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“Hotch isn’t answering,” Emily muttered, phone to her ear again. “This is the third time I’ve tried him.”

“Fourth,” JJ corrected, flicking her pen against her notepad. “I called him first this morning. Straight to voicemail.”

“Maybe he’s ignoring you,” Rossi offered, smirking as he sipped his coffee.

Emily rolled her eyes. “No. You’ve tried him too.”

“True,” Rossi admitted, “but I’m charming.”

Penelope popped her head into the round table room with narrowed eyes. “Okay, what is going on? I’ve tried Hotch, and I’ve even pinged him through his laptop. Radio silence. And, um, that man is never off the grid. Even when he’s on vacation, he answers like he’s being paid per ring.”

“Which he isn’t,” Derek added as he walked in, late but looking unusually relaxed.

“Where’ve you been?” Emily asked, eyebrows raised.

“Morning workout. What’s going on?” Derek leaned against the table, arms crossed.

“We can’t get in touch with Hotch,” JJ explained. “We’ve been trying since 7am. He didn’t come in. And nobody’s heard from him since yesterday.”

“And I’m not saying the word kidnapped,” Penelope added, “but… if it walks like a duck and doesn’t text back like a duck…”

Derek didn’t answer right away. He just reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone, typed something, and then waited. Two seconds later, his screen lit up.

He smirked. “He’s fine.”

Everyone froze.

“You just texted him?” Rossi asked.

“Yep.”

“He answered?”

“Yep.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Derek shrugged, but the cocky tilt of his head said he was enjoying this way too much. “Because unlike y’all, he actually likes me.”

JJ leaned forward. “Wait—what did he say?”

“He said, and I quote,” Derek cleared his throat, “‘Tell them I’ll be in around noon. Important appointment this morning.’”

Rossi raised a brow. “Appointment?”

“Important appointment,” Derek emphasized, then flashed a smile. “Leave the man alone. He’s allowed to take some time.”

Emily leaned back in her chair. “He’s seeing someone.”

JJ gasped. “Oh my god, he is!”

“No way,” Penelope whispered. “Hotch? Dating?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Derek asked.

“Uh, yeah,” JJ said. “Because he hasn’t even smiled at a woman since Haley passed. Unless you count that time he and Prentiss interviewed that bomb expert, and she asked him to dinner and he panicked.”

“Right. He acted like she handed him a live grenade,” Emily added.

Derek just smirked.

Penelope gasped. “Wait. Do you know who she is?”

“Nope,” Derek said immediately, way too fast.

“Liar,” JJ said.

“Whatever he’s doing,” Rossi said, “let the man have his fun. He deserves it.”

—

“Stop laughing,” Hotch muttered as he reached for his dress shirt. “They probably think I’ve been abducted.”

“You are being held hostage,” you teased, stretched out under the covers, still flushed and bare and utterly unrepentant. “By me. In bed. Because you won’t stop running your mouth about being responsible.”

“Because I am responsible,” he replied, slipping one arm through his sleeve. “Unlike some people who dragged me back into bed with the promise of pancakes and then had zero pancakes.”

“I am the pancake,” you whispered, giving him your best innocent face.

Aaron groaned like he was in actual pain and sank back onto the bed, burying his face in your stomach.

“You’re a menace,” he mumbled against your skin.

“And you love me,” you sang.

He looked up at you, brown eyes lazy and full of warmth. “Yes. God help me.”

Your fingers threaded into his hair and you let him rest there, cheek against your belly, one of his hands wandering across your hips as if it couldn’t not touch you. He looked so different like this—barefoot, shirt half-on, bedhead soft, lips bruised from kissing, completely ruined in the quietest way.

“Do they know?” you asked after a beat.

Aaron didn’t have to ask who. “The team? No. They have their suspicions. JJ’s good at reading people. Rossi probably knows more than he lets on. Garcia—God knows what Garcia thinks.”

You tilted your head. “You’re not gonna tell them, are you?”

He met your eyes, then kissed your stomach again, slower this time. “Not yet. Not unless you’re ready.”

“I’m not scared,” you said. “I just… like having you to myself.”

“You have me. All of me.”

You smiled, tugging gently at his hair. “You’re supposed to be getting dressed.”

“I am.” He kissed you lower. “In a minute.”

Your laugh turned into a gasp as he moved down again, then settled between your legs with a wicked calm that had no place being that quiet.

“You’re incorrigible,” you whispered, breath hitching.

“I canceled my morning,” he murmured. “Might as well make it worth it.”

—

You arrived at the hospital two hours later, walking a little funny and wearing Aaron’s jacket over your scrubs because he’d said you looked too good without it. Your name badge—Dr. Y/N Morgan—caught a few double takes, as always. Being Derek Morgan’s little sister came with attention, but being a labor and delivery specialist meant most people didn’t have time to ask about your personal life. You liked it that way.

Still, you weren’t surprised when your phone buzzed halfway through morning rounds.

Derek: Y’all good?

You smirked.

You: What did you tell them?

Derek: That he was at an “appointment.”

You: Not wrong.

Derek: Gross.

You: Accurate.

Derek: Still gross.

You were still chuckling when one of the nurses walked over.

“Hey, Doctor Morgan—there’s a very serious-looking man at the nurses’ station asking for you.”

You blinked. “Patient?”

“Hot. Tall. Dark suit. Stern face. Definitely not a patient.”

You smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

Aaron was leaning on the counter with a coffee in each hand and an expression that was probably supposed to look casual, but his eyes lit up the second he saw you.

“I thought you had a team meeting,” you said, walking over with your arms folded and a suspicious grin.

“Ended early.”

“You’re lying.”

He handed you the coffee and kissed your cheek. “Fine. I skipped the meeting.”

“And came here?”

“Derek said you had a break coming up.”

You took the cup and tried not to swoon. “My brother is enabling you.”

“Your brother is helping me see my girlfriend. Whom I’ve barely seen this week. And who keeps stealing all my dress shirts.”

“You ripped two of them.”

“Because you were wearing them without pants.”

You blushed and turned away to sip your coffee. “Stop saying stuff like that at work.”

Aaron leaned closer. “You’re the one who left bite marks on my shoulder, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened. “Aaron!”

He just smirked.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m lucky every time I wake up next to you,” he said quietly.

The softness of his voice caught you off guard. You smiled, tucked into the crook of his arm for just a second, and whispered back, “You’re making me fall in love with you all over again, Hotchner.”

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s the goal.”

—

“You’re smiling too much,” Derek said that night, flopping onto your couch and stealing a slice of your pizza. “Like some lovesick teenager. You’re gonna give yourselves away.”

“You’re one to talk,” you replied. “You’re the one who texted him to let him know they were all panicking.”

“They were not panicking. They were being nosy.” He chewed. “And anyway, you two are being reckless. Hotch skipped two morning meetings this week. Prentiss is gonna start sniffing around.”

“She already is,” you admitted. “I saw her parked outside the hospital yesterday.”

Derek choked on his crust. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I told the nurses to pretend I was married to a surgeon.”

“What?”

You shrugged. “They were into it.”

“I’m not covering for you if she kicks your door down.”

“You wouldn’t have to. Aaron’s already hidden his go bag in my closet. He’s halfway moved in.”

Derek groaned. “Y’all are lucky I like both of you. Because this is a mess.”

“But you approve,” you teased, nudging him with your foot.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “I do. He makes you happy. That’s why I haven’t tossed him off a balcony yet.”

“High praise.”

You didn’t notice Aaron come in until Derek smirked and pointed over your shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Aaron, hair tousled and sleeves rolled up, leaned in the doorway like he’d been there a while.

“You moved your bag in?” Derek asked him.

Aaron blinked. “Uh… not officially.”

“She said closet,” Derek clarified.

“I like being close in case she needs me.”

“She’s a doctor. Not a damsel.”

“She’s pregnant.”

Derek dropped his pizza.

You froze.

Aaron froze.

You slowly turned to him. “Aaron.”

He winced. “Sorry. I thought—I mean, I assumed he knew.”

“I JUST FOUND OUT,” Derek exploded.

Aaron looked sheepish.

You turned beet red. “I was gonna tell you after the first scan—”

“You’re pregnant?”

“I was waiting to make sure everything was okay.”

Derek stood up, looking wildly between the two of you, then grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at Aaron’s chest. “You impregnated my little sister?”

“She’s my partner—”

“I don’t care if she’s Mother Teresa, Hotch!”

“Derek—” you tried.

He threw another pillow.

