab your keys and hear Hotch take in a sharp breath and his pants bulge slightly. Your panties are near soaked with ideas of what this man could do to you. But he steps back clearing his throat. “Sorry” you stumble, grabbing your keys off the floor and quickly unlock the door and step inside. He takes only a step inside and hands you your bag. Your entire body shivers from the touch of his hands. “Thanks boss. Ever the gentleman….would you wanna come in? Don’t have much for drinks but got coffee and lemonade-“ “no thank you, it’s pretty late I-we should get some sleep. We have an early day tomorrow I’ll see you in the office. Goodnight y/n” “night Hotch and thanks again” He says nothing but smiles in reply and nods as he walks away. You could see his hands clenched, white knuckled as he presses the elevator button. You shake off the itching hope that there was something more between you two. You don’t even bother eating, can’t even think about food. Instead you go straight to bed, stripping off everything and taking your vibrator from your night stand. You lay down bringing your hands to your breast, pinching you nipples imagining it’s Hotches big calussed hands, no matter how hard you try to think of anyone else the only person you can think of to cum is Hotch, fucking you dumb, his lips on your skin trailing up and down your body, his hands rough and grabby. You feel your orgasm arising closer and closer until all you see is spots as you cum all over the toy. You take a deep breath wishing you didn’t just have yourself and the TV to go to bed too. “Welp… at least I can go to sleep.” You say to your empty apartment. Little did you realize Hotch was thinking of your ass rubbing against his cock in the shower that night. Pumping himself frienzied as he fantasizes about bending you over in that shower grabbing your hips and fucking you until his cum spills deep inside you….

the next morning was brutal. Another wet dream but no time to help yourself. “Dammit I’m late!” You call a taxi as you rush to get dressed. Struggling to find a clean shirt as you forgot to wash your laundry last night the only shirt remotely appropriate for work being your red deep v neck that’s a smudge too V and says ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good’ “thank you Harry Potter” -and a pair of cargo pants. “Fuck it” you put it on and tuck in the shirt at least trying to look put together packing a few things in your go bag, guns holstered and your badge in pants pocket you book it out of there…

you make it to work out of breath and five minutes late. Everybody already waiting at the round table. “Sorry sorry couldn’t get a taxi-“ “it’s fine agent y/l/n just don’t let it happen again” Hotch’s eyes stop on your shirt as Morgan laughs “up to no good huh pretty girl? Wonder what that means…” he winks you laugh and sit down next to him touching his shoulder “oh honey, you couldn’t handle what it means” you high five Emily and wink at pen and jj when “it’s from Harry Potter” pen and Spencer say at the same time “Ha I know y’all aren’t the only nerds you know” you tease Reid as Morgan leans in “working some magic huh nerd.” As he fist bumps you. “Please let’s continue-“ you don’t even realize Hotch is staring daggers in you and Morgan’s direction jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. Dammit he’s pissed about you being late you tremble. “Sorry-“ “let’s continue” is all he says. “Right we are heading to New Orleans my lovelies. At an opera house called Garnier-“ “like phantom of the opera?” Reid and you say at the same time “jinx! You owe me an iced coffee” he laughs “don’t you have one right now?” “You can never have enough coffee my child” you smile and wink at Reid “amen to that” Emily nudges me

“anyways there has been 3 deaths all at this opera house. All men, first was George Shepard the building manager, he got quite the beating in his office, the second Alex Miller he was props manager, similar injuries and the third was Jake Townson who was hung. The police question if it’s really a suicide-“

“that doesn’t make any sense” you say thinking out loud as you all do. “What do you mean y/n?” Garcia’s innocence seeping out of her adorable face “well look at the first two victims, beaten, the neck broken, that says anger, then hanging ? No bruises no prior beating? That’s more of what you see with mercy killers it doesn’t add up” Hotch stares at you intently anger slightly subsiding looking at you even when Morgan talks in agreement his eyes pierced you and you look away feeling your cheeks heat as you break eye contact to look down at the file. “Whatever the reason and whoever it is it’s clearly connected to this opera house and with his cooling off period we don’t have much time before another victim …wheels up in three hours….y/n in my office please” you swallow feeling you are about to get hell for being late….again. You really need to fix that alarm clock.

