#hotch x fem reader

[hotchs-bitch]

4 AM

Credits: prompt idea from @foxy-eva Criminal Minds Writing Challenge! Hurt/Comfort prompt: Nowhere else to go: Person A didn't know where else to go in a time of need, so they ring B's doorbell. Betaing credits to @doctorstethoscope and @greg-montgomery- I would never post anything if you guys didn't tell me to <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner (post-slash?), Aaron Hotchner & blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n) (platonic-ish)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Unrequited love, discussions of divorce and parenting, Hotch's take on Haley leaving him, big sexy man cries a little, mentions of cases, angsty

A/N: I'm back with a song fic about Hotch's marriage crumbling, because apparently that's the only thing that can drag me out of my burnout era. Inspo song is 4 AM by Cate, and I highly recommend giving it a listen!!

Yes, this is angstier than I meant for it to be. Yes, I'm already working on a part 2 :)

Find it on ao3 here, or under the cut. Happy reading <3

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Why don’t you come over?

It’s only friendship we’ll risk

You can cry on my shoulder

If it’s her that you miss

Are you thinking of me

In a new light?

‘Cause if not wе could pretend for the night, for thе night

“Why don’t you come over for a little bit tonight?”

“It… it doesn’t even matter–”

“How long is your drive?”

Aaron’s sigh into the phone receiver is audible. You can almost picture him right now, his face screwed up in frustration and two fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m… not far. I’m at a motel twenty minutes from Quantico. She offered to stay at Jessica’s house, but… I don’t want Jack to know what’s going on.”

This certainly wasn’t the conversation you were expecting to have when you phoned your boss in the evening, intending to apologize for the late hour and let him know that you would be sending a file to him that would need to be reviewed first thing in the morning. You were expecting a brief, rushed call. You weren’t expecting him to pocket-answer the phone so that you had an accidental front-row seat to the sound of your boss checking into a motel room for one guest.

When he finally heard your voice calling out, “Aaron!” from his pocket and realized what was going on, he had bashfully explained; another fight with Haley, a bad one. You know that they’re all bad these days, but his admittance meant that it was worse than usual. It had ended with both of them packing bags, insisting that the other stay at their house, and Hotch driving off before she could.

You can’t pretend that you aren’t a little surprised that he shared all of this without much prompting. But now, you just want to see him and know that he’s okay. You just want to make this better… but how can you do that?

Maybe it’s not your place to get involved at all. You would be the first to admit that, sure, you have a minor crush on your very married colleague, and maybe that means that you should be staying away from his marital problems with a twenty-foot pole. But if he needs help, you’re certainly going to offer it.

“I don’t want to say it, but… do you really think Jack doesn’t know? You two have been having a lot of problems, and he’s a smart kid.”

“I know. I know. But it’s not… we can work it out. We can figure something out. There’s no need to stress him out or make him think that we’re going to get a divorce. I don’t want him put through all of that, for something that won’t happen.” The pain in Aaron’s voice is as audible as his words, and the sheer emotion behind it… it just breaks your heart.

It’s your turn to sigh now, letting your head tip back and rest on the back of your couch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over? It’s really no trouble, I promise. I’ve got a guest room; you can stay as long as you need.”

Now, there’s a familiar firmness in his tone. It’s that decisive I-know-best voice he uses when he really believes in what he’s saying. “I’m sure. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be home by tomorrow. We’ll work this out. I… appreciate you speaking to me about this. I’m sure it’s not why you called.”

If he could see you, you would wave a hand in the air as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about it’. “Anytime, Aaron. And that offer stands, you hear me?”

This standing offer of yours might be a bad idea. What if he takes you up on it? What if he comes over, seeking your company? Your conflicting feelings for him are easy enough to set aside at work, but if he’s coming over because of his rocky marriage that’s a whole other battlefield you don’t have a clue how to navigate.

Aaron loves his wife. You know that he does. He adores her and their son, right down to his nightly phone calls with them on cases and the picture of the two that he keeps in his go bag. But sometimes, on the occasional event that he relaxes around you, you can’t help wondering if he could ever think of you the same way he thinks of Haley. 

He could, you’re sure of that. He’s a red-blooded man, and even though that’s a little cliche of you, you can’t help but wish he would think of you as more than a colleague. You’re a woman who sees him more often than his own wife does, and that’s got to count for something. Does he really just view you as a colleague and friend, or… does he ever view you as something more?

Sometimes, you think maybe he does. During your last case – an abduction in South Dakota – the two of you had been canvassing together down a busy street when a biker rode past. Aaron had noticed in the nick of time, pulling you in towards him and out of the way of harm. He loves his wife more than anything, and you know that he was just keeping you from getting hurt. But for a moment, for just a split second, you had let yourself imagine that it was a gesture of more-than-friends, that he was pulling you in because he wanted to be closer to you.

So maybe this offer is a terrible, awful idea. You can admit that it probably is, but at least he doesn’t seem to be taking you up on it.

“I hear you.” There’s a bit of a smile in his voice now, as though he knows how serious you’re being and he finds it amusing. “Thank you, again. Have a nice night.”

Before you can respond, he hangs up. With a sigh, you set down the phone. It’s starting to get late now; you might as well go to sleep if he’s not coming over.

–

When you wake up, your bedroom is completely dark. Your alarm isn’t ringing on the nightstand, and when you roll over in bed you read the time on the digital clock. 3:46 AM.

So what the hell woke you up?

Your answer comes in the form of a knocking sound, loud enough to get your attention without being an obnoxious pounding sound. The noise is coming from… somewhere, so you get out of bed and slip on a robe over your pajamas to find the source of the noise.

The hunt leads you to your front door, where that steady knocking is coming from the other side. Someone is knocking on your door, at the late hour, and in a haze of grogginess and confusion, you wrench the door open.

“What is- Aaron?”

He’s standing on your step, his hand raised like he’s ready to knock again. His face… god. His face is full of pain, unimaginably pure pain, and he nods at you. “Hi. I’m sorry, I… you were sleeping. I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

His voice breaks a little, and that’s when you reach out. With one hand on his shoulder, you steer him into the house and close the door. “Are you okay? You didn’t… what?”

When you guide Aaron to the couch, he sits down without hesitation. His voice is drenched with despair when he says, “I didn’t… know where else to go. You said that the, er, offer was standing, right?”

“What? Yes, of course, it is. Aaron, what’s going on?” You sink down onto the couch next to him, watching him inhale deeply like he’s trying to ground himself. The tiny part of you that preens when he says that he didn’t know where else to go… well, you try to fight that part back. Right now, the priority is Aaron. The priority is not your ridiculous, unrealistic crush on him. “I thought you were staying at the motel tonight and going home tomorrow.” 

“I did, too. Haley texted me a little while ago. She… she told me that she wants to figure out a… custody agreement that recognizes her as Jack’s primary parent. She wants to… work that out before she gets her lawyer involved.” He gives you a sardonic little smile, one that fills you to the brim with empathy as he continues to speak. “Apparently, when she said she would stay at her sister’s house, she meant indefinitely. I can expect to be served the… papers in the next week.”

He says ‘papers’ in a bitter tone, like the very sound of the word puts a bad taste in his mouth. It’s not hard to piece two and two together, and you slowly reach for his hand. He lets you take it, and you give him a moment before you ask the question.

“You and Haley are divorcing?” Compartmentalizing this has to be one of the most strong-willed things you’ve ever done. This isn’t the time for your feelings and emotions to be anywhere near the surface; not when Aaron needs you like this.

At the d-word, he flinches a little like he’s been wounded. He obviously hasn’t come to terms with the idea of it yet, and you wonder how long it’s been since she texted him. “We aren’t divorcing. She’s divorcing me.” His correction is swift, and his voice is brittle; it feels like he’s close to shattering. Seeing him like this – so vulnerable, so broken – is completely alien to you.

“Aaron…” You don’t know what to say, so you squeeze his hand. In lieu of any other words, you ask the stupidest possible question. “How do you feel?”

He laughs a little, at that. It isn’t genuine, but it’s not a cruel laugh either. It’s a little bit cynical, a little disbelieving. “I just found out that my wife is leaving me. It’s 4 AM, and I’m tired, and I can’t go home. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, right now.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. It was dumb of me to ask.” You move a little closer to him, the couch cushions shifting under you until you’re almost pressed against him. “You can talk about it, if you want to. You can tell me everything that’s going through your head.”

Aaron takes another deep breath at that, and his hold on your hand tightens a little. “She isn’t happy. She hasn’t been happy, and we both knew it. I just… I didn’t think this would happen. I know she wants me around more- wanted me around, I suppose. Lately, most of our fights have been about work. Haley wanted me to leave the BAU, the Bureau if it came down to it, and I refused. And I can’t blame her for wanting a normal life, or wanting me to work at a 9 to 5, but… I can’t do that.”

His monologue has shaken every remaining ounce of grogginess out of your system. Aaron so rarely opens up, especially about personal matters. Listening to him talk like this, you could go all night long without a cup of coffee.

Come to think of it, coffee is a really good idea. Standing up, you give him a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m just going to make us some coffee. You look like you need it.”

The open-concept design means that you only move a few feet away to get to the coffeemaker in the kitchen, and you look over at Aaron as you scoop grounds into the basket. “Why can’t you leave the BAU?” Your question is soft, not accusatory.

He hears your tone, the general curiosity, and sighs. “When I was a lawyer, I prosecuted dozens of murder cases. By the time they reached my desk, it always felt like it was too late. And I wanted to, uh… stop them, before they got to my desk. We see a lot of things, you know? Jack… I don’t want him growing up in a world like this, with serial killers around every corner. I want to make the world a safer place for him. I suppose I thought that… I thought that because I’m doing it for my family, that would make it… easier for her to deal with.”