Aaron sighed. “I deserve that.”

“Damn right you do!”

Derek stormed down the hallway, then came back a second later, holding up a baby onesie that said “FBI: Future Badass.”

“I KNEW I saw this last week! I thought it was a joke!”

You groaned and hid behind your hands. “Can you not—”

“No! Because you two kept this secret for over a year and now she’s growing your baby and you just casually announce it while I’m eating pizza like it’s normal—”

“I panicked,” Aaron said honestly.

“You always panic around Morgan family drama,” you muttered.

Derek pointed a finger at both of you. “I want to be godfather.”

Aaron and you looked at each other.

“Fine,” you both said.

“Damn right I am.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

—

Later that night, when Derek was gone and you were curled against Aaron’s chest, your legs tangled together and the weight of the secret finally lifted, you whispered, “So… think we’ll survive telling the rest of the team?”

Aaron pressed his lips to your forehead. “I think as long as I have you, I can survive anything.”

“You’re such a sap when you’re not in a suit.”

“You like me better out of it anyway,” he said, running his hand down your spine.

“Do not start something you can’t finish.”

“I always finish.”

You flushed.

And then he rolled you beneath him, fingers hot on your thighs, mouth tracing every inch of your skin with the reverence of a man who knew this secret—this life—this love—was worth every risk.

The bullpen was buzzing with quiet urgency. The BAU had brought in the local Violent Crimes Division to help with a multi-jurisdictional serial case. You—SSA (Y/N) (L/N)—were the acting liaison from your department, and you were married to Aaron Hotchner. Secretly.

No one in the BAU knew. Not even Derek. Not even Penelope.

And today? You and Aaron were not on good terms.

⸻

Earlier that Morning — In Aaron’s Office

“You undermined me in front of my team,” you snapped, pacing across his office. “You know I had a suspect lined up. And you swooped in like I didn’t have a damn plan.”

Aaron stood stiffly behind his desk, jaw clenched. “I corrected a mistake. You were too emotionally involved.”

Your eyes flashed. “I’m your wife, Aaron. Not a rookie agent.”

He folded his arms. “Then stop acting like one.”

You blinked slowly, hurt flashing across your face. “Fuck you, Aaron.”

“Close the door on your way out, SSA (L/N).”

⸻

You’d been ice cold with him ever since. Aaron didn’t like being ignored, but he gave you space. Too much space.

Because when you stepped into the bullpen after lunch, there she was. Melissa. One of the newer analysts. Twenty-six. Legs for days. Laughing a little too much at something Hotch was saying.

And he let her touch his arm.

Your mouth dropped open.

Emily walked by and whispered, “Someone’s shooting their shot with the boss.”

You forced a smile. “Let her.”

⸻

You sat across from Aaron, next to Derek Morgan, reviewing the latest dump of case files.

Aaron’s tone was clipped and professional when addressing you. “SSA (L/N), anything to add?”

“No, Unit Chief Hotchner,” you replied sweetly, “You and Melissa seem to have everything under control.”

Derek arched a brow and leaned in. “You good?”

You turned, smiling brightly. “Better now. You smell good, Morgan.”

Derek blinked. “Uhh—thank you?”

You leaned in more. “Is that cologne or natural? Because it’s working.”

Aaron didn’t say a word. But his jaw ticked. His pen snapped in his grip.

“Okay,” Derek said with a nervous chuckle. “Didn’t expect the flirt session, but I ain’t complaining.”

You licked your bottom lip and gave him a slow once-over. “I always wondered what you’d be like outside of work, Morgan.”

That’s when Aaron stood up. Abruptly. “(Y/N), I need a word. Now.”

⸻

You turned on him. “What, Agent Hotchner? Something wrong?”

He stalked toward you, slamming the blinds closed one by one. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

You folded your arms. “I don’t know. Are you trying to make me jealous with your new groupie?”

His voice was dark. “You’re mine. You don’t get to flirt with Derek Morgan in front of me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh please, it was harmless—”

Aaron’s mouth crushed yours in a bruising kiss.

You gasped, but his hands were already on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you against the door. “You want to act like a brat in front of the team?” he hissed in your ear. “You want to flirt with another man? I’ll teach you what happens when you play those games with me.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re at work.”

“I’m aware.”

⸻

His hand slid under your skirt, fingers grazing your soaked panties.

“Wet already?” he muttered. “You liked making me mad.”

You moaned quietly. “You’re such a hypocrite—ah!”

Two fingers shoved inside you. His palm grinding against your clit. “I didn’t touch her. You practically offered yourself to Morgan.”

“You let her touch you,” you gasped, nails digging into his suit.

He added a third finger, pumping harder. “So this is what you wanted? Me punishing your greedy little pussy until you remember who owns it?”

You bit your lip, trying not to scream. “Yes…”

He dropped to his knees, flipping your skirt up and pulling your panties aside. “Then take it like the brat you are.”

His tongue replaced his fingers, devouring you with vicious precision. One hand over your mouth muffled your cries while his tongue lapped at your clit mercilessly. You shook, trembling against the door, eyes rolling back as he made you come in minutes.

He stood, kissed you breathless again, and whispered, “Next time you flirt with someone else, I’ll bend you over the conference table.”

You looked up at him, eyes heavy, lips swollen. “Promise?”

He smirked darkly. “Don’t test me, Mrs. Hotchner.”

⸻

You returned looking flushed, hair slightly messed up, blouse suspiciously untucked. Aaron followed with perfect composure, only his slightly rolled-up sleeves hinting at what had just happened.

Penelope glanced at you. “You okay? You look…”

“Satisfied?” Emily offered.

Derek side-eyed Aaron. “What the hell kind of ‘word’ was that, Hotch?”

Aaron cleared his throat. “A necessary disciplinary conversation.”

You shot him a look.

⸻

“You did what?”

Aaron sighed, running a hand down his face as he tried to stay calm. He’d expected this. Maybe not the yelling in the middle of the BAU hallway, but certainly the blow-up.

“You’ve been reassigned to desk duty for the next two weeks,” he repeated firmly, folding his arms. “You’ll be coordinating case logistics and writing up reports from Quantico.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s not your call to make, Hotch!”

“I’m the Unit Chief. It is my call,” he said evenly, though his jaw was tense.

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice quieter now but no less intense. “You didn’t do this as my boss. You did this as my husband.”

Behind you, agents and analysts were pretending to look busy, though the tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate.

Hotch’s eyes flicked toward the surrounding agents. “My office. Now.”

You scoffed but followed him, seething. Once the door was closed behind you, you didn’t wait.

“You’re punishing me because I took a calculated risk,” you said. “I disobeyed one order to go after a suspect when I had solid ground to do it, and—”

“You disobeyed a direct order and nearly got shot,” he said sharply. “Calculated or not, that risk could’ve gotten you killed.”

“I’m trained for this!” you argued. “I made a call and it paid off—we caught the unsub. But now I’m being sidelined like a rookie?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at you with that maddeningly composed expression, the one that only made you angrier.

“I’m not doing this to punish you,” he said eventually. “I’m doing this because I can’t—” He paused, emotion cracking his voice just slightly. “I can’t lose you.”

You faltered, but only for a moment. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he said softly. “It’s not.”

You crossed your arms. “What’s next? Every time there’s a risk, I get pulled? Every time you get worried, I get benched?”

“You’re reckless when you’re emotional,” he said quietly. “You didn’t even tell me you were going after him until you were already gone.”

“Because I knew you’d say no!” you snapped. “And clearly I was right.”

There was a knock on the door, and both of you turned to see Derek Morgan poking his head in.

“You two good?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You rolled your eyes. “Perfect timing, big brother.”

Hotch didn’t say anything. Morgan looked between you both.

“I’m assuming she knows,” he said to Hotch.

“I know,” you muttered.

“And you’re pissed,” Derek added flatly.

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me guess—you agree with him.”

Derek walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Look, sis, you’re damn good at your job. One of the best. But Hotch isn’t wrong. What you pulled in Denver? That wasn’t protocol.”

“I’m not reckless,” you insisted.

“No, but you’re stubborn,” Derek said. “And when you dig in, you stop listening.”

You stared at both of them. “Unbelievable. The two most stubborn men I know, sitting here lecturing me about being hard-headed.”

Derek crossed his arms, mirroring Hotch’s posture.

“If you two agree so much, maybe you should live together,” you said with a bitter laugh. “In fact, you know what? Why don’t you take him, Derek?”

“Excuse me?” Hotch said.