You follow Hotch into his office “have a seat” you swallow hard as he closes the door and stands in front of of you leaning on the desk, arms crossed, his face scrutinizingly serious “sir I know I’ve been late I promise I’ll do better and-“

“what is your relationship with Agent Derek Morgan?”

His interruption stopped you in your tracks. He leaned further back and crossed his legs and his pants creased at the most torturous places. Fuck your basically eye level with his crotch as you wish you were on your knees his hands grabbing your hair- “agent…I said what is your relationship with Agent Morgan?” You swallow as you look back up at Hotches face and you swear as you do his hands tense and his jaw clench’s….”I asked you a direct question agent” you shake off your hormones for a moment and reply “I’m sorry but I don’t get what you mean? There is no relationship other then friendship?” He scoffs “you seem awfully flirty with each other for just friends. You are also co workers and that was extremely unprofessional behaviour do I make myself clear?” All, of a sudden the hormones jumps out the window as all you can see is red anger “excuse me?” Your tone shocks Hotch but he quickly recovers “yes?” Fuck his ability to be so calm you think to yourself before saying “I am sorry but I find it awfully weird that you are lecturing me for something the ENTIRE TEAM does? Fuck sakes Morgan calls Pen Baby Girl on a daily? Flirting non stop. We make jokes about Reid’s love life. fuck sakes I flirted with prentess and JJ in passing but all of a sudden my behaviour is inappropriate-“ Hotches arms fall as he closes his fists tightening “are you saying you do it because everyone else does? That’s awfully childish and I expected better” at those words all reserve goes out the window and you become a bull just seeing red “excuse me!? How dare you. I am an equal member of this team AARON HOTCHNER. Yes I may be the youngest but that gives you no right to speak to me in such a manner as such I do not have to explain myself when I have done nothing wrong. I have worked my ass off for this team and this job.” Anger filled tears swell your eyes but fuck it you already started “I have assisted in solving how many cases? I have given everything to this team and deserve more respect then you have just displayed. So speak to me when you want to apologize for YOUR behaviour Hotchher” Without even thinking or considering you march out of his office. Your entire body on fire with anger and shaking, leaving Hotch standing dumbfounded as you slam his door. Rossi steps out from his own office “everything alright kiddo?” His hand out for support but even that doesn’t stop you “I’m fine Rossi see you on the plane” With that you leave as everyone watches you grab your go bag and jacket and leave.

….