By the time Aaron finishes speaking, you’re handing him a cup of coffee. It’s sweetened with a bit of sugar and some cream; he usually drinks it black, but you know he considers any other kind of coffee to be a treat. If there’s ever been a time for him to deserve a treat, it’s now.

“You’re a good dad,” you tell him as you sink back down onto the couch with a mug of your own. “I know that you and Haley might have different ideas about what parenting should look like, but… you’re doing this because you love him. You want to protect him, and keep him safe and innocent. That doesn’t make you a monster for missing bedtime.”

It’s silent for a long moment; the only sound is both of you sipping your coffees, and then Aaron hums quietly. “I just… I never want him to know what kind of people are out there. He’s a little kid. I’m supposed to be there to tell him that there isn’t a monster under his bed. Instead, I spent his birthday in Mississippi looking for a guy who hunts his victims by actually hiding under their beds. I can’t blame Haley for being upset with me.”

You’re still trying to think of a response to that when he speaks again. His voice softens now, and when you glance over he looks away quickly. It’s not quick enough, and you still make note of the tears in his eyes that he’s obviously trying to hide. “We’ve been together since high school, you know. Graduation, college, law school… all of it.”

“I had no idea,” you murmur. You knew that Aaron and his wife were together for a long time, obviously. But to be together since high school? That’s a hefty chunk of time; it’s more than half as long as he’s been alive. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I… I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

“If it helps, neither can I. I don’t… I have no clue how I feel,” he admits, setting down the coffee cup. His gaze is still averted, but you can see the tears shining in his eyes. “Things haven’t been great for a while, and I know that. I’m not an idiot. But she’s always been there by my side, always. And now… she won’t be there, anymore.” His voice breaks a little on the last word, and it just… breaks your heart, all over again.

When you speak, it’s a little more tentative. Between his strict professionalism in the office and the reason for this impromptu 4 AM visit, you’re worried that you might be crossing some sort of line here. He’s got a wife at home; technically, he’s still married. That, and the reason for your offer is more selfish than you care to admit. But you don’t mind that as much as you probably should. After a pause, you say it.

“You can say no, but… do you want a hug?” Even as you ask the question, you start to get to your feet. Maybe to give him easy access, or maybe just so you can busy yourself with the coffee mugs if he says no.

A soft ‘oof’ escapes you when Aaron gets to his feet and hugs you tightly, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask. His arms wrap around your waist while your own come up to reach around him, rubbing his back gently in as reassuring of a manner as you can. Yes, your reason for this hug is selfish… It's selfish to take pride in the fact that you’re the one comforting him, reassuring him, and hopefully making him feel better.

You’re just about to let go – the guilt-ridden confliction of your emotions is almost too much to handle – when you feel and hear a sharp intake of breath against your shoulder, under your hand. It’s paired with the softest, most broken-sounding sob you can imagine. Aaron is trying to hold back that flood of emotion, that heartbreak that seems to surround him like it’s stuck alongside him inside an impenetrable bubble, and you tighten your grip on him a little.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, and you hope that you sound soothing. You hope that you can calm him, help him in some way. “You can let go, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron doesn’t respond. He’s silent against you as his face presses into your shoulder, but his back moves under your hand when he takes in another deep, shuddering breath. It isn’t until he pulls away and lowers his head that you realize that the shoulder of your robe is soaked with tears that you couldn’t feel through the layers of fabric.

His head is still down, and he wipes at his face like he can’t stand to have tears running down it. “I’m sorry,” he says after a long moment, and he turns away altogether while he presumably collects himself. 

You allow him this privacy, this pseudo-solitude to wipe his face and straighten his posture and do whatever else he can to recover from his moment of sheer, sheer vulnerability. He’s starting to turn back by the time you say, “Don’t be. You’re hurting, Aaron. I want to be here for you, however I can be. If you want to talk about how much you miss her, and cry on my shoulder…” you shrug one of the aforementioned shoulders, a gesture meant to play off the tension of the moment, “Well, I’ve got two of them, so feel free. Whatever you need, okay? That’s a promise.”

With a little nod, Aaron wipes a hand under both eyes again. “I understand. I really appreciate it… I appreciate you. Just having you here, with me… it’s helped more than you know.”

A tight smile graces your face, and you pat his forearm as you step back. The coffee is starting to wear off, and you can feel the exhaustion down to your bones. It’s on his face too, in his eyes and the way they’re growing heavy with the need to sleep. “Of course. We can talk more in the morning, but I think for now you should try to get some sleep. Okay?”

Aaron straightens up, and you don’t miss the way his jaw flexes as he tries to suppress a yawn. “I think you’re right. Thank you, again.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” you promise, leading him down the hall towards the guest bedroom right next door to yours. “Just get some rest, and… tomorrow can wait. Everything else can wait, for now.”

“It can wait,” Aaron agrees with a solemn nod, his voice quiet. He thanks you once again before you step away from the door, listening to it shut before you turn off all the lights and return to your own bedroom.

By the time you slip under your blankets, you can hear soft snores floating through the shared wall. It’s still hard to tell if you’ve overstepped, or if you’ve crossed some sort of line tonight. But for now… Aaron might have Haley in his head, but he’s fast asleep in your guest bedroom. You’re going to support him through this next stage of his life. Whatever the next few weeks or months may bring, you’ll be there.

You aren’t going to change his mind on anything. If he wants to contest the divorce, you’ll be there for him. If he wants to do it amicably, you’ll ask how you can help. If he realizes somewhere along the way that you could be the one for him, you certainly won’t argue.

You’ve already waited without hope for years. If he winds up single then maybe, just maybe, he’ll think of you in a new light one day. And if not… maybe you can just pretend he will, for tonight.

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[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

How Do I Live? By Trisha Yearwood Found here

Word count: 14.8k

Warnings: the beginning is dark but happy ending! Mentions of the BAU working a case where there is torture, beating, bruising, dehydration, food, reader is being held captive. Mention of hospitals and medication, anxiety, PTSD and a slight panic attack, mentions of self conscious reader//tread lightly here folks! Smut—but not for a while, slow burn. Oral(f&m receiving) fingering, penetration, unprotected sex—if I missed anything, let me know

Side note: I use this emoji ✨✨✨ when I switch point of view!

Another side note: dreams and flashbacks are italicized

The darkness spread out around you like a blanket, nothing was visible at all, no matter how hard you tried to get your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Time had slowed or stopped completely, you weren't sure which. You thought surely you were dead, in purgatory awaiting your afterlife, but your heart was still beating, in fact, it hadn't stopped drumming in your chest since you were thrown into whatever kept you captive—you weren't sure.

The hunger had turned into pain long ago, and no matter how hard you tried to break free of your bindings, you couldn't. You hadn't meant to get separated from Hotch, it just kind of happened. One second you were right behind him and the next you'd been knocked out cold. When you came to, you found yourself trapped in what felt like a room—there was a wooden floor from what you could feel. Maybe a barn.

Your mouth was bound and gagged, dry and parched as you struggled and cried for help. You saw a small window just above you, maybe a foot wide, and it was so dark outside that there were no stars, no moon. You were in Ray Donald's secondary location, no doubt, and you knew that thanks to the profile. It did you no good now, but your team had it, and they'd use it to their advantage until you were found.

You dozed off and when you woke again, the light was shining through your small window of hope. Things had been quiet wherever you were, you assumed Ray had left you to die until a hatch opened from above, and he came down, all 6 feet of his burly self, raggedy beard and beady eyes.

"It's time for your punishment."

You barely had time to register the pain as he kicked you at full force, knocking all of the wind from you. Another blow landed to your legs, and then his fist connected with your jaw, making your eyes water until your vision went blurry. When he was finished with you, he simply climbed out of the hatch and left you alone to writhe in pain on the floor.

You prayed they found you soon, and feared what would happen if they didn't.

The day quickly turned into frigid night, but it was eerily silent. You were grateful— you'd heard his truck start up and leave hours ago, so you hoped he was gone. You knew your body well enough to know nothing was broken—you were just in some of the most intense pain you'd ever felt, in and out of consciousness.

He came back and delivered another series of kicks and punches before sundown, your body battered and bruised—you were strong though. He'd have a hard time breaking you, if that was what he was trying to do.

I can take it. If it'll get me back to my team, I can take it.

All you could think about was things you should've said before, things you'd regret not saying if you never saw your team again. You wanted Penelope and Spencer to know they were your best friends, no matter what. Morgan was the best big brother, despite there being no relation, he treated you as you were with no questions asked. Rossi was like the father you never had, always taking his time to give you pep talks when you were feeling down. JJ was your confidant, the person you could always go to no matter what.

And then there was Hotch.

You had liked him since you very first day, and he knew it. He kept his distance at first, but once he let you in, the two of you were like best pals. He always made sure if you needed something, it was yours, and you always helped lighten his load as much as possible at work, with reports and working as hard as you could to prove yourself, still being new. Hotch always said you belonged on the team, that there was nothing for you to prove, but you pushed yourself anyway, wanting to make sure they knew you could be trusted.

Hotch trusted you anyway—he'd often pair you up with him for everything, and you quickly came to the realization that you were his partner and he had enough faith in you to have his back everywhere, and that was special to you. It was the man you cared about most putting his life in your hands, and you'd always protect him, which is partly why you were trapped. You'd been so busy making sure Aaron was okay ahead of you that you didn't register the commotion behind you.

Your eyes darted to the window, and you thought you were in for another beating when you saw lights, frantically darting in every direction. You stayed stark still, hoping it would make you invisible to his turmoil. It wasn't until you recognized the voice that invaded your thoughts so many nights before that you realized they'd found you, and they were here to help.

