i'm a sad shell of a woman

The sun dawns on a new day, a new environment. This is the first thing you register. Then it's long, thick limbs wrapping around you. Light snores are next, a woodsy cologne shortly following.

You're with Robby. Officially. As of yesterday, he's your new roommate.

A smile pulls at your tired muscles at the thought, the joy far outweighing the trudges of sleep trying to pull you back.

Your arm's alive next, fingers gently scraping the nape of his neck. It seems you're just as wrapped up in him.

A low growl vibrates his chest, a small laugh escaping your lips. He shakes his head against you, not unlike a dog, another huff rocking him.

"Good morning, old man," you tease, pinching the bare skin of his side.

The extra pudge there is kind to you, relaxed and folded over the waistband of his boxers. He's not conscious enough to tense away from you just yet, to hide himself.

You're slightly worried that your fingertips will bring unwanted attention to the area, but the soft scrape of your nails against him is comforting enough that you simply just don't care.

He seems to feel the same, thankfully, his eyes fluttering closed once more, a breathy shudder shaking him. You press your fingertips deeper into his skin at the sound, a cute little squeeze to remind him where he is.

He jumps a little at your pinch, a sweet smile on his sweet face. He snuggles in closer to you, head planted firmly in your neck as you both come back to life.

"When are you going to the store, baby?" You rasp, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

"After I have my coffee," he grumbles. "Store probably doesn't open until 8 anyway."

You hum, glancing over at the alarm clock on Robby's side of the bed, 6:38 a.m.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Mornings are not your best time of day.

"So dramatic," Robby teases, stretching his long form around you.

"What else is left for you to get for today?" You poise, and he twists his lips in thought.

"I need to pick up the cake, plus some extra snacks, maybe some more soda…" he lists off, and you smile.

"We have plenty, baby, don't overextend yourself. You're going to be grilling all afternoon," you point out.

He considers this, rocking his head from side to side.

"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" He admits, eyes flitting from yours towards his duvet.

"No, it's not weird, baby," your nails graze his jawline, he still won't look at you. "Your emotions are never weird. Let's talk about it, though.""

"You're sweet, y'know that?" He grumbles, eyes finally finding yours again.

You smile at what greets you, his wide, vulnerable eyes, parted lips and rosy cheeks. The perfect picture of the frazzled doctor you'd fallen in love with. Though you were concussed and freezing, he was pretty from minute one.

"I don't know, I just want today to be perfect. Want you to be happy," he grumbles, raking his fingertips up and down your arm. "

His touch erupts a trail of goosebumps in its wake, his words freeing reckless butterflies in your tummy.

"It'll be amazing," you promise, a small smile on your face. "We'll make it amazing, just by being us."

You place a palm on his belly, jiggling the loose skin there. He chuckles, low and self deprecating. You kiss his neck, soft little pecks that leave him shivering.

"Jack keeps teasing me," he grumbles, "telling me I'm 'down bad'?" The unfamiliar lingo scooping up at the end.

You throw your head back and cackle, squeezing his forearm in your fingertips.

"Well, picture yourself a year ago. Did you ever think you'd be hosting a housewarming barbecue with a girl who just moved into your place?" You poise, and he shakes the question around in his head.

"No," he admits, you both knowing full well where he was a year ago. You're coming up on the Fourth of July, nearly a year since his sabbatical, a year since you'd first met. "I honestly didn't know where I'd end up."

The implication of his words weigh heavy between you, his fingers fiddling with yours. Your fateful E.R. trip happened to fall on the day before Robby's sabbatical started, the start of your relationship blooming in his newfound free time.

"I'm proud of you," you mutter, and this seems to do the trick.

He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He then releases you from his grip, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

You train your gaze along the expanse of his back, counting all the freckles you've traced along the skin.

His joints crack as he stands, a soft groan falling from him as he stretches his back, chest puffing out.

He turns back to you, face softening at your pout.

"Ooh, what is it, angel?" He coos, and you snuggle deeper into the sheets.

"Missing you," you mutter, and he tsks.

"Dramatic girl," he tuts, maneuvering around your newly shared room, throwing an old shirt over his head. "Want some coffee, baby?"

You nod, your gaze following him around the space. Robby in the mornings is a sight you're gleefully getting used to.

"Vanilla?" He asks, trailing his fingertips along the edge of your bed, waiting for your confirmation.

You grumble a soft 'yes', before your eyes start to drift closed. He taps your butt, a reminder to stay awake, before exiting to the kitchen.

The strong aroma of coffee beans fill your shared space, wafting in from the other room. The soft hint of vanilla is nearly Pavlovian. alerting your senses before any caffeine has actually entered your bloodstream.

It's not long until Robby comes back, a forest green mug in his left hand, a soft pink one in his right. You gratefully accept, sitting up and giving him your prettiest 'thank you' eyes.

He smiles, reaching down to give you another kiss.

It's sweet domesticity for the next hour, sitting between his legs, his free hand in your hair as you aimlessly talk. It's your first morning together as roommates. and you wouldn't be mad if all your mornings got to look like this.

He's true to his word, though, and at 8 o'clock, he promptly slips out of your grasp.

"Mmph!" You groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "Come baack!" You whine.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, love," he calls, teasing from the walk in closet.

"Agree to disagree," you respond, though all your gusto is promptly knocked out of you at the sight of him.

The buttery athletic shorts you got him for his birthday cling and flow around him, and he's pulling an old band tee over his head as he walks out of the closet.

Your jaw drops slightly, not used to seeing him like this. He's scruffy, hair and beard mussy and untouched.

"What…?" He asks, slowing down at the door.

"Just pretty," you respond, snuggling into his pillow. "Love you."

He melts at this, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.

"Love you too, my angel girl. I'll be back, okay? Rest up," he mutters, and then he's out the door.

You're out of bed before he comes back, denim shorts hugging your hips and thighs, a red tank top to match.

It's his turn to stop when he comes back, balancing a large sheet cake in his big hands. You turn at the waist to see him, arching your back at an angle you know drives him crazy.

The company is hours away from arriving, so why not start your teasing early?

"Hi honey! Have any luck with the extras?" You chirp, walking over to help him set the cake on your kitchen island.

Your heart warms at the red writing that spans across the white icing— "Our First Housewarming."

You smile, looking up at him through now damp lashes.

"You anticipate on having more housewarmings together?" You tease, sipping your third mug of coffee and not really expecting much of an answer.

"Of course," he says. It's nonchalant, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "We're gonna want to get a bigger house when we're ready to have kids, no?"

You choke, the caffeinated liquid sputtering from your lips. Turning away in an attempt to preserve the cake, you bend over and allow your cough to rack your body.

"Woah! You good there, angel?" He asks, rubbing soothing circles over your back. "Don't wanna have kids with me, eh?" He teases, and your heart hurts at his self--deprecation.

"You know that's not it, baby," you quip back, taking deep breaths to settle yourself. "Just surprised me, is all."

"Okay, honey," he mutters, his touch never leaving your body.

You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a sweet hug. His hands find your waist, greedily running against the skin peeking out between your top and your shorts.

"We'll have kids one day, for sure," you say into his neck. He squeezes your waist at your words, and you smile. "Let's just get through this first housewarming though, okay?"

You pull your head back and he nods, pecking you on the lips.

"Let's get set up baby," he quips, pinching your side before moving around you. "Get your suit on, gonna be a hot one."

You smile at his obvious attempt to see you in your bikini all day. Regardless, you oblige. Flitting to your room, you wiggle on the new red and white polka dot bikini he surprised you with last night.

It's a scorching day, the early July heat relentless. You can tell by the way the sun beats down out the window, illuminating the backyard deck, the pool glimmering a quenching blue.

You do a 360 in the full length mirror, twisting and turning your body for the best angles. You pinch and squeeze at the extra skin of your sides, the pudge of your tummy.

You're unsure, but if Robby thinks you're beautiful, that's all that matters for today.

You grab a matching sarong, sliding it on for a bit more coverage. This helps your feelings of uncertainty, turning to find Robby leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, gosh!" You squeal in surprise. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugs, walking closer to you.

"Since you pulled the bottoms over your cute ass," he replies, hands immediately finding your ass beneath the thin fabric.

Heat blooms in your stomach as you fall into him, groaning into the great expanse of his chest.

"Don't do this to me right now, the backyard isn't even close to being ready," you mumble, and he gives you a teasing squeeze.

"Go ahead, baby," he starts, the point of his nose pressed against your temple. "I have it all set up for you, just need to put it all out."