On the plane Hotch sits at your usual corner window seat, avoiding all eye contact with you but you don’t care. You fought so hard for this job, crush or not you aren’t about to let anyone talk like that to you. The rest of the flight passed with further discussion about the likelihood of the unsubs gender and age, until you all were about to land “unfortunately it’s too late to go to the station detective Monroe says he will see us tomorrow morning so it’s off to the hotel my lovelies” Pen came with you this time as the team needed her in person and looking through every camera in the opera house to see what everyone might have missed and that’s the job for your girl PG. the drive to the hotel passed well as you drove with Reid and you in the back and Morgan and Em in the front. When you got down to the hotel you were all laughing but your smile faded as you saw Hotch get out of the SUV behind you, his own smile fading at the sight of you. You shake off the feeling and turn as Morgan takes your arm and Penelope’s come on naughty girls there is a nice bed and cool mini bar with my name on it.” You all laugh and you slap his arm looking back at Hotch to make sure he saw that as you enter the hotel. “Um sorry agents there are only four rooms available this week” you hear everyone behind you groan and sigh in frustration as all of a sudden “I ain’t bunking with Reid” minute Morgan says that Pen holds Morgan’s arm “dibs” with that, you all burst out laughing and before you could try and pair off with anyone. Emily and JJ pair off and Reid with a sly smile says he will bunk with Rossi who almost protested until he saw Reid’s face. Hotch and you stood awkwardly until “very well y/n and I will room together, here is all of your rooms keys, see you all at 7 am” everyone nods and disperses as you lean down to grab your bag, Hotch grabs it off the floor without even looking at you. “Shall we?” “Uh thanks” you shyly try and tuck in your hair behind your ear as you head to the elevator where JJ and Emily squeezed in, everyone on the same floor, when you all get to the floor and about to open your hotel room door you look in time to see JJ and Reid wink at you as you flip them off. You step into the room Hotch right behind you clearly confused “what was that for?” As you enter the room you notice how small it is one bed, one sofa, desk and coffee machine and bathroom. Fuck one bed, that’s an issue you’ll have to figure out in a minute. “What was what for?” You ask pretending to be oblivious “y/n….you just flipped off at JJ prentice and Reid? Why?” “Why does it matter are you going to lecture me on how childish and inappropriate it was? I’m off the clock boss” The anger beginning to roll back in but you stop when Hotch drops the bags harshly on the floor. His glare scrutinizing, his eyebrows so furrowed you could barely see his eyes, he remained quite. You roll your eyes feeling like a teenager but replying “inside joke that’s all…sir” you end your sir with more of an attitude then expected. Aaron just shakes his head “y/n that’s enough…I AM your boss my question about you and Morgan was valid I do need to know what is going on with my agents as it affects this team-“ he had a point and you can’t help yourself but soften your body tension as Hotchs face also softens, before you can say anything he continues “however…as you stand you have more then earned my respect and ….and trust…and I am sorry for my comment it was out of line and I hope we can move past this and focus on this case.” His eyes became almost pleading and every harsh feeling you had towards him melted away, your knees almost giving out as he licks his lips. You were getting horny again and too tired to fight. Taking a deep breath “I’m sorry too…friends?” You stuck out your hand as he looks at it momentarily and relaxes as he grabs it with a smile “friends” he keeps his hand in yours a moment longer with a light squeeze as a tension fills the air until he lets go you almost whimper with the lack of warmth from his hands. He clears his throat

“Right um…would you like to take a shower first?” You shake your head “nah I’ll take one in the morning you go ahead” he smiles “great thanks” he went straight to the bathroom you grab both bags and put them on the sofa as you change into your sweats and t shirt attempting to tie up your almost shoulder length short hair, strands falling on your face. You take out the files and the copy of phantom of the opera you bought at the airport placing it all on the bed as you hear the shower go on. You try not to picture a soaked naked Aaron Hotchner and concentrate on the case…it barely works and you get uncomfortably wet but before you can even try to help yourself the shower goes off so you fully concentrate on the files. As the door opens you finish writing your notes not looking up “Hotch! I think I figured out what’s been bugging me about this case I did a quick once over on the phantom of the opera and-“ you stop somehow out of breath when you look up and see Hotch walk closer in nothing but a towel hiding what you are dying to see. You sit up gaping. You’ve pictured him shirtless yet this was somehow hotter then you even expected, his messy hair, his body still dripping, his chest with perfect amount of subtle hair. You think how good holding him would be, lying your head on his chest, sitting on his lap and removing the towel. You don’t even realize how long you’ve stared at Hotch but he blushes, his ears going pink and he looks away and back “sorry…I forgot my pajamas ….but….um…you said there was a connection?” His face going back to agent hotchner face and with that and shirtless was a mix you could barely handle. “Right!” You shake off to the best of your abilities looking down again as he sits on the side of the bed looking attentively at you as you keep moving the hair from your face. “So I mentioned that the hanging was weird ? Well I think I know why the unsub did it, he’s following the plot of the book buts he’s making it somehow more violent.” “How so?” His head tilts his curiosity almost adorable but you can’t stop thinking about the towel. “Well umm” you take a deep breath but nope your horniness is getting worse and wetter “could you put some clothes on please”