"Y/n? Everyone spread out, search top to bottom," you made as much noise as you could, flailing around until your feet found something—what felt like a table leg, and you began to kick furiously, knocking it against the cellar wall.

"Everyone quiet!" Hotch boomed, and from the sound of his voice, he was right above you. You didn't stop kicking, and things began to clatter to the floor one by one. As if it were a miracle, the hatch in the floor opened up and you saw a bright light shining down into the hole in the ground.

"Y/n? God, please, let her be okay," you kept kicking until he'd made it down the ladder and saw you lying on the ground. He worked to free your mouth of the gag and the rope around your wrists, and as soon as you were free, you were wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugged you back but you winced at the contact, forgetting your body was in a delicate state.

"Tell me where he hurt you," Hotch was examining your arms and what he could see of the rest of you. You could feel the dried blood on your face and you wondered what the rest of you must look like if you felt so badly.

"I'm okay. Just a little banged up," you told him, to which he shook his head, adjusting his light so he could see more of you.

"You don't have to be okay right now. Just tell me where it hurts," you could barely make out the mist in his eye as he pleaded with you for the truth, and with a gut wrenching sob you were telling him that the pain was everywhere—it wouldn't go away. You were beginning to feel trapped in what was your prison, trying to stand up. Hotch helped you to your feet but you looked at the ladder with intimidation because you weren't sure how you'd climb it in your current state.

"I'll go up first, you can hold onto my arms and I'll help pull you up," he climbed up the ladder and left you to panic in the dark. It took a minute for him to make it all the way up, but he'd disappeared from you while you waited at the bottom.

"Hotch? Please don't leave me down here in the dark," you began to climb with all the strength you could muster until you saw his hands reaching for you in the dark.

"I've got you," he whispered as you made it through the hatch, his arms wrapping around you and lifting the rest of the way. You sat up long enough to collapse onto your back, and you could finally see the stars twinkling around, dotted against the darkest sky you'd ever seen.

"Stay awake, mama. The ambulance is almost here," Derek told you; you could hear the whirring sirens in the distance but all you could focus on was Hotch, his soothing voice telling you that everything would be okay, that you were safe, even if you felt like you weren't.

"I'm so tired," you heard yourself tell him; watching with blurry vision as he shook his head.

"Come on, let me see those pretty eyes of yours. Stay awake just a little bit longer," Hotch urged, giving you the motivation you needed to hold out your hand for him so he could help you upright.

"I'm dizzy," the ground and everyone on it was spinning, making you nauseous as you closed your eyes and waited for it to pass. Hotch's hand was on your back, reassuring you that everything was going to be okay now that you'd been found.

"I was afraid—God, I was terrified I might not see you again," you could hear his voice laced thick with emotion, the fear that he might've found you in different circumstances. Your head was dangling between your legs as you peered your at him through tear coated lashes, trying to make him feel a little better.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," you choked, a sob caught in your throat. You were relieved, starving. But mostly you were glad to see Hotch looking back at you, even if he was sadder than you'd ever seen him before.

"I'm so sorry I didn't hear him. I was so sure you were right behind me," he started, but you shook your head and reached for his free hand. He let you take it, his hand swallowed yours up for the first time and you could see how rapidly his chest began to move.

"Don't. This isn't your fault, Hotch. It could've happened to either of us. I'm fine," the words felt like bile in your throat as you lied to him, but he knew better. You were far from being okay—your skin was crawling, your stomach was rumbling but so queasy that you felt like you may never eat again. Ray had told you things about yourself that he shouldn't have known—cut you down in ways you'd never utter to anyone. You knew you'd have to explain in detail what happened to you more than once, but there were parts you'd already vowed to omit to save yourself the heartache.

Hotch had the profile. He knew Ray got into people's heads; he used your insecurities against you, and he knew them all somehow, in just a matter of hours.

"We caught him shortly after he left this morning. He gave us the secondary location—he dared us to try to find you. He didn't think we would. I know—I know what he did," you used all the force you had to stand up so you could stumble away from him for a second, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. Ray had already told him, and now you'd have to find a way to look Hotch and the rest of your team in the eye everyday because of it.

"Hey, shhh. It's okay, you're okay," he pulled you upright into a hug and after a minute he led you to an ambulance. He disappeared for a second but he promised he'd be right back, so you let the EMT look you over, her eyes full of sorrow as she did so.

"You're body is over half bruised—there could be internal bleeding. You need a hospital, and fluids. You're dehydrated," she explained softly, her hand covering yours for just a second in a comforting gesture as she helped you to lean back.

"Don't you worry, honey. You're going to be just fine. You're one tough little lady, that's for sure," she hooked you up to monitor you and gave you something for the pain, something that had your eyes drooping in seconds, and then the panic set in because they were closing the doors and Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

"No, we can't leave yet. Hotch!" You felt like you were screaming but the words barely came out; the EMT leaned closer so she could hear you, but you heard the door shut instead, and you succumbed to slumber soon after.

✨✨✨

I followed the ambulance as closely as possible until it took a special entrance I didn't have clearance for. I found my way to the parking garage instead, the rest of my team headed home for the night since we'd gotten a break in the case and had apprehended the unsub. I planned to stay as long as the hospital would allow me to, and if they made me leave, I'd just come back in the morning.

Seeing her body laid out on a stretcher was something I never could've prepared myself for. I gave them a few minutes to get her through triage and into a room, but a doctor was quick to come and find me, asking for me by name.

"Are you Aaron Hotchner?" I stood and nodded, and he instructed me to follow him down the hall.

"She's been asking for you since she was in the ambulance. She's had enough morphine to knock out a horse—I don't know how she's still awake, but I'd say it has something to do with what she's been through."

We stopped just outside of her door and I could see her through the curtains, propped up in her bed with a cup of water in front of her. Her hands shook as she lifted it to drink, in fact her whole body was buzzing with energy and I could feel it through the glass. Her nerves were completely shot, and she was on edge, and probably confused.

"How long can I stay? I know visiting hours are probably over," he shook his head and handed me her chart to look over while he talked.

"You can stay through the night, but only you. She'll be able to leave in the morning. There were no signs of sexual assault, but that's not to say she still isn't in rough shape mentally. I know she's FBI, but she's been through hell in the last 48 hours. She needs some time."

I'd be personally taking her out of the field for as long as I could, no questions asked. I knew she was tough, but she needed time to heal properly.

"Has she eaten?"

He shook his head, sighing heavily.

"She may not be hungry yet. She'll eat. She'll make a full recovery physically. It's her emotional state I'm worried about."

After he warned me to keep her calm and not to try to get her to talk until she was ready, he let me step into the room.

"Where'd you go?"

I took long strides until I was seated at her feet on the bed, my hands in my lap.

"I got separated from the ambulance but I followed you here. I'm sorry, I had to tell the team— I was right behind you the whole way."

She nodded, shivering lightly. I went to the cabinet and found another blanket for her, wrapping it around her shoulders as I moved a bit closer.

"I just got worried is all," she said softly, her hand on my knee as she looked up at me. I'd never seen her so vulnerable, so defeated. I knew she was trying to be brave for my sake, but I wanted her to tell me the truth about how she was feeling, and she never would.

"I'm here now, and I'm staying tonight. Your doctor said I can take you home in the morning."

She yawned, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion, bloodshot from the medicine. I had no clue how she was still awake and functioning.

"Promise you'll stay?" She scooted over and patted the empty space in her bed for me to fit into, lifting her head so I could put my arm around her. She cozied into my shoulder, a shaky sigh escaping her mouth before she reached for my free hand and took it, lacing her fingers through mine.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep, Y/n. I won't let anything happen to you."

I knew she was probably still scared, even with Ray behind bars. She'd be paranoid, lost in her head at some point for the rest of her life—being watched and studied so it could be used against you was something that was hard to recover from. I knew from personal experience.

"Thank you, Hotch. I'm glad you're here."

She was asleep on my arm in no time, finally giving in and letting sleep take over. She'd fought it for so long that once she finally got comfortable, she slept like a rock, barely moving all night. I tried to doze off but I couldn't—not with her so close after days of her absence. I could only look at her face, her tiny hand in mine and wonder how anyone could hurt something so precious—so perfect. I felt myself leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead before I could stop myself, and I swore a smile graced her lips for a second, even while she slept.

The weight of her disappearance had been heavy on my team, but especially me. She was my partner, but she was also so much more than that, and I'd never gotten around to telling her. I'd never met anyone as headstrong and determined to make a difference as her. She was ambitious and almost unnaturally gorgeous—I knew she didn't think so, but to me, there was no one quite like her. She'd joined us at 25 and a year and a half later, I'd grown so attached to her that I couldn't see straight if she wasn't around.

She didn't stir until morning when they brought her breakfast. She hadn't moved all night until the nurse came into the room, and her eyes were wide open and she was sitting up on high alert.

"Just me! How're you feeling today? Good enough to eat something I hope," she nodded politely and stayed quiet, her grip on my hand tightening at the sight of a stranger. I could feel her shaking against me, so I sat up and made sure I didn't let go of her hand.

"You're okay," I assured her, and she offered me a small smile in return as she picked at her food. The nurse checked her blood pressure, which was still a bit on the high side, so she gave her some medicine to calm her down some, just in case.

"We'll send you home with some of these in case you start feeling anxious or you can feel your BP rising. Usually it's accompanied by feeling flushed, lightheaded, rapid heartbeat. You know your body best, so you may not even need them once you get home," she explained. She managed to eat half a piece of toast and drink her coffee, but she still seemed terrified—I knew she would for a while.

As soon as the nurse left, she was in tears, unable to speak she was crying so hard. I tried my best to calm her down so the nurse didn't come back in. I wrapped my arms around her and allowed her to let it all out, as long as she needed. I rubbed her back, kept her close as long as she'd let me. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I wanted her to know I was there for her regardless.