A wave of gratitude washes over you, your relief a sigh escaping your chest.

"Thank you, bub," you reply. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

You look back up at him for this, making sure the words really sink in. He just nods, his own little confirmation. You squeeze his hands in yours before you make your way to the yard.

He's right, and you're taken aback. Various pool floats lay there, already blown up in full. Tablecloth packages line the bar, as well as multiple soda, seltzer, and beer packages resting against the drink fridge, the extra coolers he bought 'just in case'.

Half the work you thought you had to do is now slashed in half, thanks to the big teddy bear currently preparing the world's largest charcuterie behind the sliding glass door.

You smile, and get to work.

The pool floats go in first, as this is your favorite part. It's the best thing to see— reds and pinks and white littering the blue water. You stare down to the bottom, at the crystal blue paint lining the bottom.

One day you'll convince Robby to paint it pink. But for now, you decide it's time to set up the patio furniture. Unwrapping the tablecloths, you lay them out, moving to the endless Dollar Tree bags, full of different table toppers and themed plastic cups.

Your heart swells at the thought of Robby, glasses on, brows furrowed, wandering aimlessly through your local dollar store, plopping anything red, white, and blue into the cart.

There's a whole separate bag of pink decorations, too. Something that most definitely can be attributed to his desire to please you.

You smile, eyes nearly tearing up when the glass door slides open. Darting your head up, you give him a sweet smile. He revels in this, maneuvering quietly past you to grab a Dr. Pepper from one of the coolers.

"Ah! Dr. Robinavitch!" You scold, swatting his backside as he's bent over.

He doesn't even react anymore, your affinity for his ass the exact opposite of a secret. He does respond to the title, though, whipping around to face you.

His brows are wild, eyes bugging out.

"I'm sorry…WHO?" He demands, cracking open the can with one hand.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at this, the reminder of how large his hands are not doing you any favors.

"Is that not your name?" You play into his attitude, swaying your hips as you walk towards the bar.

Popping behind it, you grab a Diet Coke for yourself. You hold it out for him, knowing he'll help you open it. Neither of you want you to break a nail.

He copies his previous motion in the other hand, your tongue now darting out to lick your lips.

"Thanks, Mikey," you murmur, and he eases at that.

"Good girl," he whispers, nose to your temple once more, before going back into the house.

It's scary how well you guys work around each other, the way you seamlessly fit into Robby's life, his space. Your heart pounds as you watch him through the door, the relentless beat of something very real echoing in your ears.

The mid morning flits past, full of you darting around every inch of the yard, stretching streamers over the wooden fence, topping each table with a cute summery centerpiece.

It's jarring how quickly you've felt at home in Robby's place, the little adjusting you've had to do. While this might change over time, you've surprised yourself today, at how perfectly you've blended in with the hosting duties.

They're split pretty evenly between the two of you, you assuming most of the decor, Robby the food. You were worried about throwing such a lavish party the day after your move, but you haven't really had to lift a finger throughout this whole process.

You recall the weeks beforehand, spent curled up next to Robby while he looked over expenses, the best places to find hot dogs and hamburgers in bulk, the cutest decorations. You got to have most of the say there, thankfully.

The one thought that persists. is how badly you want to do this again. How badly you want to merge your friends and his friends, how badly you want to work parallel to each other, to promote this place as your own.

Squinting your eyes, you walk inside, adjusting to the indoor lighting. Your vision focuses on the large man in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon and defrosting the meat.

You walk around him to the cupboards, reaching up to get pitchers for your drinks. Piling the glass with various fruits, you bump hips with him before heading back outside.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk past, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder before sliding the door shut with your foot.

A lot of juicing, blending, and mixing later, you're tucking different concoctions into the outdoor fridge. Colorful mocktails resting alongside the alcoholic beverages, and you only close the door once you're satisfied with your work.

Looking at your phone, your heart drops at the time that appears.

By the time you run through the kitchen, wash your face, and dab it with a little bit of makeup, you hear Robby welcoming in the first guests.

He'd changed in the meantime, a half buttoned linen shirt flowing over swim shorts. You have to bite your lip to hold back the moan, and approach the group that's gathered at the stoop.

It's so easy being on his arm, smiling and welcoming in your loved ones. Hospital people you recognize begin to float in, the first staggered members of the Pitt making their appearance.

A quick hour of introductions and cracked beer cans rolls by, and soon enough, the sun has warmed you inside out, a soft bead of sweat picking at your brow.

The clack of your kitten heels echo around the deck as you flit from guest to guest, refilling drinks and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Robby's done a pleasant job at keeping your own glass filled, as well. Over the course of your relationship, he's mastered the art of keeping you perfectly tipsy, without over-serving.

You feel these effects ever so slightly, a pleasant buzz ringing in your ears, as you float around the party.

You're eventually corralled into a break by some of your girlfriends, who have, undoubtedly, linked up with Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria. While this combination can only spell trouble, you're eager to slide off your sandals for just a moment.

You sink into the couch decorating the patio, legs hanging over its arm. The new position allows your shoes to dangle, falling to the concrete with a soft 'thud'.

A certain flick, hiss, fills your ears, and your head turns to find Robby, twisting the knobs of your grill, a pile of raw burgers and hot dogs stacked a mile high.

You pause for a moment to take in the sight. He's in his same outfit from earlier, his tummy on full display, though now it's partially covered with a 'Kiss The Cook' apron— a gag gift from Jack.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the domesticity, the ease with which he mans the open flame, dropping searing meat onto the charred racks. It's so masculine, in that old fashioned way Robby is, heat blooming warm within your belly.

A group of doctors soon fill your line of vision, and you allow yourself a few more minutes of reprieve until you snap back into host mode. You silently analyze the bunch, attributing the sharp cheekbones and defined muscles to…orthopedics, you're pretty sure.

There's one in particular-- a significantly large man with huge arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you like prey. A nervous thread stitches itself in your chest, unraveling the longer he leers.

"Oh, God," you hear Trinity groan, and you turn to look at her, brows knit in confusion.

"What?" You ask, tongue darting out to wrap around your straw, slurping the fruity, slushy drink Robby had made you moments before.

The three Pittlings all exchange a look, and you sit up, heart beating in your chest.

"Park the Shark's got his eye on you," Dennis supplements, and the gears turn in your hazy mind. "He's harmless, but he's most definitely going to try and flirt with you."

From the other side of the couch, your friends sit up at this news, heavily tuned in to this new development. You roll your eyes at them, and they can only shrug, in a way that says, 'can you blame me?'

Unfortunately, you can't.

"That's harmless?" You poise, and they exchange understanding looks. "Does he not know who I am?" Normally, you'd feel embarrassed for asking such a selfish question, but it's your party, dammit.

"It really doesn't matter either way," Victoria mutters, lips twisted in an awkward purse. "He will still try. He's relentless."

"And you look bomb as fuck," Trinity adds, and your cheeks heat up, reveling in the complimentary agreements from the other people there.

"That's true!" your best friend, Susie, chimes in. "Your old man's gonna hate that, though," she adds, nodding to Park.

You twist your lips, his eyes still glued to you. Swinging your legs over the couch, you decide to take the bait. Swinging your hips, you approach the group. Features lighting up, a smooth 'hi!' spills from your lips.

"How are you all?" You're diplomatic, a sweet smile painting your lips, shaking hands and making eye contact. "Do any of you need anything? Everybody have something to drink?"

You look at each of their cups, confirming your question before their pleasantries float around, reassurance in each syllable.

"I mean, I could be better," a smooth, low voice drawls. "You available?" This elicits an eye roll from the rest of the crew, some scoffs echoing out.

"You're digging yourself a deep hole, Park," mutters one of them, who you're pretty sure is Garcia, if the way Trinity was gazing at her was any indication.

You play ignorant, smiling and nodding, though your fingers grip your cup even tighter.

"How could I not?" He smirks to his colleague, lifting a hand up as if to say, 'what else am I expected to do?'

"You know, one day, Park, you're going to make some lucky girl very uncomfortable," you smile, "but it's not me."

He pouts at this, and you can't help but roll your eyes. The others around you begin to disperse, and you very quickly regret your actions. The bravado that got you on your feet moments earlier is dwindling by the second, cowering under his heavy gaze.

"That's not fair," he murmurs, taking a step closer. "You don't even know me."

"I don't know if I want to, given that relationship status is suggestive for you," you cross your arms over your chest, immediately regretting the way it pushes up your boobs.