you laugh breathlessly, his confusion evident but blushes “sorry “ he whispers and you swear your heart melts “no no it’s just….your dripping on the files and my book” you try to lighten the mood as you lie and look up moving your hair from your face again. You need a hair cut. But your answer seems to calm him “oh right” he smiles “right sorry just give me a second” he went to his bag grabbing some sweats and a shirt and went to the bathroom. Coming out moments later with his deadly grey sweats and white tshirt….you can’t help but wish he was shirtless again but lord have mercy those sweats you think. “So you were saying?”

“Right so the first two victims fits with the first two characters in the book. The two managers however in the book…the two managers only get their legs broken by the opera ghost. Not their necks. It’s not till the third in the book which the character hangs himself Hotch…I think our unsub sees himself as Erick the opera ghost he most likely has some deformity and lack of social skills like the character and…HA that’s it ….tomorrow we need to ask Garcia for the original plans of the opera house the unsub probably lives there we need to do a search and fast.” Hotch never interrupted you, he listened and waited and watched you then took a few notes “right. Good work y/n I’ll get Garcia to get the plans tomorrow and a list of anyone born around 25 to 35 years ago with a severe face deformity around the area he is probably local.” You can’t help but smile you always feel overwhelming sense of pride when you crack a part of the case. You smile at Hotch but the way he looks back makes you have butterflies all in your stomach and chest, he reaches over and moves the hair from your face, your toes curl at the touch “really good work y/n” he whispered, every part of you loses control as you grab him by the shirt and kiss him.

you move back in absolute shock and fear when you see shock in his eyes “fuck I’m sorry I’m so sorry” you get up “y/n”

“I need a coffee” you interrupt before he rejects you

“y/n stop!”

Too late and you didn’t go back until 3 am waiting in the downstairs bar beating yourself up. You quietly sneak to the bed. Ugh fuck Hotch for being so hot and good you think as you see he slept on the couch lightly snoring away. The second you put your head on that pillow you pass out. Hotch moves your hair back “you did really good y/n well done” the tension rises as he moves closer, his hand cupping your cheek you lightly moan as you lean into his touch, kissing his palm, he groans “fuck it” as you give him the pleading eyes and his lips smash into yours. It feels so good as he warms your entire body, laying you down as he goes on top of you, moving his hand down caressing then grabbing your breasts slowly pinching your nipples between his callused thump and forefinger, you arch your back up pushing into his body even more feeling his bulge between your legs. He groans as he takes his chance opening your mouth wider with his tongue, kissing deep as you wrap your legs around him, even with those grey sweats on you can feel his hard on as you grind up, moaning you feel yourself getting so wet even from that friction he bites down at your neck “fuck y/n baby what am I gonna do with you-“ he whispers in your neck.

you wake up to your phone alarm, hotch just getting up from the sofa as he looks up at you blushing and then averting your eyes ‘shit, did I moan out loud?’ You blush just thinking about it but he says nothing “uh….morning boss” is all you can muster up to say, he smiles “good morning y/n sleep well.” You blush further closing your legs somehow terrified he will know how wet you are even under the blanket, “yup you? Why did you sleep on the couch?” You try not to look up at him as he looks unbelievably hot in the morning, his clean hair cut messy with bed hair, “seemed right in case you wanted to sleep on the bed I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“ever the gentleman”