"Just a little bit longer and we'll get you out of here," I whispered against her hair, hoping maybe her spirits would lift some when we were no longer in the hospital. She sniffled and nodded, gripping my shirt fiercely as she tried to calm down.

"I'm just—I don't know these people, Hotch. What if they want to hurt me too? What if it never ends?"

I felt helpless as she cried on my chest; I stayed quiet and brushed her hair back, kissing her forehead once more before I could will my body not to; she froze for a second before burying herself deeper into me, her face pressed against my chest. She had to be careful of her IV or else she would've been in my lap, she was halfway there already.

"I—I was thinking maybe you could come to my house for a little while, so you aren't all by yourself." She pulled back long enough to look up at me. She let me brush away a stray tear before she nodded, not quite ready to let me go yet.

"Please don't leave me alone," she begged, and I swore to her that I wouldn't, never again.

I sent the team a mass text to let them know she was okay, and then I got ahold of JJ and Dave separately to let them know I'd be preoccupied for the next couple of days, and unless it was absolutely necessary, I wouldn't be leaving her. Dave assured me to take all the time I needed, and so did JJ, who'd been worried nonstop since she went missing.

By the time her doctor gave her the go ahead to leave, she was anxious but happy to be going. I'd brought her go bag with me so she had a fresh change of clothes, so I stepped in the hall long enough for her to get dressed and we were on our way to her apartment to grab some of her stuff. I'd never been inside, but the bright, spacious loft apartment reminded me of something out of a movie. The entire space was open, stairs in the middle of the floor to lead to her loft bedroom. She stood at the bottom of the steps and looked back at me, defeated.

"It doesn't even feel like home here anymore," she said sadly before she retreated upstairs to grab her things. I looked around, plaques and diplomas lined the walls—photos of the team, the two of us always side by side in every candid. She was the star of every photo to me, always smiling the brightest or laughing the loudest. I feared it would be a long time before I saw either of those things again, and it made me wish I would've cherished her more then, so she didn't hurt as badly now. If I'd only told her how significant she was, maybe her low would be less detrimental for her.

She returned shortly after with everything she needed; she didn't even put up a fuss when I grabbed her bag to carry for her. She locked the door and didn't look back a single time.

"Do you feel up for some real food?"

She bit her lip, nodding, but she was hesitant, glancing in her visor mirror.

"As long as I don't have to go in anywhere. I don't want anyone seeing me like this."

I could only see her arms, but they were covered in deep purple handprints, and I could make out the clear imprint of a boot on her forearm. Her face was free of any bruises, she just had a small cut on her cheek. I could only imagine what the rest of her body looked like—over 50% of her body had been bruised. It was a miracle that she could walk, given the beating she'd taken. If I knew anything at all about her, she probably enraged him, challenged his manliness and it made her a target of his fury—but she took every bit of it, and I knew she didn't show him any fear. She wouldn't— she was too bold, too brave. I knew she probably took every bit of it and tried to ask for more, just to piss him off.

"I'll do anything you need me to do, okay? Starting with getting you some real food, and a cup of coffee. I was thinking Starbucks," her eyebrows shot I'll curiously before she looked at me, a smirk teasing her lips.

"You hate Starbucks."

I shrugged, because it wasn't about me. It was about making her as happy as I possibly could.

"But you love it, and that's all that matters."

We got food and coffee and her mood lifted slightly; she even became a bit talkative on the way back to my place. I let her carry the food inside while I took care of her bag, since it was heavier. She let me lead her to the table and we ate mostly in silence—she hadn't realized how hungry she was until she actually sat down to eat.

I already had her next order of business lined up; I let her finish eating while I filled the tub in my room. I sat her bag in the bathroom and when I joined her again, I reached for her hand. She followed me all the way down the hall, until we'd made it to the bathroom.

"You're freezing. Let's get you warmed up some," I had a robe from some hotel we'd stayed in before that I left for her, so she had everything she needed to try to relax a little.

"Thank you, Hotch. I really appreciate you," she gave me a hug, her arms secured around my middle. She was so much smaller than me, it made her look fragile, breakable. She was delicate in all of the most attractive ways.

"You don't have to thank me. I—you should call me Aaron," I said finally, delivering one last kiss to the top of her head before I left her alone. Once I had the door shut, my mind was reeling—surely she knew I felt something more for her; she wasn't just a member of my team. She was someone I could see myself with, my partner full time and not just in the field. I let her soak off her worries, but I wasn't far away, just in case she needed me. I was in the living room, making the couch cozier, piling it with pillows and blankets so we could spend the rest of the day in front of the tv, doing nothing. She deserved a break, a few weeks to recover.

I knew she probably wouldn't feel like doing much, so I found some movies she might like and went ahead and put one in, so we could watch it together. I didn't want to pressure her to do anything, but a lazy day sounded exactly like what we both needed after the events of the last few days.

She looked brand new when she came out of the bedroom in her pink pajama bottoms and her t-shirt. She'd braided her hair back and she looked excited to join me on the couch. She took a seat in the middle and let me cover the two of us up, our combined heat under the blanket enough to have her sighing contentedly.

"I feel so much better. I'm still a little sore, but not as bad as before."

Her wrists were still red and irritated from the rope that kept her bound, but some of her bruises were already beginning to fade into greens and yellows—in a few days, they'd be gone completely, and hopefully she'd feel a little better about herself. I knew she was struggling with her image by the way she avoided the mirrors in my home, and how she got anxious if anyone looked at her too long. He'd shattered her self esteem while he had her trapped, and I saw it as my duty to fix it, or at least help her out as much as I could.

"You smell so good, like coconuts and the beach," she giggled lightly, her eyes crinkling up, and my heart melted at the sound. She had the best laugh; it was contagious, and I loved hearing it.

"That makes sense, I think it's called 'Tropical Sunset' or something like that. I've used it for years," I knew the smell better than my own cologne, I could pick her out of a crowd just by the smell of her hair alone.

"I've always liked it," I wondered if she knew I'd paid attention to the little things like that, the way she smelled, what kind of chapstick she preferred. I knew as much about her as I could given that I'd never had the opportunity to actually ask her, but I'd noticed plenty just from being around her everyday.

"I like your cologne too. If I had to guess, I'd bet it's Tom Ford."

I felt my eyes go wide before a let out a chuckle of my own at how well she knew me too.

"You'd be right."

I pressed play on the movie and we settled in, skipping the previews to get straight to the good stuff. After a few minutes, I silently slid my arm around her shoulder, and she leaned in closer, resting her head against me. It felt normal, cuddling with her in my home, somewhere she'd never been but she belonged more than anyone else who'd ever been inside.

"You picked a good movie. This is one of my favorites," she told me, her eyes glued to the tv. I tried not to let my gaze linger on her, but I couldn't help it. She looked so sweet on my arm, her legs tucked in at my side.

"Are you comfortable?" I hoped she was—I didn't want her to move. I was having such a great time getting to be close to her that I hoped JJ didn't call with a case for a week—maybe longer.

"Very. You're so warm," another giggle as she moved a tiny bit closer. I took the liberty of grabbing her legs as carefully as possible as putting them over my lap so she could spread out, watching the relief spread over her face as she melted into me.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll be here when you get up." She shook her head, but her eyes told a different story, she could barely keep them open.

"I'm not tired," she fibbed, her eyelids already beginning to flutter shut as she found her calm laying in my lap. Her free hand reached up, playing with the hair at the back of my neck as she tried and failed to watch the movie.

"You're safe here, you know. I won't leave your side again, not if I can help it," I promised her, and her eyes met mine briefly before she readjusted to lay against one of the pillows. She was stretched out over my lap, her legs on top of mine.

"You swear?" Her sleepy voice was adorable, sweet and inviting as she yawned wide.

I took her hand, trapping it in my own as she drifted off to sleep.

"I swear."

✨✨✨

"Something's not right," she was going over the victimology of the last 6 kills individually, just to see if there was anything we missed.

"What do you mean?" If there was a missing link, she'd find it. She always did. She had a knack for picking up on things we may have missed, which is why Morgan had given her the nickname 'Fresh Eyes'—she was perceptive in a way none of us could really explain, but we were grateful to have her on our side.

"If you saw these 6 victims lined up, what would stick out to you?"

She had a point, and she was trying to get us to see it, all of the victims lined up on a white board.

"They're all dark headed," Spencer pointed out, but she shook her head, ready to explain what we'd been missing.

"Out of all 6 victims, 5 were women with successful careers and no husband. Why change his victimology with Ray Donald? Unemployed, deceased spouse, not to mention he's male and the only survivor? It wasn't a crime of opportunity—Ray lives in the middle of the woods. So why him, after targeting one very specific kind of woman?"

The room went quiet as we all thought about our first interaction with Ray—he'd been jumpy, and Y/n thought he was hiding something from the beginning.

"Y/l/n and I will head to Ray's to question him a second time, see if there are any holes in his story. Morgan, have Garcia find everything she can on him while we're gone. Reid, someone like Ray would need a secondary location to be able to torture in private. Start working on a geographical profile that might tell us where that would be," we were on our way within minutes, Ray's house was only a ten minute drive.

"We should've realized it as soon as we talked to him. His story didn't add up," I was already beating myself up over missing the signs; they'd been right in front of me.

"We were focused on the age grouping of the victims, Hotch. We all missed it," she shot back, trying to help me feel a little better about the situation. She'd caught it though—the newest and youngest member of the team, always shining bright.