“Seriously,” you said, voice rising. “You think I’m too emotional to be on the field? Fine. You think I don’t listen? Cool. Let’s test that theory. How about you stay at Derek’s place for a couple of days and think about how much you trust me.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You’re kicking me out?”

“I’m giving you space,” you shot back.

“Wow,” Derek muttered. “Okay. I didn’t sign up for marital counseling.”

“You’re not helping!” you and Aaron snapped at the same time, which only made things worse.

“I’ll grab a bag tonight,” Hotch said stiffly.

You looked away before he could see the hurt in your eyes. “Great.”

⸻

Two days passed.

You expected to feel vindicated. You expected to feel empowered, like you were finally asserting your independence and proving a point.

Instead, the house was too quiet.

Your coffee tasted worse. Your bed felt too cold. And worst of all, no one was there to argue with you about how many hours of sleep you were getting or whether you were eating anything other than Pop-Tarts.

You sank into the couch after work that evening, staring blankly at the muted television. You were halfway through a bottle of wine before you realized your phone was still silent.

No messages. No calls.

Aaron hadn’t even tried to reach out.

That annoyed you. It hurt, actually.

“He’s just giving me space,” you mumbled to yourself. “That’s what I asked for.”

But somehow it didn’t feel like that.

You picked up your phone, hovering over his contact, but didn’t press call. Instead, you texted your brother.

You better not be giving him beer and telling him he’s right.

Derek replied almost immediately.

Too late. We’re watching the game. He’s drinking water. I’m not his therapist.

You stared at the text. Then typed:

Is he mad?

A minute passed.

Quiet. Focused. He misses you.

You bit your lip, exhaling slowly.

⸻

The next day at work, Hotch barely looked at you. Not in a cruel or punishing way—he was just professional. Cold, distant.

You hated it.

You missed the subtle brush of his hand against yours when you passed in the hallway. The soft smile he reserved only for you. The way his fingers would rest on the small of your back after a long briefing.

Now, it was like you were just another agent.

Worse, like you didn’t matter.

JJ gave you a knowing look over lunch. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Just tired.”

“You and Hotch…?”

“I told him to stay at Derek’s.”

JJ raised her eyebrows. “That’s… dramatic.”

“I was angry.”

“Are you still?”

You paused. “Not really.”

“Then maybe it’s time to say that.”

⸻

That night, you stood in front of Derek’s apartment, nerves buzzing in your stomach like static. You could hear the faint sounds of the TV through the door.

You knocked.

Derek opened it, surprised. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said, suddenly awkward. “Is he here?”

“Yeah. He’s in the back room.”

You hesitated. “Do you mind if I—?”

He stepped aside. “He’s your husband.”

You walked through the apartment, heart pounding.

Hotch was sitting on the edge of the guest bed, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, reading a case file. He looked up when you entered, his expression unreadable.

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.”

You closed the door behind you.

He stood, setting the file aside. “Everything okay?”

“No,” you said. “I miss you.”

His expression cracked just slightly. “I missed you too.”

You stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking… and maybe I overreacted.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe?”

You gave him a small smile. “Okay. Definitely.”

Hotch exhaled, walking toward you slowly. “You were right to be upset. I should’ve told you how I felt without making a decision for you.”

“I should’ve trusted that you were coming from a good place,” you replied. “Even if I didn’t agree.”

He reached for your hand. “I don’t want to control you. But I also can’t pretend this job doesn’t terrify me sometimes. Especially when it comes to you.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “I get it. I do. But I need to feel like you trust me to do my job.”

“I do,” he said, cupping your cheek. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with. But I’m also your husband. And when you disappear mid-mission to go after a suspect, I’m not thinking like a Unit Chief. I’m thinking like someone who can’t breathe until he knows you’re safe.”

You blinked back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “Let’s not fight like this again.”

“Agreed.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You buried your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, finally feeling like you could breathe again.

“You coming home?” you murmured.

The second you stepped into the penthouse suite, you felt the change in the air.

Aaron was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to you, his posture tense. The city glittered behind him, but he didn’t turn when you closed the door. You bit your lip. You knew what this was about. You weren’t dumb.

“So…” you said lightly, slipping out of your heels. “Rough day?”

His voice was quiet but sharp. “Where were you tonight?”

You froze, fingers still curled around the strap of your bag. “I told you. Networking thing. Just some people from the gallery—”

“I know what you said.” He turned, finally, and the look on his face made your heart race. Aaron Hotchner didn’t do emotional displays often, but you’d learned to read the subtle fury in his jawline, the cold precision in his eyes. “I also know who you were with.”

You hesitated. “Aaron—”

“You let him put his hand on your waist.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“You laughed at something he said. Touched his arm. Smiled like you do when I’m the one spoiling you.”

Your mouth went dry. “You had someone watching me?”

“I always have someone watching you,” he said calmly. “You think I let my girl walk into a room without eyes on her?”

Your stomach flipped at the possessiveness in his tone, the way he said my girl like it was a title etched in stone. “I didn’t flirt with him. He was a donor. That’s all.”

“He looked at you like he was already imagining you under him.”

You crossed your arms. “So what if he did? You don’t own me.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t I?”

There was a long pause. The silence was louder than any shouting match.

“You have no right to act like this,” you said finally, stepping toward him. “You’re the one who told me I could live my life. You said you didn’t want to keep me locked away.”

“I changed my mind.” His voice dropped. “The moment I saw another man looking at you like that, touching what’s mine, I changed my mind.”

“I’m not property.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you’re still mine.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but the words never made it out. He crossed the room in a few long strides, grabbing your face between his hands and kissing you hard, like he was trying to erase the memory of any man who had dared look at you. His lips were rough, angry, but behind that fury was desperation.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding his shirt, tugging at the buttons. “You’re being ridiculous—”

“Shut up,” he growled. “You’ve got two options tonight. You either fight me or you let me remind you who you belong to.”

You blinked up at him. “What happens if I fight?”

He smirked. “Then I tie you to the bed and take my time.”

Your breath caught. “And if I let you?”

“Then I still tie you to the bed. But you get to come.”

The heat between your thighs surged. “You’re so possessive.”

“I’m territorial,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Explain it to me, Daddy.”

Something in him snapped again at the word. He spun you around, pressing you hard against the wall, his hand coming down on your ass with a loud smack. “Don’t play games with me tonight. You’re already in trouble.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you gasped.

“You made me jealous. That’s worse.”

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and binding them together with his silk tie. You could feel how hard he was, pressing against your lower back, and it made your whole body ache with need.

“You wore this dress for him?” he asked, running a hand down the curve of your ass. “Tight little thing that barely covers anything?”

“I wore it for me.”

“No. You wore it because you like being looked at. You like the attention.”

“I like your attention.”

“Then you’ve got it.”

He shoved the hem of your dress up, baring your thighs. “No panties,” he muttered. “Of course not. You’re fucking shameless.”

“I didn’t know I’d be punished for going commando.”

“You’re about to learn.”

He dropped to his knees behind you, and before you could say anything, his mouth was on you—hot, wet, and insistent. His tongue worked you open, sharp and fast, like he was determined to claim every part of you. You moaned loudly, cheek pressed against the cold wall.

“Oh my God, Aaron—”

“Say it louder,” he growled against your pussy. “Say my name.”

“Aaron,” you whimpered. “Please—don’t stop—”

He gripped your thighs harder, groaning into you, sucking and licking until your knees buckled. When you started to shake, he pulled back, standing up, flipping you around to face him.

“You don’t get to come yet,” he said, undoing his belt. “You come when I say you can.”

Your lips were swollen, your eyes hazy with need. “I’m sorry I made you jealous.”

“No, you’re not.” He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, already thick and pulsing. “But you will be.”

You barely had time to brace yourself before he lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushed into you in one swift stroke, and you cried out, back arching.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled. “A man who can fuck you like this?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “You—only you—”

He fucked you against the wall, deep and rough, his hands gripping your ass so tightly you knew there’d be bruises. Every thrust was a punishment, a reminder, a possessive demand.

“You don’t smile at other men,” he snapped. “You don’t let them touch you.”

“I won’t—I swear—”

“You don’t need anyone else when you have me.”

“I know—I know—please—”

He pulled out suddenly, carrying you toward the bedroom, throwing you down onto the bed. You tried to sit up, but his hand pushed your chest back down.

“Stay there. Hands tied. Legs spread.”

He grabbed something from the nightstand—a second tie—and secured your ankles to the bedposts. You were completely open to him, helpless, dripping.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So fucking needy.”