he smiles and it seems you don’t need to even use words to agree that the kiss never happened and it was best to forget it even if you couldn’t. “If you just let me wash up quick and such then the shower is all yours and I’ll go downstairs and wait for you so you can get ready, if that’s alright?” You think it’s adorable that’s he’s asking as if you could say no “of course” you get up and get your clothes ready digging in your bag to take out your black lace bra and thong, cargo pants and black dress shirt, you hold up the bra and panties just as Hotch steps out of the bathroom and the sight stops him dead in his tracks, his eyes darken, jaw clenched as he starts to breath shallow and quickly licking his bottom lip as if all of sudden his mouth is dry. “I-um-I -you can shower now” maybe it was how much you enjoyed seeing how flushed and flustered you made him or the fact you’ve never seen him that way, or maybe it was the dream or sleep deprivation or all of the above but you were feeling confident and adventurous as you lift the bra to your chest and the thong to your hip giving him a mischievous smile that makes his eyes go almost entirely black “you like? Got it for a date that no showed but damn glad he didn’t, may have ripped them off their nice don’t you think?” He licked his lips as he swallowed heavily like it was a struggle, for once you finally made this man speechless until “what date? When?” You giggle “Jeeeze Hotch I asked you if you like my bra and panties and THATs what you ask first?” His expression turns serious, almost angry, dare you think jealous. For a moment he were actually scary and damn did it turn you on. “That’s not an answer” you shrug “I dont remember, his loss is another’s gain huh?” You wink as you move past a completely flustered Aaron Hotchner “I’ll be quick handsome” dam you really are pushing it today but his reactions only fuel your urges.

…

the case continued and after that morning your adventurous side simmered down and you regained your shyness and professionalism especially looking at all the dead bodies on the board. But since the morning Hotch has been different. Always near you, every car ride he made sure you rode with him in the passenger seat, when you split off you were always paired off with him. Now you and your team had the unsub surrounded, hiding in the shadows of the large set on the main stage of the opera house, you and Hotch took the front, responsible for the negotiation. Emily and Morgan went to the back and Reid and Rossi took both sides. “Lucas!” You shout “Lucas Sanderson! Come on hun we have you surrounded” you and Hotch slowly get up on the stage, flashlight and guns raised as a noise came out near you, metal clanging “Lucas FBI- come on hun I know why you did it but times up come out with your hands raised” it happened too fast, the unsub came crashing down on top of you, you struggle for your gun as Hotch pushes him off you, there was a struggle as Lucas got a hold of your gun facing it directly to Hotch . It was like time slowed your heart pounding out of your chest, no time to think you run pushing Hotch out of the way as you hear a gun shot. You and Hotch are on the floor and immediately you both sit up, looking each other over for any injuries, then you see Lucas on the floor, blood trickling down from the back of his head, Em’a gun facing him “everyone okay!?” A wave of emotion flows through you like a storm and you don’t even know what to say when Hotch replies “yea, we’re good” but were you? As Hotch said those words his glare never left you he was furious and he remained glaring with absolute anger and …something else you couldn’t place. You averted his gaze. Morgue, ambulance, and drive to the hotel later.

“we will sleep here tonight and leave for home first thing in the morning, you all worked hard well done rest up everyone” as Hotch speaks he keeps his eyes set on you “thank god I am exhausted hotel bar here I come” Morgan smiles as the team laughs as Emily says “maybe I’ll join this was brutal….you sure your good y/n?” Her genuine concern and care warms your heart you smile heartedly “I’m fine Em really, drink up and have fun for me I’m way too tired, goodnight babes” as you hug each other and part. You and Hotch go into the elevator alone. He hadn’t said a word. “Urrrm are you okay sir”

“don’t call me that”

he doesn’t look at you just straight ahead “what?” You try and think what you possibly did for him to be so angry “don’t call me sir” the elevator doors open and that’s when you feel his hand on your elbow gripping your arm with a deadly grip he marches both of you to your room “Hotch what the fuck!” Is all you can let out as the pain turns into something more horny but you try and ignore it “shut up” is all he says. He opens the door slamming it behind the both of you and practically throwing you when he lets go. “HOTCH what the -“

“what the hell were you thinking y/n!?” His yelling voice damn near throws you back but you stand your ground as you see his face as serious as ever, eyes furrowed, arms crossed and his tie slightly ajar, his tone the same as his reprimanding voice but somehow even angrier. “What are you talking about?!” He tilts his head as if he can’t believe you don’t know what he is speaking of “you push yourself in front of an armed suspect!? What the hell were you thinking agent!? What if prentess didn’t get there on time!? That was reckless! You could have died!”