"I'll take the back, you cover the front," I told her, watching her sneak up to the front door as I crept around back. His dilapidated house could barely pass for a home—the roof was caving in on one side, and a few windows were broken out. I cleared the back and came back up towards the front, but Y/n was nowhere to be seen—in fact the house was silent, not even her creeping footsteps to tell me where she was.

"It's clear, sound off, Y/n," I called, only to be met with eerie quiet. I ran back outside, searching the perimeter once more, coming up empty. My phone was out immediately.

"Garcia, can you track Y/l/n's phone? I've lost her," I continued to to search the house and the surrounding property until the rest of my team could make it to the scene, and then we all searched for her with no luck. Her phone had been turned off, it's last known signal not too far from the house, but it did us no good unless her phone was on.

"We'll find her, Hotch. We'll work the profile and she'll be okay," Spencer reassured me, but I shook him off and told him to keep looking.

We searched the entire expanse of the property with no sign of her, heading back to the local PD to regroup so we could figure out where he was taking his victims. We followed three dead end leads with no hope until Ray was spotted outside of a local grocery store the day after, and we were able to bring him in for questioning. I feared the worst as he sat in the interrogation room, his hands clasped together on the table. He seemed calm, annoyed to be there, but the profile had told us his confidence would falter when confronted with a man just as intimidating.

"I'm going to save us both a lot of trouble. You tell me where my agent is, and we'll cut a deal, but unless I know she's alive, you can have fun in state prison."

He leaned forward, cracking his knuckles and popping his neck loudly before he spoke.

"Oh, she's alive. I can guarantee she wishes she wasn't, though. She's a fun one—feisty. I'm glad I chose her instead of you," he chided, trying to get under my skin.

"You enjoy hurting women that remind you of your mother, Ray. She looks nothing like her—why would you take her?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair to size me up.

"What do you know about her? I know she's your subordinate, and you've read her file, but do you really know what she's been through?"

I knew enough that I didn't ask any questions when she didn't feel comfortable interviewing certain men, and I knew that with the exception of our team, most men made her jumpy and intimidated.

"Why would you think you know more than I do?"

He grinned wide, his gnarly teeth curling into a menacing smile.

"Oh, I watched her just as long as the others, Agent Hotchner. I needed to know she'd been hurt too—all of the women I punished had been hurt by someone that should've loved them."

She never spoke about her family and I feared I might soon learn why.

"Where is she, Ray? All I need is a location," I wasn't getting anywhere with him, he was giving me information I didn't want, trying to hurt me with her.

"Oh, I'm going to tell you, don't worry. Tell me, how long have you known her? Long enough to know her confidence is a facade? The poor girl can hardly look in the mirror she despises herself so much, but I'll bet she comes to work with a smile painted on everyday, doesn't she?"

I unclenched my fists and tried to tune him out until he gave me something useful, but he was only interested in toying with my emotions—he knew she was my soft spot. He could see straight through me when it came to her.

"I had to gag her because she wouldn't quit mouthing off. She's sassy, that one. I'm surprised she follows your orders—she doesn't listen well."

"We're done here, Ray. Have fun in state prison."

"Wait!"

I turned around halfway to the door, hoping he'd at least give me a clue to where she was.

"There's a farm on Farley Road, at least 100 acres. You better find her before the rats do."

"We've already deployed SWAT to Farley Farm—the car is ready," JJ told me as I flew out of the interrogation room and headed for the SUV. I turned my lights on and raced in her direction, Morgan in the passengers seat telling me we'd find her and she'd be okay, and not to worry. I had to take Ray on his word that she was still alive, but he had no reason to lie.

"God, I can't even imagine what she's probably—"

"Morgan. That's enough."

The sun was beginning to set as we pulled into the farm. SWAT had already cleared the house, so we set to work on the grounds, spreading out near the house first. I'd just taken off south when I stepped on something hard covered by hay—after kicking up the hay I realized it was a hole in the ground, literally. There was a wide latch door and a ladder going down, and I could hear movement as I got closer to the bottom.

I nearly lost it when I saw her. She looked like she'd put up a hell of a fight, and thankfully she'd came out on top. I didn't want to think about what would've happened if I hadn't found her.

"You're okay. I've got you now."

✨✨✨

When I woke up, she was still at my side, sleeping peacefully. We'd both managed to get a nap in—it was nearly dusk outside, the sky blue and purple against the horizon. I watched her sleep peacefully against me; she didn't stir for another couple of minutes, stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Slept so good," she purred, and it made me not want to get up; she was comfortable on me, and I loved every second of it.

"Me too. You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want," I hoped I wasn't being too forward, but she gave me a sleepy smile before nodding her head.

"As long as you'll share it with me," she decided, and I couldn't say no to her—I didn't want to.

"We can find something for dinner and go watch something in my bed."

She followed me to the kitchen, on my heels as we decided on frozen pizza and breadsticks. I put the pizza in the oven and took her to get situated in my bed.

"You can pick whichever side you want," I told her, and she instinctively crawled to the inside, leaning against the headboard while I handed her the remote. I finished up dinner and put everything on a plate for us, making sure to grab the two of us a bottle of water. She'd already picked a movie, and was watching happily from her side of the bed.

"Smells so good," she marveled, and I'm sure after days without food that her mouth was watering at the sight of it. She took a breadstick, and I was immediately relieved that she wasn't struggling to eat. I worried it was more than the hospital food keeping her from having a meal.

"What are we watching?" I sat down beside her and we started to eat dinner like her in my bed was a regular occurrence.

"Something with aliens," I was immediately interested, and so was she. We had talked plenty enough to know we had things in common; she preferred to stay in, and so did I. We were always the first ones to leave any social gathering, usually sneaking off at about the same time. We'd never leave right away if it was perfectly timed; we'd stand at her car and talk until we were both ready to head home for the night.

The movie took a spooky turn, so after we finished dinner, I turned out the lights. I leaned back and she was next to me in an instant, curling in at my side as the movie played. Her fingertips were on my palm, tracing patterns into my skin as she watched with wide eyes. What we didn't realize was, the main character was being kidnapped, and when she realized what was going on, she put her face into my shoulder and I could feel her cheeks, hot and wet with tears.

"Aaron, I don't want to watch this anymore," she squealed, but I was already changing the channel. A cooking show took its place, and without missing a beat I pulled her into my lap, letting her straddle me with her head buried in the crook of my neck.

"I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay." I would've held her all night if she would've let me. I never would've let her go because I knew how badly she needed me. I feared for the day I'd have to return to the BAU and leave her alone—I'd already planned to let her stay at my place while I was gone if she didn't want to go home.

"I just want it to stop. I can't get it out of my head," she cried, and I squeezed her a little tighter, letting my lips press against her head.

"I know. I wish I could take it from you—I would do anything to be able to take this pain away from you. I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve this, and it's not your fault. I know at some point, work will take me away from you, but I'm here for you through all of this, okay? You're not alone," she let out a shaky breath that she probably didn't even know she'd been holding as she wiped her eyes. She looked up at me, her lip slightly pouty in the most adorable way.

"I'm so glad I have you. I really mean that. I couldn't do this without you, Aaron."

She laid back against me until her breathing steadied and I found out she'd fallen asleep on my chest. I was not about to wake her up, so I carefully slid down until my back was against the mattress and I kept her pressed against me all night long.

✨✨✨

You woke the next morning on top of Aaron, much to your surprise. You'd forgotten about falling asleep on his chest, but you'd assumed he'd move you at some point if he got uncomfortable. He was sleeping in total serenity before you woke him up trying to move to his side. His eyes fluttered open and his grip on your thighs tightened as if to keep you in place.

"Please don't move, been sleeping so good with you on top of me," he cooed, making you lay back down, happy he was content.

"I just thought you'd be ready for me to move," you could hear his heart beating through his shirt, drumming against his chest as you ran your fingers along his sides, still covered by his t-shirt.

"Quite the opposite. I'd keep you like this if I could," you felt the butterflies invade your stomach at his words, because since you'd been at his house, you noticed more about the way he cared for you. He'd went out of his way to kiss your forehead more than once, which made your brain feel fuzzy every time. You hoped that once your body had healed, you could give a piece of yourself to him, if he wanted. You'd been patiently waiting for months—you could wait a while longer.

"I'm awfully cozy," you agreed, knowing there was no place you'd rather be than right on top of him. You felt his hands move to your back, placed gently at the small of it.

"I need to go to the grocery store today and I was hoping you could go with me."

You felt yourself make a face even though he couldn't see you, but he sensed your indecision.

"I look pretty bad, Aaron. My arms—"

"You can wear one of my sweatshirts."

You hesitantly agreed, climbing off of him so you could get dressed. He showed you to the spare bathroom so both of you could shower, and you felt a lot better after you'd finished. As promised, he'd left one of his quarter zips on the couch for you to put on when you were finished.

Your panic didn't set in until you were in the store, and even then you kept your cool, following close enough to Aaron that you were nearly inseparable. He understood your current predicament and offered you his hand while he held his basket with the other. You laced your fingers through his even though you could tell he wasn't used to being so openly affectionate, you appreciated him coming through for you regardless.

You felt a fraction better as you got back to the car, helping him load everything in before you climbed in the passengers seat. You were off to his house in no time, the ride mostly quiet. Once you reached his house and got everything carried in, he found you both a snack, leading you to the couch.

"How much more uninterrupted time with you am I going to be lucky enough to get?" You knew he'd go back to work soon and things would return to normal for everyone but you—you'd be out of work and all alone.

"I'm not going back until Monday." It gave you almost an entire week with him, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

"Mhm. And how long until you'll let me come back to work?"

He thought for a moment before looking you over, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. It was sexier than it should've been, making you come a little closer to him.

"I'd like to see you out of the field for at least a month."