He knelt on the bed, stroking himself slowly, eyes fixed on your soaked pussy. “You want me to fuck you again?”

You nodded, voice barely there. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Beg.”

“Please, Daddy, please—I need you. I need you so bad—”

He leaned over you, lining himself up again. “That’s better.”

When he entered you again, it was slower this time, but no less intense. He filled you to the hilt, grinding his hips as he bottomed out, forcing a gasp from your throat.

“I’ll remind you every night if I have to,” he whispered. “I’ll fuck you so well you won’t want to look at anyone else.”

“I don’t,” you cried. “I only want you.”

His thrusts picked up pace, faster, harder, his body slamming into yours as the bed creaked beneath you. Your hands strained against the tie, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back.

“Please,” you sobbed. “I need to come—please let me—”

“Not yet.” He fucked you harder, leaning down to bite at your neck. “Not until I say so.”

“Daddy—”

“Now.”

You came with a scream, your entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through you. He kept thrusting, fucking you through it until your vision blurred and your voice broke.

Then he pulled out, stroking himself as he came all over your stomach, groaning your name.

He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, sweat slicked on your skin. After a moment, he reached up to untie your wrists, rubbing them gently before pulling you into his arms.

“You don’t flirt with other men,” he said quietly.

You nuzzled into his chest, still catching your breath. “I wasn’t. But…I kind of like jealous Hotch.”

“You’d better not make a habit of it,” he warned, but there was the faintest curve to his lips.

“Is this where you say you forgive me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No. This is where I tell you next time, I won’t stop after round one.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Promise?”

Your new house was perfect. Fresh paint, polished hardwood floors, sunlight streaming through the big windows—it felt like a new chapter. And you were determined to make the first memory inside it unforgettable.

“Still can’t believe you bought this place,” Tim said, standing in the middle of your half-furnished living room, looking around. He had his hands on his hips, that usual gruff, skeptical expression on his face. “It’s… big.”

You smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Big enough for us.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to you, narrowing slightly. “Don’t start.”

You pushed off the counter, walking toward him with a grin. “What? I just meant there’s enough room to christen every wall, every floor, every surface…” You reached up, looping your arms around his neck. “Unless you’re too old to keep up?”

“Too old—” Tim groaned, but before he could protest further, you kissed him. Deep, hungry, leaving no doubt that unpacking boxes was the last thing on your mind.

Minutes later, you had him pressed against the staircase, shirt already discarded, his hands digging into your hips. “Brand-new house,” you whispered between kisses, tugging at his belt. “Feels wrong not to break it in.”

“You’re trouble,” he muttered, but his lips found your collarbone, and his hands weren’t stopping you.

⸻

You didn’t even make it upstairs.

The two of you tumbled onto the rug in the living room, laughter and curses blending with the sound of furniture being shoved just out of the way. He tried to take his time, but you weren’t having it—you wanted all of him, now.

“Slow down—” he started, but then you pulled him deeper, nails dragging down his back.

“Keep up, old man,” you teased breathlessly.

That got you a growl and a pace that had you clutching at him, the air filled with your moans, the creak of the floorboards, the sounds of your brand-new house getting its first secret.

⸻

And then the front door opened.

You both froze.

“Sweetheart?”

Your blood ran cold.

“…Is that—” Tim whispered.

“Yes!” you hissed.

The footsteps came closer, heavy and familiar. And then Grey’s voice rang out again: “Thought I’d stop by, bring you some dinner since you probably haven’t cooked in your new kitchen yet—”

He turned the corner into the living room, paper bag in hand. And then he dropped it.

The bag hit the floor with a thud, spilling takeout containers everywhere as Grey’s jaw fell open.

“WHAT THE—BRADFORD?!”

Tim scrambled, grabbing the nearest throw blanket to cover both of you. You wanted to melt straight into the floor.

“Dad—” you started, but Grey’s booming voice cut you off.

“On the FLOOR? In your new house?!” He jabbed a finger at Tim, his face dark red. “I knew something was off with you two! The looks, the late nights—”

“Sir,” Tim said quickly, hands raised even as you clutched the blanket tighter. “I care about her. I wasn’t—this isn’t casual.”

“Care?!” Grey barked. “You’re my officer! And she’s my daughter! You think I wanted to walk into this?!” He gestured wildly to the two of you tangled on the rug.

You buried your face in your hands. “Dad, please—”

“No. No. I need air,” Grey muttered, storming toward the front door. He stopped just long enough to throw a glare over his shoulder at Tim. “You and I are having a very long talk at the station tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

⸻

Silence.

Tim exhaled, flopping back against the rug with his arm over his face. “I’m dead. Your dad’s gonna bury me in the backyard.”

You crawled onto his chest, smirking despite the mortification still heating your cheeks. “Relax. I’ll save you.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

“And you love it,” you teased, kissing him softly.

Tim groaned, pulling you tighter under the blanket. “Next time, doors locked. And maybe not on the rug.”

Your brand-new house still smelled faintly of fresh paint and sawdust. Boxes sat half-unpacked in the living room, the kitchen gleamed with its new countertops, and upstairs—well, upstairs was currently where you were breaking in your new bedroom.

“Mm, baby,” you sighed, fingers tangled in Tim Bradford’s hair as he kissed down your neck. He had you pressed against the wall, strong hands gripping your thighs to keep you pinned.

“You sure your dad’s not stopping by?” Tim asked between kisses, his voice husky but tinged with caution.

You smirked, tugging his shirt over his head. “Relax. He thinks I’m unpacking. And besides—what’s he gonna do, drop in unannounced?”

Tim chuckled, shaking his head as his lips found yours again. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your trouble,” you teased, tugging at his belt until he groaned.

⸻

The bed was still new, sheets crisp and untouched—until now. Tim had you beneath him, the headboard already knocking against the wall as you clawed at his back. He was trying to hold back, trying to keep the pace steady, but you kept urging him on, whispering things that made his jaw clench and his control snap.

“God, you’re insatiable,” he muttered, sweat glistening across his forehead.

You laughed breathlessly, pulling him down for another kiss. “Old man, keep up.”

That got you a growl, his thrusts rougher now, punishing in the best way.

You were so caught up in each other, you didn’t hear the front door open.

⸻

“Sweetheart?”

The voice froze both of you in place.

Tim immediately stilled above you, eyes going wide. You slapped a hand over your mouth, half in shock, half in hysterical laughter.

“Did your dad just—” Tim started.

“Shh!” you hissed, shoving at his shoulder. “Clothes! Now!”

But it was too late.

The footsteps grew louder until they stopped right outside your bedroom. And then—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

You and Tim scrambled, sheets yanked up around you as Sergeant Grey filled the doorway, his eyes widening like he’d just walked in on a crime scene.

“Dad—!” you started.

Grey’s gaze snapped to Tim, who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “BRADFORD?!”

Tim winced. “Sir, I can explain—”

“There better be one hell of an explanation,” Grey thundered, pointing a finger between the two of you. “Because what I see right now looks like my daughter and my officer—” His voice rose. “In her brand-new house—breaking in the bed!”

You groaned, dragging the blanket higher over your chest. “Dad, can you not—”

“I told you I was helping her unpack tonight!” Grey barked at Tim. “And THIS is what you’re doing?!”

Tim looked ready to melt into the floor. “Sir, with all due respect—I care about her. This isn’t… casual.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Care about her?”

Tim nodded, jaw tight but steady. “Yes, sir. I… I love her.”

The room went still.

Grey exhaled sharply, pacing like he was trying to burn off steam. “Of all the women in this city, Bradford… it had to be my daughter.” He stopped, fixing you both with a glare. “We’re going to have a very long conversation about this. Both of you.”

You buried your face in Tim’s shoulder, mortified. He rubbed your back gently, even though his own face was pale.

When Grey finally stormed out of the room, muttering about needing a drink, you and Tim sat in stunned silence.

“…Well,” you whispered after a long beat, “guess the house is officially broken in.”

Tim groaned, flopping back against the headboard. “He’s going to kill me.”

You smirked, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Maybe. But at least you’ll die happy.”

Despite himself, Tim laughed, pulling you into his arms. “You’re trouble.”

The first time you saw Aaron sigh and rub the bridge of his nose at your antics, you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you tired already, old man?” you teased, leaning against the doorway of his office.

His eyes flicked up from the case file in front of him, sharp as ever despite the exhaustion that clung to his posture. “You’re relentless,” he muttered, but there was a glint in his gaze that betrayed him.