All of sudden anger boils over you as the storm of emotion inside of you begins to break the dams you try to keep up “what!? I was doing my job SIR! What exactly are you mad at here? Lucas Sanderson has a gun ON YOU!? What the fuck did you want me to do!? Let you get shot!?” Tears stream down your face at the very idea of seeing Hotch hurt “YES! Better me then you!” He shouts even louder his voice becoming dam near terrifying but you held your place if this is when it all comes out so be it “I WOULD RATHER DIE THEN SEE YOU HURT AARON HOTCHNER” tears and full on cries followed as your answer takes Hotch aback. He stands in shock as the tears fall. you continue “if you are going to reprimand me sir for doing what I did, do so SIR but I won’t apologize for…for…for loving you and not wanting to see you hurt!” You are almost out of breath by the time your done anger being replaced by fear that you just ruined your relationship with Hotch for good and maybe lost your job when Hotch says quitely you barely hear “how…how do you think I feel?” You couldn’t understand the question couldn’t feel anything other than your heart pounding in your ears. “You think I could ever see you get hurt? Do you have any idea how fast I felt my heart break then and there I could barely breath when I thought you-you- you were shot. I couldn’t- I’d rather have died then see you shot I couldn’t I -“ you didn’t think, your head was spinning and your heart filling with overwhelming care. You stopped thinking as you grab at his tie pulling him down to your lips and kissing him, this time no hesitation “y/n” he groans “shut up and kiss me Aaron” the moment he hears his name from your lips he grabs you like he owns you and no one else in the world, he turns you around pinning you against the door, you moan into his mouth as his tongue directs the kiss and he bites your lower lip “Aaron” you moan deepening the kiss and grabbing the back of his head raising one of your legs and wrapping it around him “fuck…say my name again sweetheart say it” he groans as he kisses down your neck and biting down “Aaron! Fuck yes please please” he growls as you lightly pull his hair then turning your hands down and rubbing his cock over his pants, even with his dress pants in the way you can feel how large the bulge is, he groans as he lifts you up and takes you to the bed.

laying you down with such force he practically throws you on the bed like he’s been waiting for too long to do this, he stands taking off his tie as you unbutton his shirt, he stands in front of you shirtless as you kiss up and down his body right on top of his belt you look up and smirk at him pleading. He growls “strip. Now” you can’t help yourself and your bratty nature when you reply “make me” the moment you say it you are glad as he grabs your neck putting his thumb on your bottom lip “do you really wanna be a brat and play this game sweetheart?” The sexy threat in his voice makes your legs shiver and your panties soak. His eyes go feral as you suck his thumb and reply “what do you think sir?” He watches mesmerized as you lick his thumb his breath hastening as you put your hands on his belt but grabs both your hands with one of his “not yet baby” the way he smiles at you calling you baby his hand still on your neck got you so wet you felt close even from that. You had to close your legs tight as you squirm “Aaron- pls please sir” he smiles “please what y/n? Tell me what you want” his hands grabbing you harder “you” that was enough to release any hesitation Hotch had as he crashes his lips to yours this time even rougher biting your bottom lip until it bled licking you up like the only air he needed was you, kissing and biting down your neck as he rips open your shirt throwing it to the side then your bra. Trailing his mouth down to your nipples kissing one then the other grabbing both and growling and groaning as if it’s the best sight he has ever seen “you are gorgeous” he whispers as he bites on one of your nipples and pinching the other, you grab his hair for support as your legs shake “AARON yes yes please sir please more” he begins to unbuckle his pants his mouth never leaving your body as he stands back up. You immediately slide off the bed on your knees in front of him “baby what are you-“

“shhh, what I’ve been craving for months sir”

at that he groans and you feel his whole body shake and tense at your touch rolling his head back as you push his pants down, he smiles down at you as you sit absolutely flabbergasted at his size almost scared and even more turned on “what’s wrong?” He asks caressing your cheek “fuck you’re huge”

you both laugh as his eyes darken once more and he smirks “think you can handle it?”