You nodded back at him, knowing it would do no good to argue with him. He could've made it longer—you could manage a month of loneliness. You dreaded the day you'd have to return to your apartment and face it's confining walls alone, more importantly, without Aaron. You didn't know how you'd make it another day without him, honestly. He was your rock, your solitude, and he didn't even realize he was the only thing keeping you from crumbling at any given moment.

"You're okay with that? If you need any more time, we can make that happen too," he wasn't sure how you were feeling, but he made sure you knew he'd accommodate you however he needed to.

"That's fine. It'll probably be good for me."

He opened his arms, so you climbed into his lap, your back against the couch arm's cushion. You were tucked into the corner of the couch, but he seemed satisfied with your current position, letting your legs drape over him, his arm around you.

"I was thinking if you don't want to go home next week, maybe you can stay here. That way when I come back from a case, you're already waiting on me. Would that be okay? I know you don't want to go home, and I don't blame you. So if you feel safe here, we'll get you a key tomorrow."

You were stunned to say the least at his offer, not even sure what to say.

"You're sure?"

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours before he spoke again.

"You're my best friend. You should've had a key to my house a long time ago. You're always at home here."

You hugged him, your arms around his neck and your cheek smushed against his. You practically predicted his lips on your cheek, inhaling sharply when he didn't stop, he kissed the corner of your mouth next before his deep, dark eyes were peering back into yours, waiting on the green light. You didn't answer, instead your lips met his, tender and loving as he finally gave in and kissed you like he'd never kissed anyone before. You were in awe at how his lips felt against your own, like he'd been made just for you. You felt the smile on his face as he pulled back to look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I'd really like to kiss you all the time." You couldn't help but to smile back at him, because you'd been waiting so long to experience what it would be like to have him like this, and it was finally coming true.

"I'm yours whenever you'll have me," you promised him, his nose lightly brushing against yours before he kissed you again, his hand on the back of your neck so he could pull you in closer. Now that you had him you didn't want to stop, but you didn't want the first time he saw you naked to be right now either. You needed to wait—for yourself, and your image.

He knew he could only kiss you for now, but he didn't mind—he wanted to kiss you all the time anyway.

"I'm going to make us dinner, come with me?" You nodded but he didn't let you go, he carried you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter so you could keep him company while he worked. The house began to fill with the tasty aroma of dinner as he buzzed around the kitchen. You enjoyed everything about it, watching him cook, tasting things he wanted you to try as he was cooking. You had no trouble adjusting to being around him, but he'd been right—he was your best friend too, and now he was something much more.

"I was thinking when you feel up to it, we could go out for dinner, on a date," he said from across the table, his legs brushing yours beneath the tablecloth.

"I've waited a long time to go on a date with you," you admitted, watching him beam back at you.

"I'll take you out any time you want. Maybe this weekend?"

You took a bite of pasta and nodded; this weekend sounded like the perfect time. You still had plenty of time to prepare yourself mentally, because you hadn't expected him to become a staple in your life in more ways than one so quickly.

"That sounds perfect."

✨✨✨

Unfortunately, Aaron was called back to the field a couple of days early, and it was a situation where his presence was absolutely needed. He woke you in the middle of the night to tell you he had no choice, that he had to go, so he kissed you and left, promising to be back in time for your date. The first morning you woke up without him, you felt the swift pang of loneliness as soon as you reached for his side of the bed. You rolled over and laid on his pillow instead, his scent left behind on it, wrapping you up just as he would. You quickly fell back asleep and didn't wake again until there was a knock at his door. You were petrified to answer it, because no one knew you were there except for Aaron, and you couldn't imagine him telling anyone else where you were.

You waited until the knocking had ceased before you got brave enough to peep through the windows and see who it was. A delivery van was pulling away from the curb, so you opened the door carefully and found a gorgeous vase of flowers sitting on the porch, your favorite color. You were even more terrified until you picked them up and read the card attached, your heart thumping in your chest for an entirely new reason.

I just wanted you to know even though I'm not there, you haven't left my mind. I'll be home soon.

Inside of the small envelope was a key, no doubt to his house. You knew it took a lot of work to pull something like this off, and something told you that Penelope Garcia was helping him from her office at Quantico while he was out of town. You knew he was in New York, so he wasn't too far away, but even then, you didn't know when he'd have the time to do something so sweet if he was focused entirely on his work.

Your first order of business was to go get your car—it was still at your apartment, and you didn't want to be stuck with no vehicle, so you locked his house up and tried to calm your nerves in the back of a taxi. The driver was polite enough, but you were in no mood to have a conversation with him. You tipped and thanked him before getting into your car, feeling a little bit better once you were behind the wheel.

You were going to spend the day out of the house, in hopes that it would be good for your mental health. The sun was shining, and the weather was only a little chilly; your light jacket was perfect to combat the cold. Your bruises were beginning to fade completely, the only one being stubborn was a boot print across your abdomen. It was beginning to disappear but it was haunting you for fear that it might stay forever.

Your plan was to shop until you felt a little bit better about everything that was going on. You hadn't expected to run into Penelope right after you'd gotten coffee inside of the Starbucks in the mall, but she was already hugging you, gently and carefully, unlike her usual bear hugs.

"God, you look radiant. A few days out of the field and you look like you could be on the runway," she beamed, and you felt yourself roll your eyes playfully as the two of you walked around, sipping coffee and catching up.

"Oh, please. I look like fresh hell, Pen. But I'm doing okay. Trying to come out of this funk," you'd been afraid of your own shadow, creeping around every corner in fear of what you might find. You spent the first night away from Aaron on the couch, your sidearm on the table while you tried to sleep. You were used to sleeping with it nearby—on really bad nights, it wasn't uncommon to be within arms reach, usually on your bedside table.

"You're allowed to be funky right now. You've been through so much. Listen, I don't want to pry, but the boss man had me send you flowers and a key to his house this morning," she wiggled her eyebrows for any details you might be willing to share with her, and so you decided to let it all out because you knew you could trust her, and she already suspected something.

"He's been great, really. I'm staying at his house. I think the key was so I'd drag myself off of the couch. I know he's worried. We uh—we kissed," you blushed, and she squealed in delight, a bright smile on her face.

"God, I LOVE! You two were made for each other. He was so sweet asking me to do it this morning, it was like, 6 am. He wanted you to wake up to flowers!" She gushed, and your stomach did a flip as you entered one of your favorite stores.

"He's taking me on a date this weekend," she stopped in her tracks, fanning her face with her hands.

"We have to find you something to wear! Oh my god, I'm so glad I ran into you!" Penelope spent the better half of her day helping you choose a dress and shoes, your Unit Chief the topic of conversation the entire day. You'd just stopped for lunch when her phone rang and she raised her eyebrows, showing you the caller ID.

"Hi sir, what can I do for you?"

She listened intently, a smile creeping onto her face.

"Actually I don't even have to do that, she's right here eating lunch."

You knew she'd fill you in on all the details when she got off the phone, so you sat and ate, knowing you were what he'd called about. It made your heart skip a beat that he was having Penelope to check on you, make sure you were okay without him.

"I'll tell her! Call if you need anything," she hung up the phone, her hands under her chin.

"Someone's got it bad for you."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Penelope told you he was just checking in to see if she'd heard from you, and to make sure you had a nice time out of the house. They were hoping to have the case wrapped up by tonight and fly out first thing in the morning.

"He's going to take a couple days off. I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you, but he asked me to file the request for him this morning."

You weren't surprised considering the time he'd wanted with you had gotten cut short. If he requested it, there was no way they'd pull him back, not unless they had to. He never took personal days, but that was all changing quickly.

"He's like a dream. I don't really know if I deserve him or not," you admitted, and Penelope shook her head, sipping her drink.

"Don't you dare think that. You're perfect for each other, and he cares so much about you. You should let him make you happy."

You wandered the mall a bit longer, but you left to go to the grocery store, picking up a few things for when Aaron was back in town. You hoped it would be tomorrow like planned, but you knew the way the BAU operated, and it could often be unpredictable.

When you were back in the comfort of his home, you showered and got dressed for the night, spreading out across the couch. Usually you would've been in his bed, but you weren't tired yet. In fact, every hair on your body stood straight up in anxiety. You hadn't figured out why yet, but you were trying to ignore it—until your palms got clammy and you felt like you might pass out. You felt your face and it was hot to the touch, so you took one of the pills that the hospital sent you home with and laid back, hoping it would help soon.

By the time you found yourself calm, your phone was ringing. It was the first time Aaron had actually called you since he left.

"How're you feeling?" He offered no greeting, he immediately expressed his concern which told you how badly he missed you.

"I'm a lot better now. Thank you for the flowers," you wondered if he heard the smile in your voice, because you certainly felt your heart swell simply at the mention of them.

"Anything for you. I'm actually heading home, we finished things up quicker than anticipated. I'm hoping you'll still be on my couch by the time I get there," he purred, his voice much more seductive than he'd intended it to be.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be," you'd been more than openly flirting with him since the two of you had started to get to know each other on a more serious level, and he loved every second of it; he was happy that you were just as interested in him.

"I'll grab dinner and you can find us something to watch," he acted like the two of you already lived together and it was just another Thursday coming home to you.

"It's a date," you chirped before you said your goodbyes and anticipated his return.

✨✨✨

I couldn't get home fast enough.

Pulling into the driveway knowing she was already there made me giddy, and now she had a key and could come and go as she pleased. I wouldn't have minded her spending every night in my bed, but I knew eventually she'd go back home and we'd have to start seeing each other when we had free time—but for now I had a week to spend with her, approved and finalized hours prior.

She met me at the door, wrapping me in a hug before I could even get the key in the door.

"Missed you," it was quiet but she'd said it, and I'd missed her more than she'd ever know; I hated having to leave her.