“That’s not an answer,” you purred, strutting closer. You pressed a hand to the desk, leaning down until your lips nearly brushed his ear. “Can you keep up with me tonight? Or am I going to break you?”

Hotch let out a low chuckle—rare, gravelly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to. I don’t break.”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

⸻

By the time you got him home, his suit jacket was gone, his tie tugged loose, and his patience thin. You were all over him, tugging at his shirt as he tried to keep his cool.

“Impatient,” he murmured as you pushed him onto the bed.

“You’re slow,” you shot back, straddling his lap, grinding down until you felt his breath hitch. “I want you now.”

“Careful,” he warned, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “You’ll regret starting something you can’t finish.”

You laughed, tossing your head back as you moved against him. “Oh, I’ll finish. Question is… can you keep up with me, old man?”

That did it. A flash of heat crossed his expression, and suddenly you were flipped onto your back, wrists pinned above your head as he loomed over you.

“You want to test me?” His voice dropped, dark and commanding. “Fine. But don’t beg me to stop when you can’t handle it.”

⸻

Round one left him flushed and panting, his hair mussed and his composure cracked. You smiled smugly, dragging your fingers down his chest.

“You’re slowing down,” you teased.

“I’m pacing myself,” he countered, though the way he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, made you laugh.

“Sure,” you drawled, climbing on top of him again before he could recover. “Guess I’ll just have to ride you until you can’t move.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, gripping your thighs as you sank down onto him. “You’re going to kill me.”

“You’re not that old,” you teased breathlessly, nails digging into his chest. “But damn—you’re not as young as you used to be either.”

His glare only made you laugh harder.

⸻

By the third round, he was sweating, muscles tense, cursing under his breath as you dragged him right back into it.

“You—” he panted, “—are insatiable.”

“And you love it,” you whispered against his ear, biting his jaw as he groaned.

“God help me,” he muttered, but his hips bucked harder, desperate to prove he wasn’t beaten yet.

When you finally collapsed together, tangled in sheets and sweat, his arm wrapped tight around you like he couldn’t let go, you couldn’t resist the final jab.

“You lasted longer than I thought,” you whispered with a grin.

He pressed a tired kiss to your temple. “You wore me out.”

“Guess that means I win,” you teased.

You’d been at it all day. Testing him.

The way you brushed past him in the kitchen that morning with a smirk, wiggling your hips just enough for him to notice. The way you “accidentally” bent over in front of him to grab something from the floor, humming like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. Even the way you kissed his cheek, giggling when he reached for more, only to pull back and whisper, “Not now, Aaron.”

It was dangerous. You knew it. That spark in his dark eyes had been simmering all day, and you couldn’t resist stoking the flames.

Now you were paying for it.

Bent over the bed, your cheek pressed into the sheets, skirt bunched at your waist, panties long gone—he had you exactly where he wanted you. One strong hand gripped your hips, the other tangled in your hair, keeping you right where he needed.

His thrusts were sharp, punishing, relentless.

“Take what Daddy gives you,” he growled, voice thick, rough, sending shivers down your spine.

You moaned, arching back into him. “Aaron…”

The second the word left your lips, the air shifted.

He froze, buried deep inside you, chest heaving. Then slowly, deliberately, he leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear.

“What did you just call me?” His tone was low, lethal, the kind of quiet that made your thighs tremble.

You smirked, even as your heart hammered. “Aaron.”

That was the last straw.

He yanked you upright, back flush against his chest, his hand wrapping firmly around your throat—not cutting off your air, but enough to make your pulse thunder.

“You don’t get to call me that here,” he hissed, his hips slamming forward in a brutal thrust that made you cry out. “You know what my name is.”

You whimpered, but the brat in you couldn’t resist. “Aaron.”

The sound of his laugh—dark, disbelieving—echoed against your skin right before his palm cracked across your ass. The sting bloomed instantly, making you gasp.

“Wrong,” he snarled. Another smack. Then another, the sound filling the room. “Try again.”

But you were stubborn. “A—”

He pulled your hair, forcing your back to arch, the angle making every punishing thrust hit deeper, harder, until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You shook your head, voice breaking. “N-no…”

Another flurry of sharp thrusts. His grip on your hips bruising, his voice a growl at your ear. “Say it. Who owns you?”

Your resolve cracked with the next deep snap of his hips, your body shaking uncontrollably, pleasure and punishment blurring together until you couldn’t tell the difference.

“Daddy!” you cried out, finally, voice raw. “Daddy—please—”

His thrusts slowed just enough to make you feel every inch of him, his hand smoothing over the sting of your punished skin, his lips brushing the side of your face.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice softer now, but still possessive. “Say it again.”

“Daddy,” you whimpered, shuddering. “Only Daddy.”

“That’s right,” he breathed, pressing a tender kiss to your temple as he drove you over the edge, your body clenching, trembling, undone by him completely.

When it was over, he held you against his chest, easing you down onto the bed, strong hands smoothing over your sore hips, rubbing your back as you came down.

“Listen to me,” he whispered, gentle now, his lips at your hairline. “Aaron takes care of the world. Daddy takes care of you. Don’t forget it again.”

You smiled weakly, eyes heavy, pressing your face against his chest. “Yes, Daddy.”

⸻

The hum of the BAU bullpen was something Aaron Hotchner had long grown accustomed to. The buzz of conversations, the shuffle of papers, the occasional ring of a phone — it was a world he navigated with precision, focus, and a quiet intensity that his team both respected and leaned on. But today, the usual rhythm felt different.

It wasn’t just any ordinary day. Today, Aaron was about to get a surprise visit — a rare moment of warmth in his otherwise relentless world.

⸻

You checked your reflection quickly in the glass door of the FBI office before stepping inside. Your hand rested gently on your slightly rounded belly, a soft secret only you and Aaron knew. The moment you’d seen the tiny heartbeat on the ultrasound screen, a wave of peace had settled over you. You were carrying his child.

You had waited for the perfect moment to tell him in person, and today, the stars aligned. You smiled softly, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers you’d picked on the way.

“Hey, Hotch,” you called quietly, peeking into his office where he sat, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

Aaron looked up, his usual stoic expression breaking into a warm smile as soon as he saw you. “Hey,” he said softly, standing up to meet you. His eyes immediately dropped to your hand on your belly.

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice low and full of awe.

You laughed, a little breathless with happiness. “I thought I’d bring you a little sunshine.”

He took the flowers and then reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “It’s perfect.”

⸻

You moved to sit in the chair across from his desk, careful not to overexert yourself. The team’s offices were busy, but you didn’t mind the curious glances. Aaron was protective, but he also wanted them to see this new chapter in his life.

But not everyone was as pleased.

From across the room, a young agent — new to the team — watched with narrowed eyes. Her name was Jessica, and she had joined the BAU just a few weeks ago. The minute she saw you walk in, something in her shifted. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was confusion, frustration, and maybe a hint of something deeper she wasn’t ready to admit.

She didn’t know you were pregnant. She didn’t know you were Aaron’s wife. All she saw was a woman stealing the attention of the man she admired most.

⸻

“So,” Aaron said, breaking the silence between you, “how have you been holding up?”

You smiled, resting your other hand on your belly. “Better every day. I’m just excited to see you.”

“I’m excited to see you, too,” he replied, then added, “The baby’s kicking more lately.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re going to be a good dad.”

He looked down at your hand again, then up into your eyes. “I hope so.”

⸻

Jessica cleared her throat awkwardly as she approached the two of you. Aaron’s gaze flickered briefly to the newcomer but didn’t lose focus on you.

“Hotch,” Jessica began, “I wanted to discuss the Stratton case, if you have a moment.”

Aaron nodded, but his eyes stayed on you for a moment longer, his expression gentle but firm.

“Just a moment,” he said softly to Jessica, then turned back to you. “Want to come meet the team?”

You hesitated, but then nodded. After all, you wanted to share this part of your life with Aaron’s work family.

⸻

The bullpen felt different through your eyes — less intimidating, more familiar. The agents greeted you warmly, and a few offered congratulations once they saw your belly.

Jessica, however, maintained a polite distance, her smile tight and her eyes guarded.

Throughout the day, she watched your every move. Small comments slipped here and there when she thought no one was listening, but Aaron always shut them down quietly but firmly.

⸻

Later, as the team gathered for a brief meeting, Jessica couldn’t hold back anymore.

“You know,” she said, voice just loud enough to carry, “it’s funny how you always have time for her but expect the rest of us to fit around your schedule.”

The room fell silent. You looked at Aaron, confusion and concern written across your face.