Park's eyes immediately flit there, and you drop your arms. He pouts again, but still, doesn't tear his gaze away.

"If I was in a relationship with you, I'd never stray, beautiful," he croons, his attempt to be smooth nearly making you gag.

The gazes of your friends burn into your back, and you know they're hanging on to every word. You think you even hear a 'gross!' from Trinity.

"You know, I have to admire how openly you're flirting with the host of this party, who's actively living with your colleague," you remark, and one of them sputters on their drink.

Park cocks a brow at this, and your tummy rumbles with anxiety. The gleam in his eye lodges itself under your skin, making a home there. Robby's never looked at you this way, thank God.

"Well, I'm always open for a challenge," he sidles up closer to you, completely ignoring the others surrounding you. "Never really understood what you were doing with Robinavitch. anyway. Too pretty for that sad sack."

Stomach curdling with disgust, you offer him your best tight lipped, irritated smile.

"I'm not a challenge, I'm a person," you quip. "A person who is never going to sleep with you. Don't hold your breath."

"Hm, i might," he hums, "only if you're into it," he smirks, before walking away.

Your gaze follows him, watching him traipse through the party like he pays rent. Your heart pounds as he makes his way closer to the grill, clapping Robby on the back before leaning in to whisper something.

Robby's eyes find yours, his face falling the more he talks. Confusion and anxiety a perfect storm raging your insides. It feels as if a grater is running through your stomach, shredding until you're nothing left but scraps.

Your fears are confirmed when he finds Jack, handing him the apron and tongs, running inside. Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you dart your gaze back to the group of your friends.

Their faces mirror your emotions almost exactly, wide eyes, raised brows, and slacked jaws. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you nearly trip over yourself on your way into the house.

It's a sad attempt to maintain your smile as you greet the partygoers floating in and out of the house. There's not many, just people using the bathroom or refilling waters.

You hastily make your way to the other side of the house, the voices of the party-goers fading into the background. Heart pounding in your ears, you find the bedroom door cracked.

Inside you find Robby, tucked away in the en suite bathroom. He's planted in front of the mirror, left hand propped on his hip, right smoothing down his neck.

You instantly recognize this regulation tactic, one you've frequently seen him use in your time with him. Heart breaking, you push the door the rest of the way open.

The creak catches his attention, and his head snaps toward you. He relaxes only slightly when he realizes it's you, but shame soon takes over. Turning to you, he wraps himself in his open shirt.

You don't let him get very far, meeting him where he's at and stopping his arms from moving.

"Hey," you whisper, mouth ghosting his. "You know I wasn't giving into him, right?"

He nods, though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, 'f course, not that I was worried about," he grumbles, and you tilt your head.

"What are you worried about, then, my love?" You smooth your hands up and down his forearms, reveling in his little shiver.

"Worried that maybe he's right," he responds, face fully parallel to the ground now. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, hands covering his reddening face.

Tucking a finger under his chin, you pull until he's looking at you. Upon seeing his face, you almost regret it.

His eyes are big and shiny, droopy in a way they only get when he's truly heartbroken. He's biting his lip to stop him from trembling, and his cheeks are rosy.

You can't help but cup them, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Giving him a sweet pout, you ask, "what's wrong, hm? What did he say to you, angel?"

He tries to look down, you only grip him firmer. He lets out a huffy exhale, as if he's annoyed— which, to be fair, he probably is. You simply don't care, his well-being is more important than his intense dislike for talking about his feelings.

"C'mon," you whisper, sinking into him. Looping your arms around his neck, you smile when he grips your waist. "Talk to me, Mikey."

He sighs, and you know the name got him. He has never been able to resist the way you purr the nickname, one he hadn't been called since early childhood. You feel a twinge of guilt for playing so dirty, though you justify it for your cause.

"Said he could tell you were thinking about his offer," he starts, an your blood is instantly on fire. "That I need to satisfy you more. That I must not be doing a good job if his girl is willingly approaching him."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You scoff, rearing your head back. "Baby, I need you to know that when I first approached him, he was in a group. He'd been staring me down for like, ten minutes, and I thought I could polite my way out of it," you roll your eyes at what looks, in hindsight, like a confirmation of his stares.

"I'm so sorry, honey," you kiss his cheek. "I should've ignored him, should've listened to my gut," you kiss his other cheek. "How are you feeling about that?"

This is a newer question for the two of you, as you find it yields better answers from him than 'how are you doing?' Robby proves your point, another sigh accompanying what he says next.

"Ashamed," is the first word, and he's successful in this attempt to avoid your eyes. You pout, but let him continue. "Embarrassed, disgusting," he continues, and you're not sure how much more of this your poor heart can take. "Like you'd maybe be happier with someone like him."

This breaks you, and you pull him into a sweet hug. He clings to you, his head resting on your bicep as he desperately quells the cries that shake his body. Dotting kisses along his head, you scrape your nails down the back of his neck.

He lets out another sob at that, though you can tell it's from the relief you're providing. This eases your heart, but only slightly.

"I love you, Mikey. Yeah?" You're desperate in your search of his confirmation. Enclosing his cheeks once more, your hands pull him back to you, heart clutching as the streaks rolling down his face.

He nods, and you lean down to kiss his lips.

"I don't know why," he whispers, lips ghosting yours. "I don't know what I've done for you to love me, I don't get it."

Your heart clutches, and you plop yourself on his lap. You revel in the newfound closeness, pulling him to you as you straddle him. He backs up on the bed so you can have some more stability, a large hand splaying over the small of your back.

Dysregulation be damned, he waits to continue until you're settled back on him, fully bracketed in his arms. He clings to you for dear life, the point of his nose resting on your temple.

"You protect me," you tell him, "even when your brain is being mean to you." You tap two gentle fingers onto his temple. "You made sure I was nice and safe and cozy, even when I know what you're telling yourself right now."

You don't want to go to deep into that thought spiral, afraid you'll be the one to start crying. Though, you do always have a pretty solid guess of the thoughts swirling around his mind in times like these.

You'd dealt with it yourself, feelings of self hatred so deep it feels like you want to rip your skin apart. It's partially why you connect so well with Robby— buried, past traumas blooming into the bouquet of your relationship.

The first hand understanding of these moments has benefited your relationship multiple times, for both parties. It's not work when it's him, helping him heal his heart has never once felt like work.

"You…open my doors," you plant a kiss on his forehead, eyes trailing over every inch of his pretty face. "Pull out my chairs," kiss to his cheek, "pay for my food," kiss to his other cheek, "you cherish me, baby."

You punctuate this with a sweet kiss to his nose, but, to his everlasting dismay, you're not done.

"You have a good heart," your lips ghost over his, your voice dropping to a whisper. "A good soul," you peck his lips. "I see you, Michael. I know who you are, I know what I've gotten myself into."

Tears are flowing down his cheeks once more, though this time it's a silent stream, not a violent river. He nods, taking in your words. His hands smooth up and down his favorite spot— the small of your back, over the curve of your ass, rest for a moment at the tops of your thighs, rinse, repeat.

"You take care of me," you mutter, giving him another peck, then another. "You make me feel seen, heard, loved," another kiss. "Just by being you, y'hear me?"

He nods.

"Good," you coo.

His lips smash onto yours without another moment's notice.

The two of you positively melt into each other, his teeth nearly gnashing against yours at the intensity. The Robby-induced haze is immediate, going dizzy for his lips, the way they trail down your cheek, your neck.

You give your hips a little rock, arching your back and letting out a little whine.

"I love you, Michael," you whisper, his hand traveling up your body, your waist.

He rests his head on the peak of your chest, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. His adjacent hand creeps up to cup you through your bikini top. He gives you a light squeeze, and you squeal in delight.

"I don't think I can say enough times how beautiful you look, honey," he mutters, lips pursing, nearly slotting onto your skin below him. "So fucking insane, you're fucking insane."

He punctuates his compliments with a deep roll of his hips, his hard length evident in his swim shorts. You kiss the apples of his cheeks, the scruff peppering his jaw, dragging your lips over the Adam's apple in his neck.

"I could say the same thing to you," you respond, smoothing your hands over his still exposed tummy. "Love this belly so much, baby, you don't even know."

Tears spring to his eyes once more, the heels of his own hands catching them before they fall this time.

"Fffuucck!" He growls, a sardonic laugh following. "Y'gotta stop making me cry, princess. Can't take it," he wraps an arm around you, flipping you over so your back is on the bed.