"I'm here now. I brought your favorite," I held up my bag for her to see and I filled her in on the case while we ate; I didn't give her many details and she understood why, listening intently anyway. She told me about her day out with Penelope and how she was trying to get to where she felt normal again. I didn't know how long it would take, but I'd stay by her side for any amount of time.

She was wearing a tank top with thin straps, most of her bruises faded significantly. Most of them had disappeared completely after the first couple of days, and I knew she was happy about that. I could tell by what she was wearing that she was starting to feel a little better about herself and I was thankful. I'd always be around to help boost her self esteem, but I wanted her to feel good in her own skin too.

"I'm excited to take you out, but I love nights like this with you," she didn't hide her smile as she sat down her to go box and looked at my lap, silently asking permission to climb into it. I moved anything that could be an obstacle out of her way and she was straddling me, her arms hooked around my neck.

"No one else I'd rather spend my nights with," she whispered, delivering a feather light kiss to my neck. I felt the goosebumps appear almost instantly, which only made her do it again. I shivered as her lips met my skin a second time, directly on the throbbing vein in my neck. My hands met the small of her back, her tank top ridden up slightly, exposing just enough skin to drive me mad.

"You want to know a secret?" She stopped long enough to look at me, nodding her head curiously.

"I've wished you were here everyday since I met you," I confessed, her eyes lingering on my lips as I spoke.

"That makes two of us. Surely you knew before now how I felt about you," I brought my hand to her face, and she leaned into my touch, a soft smile on her face.

"I had a pretty good idea, but I needed to be sure."

My lips met hers expectantly, the two of us so lost in each other that nothing else mattered except for her tongue in my mouth and my hands on her waist.

"Are you sure now?" She asked in a breathless whisper against my mouth, to which I nodded profusely; I didn't want to stop—I wanted to read her like a book, spread her open and take my time learning everything about her.

"Absolutely certain," I moaned into her mouth, her fingers dexterously working at the buttons of my shirt before she helped me shrug it off completely. Her fingertips slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and blazed hot against my skin, so I tossed my shirt aside. Her mouth peppered kisses across my chest and collarbone, leaving me writhing beneath her, wondering what her mouth would feel like everywhere else.

"So sexy," she said, her nails leaving streaks on my skin, marking me as hers—I was eager to belong to her, no one else even crossed my mind.

"You're perfect, everything about you," I loved all of her quirky traits and qualities, the little idiosyncrasies that made her special to me. I was convinced that no one would ever know me like she did, and I didn't want them to. She was the only person I'd considered letting in for a long time; I wouldn't want anyone else as long as she promised to stay.

She was swiftly working on my belt and the button to my pants, shoving them down to my ankles as she gave me the sweetest smile, toying with the waistband of my boxers. We were treading uncharted territory but I had already planned to give her every ounce of control—I wanted everything to be at her pace, so she didn't get uncomfortable.

"I want to touch you," her chin rested on my knee as she peered up at me, lips turned upwards the slightest, her cheeks pink. Her pupils were nearly blown out already and I hadn't even touched her yet. She was on her knees in front of me and I was too stunned to speak, I could only nod as she slid my boxers down and took my dick in her hands, stiff and throbbing for her. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted her until I came home to her and it was as if right here was where she always belonged. She was already more comfortable in my home than I'd ever allowed anyone to get, and I was ecstatic about it. I wanted her to feel safe, feel like as long as she was with me or at my home, nothing bad could happen to her.

Within seconds she'd plopped my dick in her mouth and I watched with wide eyes as she bobbed and gagged on me, saliva coating me and allowing me to slide easily into her mouth. My hips had a mind of their own as I guided my cock into the warmth of her throat, tears pricking her eyes as she nodded for more.

"Feels so good, been wanting this forever," I choked, her smile unmistakable even with my cock in her throat. It only made her take more of me, until she had nearly every inch of me stuffed in her mouth, her hand wrapped around the rest of my length. Her wrist worked in fluid motion with her mouth to send me spiraling—I felt myself finish deep in her throat with a groan, my hand rooted in her hair as she swallowed every last drop. She let my dick fall from her mouth, so I pulled up my boxers and pulled her into my lap before kissing her hard on the mouth.

"You make me so happy," I never wanted her to go—I hoped this would mean our time off would be spent together, and she'd be away from me as little as possible.

"That's all I ever wanted to do," she breathed, and I knew it was the truth. She'd always gone out of her way for me, and I tried to do the same for her. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us that we always take care of each other, and now that was solidified by something stronger than being partners. We shared a special connection, one that I hadn't felt in such a long time that it was almost hard to catch myself once I knew I was falling. As soon as I knew she'd have me too, there was nothing to be worried about anymore. I knew without a shadow of a doubt where I stood with her, and it was more comforting than anything I'd ever felt.

"Hold on, I'm going to move you to the bed," I kicked out of my pants and carried her down the hall, laying her gently in the middle of the bed. She looked heavenly laid out in front of me, all I could do was scramble between her legs, admiring everything about her, from the way her pajamas fit on her hips to the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top. It only took me a second to be hovering over top of her, my lips hungry against hers. As if she sensed my indecisiveness, she leaned up long enough to take off her tank top, letting me kiss her neck and chest, my hands reaching for her bra clasp. She helped me to get it unfastened before it hit the floor, my tongue swirling around her nipples. Her sweet little moans were like music to my ears as she wiggled against the mattress, desperate for my mouth in more than one place.

"Can I take these off?" I already had my fingers looped in the band of her pants, she just needed to tell me yes.

"Please," she pleaded, and in seconds I was dragging them down her hips, licking my lips at the sight of her nearly naked in my bed.

"You're exquisite. Thank you for trusting me like this. I won't make you regret it," truth be told, I'd do anything she asked for the rest of my life. I could easily picture my future with her, mapped out as clear as the moon in the sky.

"I know you won't," she was confident in her answer as I toyed with her through her panties, her brows pulling together instantly as soon as my fingers made contact with her clothed center. I'd been aching to touch her for so long that it almost felt surreal to finally be able to; I studied all of her curves, the swell of her breast, all the way to her legs. I drug her panties down her legs as slowly as I could manage, trying not to get ahead of myself when all I wanted to do was crash headfirst into her, give her everything I'd been holding back for the last year and a half.

✨✨✨

You were sure nothing on Earth could compare to the feeling of Aaron's lips wrapped around your clit like his life depended on giving you as many orgasms as you could handle. He was merciless; his tongue flicking your soaked bundle of nerves, your legs propped up on his shoulders so he could spread you open completely. You knew just by how he treated you that he'd be a selfless lover, and you'd been correct—he had no plans of stopping any time soon. His head rested on your upper thigh as he worked tirelessly to bring you more pleasure than you ever thought possible.

Now that you had him, you couldn't imagine sharing him ever again. You wanted to be the only one that experienced him at his most sensual; you had a hunch that he felt the same way, given that he'd completely surrendered to you, willing to do anything you asked him.

"Could never get tired of tasting you," he panted, his nose brushing your clit as he buried his face in your pussy, moaning into you without abandon. You weren't about to stop him, not when he looked more serene than ever, making your legs shake uncontrollably as your orgasm rattled through you. Your hands were rooted in his hair but only to ground yourself—he didn't need a guide, he knew exactly where you needed his mouth, his lips pressed gently to your clit, kissing it delicately.

"Feels so good," you managed to choke out, and he nodded in agreement, because he was enjoying it just as much as you were.

"Mhm. Feels like heaven every time you cum on my tongue," he'd long since abandoned his filter, filthier than you ever knew he could be. It was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard, his deep, nearly gravelly voice brought you more pleasure than you'd expected; you'd be soaked at the sound of him speaking alone.

You were hooked—simple as that.

No other man would ever be able to satisfy you the way that he was, and you knew it for a fact. No one else would take their time in learning your body like he did, experimenting until he discovered how you needed to be touched, and then doing everything in his power to make it incredible for you. It left your heart pounding and your brain reeling—you hoped he was here to stay, because you had no brakes now that you'd gotten started.

"You're perfect, Aaron," it was the only sentence you could form, and judging by the look on his face, he was happy to hear it. His lips curved into a stellar smile before he reattached his lips to your clit and sucked furiously, making your vision go blurry as your head hit the pillow.

"I was just thinking that exact same thing about you, sweetheart," he crawled up your body, leaving wet, sticky kisses as he traveled toward your mouth. His tongue felt divine against your flushed skin, goosebumps appearing shortly after. He met your mouth with haste, his tongue swirling around in your mouth deliciously as he used his knee to part your legs further.

"Please, Aaron," you could barely contain your excitement as he pressed into you at a snails pace, shivering as he sank further into you. You held your breath as he filled you, exhaling once he'd bottomed out completely and began to pump in and out of you, his hands on your body like you were the most precious piece of artwork he'd ever seen and he just needed to touch you or he might burst. You felt his desire for you over every inch of your body, radiating throughout the room as he looked into your eyes.

"I swear I'll never want anyone else. You just feel so good, baby," the term of endearment rolled so easily off of his tongue that you just knew he'd been dying to use it with you, it came too naturally to him. You captured his lips with yours, cupping his face as he made love to you for the first time. That was the only way you could describe it—it was tender and gentle and exactly what you needed from him, and he knew it.

"I'm all yours," you promised him, feeling the smile on his lips that appeared right after. You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach as his hips met yours at an agonizingly slow pace—it was sensual and steady, making you lose control quicker than you could register, your body going limp beneath his.

"That's it, sweetheart. I've got you, let it all go."

You'd never had a first time quite like this one; you were comfortable despite the fact that he'd never seen you naked, but you knew he adored you. It gave you a strange sense of familiarity, easing all of your nerves before they ever had time to surface. He was the most patient, loving man you'd had the privilege of meeting, and you were thankful that you had him in your life.