Aaron stood tall, his voice steady but icy. “Jessica, that’s enough.”

Jessica’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, she said something under her breath, but no one caught it clearly.

Aaron’s jaw tightened.

After the meeting, Aaron pulled Jessica aside.

⸻

“Listen,” Aaron said quietly but firmly, “I’m aware of the attitude. Whatever assumptions you’re making about my personal life, they’re wrong. YN is my wife. She’s carrying my child. And I expect you to show her the same respect you show every other member of this team.”

Jessica’s defenses faltered for a moment, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Aaron softened slightly. “We work hard here, but we also support each other. If that’s something you’re struggling with, I suggest you figure out why before it affects the team.”

Jessica nodded slowly, and Aaron returned to you, who was waiting in the conference room.

⸻

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said quietly, taking your hand in his again. “I don’t want you to have to deal with this.”

You smiled reassuringly. “You don’t have to. I know you’ve got my back.”

He kissed your forehead gently. “Always.”

⸻

The day wore on, and despite the tension, the love between you and Aaron was undeniable. You felt a surge of hope for the future — for the three of you.

Later, as you left the BAU, Aaron walked you to your car, his hand resting protectively on your back.

“We’ll get through this,” he promised. “Together.”

It started with an offhand comment—something you mumbled one lazy Sunday while lying in bed, scrolling past another influencer launching a skincare brand.

“I should get a job.”

Aaron’s head lifted from where it rested against your thigh. “What for?”

You blinked. “I don’t know. Just… something to do. I feel useless.”

He laughed. Not unkindly, but with that slow, low chuckle that meant he was thinking something entirely different. “You want to work?”

You nodded, sitting up a little. “Yeah. I mean—not like full time. But something real. Something mine.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Then work for me.”

You frowned. “At the BAU?”

“No,” he said, eyes gleaming now. “With me. As my personal assistant. My schedule’s packed, I travel constantly, and I need someone I can trust. You want a job?” His voice dropped. “You’re hired.”

—

Your first day starts at 5:30 a.m.

You’re still in the silk robe he bought you in Paris when he presses a coffee into your hand and says, “You’ll learn quick, sweetheart. I run on black coffee, strategy meetings, and stress relief.”

You smirk. “I know exactly what helps your stress.”

His brow lifts. “Then get to work.”

You’re on your knees before the caffeine kicks in.

He leans against the kitchen counter, fingers laced behind his head as you suck him slow, like you’ve got all day. You don’t. The clock’s ticking. The moment he lets out a grunt and threads a hand into your hair, you know you’ve got him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice dark and pleased. “Not even on the clock and already earning your keep.”

You hum around him, and he curses.

⸻

By noon, you’ve taken four calls on his behalf, reorganized his digital calendar, and sent a very strongly worded email to a federal contractor—at his request.

He’s on a Zoom call with the Deputy Director when he texts you.

Come in.

You peek into the office. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, tie half-loosened. He doesn’t even look at you.

Under the desk.

Your breath catches.

But you go.

You drop to your knees, slipping beneath the broad oak desk, just out of camera view. Your hands are shaking with anticipation. He barely moves, except to unzip his pants. His cock is already half-hard.

“You know what to do, baby,” he murmurs, voice low but clear. “Do it right and I’ll give you a lunch break.”

You mouth him soft and slow at first. He wants you to tease. To pretend like he doesn’t have a whole federal meeting going on above the desk.

But soon, his hips twitch.

He’s good at multitasking. He says things like “We’ll circle back on the budget proposal,” while fisting your hair and guiding your rhythm.

You make him come two minutes before the meeting ends.

He pulls out, wipes himself off with a napkin, and gently lifts your chin. “That’s my girl.”

⸻

By 3 p.m., you’re bent over his desk.

You’d handed him a file. He hadn’t even looked at it.

“Skirt up,” he said, voice gone sharp. “You’ve been making eyes at me all day.”

“Sir,” you start, trying to keep your voice level. “I was working.”

“You were teasing.” He steps close, crowding your space. “You think I don’t notice every time you stretch in that little blouse? Bat your lashes when you hand me papers? You want attention that bad, baby girl?”

You blink up at him, heart pounding. “Yes, sir.”

“Then take what you’re given.”

He fucks you hard over the desk, one hand braced against your lower back, the other tangled in your hair. The windows are tinted, but it still feels dangerous. Exposed.

The desk rocks under your hips as he thrusts deep, relentless, thick groans falling from his lips.

“This what you wanted?” he grunts. “You like playing secretary, huh? Taking cock between meetings like a filthy little assistant?”

“Yes—yes, sir, please—”

Your answer earns you a sharp slap to your ass. Then another. And then he’s rubbing it, cooing in your ear.

“Gonna keep you busy, sweetheart. You want a real job? Good. Your job is mine now.”

You come screaming his name as he spills inside you.

⸻

That night, you bring him dinner. He’s on the couch, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled.

You set the plate on the table. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer. Just crooks a finger.

You straddle his lap. His hands find your hips, mouth brushing your throat. He’s already hard again.

“No breaks, baby,” he whispers. “Not until I’m done with you.”

The whole day had been perfect.

Brunch in the city. A boutique run on Melrose. Rio’s hand heavy on your lower back, his card heavier still. You had the man, the money, and the stares — all eyes on the pretty little thing dripping in gold and gloss beside the calm, unbothered man in all black.

You liked the attention. No — you loved it.

But somewhere between store four and five, Rio got… quiet. Not in a bad mood. Not angry. Just distracted. Business calls. Quick glances at his phone. Grunts instead of compliments. The kind of quiet that meant your sugar daddy had shifted into boss mode, and you were no longer the main character.

And you didn’t like that at all.

⸻

It started with the soft sighs.

Then the pout.

Then the little tantrum about how your iced coffee had too much ice — something you wouldn’t have cared about if Rio had been looking at you instead of answering his damn phone for the third time in ten minutes.

You walked three steps ahead of him in the store, arms folded, giving him the kind of bratty energy that screamed do something.

And he didn’t.

Until the last store.

The moment you spotted a low-cut summer dress on a mannequin and turned to Rio with a sugary voice:

“Daddy, can I try this on for you?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone.

“No.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Still scrolling. “We done for the day.”

A beat passed. People looked. You felt the heat rise to your face — not from embarrassment, but the way your temper flared.

“But I—”

He finally looked up. Calm. Icy. Unfazed.

“I said no.”

You were seething.

You yanked the dress off the rack and tossed it on the nearest chair like a child, chin high, lips tight. Then stormed out of the store ahead of him.

⸻

The drive home was silent.

No music. No talking. Just the tick of the blinker and the clench of your jaw as you looked out the window, arms crossed like a spoiled princess denied her crown.

Rio didn’t say a word until he pulled into the garage. Didn’t even look your way.

You stepped out of the car with an attitude still thick in your spine — and just as you turned toward the door, his hand snatched your wrist.

Firm. Heavy. Controlling.

You gasped as he spun you, back against the wall in the garage, and pressed his full body weight into yours. The cold concrete at your back was nothing compared to the heat in his eyes.

“What the fuck is your problem, mama?”

You huffed, chin tipped up in defiance. “You ignored me all day. You embarrassed me. Told me no like I was one of your employees—”

Rio’s hand came up fast, fingers gripping your jaw.

“You are mine. Which means I tell you what to do. What to wear. What to buy. And when I say no, you don’t walk off like some brat beggin’ for a reason to get punished.”

Your thighs clenched. You hated how fast he flipped the power. You hated how good it felt.

“I just wanted attention,” you whispered, lips barely moving under the pressure of his grip.

“And now you got it.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, you were face-down on the plush velvet couch in his office, panties around your ankles, your sundress bunched at your waist.

The door was locked. The lights were dim.

And Rio was silent.

He hadn’t even touched you since the drive home. Just stripped off his rings, rolled up his sleeves, and pulled your hips back so your ass arched into the air — on display.

“Say it again,” he muttered behind you, voice low.

“…Say what?”

“That you wanted attention.”

You hissed when his palm cracked across your ass.

“Say it.”

“I— I wanted attention!”

Another slap. Your thighs jolted.

“Then you ask for it like a good girl. Not like some spoiled little brat actin’ out in public.”

You whined when he cupped you, fingers slipping between your folds.

“Look at this mess,” he growled. “You act like you’re mad, but you soaked through these fuckin’ panties.”

“I’m— I’m not mad,” you breathed.

“Nah. You’re just desperate.”