"Michael!" You squeal, bouncing a little from the impact. You don't miss the way he pauses to watch your body adjust to the new position. He then crawls between your legs, eyes on you the entire way there.

"Wait, baby, wait," you sit up on your elbows to get a better look at him. "I wanna get you off first, please?"

"Fffuuuccckkk," he exhales, his forehead pressing against the bed. "Never thought I'd say no to your begging, baby," he presses a kiss to your tummy before untying your pretty skirt.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," he ponders, sliding your bikini bottoms down next. "Especially when my other option is to eat this pretty pussy," he presses a kiss to your clit, and you jump. "I love your mouth, but there's nothing I want more right now than to be the one to make you cum, please?"

You can't help but nod, his mouth immediately attaching to you. The kisses and licks he provides are messy, desperate, a strangled noise wrestling from his throat at your taste.

"Always so fucking sweet," he pulls away a tad, a glob of spit falling from his lips.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as it drops on your clit, rolling down your slit, your ass, onto the bed. His gaze follows the journey, jaw going slack, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Your breath hitches, biting back a moan as he gets back to work. The hand that's not holding your legs open slides up your tummy, fingertips tugging on the string tying together your bikini top

With a swift tug, the bow comes undone, the nylon falling to reveal your tits. They bounce slightly at the release, and he whines into his meal. The vibrations make your skin prickle, a whine falling from your lips.

"So perfect, baby," his large hand grabs as much of both tits as he can, his long fingers stretching as far as they'll allow.

He gives them a rough squeeze, letting them go with a loving slap. You whine at that, too.

"Such a whiny girl today," he murmurs into you, and you nod, legs shaking around his shoulders. "Have I not paid enough attention to you baby?" He asks. It's soft, a sweet question that has you keening. You nod, chest heaving with deep breaths.

"'m sorry, honey, that's so mean of me," he's so genuine, it makes your heart ache. "No wonder you went lookin' for Park, this pussy needed some attention, yeah?"

You swallow hard at his words, belly blooming with a bright heat. You wiggle your core against him, catching his nose on your clit.

"But it's only for me, though, right?" He asks, and you nod. "Nuh-uh," he gives your inner thigh a little pinch, a little kiss. "Tell me. Tell me you need me to make you cum, tell me it's only going to be me."

"Fuck!" You squeal, grinding harder onto his face. "It's only you, Michael," you scrape your nails against his scalp, eliciting a whine into your sopping cunt.

"You're the only one I want like this, the only arm I want to be on, the only man I've ever loved," this confession pushes you over the edge, a white hot sensation rolling over you like an electric shock.

"Fuuuccckkk," he groans into you, tongue never leaving your clit. "Love this pussy so much, c'mon, know you got more…"

A fresh wave hits you, your body going tense at the extra stimulation. Pleasure is all around you as you come down, a sudden sharp sensitivity popping the bubble once it all becomes too much.

You push his head out from between your thighs, and he crawls up your body. Resting his forehead on yours, you run a thumb along his glistening bottom lip.

Bringing it to your mouth, you suck it in, down to your knuckle. Letting it go with a 'pop!', you rest the pad of your thumb on your lips, giving your upper lip the perfect pouty push.

He caves at the sight, and you use his vulnerability to maneuver his body, climbing off the bed and sinking down to your knees on the floor. You beckon him, and he sits up, wiggling his hips until his feet are planted around you on the ground.

You smile up at him, at home between his thick, muscly thighs.

"You should know better than to try and deprive me of your dick in my mouth," you purr, wrapping your fingers around his length.

Tongue lolling out of your mouth, you tap his head against it, his pre-cum sticking to the muscle. The salty taste is immediate on your buds, and you swallow it down greedily.

It's not enough, of course it's not enough. Your lips part in a pretty 'o', closing around his mushroom head. He cries out, head falling back onto the pillows.

Hollowing you cheeks, you take him in deeper, and you hear his breath stutter.

"Oh," he starts, sinking his hands into your hair, "my fucking God."

He punctuates his cry with a tug, the ache in your scalp eliciting a whine. He massages the same spot in a sweet sorry, puling you off his length.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his head, and you go dizzy at the sight. You pout, missing the weight of him on your tongue. He smiles, pinching your cheek, giving it a soft pat.

"Sorry, angel," he starts. "I was gonna come, need to be inside you for that."

Your cheeks heat at this, climbing back onto the bed, reminiscent of the position you'd first started in. He scoots the both of you back to the pillows, slipping his red, angry length into your pussy without warning.

Your breath catches as his head breaches your entrance, the initial split taking the air from your lungs. Robby's gasping, barely getting a breath in as he fully sinks in his tip.

Your pussy swallows him up, tight and eager. Sinking down further, you start to create a rhythm, wiggling your hips, bouncing, just a little, to see what feels good.

With a certain swivel, the hook of his cock reaches a specific spot inside that has you lurching into him. He catches you, the sudden movement shoving him further inside you.

"Ffuuucckkk," you whisper, allowing yourself to seat yourself fully. "God, fuck," you throw your head back, pressing your hand into his knee. "You feel so good," you use the leverage to move your hips, circling his cock.

"Motherfucker," he groans, "so good to me, you're so good to me, baby."

Raising up on your knees, you lift slowly off him, to sink all the way back down again. You begin to bounce, your breasts moving in time with your thrusts.

His expression is cartoonish— wide and dazed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Your thigh muscles work as you bounce, his cock pistoning deep inside you.

"Don't know what I did to deserve you," he mutters, almost lost in thought. His free hand cups your breast, thumb running over your nipple. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect…happily bouncing on 50 year old dick, yeah?"

Your cheeks burn at his words, a shameful nod rocking your head.

"Yeah, 's what I thought," his thumb picks up speed on your nub. "My girl doesn't need someone younger, doesn't need fucking Park," he growls that last part, and you press a quick kiss to his lips. "Needs me, hm?"

You nod, nose brushing against his.

"Yeah," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Need your cock, honey," your smile is sweet, despite the depravity of your words. The juxtaposition makes him groan. "It's so big, so fucking deep inside me, fuck!"

You pick up speed, bouncing at a rate your thighs will come to regret tomorrow. Robby's head falls back, mouth parted in an 'O'.

"Fuck," he groans, his thumb finding your clit. "Tight little pussy is gonna make me cum, honey," he squeezes his eyes shut, a loose tear rolling down his cheek. "Fuck, thank you for making me feel so good, honey, thank you."

Bending over, you lick up the tear, kissing the dampness that's dotting his crow's feet. It's not long until the coil in your belly tightens once more, his thumb unrelenting on your button.

"Feels so good, gonna cum too, wanna cum together, please," you beg, feeling drunk off the intense thrusting.

Your blood is buzzing as you fall over the edge once again. This one is more overwhelming, more explosive as you tighten, squeeze around Robby in a way that has him finishing, too.

You feel him twitch, the relief of his own orgasm softening his cock. He nestles deep inside as you both come down, his thighs against your ass as you snuggle into each other.

Deep breaths rock the two of you, bodies moving with each heave. Pressing your forehead against his, you take a big gulp of air before you say, "I love you."

You press a kiss to his lips, and keep talking.

"I never want you to compare yourself to anyone, let alone Park," you spit the name out like it tastes bad. "I love you just the way you are, m'kay?"

He rolls his eyes, but you pinch the skin of his bicep.

"Hey! It's cliche, but it's true. Bruno Mars wrote that song for a reason," this gets him to smile, and you pinch his cheek.

"I hate to break it to you, old man, but we do have a party to get back to," you say, and his face falls at the reminder.

"Damn, do you think anyone noticed we were gone?" He asks, finger tips running up and down your arms.

"Probably," you smirk, lifting your hips off of his.

You both whine at the loss of each other, swinging your leg over his lap so you can make your way to the bathroom. He follows, holding your hand while you pee, a tradition born from your post-sex sensitivity.

He lets you finish your business on your own, but makes sure to pat you down with a wet wash cloth before re-tying your bottoms, your skirt. He situates your top for you, too, placing a kiss to the parts of your breasts that peek out of your swimsuit.

You're fixing your hair when you walk back outside, knees fluid, cheeks aflame, a huge smile on your face. Your friends are right where you left them, a knowing smile on each of their faces as they take in your rumpled form.

Susie slides you a fresh glass, a margarita, and you gratefully accept. Hiding your face with the large, plastic cup, you avert your gaze from your friends.

You find Robby, sheepish as he accepts his apron and tongs back from Jack. From across the deck, you hear him say,

“So, you decided that instead of celebrating yourself, to insist on us celebrating you?” Emily inquires around a mouthful of cupcake. 