He moves your hair away as you look up with a smirk “that was never in question sir” with that you don’t hesitate as you lick his tip then begin to slowly deep throat him entirely the moment you do Hotch’s grip on your hair tightens as he moans curses over and over and “fuck yes” loud enough for you to be proud that your causing him this much satisfaction. You use your hands and mouth together pumping deeper and deeper not caring how sloppy you looked spit down your chin moaning as he pulls your hair hard and begins to fuck your mouth, his legs getting shaky you finally stop just for a moment looking up at Aaron. “Fuck y/n you look so beautiful you have no idea how bad I wanted this , to feel that pretty mouth, but I need to feel your pussy now”

without warning he lifts you onto the bed like you were a doll, taking his pants completely off and going on top of you. You feel his weight, his warmth his body on top of you and you spread your legs wide for him as he adjusts himself and you both moan together as he rubs your clit with his thumb and enters his tip inside you. you swallow hard “please Aaron” he smiles into your mouth “beg for me sweetheart” you obey without hesitation “please Aaron, please I need you, I need your cock inside me I can’t take it” he started slowly putting just the tip in and out at a torturous rate he pulls your hair so you look up at him “are you sure y/n? Truly. Y/n if it gets too much you tell me understand ?” You nod whimpering as you start to wrap your legs around his waist scratching down his back “please sir, Aaron please fuck me how you want me give me everything” “fuck-“ he growls with that final permission he needed he thrusts his entire cock deep.

you scream how good he filled you as he grunts “fuck your tight fuvk” he thrusts into you with a mission harder and harder you grab on to him for dear life as he grabs one of your hands and pins it down on top of your head interlacing his fingers into yours and grabbing hard as he pushes into you deeper you feel yourself almost give over when he moans in your ear “yes baby fuck”

he thrusts upward hitting your g spot like a pro who knows your body better then anyone else, making your legs shake, he hits that spot over and over moving his hand down rubbing your clit as you grab on to him once more for dear life scratching his back. “Fuck Aaron yes please I’m going to cum please !” You feel your senses overwhelmed you “that’s right babe cum for me let go” he thrusts into you harder and faster at an impossible rate as you feel the coil break and release washing over you as you clench his cock. Hotch grabs your hand again as he gets close thrusting, groaning your name over and over as you feel his cum deep inside you.

both of you are out of breath as he stays on top of you for a while, you wrap your arms around him as he digs his face into your neck. In that moment you would happily stay forever. As he slowly stands up you whimper at that loss of heat, he smiles at the sound “I’m coming right back baby just grabbing a washcloth” he leaves to the bathroom coming back he cleans between your legs gently kissing your thighs. He throws the cloth to the side and lays you down and wraps his arms around you as you lay your head on his chest. You feel so at home it hurts. And it terrifies you. There is no question why he is the unit chief of your team when he asks “are you alright?” His concern growing in his chocolate eyes, “hmm? Oh yea I just….Hotch what does this mean? I know I said I love you but I don’t want you to feel like….i don’t know….like you have to say it back or be with me-“

“I love you y/n - I have loved you for months now I love everything about you. How kind and clever you are, how you always try to make sure everyone on the team is doing well even if you are hurting, you give without a second thought, you care and love with your whole heart. I love you I was just scared. I mean y/n I’m over 20 years your senior not to mention your boss”

“that doesn’t matter “

“doesn’t it?”

“no…I want you. You want me, together we will figure everything out. I just got you I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks down at you eyes filled with emotion, naked emotion. “I love you y/n y/l/n you have all of me” you kiss him “I love you Aaron Hotchner. I’m all yours”