And then he sank two fingers inside you — slow and deep. No prep, no warning, just thick digits curling and pushing right where you needed them.

You moaned, back arching, legs shaking.

“You wanted attention, baby girl?” he rasped, mouth brushing your ear as he leaned over you. “You’re gonna scream for it.”

⸻

He didn’t let up.

He fingered you until you were clenching around nothing, begging for him to do something more — and just when you thought he’d finally fuck you, he dropped to his knees.

Tongue flicking, lips sucking, hands holding you wide open while you squirmed and sobbed his name into the velvet like a prayer. You couldn’t hold still. Couldn’t think.

The edge hit hard — sharp and sweet like the slap of his belt earlier — and when you came, he didn’t stop. Just kept going until your body jerked from overstimulation and you screamed his name like a threat and a gift all in one.

And finally… finally… he stood.

Unbuckled.

Pressed himself right to your soaked, used entrance and slammed home in one hard thrust.

You went limp.

He growled in your ear, teeth on your neck, pace ruthless. “Now this is the kinda attention you want, huh?”

“Yes— yes, Daddy—”

“You embarrass me again like that in public, I’ll bend you over in the damn parking lot. That what you want?”

“No— I’m sorry—!”

“You fuckin’ better be.”

⸻

Later, when your thighs were still trembling and your lipstick was gone and your body was spent — Rio helped you up off the couch.

Fixed your dress. Kissed your cheek.

Then shoved his phone in your hand and whispered,

“Pick three of those dresses you liked today. I already told the store to hold ’em for you.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait— three?”

He smirked. “Told you no earlier ‘cause you were actin’ up. But now? After that little lesson?”

He kissed your temple, hand sliding low on your waist again.

You should’ve known better than to walk into the locker room with a smile on your face. Especially not while rookie number five of the month was rambling on beside you like he had something to prove.

“Seriously, I don’t get how you’re still single,” Officer Tyler Moss said with a too-easy grin, shouldering his way beside you at the bench.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your gym bag from your locker. “I’m not.”

“Oh?” he asked, blinking like he wasn’t expecting that answer. “So… you’re saying there’s actually someone out there who can keep up with you?”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

You raised a brow. “My boyfriend. Who I like to keep out of rookie gossip.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But then he laughed—laughed—and said, “Right. Bet he’s not even LAPD.”

Behind you, the door to the locker room swung open with a creak.

Tim.

You didn’t even need to turn around. You could feel it. That shift in the air. The presence that made lesser men shut up and straighten their backs without knowing why.

Tyler didn’t have the survival instincts yet.

“You got a name for this mystery man?” Tyler pressed, trying for charm. “Or is he imaginary, like the tooth fairy or real work-life balance in this job?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You really want to die on this hill?”

He was still grinning when Tim walked up behind him. “Something funny, Officer Moss?”

Tyler froze. Tim’s voice was steady—but sharp. The kind that could slice paper.

Tyler turned. “Sergeant Bradford. I was just joking with—”

Tim didn’t smile. “Did I ask if you were joking?”

Your mouth twitched, biting back a smirk. You’d seen Tim in training mode before—but this was different. He wasn’t in ‘T.O.’ mode. This was ‘that’s mine’ mode.

“I think the joke’s over, Moss,” you said casually, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Go prep for roll call.”

Tyler muttered a quick “Yes, ma’am,” and practically ran.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Tim looked at you.

You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

“That rookie’s got a death wish.”

“He’s young. Clueless.”

“He was flirting with you.”

“Still young. Still clueless.”

Tim moved closer. The edge in his jaw softened slightly, but his voice dropped low, rough.

“He called me imaginary.”

“I should thank him,” you mused. “He basically summoned you.”

Tim gave you a look, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You think this is funny?”

You tilted your chin up, cocky. “A little. It’s cute when you get jealous.”

His fingers traced your jaw. “I’m not jealous.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Just don’t like watching people flirt with what’s mine.”

You blinked. “Possessive much?”

Tim’s lips brushed your ear. “Only when they start calling me fake.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re not really mad, are you?” you asked, softer this time.

“I’m mad enough to want to remind you,” he murmured, his voice dark and low, “exactly who you belong to.”

And just like that, the tension snapped. The heat between you flared in the tiny space between the lockers.

“I have ten minutes before briefing,” you whispered, stepping back toward the utility closet behind you.

Tim followed without hesitation.

—

Ten Minutes Later

You stepped out first, straightening your shirt, cheeks still flushed. Tim emerged behind you, cool as ever.

Tyler Moss looked up from his phone just as you walked by, and this time… he didn’t say a word.

But Tim?

He clapped the rookie on the shoulder and said, deadpan, “She’s definitely not single.”

You were not supposed to be in Hotchner’s office this morning. You were meant to be upstairs in the Residence, prepping for a briefing call with the Surgeon General. But when you passed Aaron’s door and caught the edge in his voice while he was on the phone, something inside you stopped cold. He was tense. Frustrated. Grinding his teeth as he paced behind his desk.

He didn’t even notice you at first.

Then he looked up—those dark eyes softening the second he saw you standing in the doorway.

“…No, I’ve told you three times. Iran is not going to budge on the energy sanction terms,” Aaron growled into the receiver. “You want movement, you call the UN delegate back and give them the adjusted clause from State. No, do not loop in Justice. I’ll handle it.”

He slammed the phone down, hands braced hard on the desk. His shoulders were tight, the lines in his forehead deepening.

You tilted your head, a smirk teasing your lips. “Bad morning?”

Aaron looked up, the tension melting the moment he saw your smile. “You have no idea.” He reached out, curling his fingers toward you. “Come here.”

You crossed the room slowly, hips swaying deliberately in that navy pencil skirt he always said drove him wild—because you knew exactly what you were doing. You leaned down, kissed his jaw, then whispered:

“Want me to make it better?”

Aaron swallowed hard. “You can’t just offer things like that in the West Wing.”

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your voice. “But I can do things like that in your office.”

“…Close the door.”

You obeyed, clicking the lock before slipping back behind the desk.

You were on your knees before Aaron had even processed what was happening.

“Shit,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the desk with white-knuckled hands. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You nudged his legs apart, dragging his belt open. “That’s the plan, Mr. Special Agent.”

—

From the hallway, it looked like business as usual. The FBI agents outside didn’t suspect a thing. The door was locked, the blinds drawn, and all anyone could hear was the faint sound of a ringing phone inside.

But under the desk, your mouth was doing its own kind of justice.

Aaron threw his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the desk, the other threading through your hair. He was panting, trying to hold himself together. “Fuck, you’ve gotta stop. I have another call in five minutes—”

You moaned softly, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

He slapped a hand over the receiver. “Postpone the next call,” he barked at the intercom, voice strained. “Tell the team I’ll get back to them.”

Then he went silent—because your tongue found a spot he couldn’t resist, and he completely lost it.

“You’re evil,” he groaned, hips twitching involuntarily. “My wife… under my goddamn desk…”

You pulled back just enough to murmur, “Say it again.”

He looked down at you, flushed and desperate. “My wife. My partner. On her knees for me.”

You smiled—then finished what you started.

—

Two minutes later…

Aaron’s tie was undone. His voice was hoarse. He’d dropped his pen. He still hadn’t called the team back.

And you?

You peeked up from under the desk with an innocent little smirk. “Tension eased?”

He reached down, gripping your jaw gently, pulling you up until you were standing between his legs.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispered, low and dark.

“I know,” you teased, brushing your fingers down his chest. “But I think your next meeting just arrived.”

Aaron didn’t even glance at the clock. He tugged you down into his lap, your skirt riding up as he whispered in your ear:

“Cancel the rest of the morning. Tell the world the BAU is in session—with his wife. And it’s going to be… intense.”

You laughed—until he lifted you and slammed your hips down onto him again.

Beth had been hanging around way too much lately.

She wasn’t part of the team. She wasn’t even part of the case. But ever since she stopped by that one time to “drop off something,” she’d been popping in with coffee, jokes, smiles… and a suspicious amount of perfume.

It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, not technically. But you weren’t blind. Or stupid.

The way she leaned over Aaron’s desk just a little too far. The way she laughed like she was starring in a rom-com. The way she touched his arm when she “just had to show him” something on her phone.

You hated it.

What made it worse? Aaron didn’t react. Not in the way you expected. He didn’t push her away, didn’t glare, didn’t correct her. He just let her talk. Let her hover.

Your stomach flipped every time you caught her trying to get close.

He wasn’t paying attention to her—but he wasn’t stopping her, either.