“Pretty much!” You pinch her cheek affectionately, and she giggles. Your gaze turns ever so slightly, catching the window of your boss’ office. Bile rises in your throat. He won’t be so easy to coax out. Both now, and to the party itself. The mere thought of it makes you nauseous. 

Emily saddles up beside you, lightly nudging her elbow with yours. She nods to Aaron’s office, and blood rushes to your cheeks. Your gaze drops to the ground, which you scuff with the bottom of your shoe. You lift your head up, your hair falling down your shoulders like a waterfall. 

“He in?” You ask, resuming your naturally bubbly state, a wide smile plastered over your anxiety. 

“Yup, when is he not?” Emily responds, curious, like a cat. You snap out of your anxious state, giving a playful shrug. You bat your lashes and turn, grabbing the tray and remaining invitations. 

“Hey, I wanted seconds!” Spencer calls after you. You roll your eyes, your clicking heels once again the only noise as you walk away. It’s no secret who you’re going to see. 

Aaron’s office door is slightly ajar, so you enter the same way you did earlier, by hip. His brow quirks upon your arrival, but you don’t forget to clock the way his eyes catch you, scanning up and down your frame. You wore one of your favorite dresses today, a pink, ruffly number that resembles a sunset. It cascades down your body like it was made for you. By the way Aaron’s looking at you, he thinks so, too. The way he looks at you is electric, like a bolt of lightning cracking your spine as you take each other in. Your breath shortens, catching in your throat at the sight of his tired, brown eyes. 

“Hey, big guy,” you lilt, your voice in its usual effervescent tease. You don’t miss the way he flushes down to his neck at the nickname. 

“What is this all about, hm?” he raises a brow, his voice smooth like silk. His eyes widen as you set down the tin of cupcakes, revealing their chocolatey goodness to him. His favorite. You hand him an invitation, nerves bubbling in your stomach as he reads it over. Your cheeks heat, like you’re 17 again waiting for an invite to the prom.

Then, he glances up at you. There’s a sparkle in his eye when he looks at you. You’re not sure if he knows it’s there, but you cherish it. You cherish the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, the world. You cherish the way not a single other colleague receives the exact gaze you do, soft, patient, kind. It’s your best kept secret. 

You breathe out a sigh at that look, relief washing over you like fresh sunlight. 

“Did you make these? They’re beautiful,” he inspects the card in his hands, and your heart thuds against your ribcage, nerves buzzing once again. His nonchalance is like a tightrope, inching you closer either to safety or certain death. 

“Thank you,” you reply. It’s quiet. You’re afraid that if you raise your voice, your heart will come out of your throat. “I make them all myself.”

You settle on his desk, resting a light hip on it while you watch him intently. He studies you, eyes flitting over your face as he takes in the glitter of your eyeshadow, the soft swipes of gloss on your lips. His own are parted, tongue peeking out in a tantalizing way that sets your heart aflame. 

You raise a brow, asserting an effective upper hand. You watch his brow go soft, and you know you have him. It doesn’t take much for you to convince him. Of anything, really. Since you started working for him, he’s taken actual time off (rarely, but he has), eats dinner at a regular time each night, and manages to get a little more sleep. The team calls it witchcraft, sorcery. You’d call it the sheer force of the desire to keep the man you’re deeply in love with alive and healthy. That’d be too complicated, though, so you bat your lashes and accept their praises. 

“That’s really incredible,” it’s soft, his tone. Gentle and low in a way that’s reserved only for you, for these quiet moments in his office. Whether you’re talking about a case, your weekend plans, or the next set of nails you’re getting, he saves this special cadence just for you. Smooth and velvety, liquid chocolate spilling from his tongue. 

“Thank you,” your eyes glimmer as you shift on his desk ever so slightly. Your hip pops toward him in a way that has him licking his lips. Confidence surges through, you sit up taller. “Will you be there?” You bat your lashes, your prettiest doe eyes on full display. “It would mean everything to have you there.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yay!” You squeal, hopping off his desk. You fix him a cupcake, taking the last one on the tray and placing it delicately on a pink napkin. 

“You’re only allowed to eat this if you’ve had lunch. Have you?” You’re all business again, in the blink of an eye. You poise a sassy hand on your hip, your brow arching. 

“I had a piece of toast and a pickle,” he admits. It’s sheepish, and you roll your eyes. 

“That’s a disgusting combo. Have another piece of toast before you eat that,” you roll your eyes playfully before stalking off. A barely audible ‘yes, ma’am’, follows you out. You pause, smiling to yourself before heading to your desk. 

“You really think he’s gonna show?” Penelope asks, her tongue swirling around her third daiquiri of the evening. You sigh, popping your hands on your hips as you take a step back from your large window, inspecting your decorative work. 

It’s the night before your big party, an event you normally thrive on hosting. Now, though, it’s the cause of the anxiety sparkling inside you, like your heart’s swimming in carbonated water. You adjust the rollers in your hair, the fluffy sleeves of your pink silk robe falling to your elbows as you do so. 

You center yourself for a moment, focusing on the comforting way the delicate fabric frames your body, falling over your tank top and sleep shorts. You wiggle your feet, currently stuffed into pink bunny slippers. Your gaze finds the moon, full and round, you absorb it. You welcome anything that helps you not crush under the debilitating weight of your affections for Aaron Hotchner. 

“I don’t know! He told me he’d be there!” Your voice is antsy, you wring your hands together with a small smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. While Penelope’s brilliant, she’s not a profiler. She’s also drunk. You pray these two things add up in your favor.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him go out. Not since the divorce, but if he were for anybody, it’d be for you. That much I know,” she pats a supportive hand on your shoulder, though it does nothing to quell the nausea that comes from the d-word. 

You’d been a strong reliant for your boss while he’d finalized his divorce, almost a year ago now. Getting him late night coffees, sitting on the couch in his office while he completed paperwork, bringing in little treats just to make him smile. They always did, everything you did garnered a smile out of him. 

That’s why you were teased in your first week on the job, after you’d questioned the team’s comments about their stoic leader. “He smiles all the time, what are you guys talking about?” Their sarcastic grins and chuckling was the first time you were fully aware that the relationship you had with your boss was…different than the others. The amount of time that’s passed since then, the bond you’ve made with your boss, makes your head spin.

Still, you aimed to be respectful everyday. No matter how many details you knew about his issues with Haley, the stress of taking care of Jack while he was away, you kept a professional distance. You would not cross that line. In the year since he’d taken the ring off, though, it’s been…different. A wall has come down, a layer unshed. You don’t know what to do with it, with him. 

“Hey, does this look good over here?” Emily calls, snapping you out of your Aaron-induced haze. You plaster another smile on your face, though this time it’s not too difficult. You were thankful to merely witness J.J. propping Emily up on a stool so she can pin a pink disco ball in the center of your expansive living room. Relief washes over you, the love for your friends momentarily distracting you from the ache in your chest. 

“Looks great, thanks Em!” you pat her ass playfully, laughing when she squeals. 

“Anything for you, my darling!” She calls after you as you make your way through the living room to the kitchen, grabbing your own glass of the elixir that now has Penelope fully slumped forward on your kitchen island. 

“Pen? You good?” You nudge her slightly, and she jumps at the contact. 

“Oh! Yeah! Yeah, I’m great! Cool as a cucumber!” She adjusts her own pajamas, a buttery yellow silk set that comes with a matching eye mask. 

You laugh, shaking your head as you pour your own drink. “You really think Aaron will come tomorrow?” You ask her, your voice is meek. You hate it, that this is what he does to you. 

“I would be truly shocked if he didn’t, my sweet,” she answers, and though her words are slightly slurred, her tone is serious. You smile. 

“I agree!” Emily calls, walking into the kitchen to refill her own cup. J.J. trails behind her, nodding emphatically. 

“I mean, have you heard anyone else here call him Aaron? Like…ever?” J.J. says. You jokinglya move your head side to side, rattling the thought around your head. They all giggle at your response, and your cheeks heat up. You rest your chin on your shoulder, avoiding eye contact with the giddy group. 

“He’ll show. Don’t even worry about it,” J.J. states, the others nodding in agreement. 

You blow out a sigh, downing the rest of your drink in one swig. 

The bass from the speaker reverberates through your house, the walls nearly shaking from the vibrations. You’re only slightly tipsy, a bit dizzy as you slide open the glass door leading to the patio. Nearly every square inch of the pool is full of people, bodies bobbing around, elbows above water to preserve red solo cups. 

The wind blows through your hair, your eyes falling shut. You try to bask in it, absorb the setting sun as you had with the moon the night before. It’s not working. Aaron still hasn’t shown. Your attempts to not get upset about it are weak, feeble, an embarrassment. You thought fresh air would do you some good, but now, in your tipsy, clouded haze, you scan the crowd of faces. Some of them you know, most of them don’t. Above all else, you still don’t see the one you want. You feel stupid for thinking you would. Your heart splinters, cracks in the foundation breaking the whole. 

You sit on the porch step, your face falling to your hands. What’s wrong with you? Throwing parties is like a love language to you- Gatsby himself would be jealous. It’s not atypical for friends of friends of friends to find themselves in your yard. Tonight, though, you’re upset. Upset that none of them are there for you. Upset that you don’t even matter. Upset that the one person who could fix this feeling hasn’t shown. He isn’t here for you. After everything, everything you have done for him. After he promised. Tears prick the insides of your eyes, and you release a shuddering breath.

“Hey, Party Princess!” You look up to find Penelope, arm in arm with Derek. Both of them look a bit too drunk for their own good. Penelope’s face falls immediately upon seeing your teary gaze, your pouty lips. 

“Oh angel! What’s going on?!” She squeaks, sitting down beside you immediately. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you lean into them instinctively. 

“Someone special not here, pretty girl?” Derek asks, crouching down to meet your eye level. The acknowledgement of your situation only makes the tears fall. 

Penelope forces your head parallel to the ground. “Look down! Don’t let the tears streak your makeup!” You release a wet laugh at that, inspiring laughter from Derek and Penelope as well. You can hear the relief in theirs, that Aaron Hotchner hasn’t rendered you incapable of laughter. 

You feel Derek’s hand over the expanse of your shoulder, a warm, comforting grip that soothes you only slightly. Your gaze is still on the concrete, shame creeping up your spine at your emotions. “I’m sorry, guys,” you splutter, tears falling faster now. 

“No! No, don’t apologize,” Penelope squeals, finding a tissue in her bag and handing it to you. “Blot those pretty eyes, hon, and let’s go dance! Don’t spend your birthday crying over some guy!” 

You do as she says, closing your wet eye so your lash meets the tissue, small bits of mascara left as residue. You finally lift your head up, meeting Derek’s gaze. “There she is!” He smiles, “the most beautiful girl in Quantico.”

“Hey!” Penelope smacks his bicep. He laughs, holding a hand there in a show of faux pain. 

“Sorry, one of the two most beautiful women in Quantico,” he responds, walking backwards to the bar. He grabs you a shot of tequila, your favorite, and propositions you. 

“That’s much better,” Penelope smirks, satisfied. She moves from beside you, ready to assemble a lime and some salt. You stop her, a hand to her forearm. “No need.” You throw back the shot, your head tilting all the way back as you down the burning liquid. It singes your throat, and you wiggle your head from side to side as it goes down. 

That same counterfeit smile curls your lips, your eyes just as sad as they were before. “Let’s party!”

Aaron Hotchner  is a piece of shit. He knows this. His ex-wife knows this. Hell, Jack probably knows it, too. But now she knows it, and for some reason, that’s his final straw. He stands at her front porch, suit jacket long abandoned, tie forcefully loosened from hours of hunching over his desk. His hair is messy, thanks to his fingers running through it every 5 minutes. The bags under his eyes have darkened throughout the night, and he can tell from his reflection in the window that he looks like hell. The last place he should be is at a party, let alone this party.

He takes in her expansive house, a gift she inherited from her parents once they moved to Calabassass, she told him once. The front is made of classic white stone, a baby blue trim framing the door and windows. It looks as if it hasn’t been touched in years, only to fine tune and keep it looking pristine. Though, the perfection on the outside provides a direct contrast to what little he can see going on inside. He has a view of the kitchen from where he stands, empty beer cans line the kitchen island, pink streamers and popped balloons litter the floor. 

He sees the outline of someone familiar enter the kitchen. Penelope, if the bouncing blonde hair streaked with hot pink was any indicator. He watches as she stumbles about, a large figure, Derek, holding her up by the elbows as she attempts to make a mixed drink. He hopes it’s not for herself. He then realizes what a creep he must look like, a dark figure standing alone in front of a house that’s not his, staring in the window at a party he failed to attend. He turns, ready to leave, firm in his decision that this was all a big mistake to begin with. 

He stops, though from the opening of the door. He whips his head around, relief and disappointment washing over him to see Emily. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if it had been her opening the door. Fall to his knees, grovel, probably. His cheeks tint a bright red at her knowing, disappointed stare. “You fucked up tonight, Hotchner,” her affirming tone washes over him like he’s been dipped in acid, singeing his skin and finding its way to his guts. He’s nothing but a puddle. 

“Where is she?” He asks. It’s meek, feeble. A tone nobody he’s ever worked with heard him use. Emily raises her brow at that, both in shock and suspicion. 

“The backyard, near the pool. She’s had a lot to drink, though. So be careful. You may not be someone she wants to see right now.” Emily’s pitiful smile only makes him feel worse. He can’t leave now that he’s been spotted, though. It would catapult him from normal amounts of jackass to the jackass Olympics, something he’d never be able to recover from. Not when it comes to her. 

He follows Emily in, the remnants of what seemed like a blowout bash now diluted to a handful of bodies in each room. Most of them are the team, who are shooting him looks of shock and pity as he makes his way through the house. His heart beats through his ears as he slides the glass door open, stepping under the pink balloon arch to find her. 

She’s sitting alone on the edge of the pool, her feet dipping in slightly. He takes her in, giving him a brief moment of selfish reprieve before she sees him, before he has to confront the ways in which he’s broken her heart tonight. A floral pink dress flows around her, the sleeves billowing in the wind. The ruffles of the tiered dress are bunched around her hips as she sits, the hemline raised to prevent wetting the fabric. She’s a vision, the pale moonlight ghosting over her frame like a spotlight made just for her. His heart breaks. All of this, and he’s left her so lonely. He is a piece of shit. 

The creak of the porch step calls her attention, her head swinging around her shoulder to see who’s come to join her. The look on her face as she sees him…it’s too much to put into words, even for a profiler as experienced as Aaron. He watches each emotion cross her face. Her instinctual reaction was relief, her eyes brightening like a lightning flash through his heart. Her brows furrow soon after, discontent clouding her features. Anger is soon to follow, the pink gloss on her lips shining as they curve downward. 

She lands on anger. Stays there as she moves to stand, not caring where the water splashes as she swings her feet out of the pool. She stomps over to him, feet smacking against the pool deck as she barrels into him. The force is light, her drunken state impacting the collision. He still stumbles a bit, catching both her and himself as they tumble. 

“Where were you?!” she spits, the fire in her eyes paralyzing. He’s speechless. “I waited for you! I waited for you all night! You said- you said you’d be there! You promised!” Her voice gets louder with each syllable, her fists colliding into his chest with each breath. She turns, walking toward the water once more. 

He follows slowly, tentative. His hand reaches to her elbow, fingers lightly touching the skin. She turns, smacking his hand away. He flinches at the sudden contact, not expecting such force from her. “No!” She exclaims. Tears prick her eyes now, her hand is shaking as she holds up a finger in his face. Aaron’s heart splinters at the sight, guilt searing his veins like a deadly disease. 

“You don’t get to touch me, you don’t get to act like you’re the victim here. You. Didn’t. Show.” She spits, venom punching every word. He can see the group forming at the door out of his peripheral vision. It’s just the team, thankfully. Though he knows he’s lost this right, he’s relieved random strangers aren’t privy to his colossal fuck up. 

“God, I feel so fucking stupid!” She exclaims, running ten fingers through perfectly tousled hair. “Sitting here in this dress, that I picked out for you, at this party, that I only threw for you!” Her voice cracks on that last word, tears finally spilling over her lash line. 

“Me?” He mumbles. It’s the first word he’s said to her all night. It makes him feel like an idiot. There’s heat in her gaze, a deadly forest fire. But she’s silent. He keeps going. “You threw this party for me?” He sounds dumb. He knows it even before she rolls her eyes. A fantastic idiot, that’s what he is. 

“God, Aaron!” She’s yelling, now. The use of his first name knocks the wind out of him every time. This time, though, with the pain lacing her tone, it hits like a tornado. “For the best fucking profiler in fucking America, you have no clue how to read people!” 