And that? That made your blood simmer.

You sat at your desk, trying to focus on the file in your hand, but your eyes flicked up—again—to see her standing beside his office door, laughing at something she thought was funny. He gave her a closed-lip smile, polite, unreadable.

You stared at your page. You didn’t see a single word of it.

A few minutes later, a shadow passed your desk. You didn’t even look up until a mug slid into view—your favorite one. The one only Aaron used when he made coffee for you.

You blinked.

When you looked up, he was standing right there. Still in his suit, tie loosened just slightly—only ever around you. His expression was unreadable to most, but you saw the shift. The softness. The knowing in his eyes.

“Office. Now,” he said quietly.

You followed him up without a word, past a very confused-looking Beth, and stepped into his office. He shut the door and turned the blinds—slow, deliberate. When he turned around, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You’re upset.”

You scoffed, folding your arms to match. “Gee, what gave it away?”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You bit your lip, then finally muttered, “She keeps trying.”

Aaron nodded slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

You blinked. “You have?”

“I’m not oblivious,” he said. “But I’m not interested in her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not exactly subtle.”

He stepped closer. “And neither is your jealousy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not jealous.”

“Yes, you are.”

Silence.

You sighed. “Okay, fine. I just don’t like it. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

“You think I don’t notice the way I look at you?” he said gently.

Your breath caught.

“She wants my attention,” Aaron said, stepping into your space. “But she’ll never get it. Because the only person I see—in every room, every briefing, every second—is you.”

You looked up at him, heart stuttering. “You could at least tell her to back off.”

Aaron smiled then—small, but wicked. “Oh, I will. But I figured bringing you into my office right in front of her was a better start.”

You blinked. “Wait, that was—on purpose?”

He leaned in, voice low, possessive. “Of course it was.”

You smirked, but tried to play innocent. “That’s kind of mean.”

“She crossed a line,” he said. “I don’t share.”

Your heart fluttered.

“You want me to make it even clearer?” he asked, voice dropping.

You swallowed hard. “Aaron—”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you. Not soft. Not casual. Slow, steady, intentional. The kind of kiss that left no room for questions—not inside the office, not through the glass, not to anyone watching.

When he finally pulled back, you whispered, “Message received.”

He smiled again, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Not for you. For her.”

From that moment on, Beth never lingered again.

Private or comment if you want a request for

Aaron Hotchner

Tim Bradford

Hank Voight

Leroy Gibbs

It’s just a scratch,” Hotch muttered gruffly, clutching his side as Morgan helped him down the steps of the crime scene.

“You got stabbed, man,” Morgan shot back, not letting go.

“Grazed,” Hotch corrected. “The blade didn’t go deep.”

“Deep enough that you’re bleeding through your shirt.” JJ raised an eyebrow, holding the SUV door open. “Sit down before you pass out and scare the rookies.”

Rossi chuckled. “How many times have we had this conversation over the years?”

“I’m fine,” Hotch insisted again, biting down a wince as he sat down.

He wasn’t fine. Everyone could see it. But he had that tone — the one that dared anyone to argue. So the team, begrudgingly, let it go.

Mostly.

“You need stitches,” Emily muttered under her breath as she passed a water bottle back. “Reid, tell him.”

“You need stitches,” Reid echoed unhelpfully.

“Thank you, Doctor Obvious,” Rossi sighed.

They were barely five minutes from wrapping up the scene when a second black SUV pulled up — and that’s when things shifted.

You stepped out, looking polished but rushed, eyes scanning until they landed on your husband — and narrowed instantly.

You were still in your blazer from court, heels clicking as you crossed the pavement toward the BAU vehicle.

Morgan glanced at Hotch and smirked. “You’re about to get real honest, real quick.”

“Shut up.”

You yanked the SUV door open. “Aaron.”

Hotch looked up, and for the first time all day, he looked… sheepish. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me,” you snapped, already seeing the blood-soaked shirt, the makeshift bandage Reid had clumsily applied, and the slight tremble in Hotch’s hand where he was hiding the worst of the pain. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, is that why your entire team looks like they just pulled you out of a war zone?”

Behind you, JJ snorted, trying to cough to cover it. Emily turned away quickly. Rossi didn’t bother hiding his smirk.

You climbed halfway into the SUV and gently took his hand away from his side. His jaw clenched as you revealed the wound.

“Jesus, Aaron,” you whispered, voice softening now. “You’re burning up.”

“Adrenaline,” he muttered.

“I don’t care what it is. You need a hospital.”

He didn’t argue. That alone was enough to scare the entire BAU.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Wow. All it takes is her showing up, huh?”

“I tried,” Reid said. “He doesn’t listen to me.”

“No one listens to you,” Morgan said dryly.

You helped Hotch out of the car, wrapping his arm over your shoulder. He leaned on you more than he meant to.

“I’m driving him,” you told the team. “And none of you better let him sneak back to the office after.”

“Cross my heart,” Emily promised. “We’ll chain his office shut.”

As you guided your husband to your car, Morgan called after him: “Take care, Hotch! Try not to pass out on your wife’s blouse!”

Hotch managed a glare — but the moment the car door shut and it was just the two of you, he slumped hard into the seat.

You reached over, brushing sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you murmured, pulling out of the lot. “You would’ve let yourself bleed out before calling me.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, too late. I’m very worried. Also furious. But mostly worried.”

You reached over and took his hand.

And for the first time all day — pain, pressure, and all — Aaron Hotchner let himself lean back and relax.

Because now, you were here.

You thought it was obvious.

The ring on your left hand, the way Aaron always stood a little closer to you than necessary, the way his eyes tracked your every move when you were in the field—but apparently, the visiting agent shadowing the BAU for the week didn’t catch on.

He was smug. Young. Too confident.

And far too flirtatious.

Day two of his assignment, you were reviewing victimology at the round table when he leaned closer than appropriate, arm brushing yours as he whispered:

“You know, I figured the top profilers in the FBI would be a little more buttoned up… Guess I was wrong. You’re something else.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, grinning. “When this case wraps, maybe we could grab a drink. Unwind. Unless you’re seeing someone?”

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the room like a blade.

“She is.”

You turned to find Aaron standing in the doorway—file in hand, expression unreadable, jaw tight.

“She’s married.”

The visiting agent raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. “Really? Huh. Didn’t see a ring.”

Aaron didn’t move.

You lifted your hand slowly, flashing the gold band.

“I don’t take it off in the field,” you said with a forced smile. “Safety.”

“Oh. Well, good for your husband,” he muttered. “Lucky guy.”

You didn’t respond. But Aaron’s eyes were locked on yours.

And you knew that look.

He wasn’t mad at you.

He was possessive.

And you were in trouble.

⸻

Later That Night – Your Shared Home

The front door had barely shut behind you before Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you into the bedroom.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even give you time to take off your heels.

His mouth found yours instantly—hot, hungry, commanding. You gasped into the kiss, clinging to his shoulders as he walked you backwards toward the bed.

“You didn’t tell him,” he growled between kisses, stripping your jacket off with one quick motion.

“Tell him what?” you asked breathlessly, already dazed.

“That you’re mine. That your husband is the man in charge of this entire team. That the man he just disrespected in front of everyone gets to fuck you every night.”

The growl in his voice sent a pulse of heat through your entire body.

“Aaron—”

“No,” he cut in, yanking down your zipper, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You don’t talk right now. You listen. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

He pushed you down onto the bed, tearing your blouse open, lips crashing down your neck.

You moaned as his hands slid under your thighs, spreading you wide, pulling your hips to the edge.

“Mine,” he said again, sinking to his knees.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as his mouth took over, slow and thorough—his tongue leaving you a panting mess in minutes.

Every kiss, every stroke, was deliberate.

Every growl of “say it—say who you belong to”

had you unraveling.

And when he finally climbed over you—bare chest to bare chest, his body covering yours completely—you grabbed his face and gasped,

“You, Aaron. Always you.”

He growled into your mouth as he pushed into you in one hard thrust.

“Damn right.”

He didn’t stop until you were crying his name—loud enough the neighbors probably learned who you belonged to, too.

⸻

The Next Day at Work

The visiting agent walked past your desk and froze when he saw the framed photo of you and Aaron—your arms around each other, wedding bands front and center.

“Oh,” he muttered, going pale. “You’re married to Hotch?”

You smirked, sipping your coffee. “Yeah. I am.”

And just like that, he never flirted with you again.

Not with the memory of that glare burned into his brain.

And not after realizing that the quiet, composed man in the corner office…