He raises a brow at this, and she yanks at the root of her hair, a loud, desperate, ‘ugh!’ tearing from her lips. “I’m so hurt, Aaron, You hurt me. I’m so angry, and I’m so, so in love with you, that I’ll probably fucking forgive you in the morning.”

The words hit him like a bullet train, slicing him clean in half. His mouth falls open, a small ‘o’ that only serves to make him stupider. She stalks over to the bar on the deep end of the pool, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of vodka from the interior. She takes a long swig, eyes falling closed. Tears fall down her cheeks, streaking her perfectly applied makeup. She stumbles a bit, nearing the edge of the water, and his heart rate picks up. He makes the mistake of reaching for the bottle. It only results in a forceful shove, the bottle falling between the two and shattering on the ground. 

Her fury only intensifies now. Her vindictive gaze could turn him to stone. He looks down at the mess, catching her shoeless feet. He grips her wrist before she can move. Her bare feet, drunken state, and the shards of broken glass are a recipe for disaster. He doesn’t care how big of an asshole he is, how much she might hate him right now, but he can’t risk letting her get hurt even more. He’s expecting her reaction, an immediate instinct to shove him off of her. He can’t even register the impact it has on his already fragile heart, because in her alcohol induced frenzy, her shove knocks them both in the water. 

The splash envelops Aaron like a slap to the face. He opens his eyes immediately, and he doesn’t even register the sting of the chlorine in his eyes. His only mission is to find her, to make sure she’s safe. He sloppily wraps himself around her, bringing them up to the surface. They both gasp upon arrival, breathing as if they’d never get the privilege again. He splays a hand across her back, pushing her toward him until they’re chest-to-chest, until she can’t wriggle out of his grasp. He won’t let her go until she’s safely out of the water.

The frantic rise and fall of her chest against his steadies him. It’s enough to ground him, to help him find his bearings as he spots the ladder leading out of the pool. He feels her relax slightly in his arms as he begins to move, her own wrapping around his neck. He lets out the smallest sigh of relief. She doesn’t completely hate him. With how he acted tonight, he’s surprised he’s even been afforded that much. 

He lets her go first, hands finding her waist and lifting her to the first step. His hands hover around her as she stumbles up the ladder, ready for any possible disaster to strike. He follows quickly, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin in a way that would make him feel exposed around anyone else. He rolls his sleeves up to his shoulders, shaking his hair out like a dog. She flinches when he sprays her, giggling quietly. The sweet, fluttering noise is contagious, Aaron laughs himself before muttering a quiet, “sorry.” 

He watches her face change as she remembers again. Remember why they ended up in the pool,  why she’s mad at him in the first place. Light, joyful eyes darken into a cloudy, stormy gaze. Her eyes are like a bow and arrow aimed right at his heart, ready for the kill. He’s ready to admit defeat, to just lay there and let her skin and eat him alive. He avoids her gaze. Cowardly, he knows. 

“So. Fucking. Unfair.” They’re punctuated by a look of desperation and disdain, desire and destruction. His head shoots up again at that, shame creeping up his spine once more. It settles in his neck, constricts his airflow. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve treated you terribly tonight and-”

He’s cut off by a groan that could spark an earthquake. She pulls at the roots of her wet hair in frustration. “Not that. Well- partially that. It’s fucking unfair that you get to skip my party, break my heart, show up, and then emerge from my pool looking like some sort of Adonis. Un-fucking fair, Aaron Hotchner.”

She moves closer to him with each passing word, to the point where his name is merely a whisper, uttered to him only inches from his own face. He studies her, the water droplets falling down her tear-stained face, the look in her eye, now softened to one of desperate devotion, despite all he’s put her through tonight. She’s breathtaking. Just as she was the day they first met, and everyday since then. An otherworldly beauty that has seemed to captivate him, mind, body, and soul. 

She inches even closer, her fingernails raking up his bare forearms. A shiver unzips his spine, invoking a light chuckle from her. As her lips inch ever so closer to his own, he nearly lets himself get lost in it. When she releases a shaky sigh against his mouth, the potent stench of vodka strongly reminds him that she is in no place for such an activity tonight. He scoops her up, folding her over his shoulder as he turns to get her indoors. 

He ignores her squeals of protest, the splattering of her palms on his back, though he can’t help but imagine this exact scenario in a different light- one where she’s sober, and he’s carrying her through his bedroom door. He opens the glass door with one hand, sliding it the rest of the way with his hip. He thanks his lucky stars that the only people left are Penelope and Derek, who likely stayed in case of any possible drownings. He nods at them, a succinct, ‘we’re good, get out.’

The message is heard clearly, the two of them shuffling out the door, but not before taking multiple glances at their boss, who’s carrying his hammered employee like a sack of potatoes. He’s in for an absolute earful come Monday, he’s sure of it. 

Her room is easy to spot, a bright pink door with her name plastered at the top. He smiles to himself, his heart swelling at the way she revels in her inner child. Sparkly room decor, birthday party invitations, a birthday party in general. He’s almost envious of the way she effortlessly mixes her childish woe with her adult sophistication. Even around the office, she clacks around in whatever heel came out of her rotating closet that morning, all while spouting off fine tuned details of any current or prospective cases. 

These are things he’s lost touch with as he’s aged, that whimsy, the wild eyed gaze she gives to new challenges. He hopes she never lets it go. He hopes she’ll be 80 with bedazzled glasses and  the best hair in the room. Knowing her, he has nothing to worry about in that regard. 

He plops her down on the large couch on the far end of her room, not wanting to douse her bed with chlorine. She needs a good night’s sleep. She whines as she attempts to wiggle out of her party dress, the straps proving to be very stubborn as she maneuvers around the couch. He turns instinctively as she figures it out, her dress bunching around her thighs before she lifts it up over her head. The small sliver of thigh he did see is burned into his brain forever, though. There’s no escaping that. 

“Aaron, I need my pajamas,” her voice is soft, tired. 

Aaron clears his throat awkwardly. “Where are they, honey?”

He practically hears her gleam at his words. He knows she’s basking in his pet name the way she always does, like a cat who got the cream. “Top drawer. I want the silk pink set,” her voice has a certain lilt to it now that nearly has his eyes rolling in the back of his head. Pink silk. He’ll die. He could just die. It would probably be less painful than handling her delicate sleepwear, throwing it behind him without turning around. 

She giggles as she puts it on. “You can look now. I’m all covered.”

He turns, eyes trained on the floor, just in case. He’s truly not prepared for what he sees when he turns around. Her smooth legs are crossed at the ankle, her plush thighs filling out the fabric of her soft pajamas. The top is barely enough fabric to be called such, a thin tank top leaving so little to the imagination, he nearly combusts on the spot. The peaks of her nipples are enough to do him in permanently, to put him in the ground for all eternity. He’d deserve it, too. 

“I can’t move. Need you to get me to bed,” she mumbles, her body falling limp against the couch. He rolls his eyes, moving to scoop her in his arms, bridal style this time. The implication makes him choke on his own spit. 

“Wait!” She exclaims, just as he’s reached the foot of her bed. He stops in his tracks. “Need to get the rest of my makeup off, Aaron. Need the bathroom.” Her head falls against his chest, and he can’t say no. Sighing, he adjusts her in his arms and carries her to the ensuite bathroom. 

He sits her down on the closed toilet, covered in a pink, fuzzy fabric. She wiggles, getting comfortable as her eyes fall shut. 

“The soft, fuzzy washcloth on the counter automatically takes off makeup with water. If you could just wet it, I can get the rest.” She’s truly sleepy now, the alcohol taking her over almost entirely now. 

He won’t make her do all of that work, not after everything he’s put her through tonight. He heeds only part of her request, wetting the washcloth and ringing out the excess water. He crouches in front of her, putting a gentle hand to her jaw as he begins to lightly scrub the remaining bits of makeup off. She sighs, one of content and exhaustion. His heart soars. He thinks he may have to start going back to church just to make up for the grace he’s been granted tonight. 

After he moves through the next two steps- cleanser, then moisturizer, per her instruction- they’re back where they started, at the edge of her bed, her nestled in his arms. He lays her down gently, turning to sleep on her couch downstairs. He’s stopped in his tracks with a single tug to the wrist. His heart stops. 

“Stay,” she mumbles. He’s powerless. He peels off his wet clothes, making peace with sleeping in damp underwear, before she mumbles something more. “There’s extra sweatpants in the room to the right. Take them.” He has no choice but to listen. 

You wake with a pounding head, the morning light filtering in like a knife designed to split you in two. You groan, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the sober reality you’ve been thrust back into. You’re caught off guard when you roll into an absolute brick wall of a man, panic rising in your throat before you realise who it is. The only positive is that he’s familiar, that you know it’s not some random guy you hooked up with and let stay the night. On the other side of that coin, you’re waking up next to your boss, the day after you confessed your love for him. 

The arrival of that memory triggers the rest, and they flood in like a broken dam. Your tears, the vodka, the broken glass, the pool, the way his pecs looked in his white shirt, soaked to the bone and clinging to his chest. 

You shake off the thought, though the motion only wakes Aaron. You curse lightly under your breath. It takes everything in you not to crumble at the raspy groan Aaron lets out, seemingly just as surprised to be waking up in a foreign environment. His eyes widen when they find you, pure shock lacing his features before he slowly pieces together the events of the night before. A small smile curves your lips. “Good morning, party pooper.”

Aaron at least has enough gentlemanly instinct to make breakfast. He’s quick to tie your pink apron around his waist, cracking eggs and frying bacon with ease. You perch on one of the stools at your kitchen island, still littered with beer cans and empty solo cups. You sip your coffee as you watch him. You hate how gorgeous he is, how he has the right to look like that even when you’re mad at him. 

Sweatpants hang low on his hips, the lack of a shirt tantalizing. Your eyes zone in on the slivers of skin afforded beyond the apron. You squeeze your thighs together at the hair on his tummy, the hair that trails lower, and lower…

You jump as he puts a plate in front of you, not expecting for him to be done so soon. “Oh!” You squeal, the sound muffled slightly by your coffee mug. You’re using the glass dish as a crutch now, holding it in front of your face like a shield. You know he can tell exactly what you’re doing, and why you’re doing it, but it doesn’t stop you. He should know how you’re feeling right now, with him in front of you, looking even more delectable than the fresh, sizzling bacon. But he’s still the same man that broke your heart merely hours ago. 

He plates himself before nodding his head towards the semi-clean kitchen table. “Let’s eat there, so that way we’re not talking over pyramids of Sam Adams.”

You smile softly at this, swinging your legs around to hop off the stool. He takes your plate before you can, sitting it at the head of the table. You sit, and take a bite. It takes everything in you not to moan. If it weren’t for last night, maybe you would’ve. You sit in silence for a moment, soft chewing and forks clinking against plates the only noise. The only noise, at least, until Aaron looks directly at you. 

“I’m so sorry. I know that there’s not enough apologies in the world to make up for how I’ve treated you. I just- I couldn’t…” his voice trails off. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“Couldn’t what?” It’s quiet as it leaves your lips, hanging between you two like a ticking time bomb. His eyes flit to the table, his hands clasped together in what looks like silent, desperate, prayer. 

“I couldn’t face rejection again,” he states, plainly. The wheels start turning in your head. Moving, but still unsure of the destination. “You saw so many details of my divorce, the ugly ins and outs. I couldn’t even fathom the thought that you’d be- that you would have any sort of feeling towards me. That you would love me in the way that I love you. Now that I know what I know…”

You’re there. You’ve reached your destination, and you can’t help but collapse your head into your hands and laugh at the stupidity of it all. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the noise you emit, but it’s all worth it at the smile that appears on his own face, cheeks bunching up around his eyes. It makes your heart swell. 

“So, you’re telling me…you didn’t come to my party because you were afraid I’d reject your feelings, and I spent the entire night drinking and crying on rotation because I thought you were rejecting me…” You spell it out, wild hand motions matching the absurdity of the situation. 

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He smiles, and heat rises to your cheeks. A silence settles over you then, the gravity of what this means hitting the both of you like a truck. “I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, though I know that sounds redundant because of my actions.”

You let out an incredulous chuckle at that, a huff of air conveying multiple emotions at once. “Aaron…I need to know that you won’t just run when things get hard. I know that you and Haley had something…else. I don’t want to be a repeat of that in your healing journey, or get in the way of your duties with Jack, or-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, a warm hand grazing your forearm over the table. “You’re not just a part of my healing journey. I learned a lot when Haley left me. You saw it. You held a heavy hand in that change. You gave me something to strive for, a glimmer after I’d thought I messed everything up. And instead of treating you the way I know you deserve, I ran right back to my old patterns. I can’t explain how sorry I am. How can I make it up to you?”

You raise a tentative brow. “The self awareness is a good sign, Aaron, but I need you to know that I’m a one and done kind of girl. Typically a none and done kind of girl. I’m making a very special exception here, sir.” He nods at this, eyes boring into yours. “You’re not going to keep me if you keep your old patterns. It’s one or the other, and you can make it up to me by making that decision. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He nods emphatically, fingers lacing between yours across the table. You sigh, a true, genuine smile on your face for the first time since before last night. You finish your breakfast in a content silence before dragging him back up to your room. 

“It’s one of the only spots in the house not littered with alcohol!” You’d told him, your reasoning quite sound in your eyes. Aaron rolls his, though a smile persists anyway. 

You fall onto your mattress, lifting your arms up for Aaron to join you. He lays beside you, your finger grazing along the waistline of his sweatpants. You revel in the way he shivers at the contact. He makes himself comfortable and you sling a leg across his hips, neck craning up to look in his eyes. A tense silence falls over you two then, thick and wanting. He tests the waters, slowly inching his face closer to yours. You bridge the gap, greedily smashing his lips to yours. 

He kisses you like a man starved, his arms curling around your back as he tries to consume as much of you as possible. You break from the kiss, only for him to pepper multiple tiny ones on your lips, his own drifting to your chin, your jaw, your neck. You turn on your side so your chest to chest with him, the feeling of your tits pressed up against his was enough to make your head spin. His rigid body relaxes in your arms as his lips find yours again. 

You clutch at his shoulders, a small whimper fleeing your lips in between greedy kisses. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that? Drive me fucking crazy,” he mutters, hands finding the soft skin under your sleep tank. “Yeah?” you coo, and he groans. 

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, and you clench your thighs together. His ravenous hands frantically search for every spare part of your body they can find. “Walking around the office in those skirts, those cute fucking heels,” he punctuates his statement with more kisses. Your head is spinning. 

“I’m glad you like them, I pick them out just to drive you crazy,” you joke, and revel in the way his eyes roll back in his head. You rock against his hard length, and he shudders. 

“I need you. Now.”

Aaron lays still under the covers, fingertips raking up and down her back as if she’s made of porcelain. He releases a shaky breath, lips pressing to the top of her head. She’s drifting in and out of sleep, and the selfish part of him wants her awake, to be there with him, to kiss him some more. The nurturing part of him knows that she needs the sleep, that her hangover likely isn’t helping in her fight to stay conscious. 

“I can hear you thinking, y’know?” she murmurs, her words smushed in his chest. He laughs, a small, breathy sound escaping his lips. 

“Yeah?” He inquires, voice coated thick with love. “Just thinking about you. About what you need to feel better,” he exaggerates this point by rubbing thick fingers along her scalp. She shudders in response. 

“Think I need to sleep,” she mumbles, her lids half shut. 

“I think you do, too,” he answers, his never ending smile still on his face. “But I want to be with youuuu,” she drags out the last word, her lips pouty. He kisses them eagerly. She responds with the same fervor, her arms slinking around his neck. 

He can feel himself stir again, his now naked frame hiding nothing from the woman in his arms. 

“I think you want the same thing,” she says, suggestively. Her eyebrows wiggle as her fingers slide dangerously low. Against his body’s wishes, he grips her wrist gently. She pouts again. He kisses her again. He’ll never get tired of it. 

“Boo!” She pouts, and it’s so adorable he almost pulls her on his lap to finish what they started. 

“You need sleep, honey. I’m going to clean up downstairs, you let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods as he slides out of bed. He jumps when she swats his ass. 

“Hey!” He exclaims, but she just smiles, resting her head on her propped hand. 

“What? Like it’s my fault you have a cute butt!” She shrugs. He shakes his head, cheeks flushing as he moves to put on his now-dry clothes from last night. 

“Sleep,” He orders. She wiggles her brows in challenge. 

It takes all his will power to leave her there, naked and wanting. It’s for the best right now, for both of them. Her lids have returned to their half closed state, and he ghosts another kiss over her lips before he goes. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth.

“I love you, too. Get some rest.”

“As long as you’re here when I wake up,” she mutters, nestling into her pillow.