You'd never seen so much passion exuded from one man, but you weren't surprised. You knew deep down, past his stoic, stern exterior that his soft spot was you; you gave him a reason to show his sweet, sensitive side, and you were the only one lucky enough to experience it.

"I can't wait to give you all of me," he muttered against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his lip pulled between his teeth. You pressed sweet kisses to his neck, wrapping your arms around his broad frame to keep him close to you. You drug your nails across his back, feeling the muscles of his shoulder blades clench up at your touch. He filled you seconds later, finishing deep inside of you as his mouth crashed against yours in desperation. He stayed still, his forehead pressed to yours as the two of you tried to catch your breath.

"I'm obsessed with you," he broke the silence, making you smile from ear to ear as he gazed down at you. Your nose brushed his lightly before he kissed you, his hand brushing your hair away from your face so he could see all of you.

"I really hope you keep me around," you shot him a wink, a chuckle falling from his parted lips.

"I hope you understand that I'll want you, forever. It's always been you. I'd never even think about giving anyone else the time of day."

As if to show you he was serious, you felt his cock throb inside of you; he'd never moved, still buried deep between your thighs. You let out a barely audible whimper that had him stiff and needy in an instant.

"I really like the idea of forever with you," you'd barely had time to get the words out and he was sitting up on his knees, carefully placing your legs on his shoulders. You were folded up beneath him, able to watch him slip in and out of you, his thick cock pulsing with each slow stroke into your soaked center. He kissed your calf, his hands massaging your thighs, the rough, callused pads of his fingers kneading your sensitive flesh. It was a blissful combination, his hands on your body as he made himself at home inside of you. He sped things up a bit, hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle to have your back arching off the mattress.

"Such a good girl," his fingers met your chin, tilting your face upward to look at him before he found your hand and laced his fingers through yours. His gaze was penetrating and intimate as he brought you close to the edge once more, your eye struggling to stay open as you moaned his name. He loved every sound you made, a string of profanity falling from his lips, his eyes trained on his cock slipping out of you. You could tell he was getting close, drilling into you rapidly, the slamming of his hips into yours bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout his empty house. He came with a shudder, his eyes nearly rolling back, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

"I hope you never get tired of me," you moved your legs so you could pull him forward, your lips on his. You could hear the insecurities in his voice although you were certain he was trying his best not to let it show. You brought your hand to his cheek, kissing him with all of the force you had, a moan escaping his lips as he held onto you for dear life. You'd never wanted anyone so badly, had such a strong connection and deep desire to belong to him.

"Never. You are everything I've ever wanted, Aaron. I'll never let you go. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me this week. It means more to me than you'll ever know," you'd been going through so much mental turmoil, but Aaron made it all so much better. Just being around him calmed your darkest fears, knowing you were safe and he'd protect you from anything.

"You don't have to thank me. I want to take care of you every way that I can. Truthfully, I'll be sad to see you go. I'm already so used to having you around, and I love every second that you're here."

He slid out of you, finding a towel to clean you up before he joined you in the bed, pulling the covers over your naked bodies. You didn't bother getting dressed; you were cozy.

"Being alone is really hard for me right now. I missed you so much when you were gone," the days had felt like an eternity away from him, the seconds passing by slower than usual. You'd been so happy to have him back that you counted the hours until he'd returned.

"You have a key now, you can come and go as you please. You never have to be alone anymore, not if I'm around."

You cooked dinner together, eating at the table instead of his bed made things a bit more romantic than usual, with the two of you seated across from each other, your legs touching beneath the table. It was sweet, the two of you talking long after you’d finished your meal. You helped him with the dishes, which he tried to protest, but you did it anyway, the two of you stood at the sink like a married couple cleaning before you settled down for the night.

You fell asleep like a rock with him by your side, thinking you’d doze into peaceful slumber; you couldn’t have been more wrong.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the back of a rickety pick up truck, bouncing against the cool metal of the floor. Wherever you were was cold—wet. You could smell the mist, invading your nostrils, making you get choked up. You began to panic when you realized you were gagged, unable to scream, or cry properly. You struggled to breathe, trying desperately to break free from whatever held you captive.

Your thoughts automatically flitted to Hotch, who’d been with you mere hours prior. You hoped he was okay, wherever he was. You tried to move around, but with your hands and feet tied, it was nearly impossible. You were stuck.

As if by a miracle, you could hear Derek’s voice from above, shouting your name. They were walking right over top of whatever you were in. You tried to move again, this time knocking something off of a nearby table. Movement ceased above you before their footsteps disappeared completely. You listened to them look for hours before they finally gave up their search, leaving you stranded. You heard the crunch of every individual tire as they drove away, the tears hot on your face as you accepted your fate.

“Shhh, you’re alright. I’ve got you,” you woke up with your limbs flailing, your cheeks wet. You were in Aaron’s arms, secured by his strong grip. You buried your face in his shirt as you tried to shake the nightmare from your mind. Aaron held you close, kissing your head, a soothing hand on your back.

“I was so scared,” you choked, and he nodded in understanding, cradling your head so he could bring you closer.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but the important thing to remember is that I’m always here for you, no matter what. I won’t let anything else hurt you,” he kissed your cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear away before it could drop onto your shirt.

You wrapped your arms around him, wanting to stay smushed into his chest for a little while longer, as long as he’d let you. He had an idea, bringing you to mount his lap, your head laying against his chest, just like that very first night. You fell asleep on top of him, no longer worried about what horrors might manifest once you closed your eyes—as long as you were with him, your worries seemed a million miles away.

✨✨✨

I admired the way she could stay put all night long without moving, because I woke up to her hair tickling my neck; I was just happy to have her to wake up to. I let her sleep, brushing her hair back so I could look at her face. Her mouth open the tiniest sliver, every muscle in her face relaxed, her breathing steady. She’d been restless that night, talking and thrashing in her sleep, but once she finally settled down some, she slept soundly. My hands were on the small of her back, beneath her shirt, her skin warm against my palms. My thumbs barely brushed her sides but it was enough to have her giggling sleepily, nuzzling into my neck as her eyes fluttered open.

“Tickles,” she muttered against me, her lips grazing my neck. I didn’t try to hide the shiver that came immediately after, which lead to her doing it again. I knew she could feel my dick growing stiff under her waist, pressed snug against her center. In perfect timing, she rolled her hips against me, our underwear the only barrier between us.

“Can I ride you?” Her voice was the softest thing I’d ever heard, hushed and still slightly raspy from sleep. I gave her an enthusiastic nod as she tugged off her underwear and slid mine down enough to free me from my boxers before she took my cock in her hand and lined herself up with me, peering down at me as she sank onto my length. It was the first time she’d ever taken charge and done the work, so I sat back and watched in awe as she used me, expertly working my length until we were both a sweaty, panting mess. It was lazy and fulfilling, the light barely creeping in through the curtains and the neighborhood still quiet on the rest of the block.

Her hips rolled against me in the most incredible way, my dick deep inside of her as she leaned forward and bounced on my dick, making me grip her thighs for support. She came undone, whimpering my name as she rode out her high, but I wasn’t far behind her; her mouth met mine and I filled her, holding her hips in place so she could take every drop. I loved being able to give myself to her, that she’d allow me to have her body in such a sacred way.

“I could never get tired of this,” I told her as she slipped off of me, my first instinct to get up and clean her off so she didn’t have to move just yet.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” We hadn’t explicitly had a conversation about it, but I figured it would come up sooner rather than later. She felt like so much more than my girlfriend; she felt like the woman I’d be growing and sharing a life with, and there was no label for that.

“You’re so much more than just my girlfriend—you’re my person. You’re my better half.”

She climbed out of bed so she could come give me a hug, her arms tight around me. She was the most special part of my life, and now that I had her I’d do anything to keep her. I didn’t want to know a life without her ever again.

“You’re the better half,” she shot back teasingly, and I was thrilled to see her getting back to her usual, playful self. I rolled my eyes at her, touching my lips to her forehead.

“Still feel up for going out with me tonight? I want to take you to dinner,” she nodded into my chest, peppering it with kisses.

“I’d go anywhere with you,” she assured me, pulling me back into the bed so we could waste the rest of the day wrapped up in each other.

Taglist: @wheelsupkels @periodtcevans

#aaron hotchner playlist collection #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #hotch smut #Aaron Hotchner #ssa hotchner smut #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch x fem reader #hotch x reader #ssa hotchner

[ssahotchnerr]

okay but when the team actually starts calling the reader and aaron mom and dad behind their backs and one day someone lets it slip out in front of them??

i just… aaron’s reaction?????

the parentals

i love this dynamic SO MUCH cw; fem!bau!reader, established relationship, fluff <3

as you and aaron entered the bullpen, you were both quick to notice the others huddled around spencer's desk, surely for a new session of physics magic.

a smile immediately twitched at aaron's lips, tossing you a mischievous look. as long as it didn't make a mess, or a disruption - per his and reid's previous discussions - he really didn't mind the recurring demonstrations.

but would he ever miss an opportunity to get the blood rushing in this scenario - never.

"be nice." you teased, laughing softly under your breath as you followed him over.

"i'm always nice." aaron playfully insisted, those brown eyes flickering in that way that just melted your heart. "what do you mean?"

"better be careful," emily's warning came into earshot as you neared, completely oblivious to the two of you - the timing just perfect. "or else dad's gonna ground you."

aaron's expression quirked at the title, his eyebrows lightly furrowing.

"oh please," spencer said, his fingers making quick work of whatever the experiment happened to be. "he's too busy with mom-"

jj's eyes happened to lift right at mom, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately choked back a laugh. some horror timidly filled her eyes, and she didn't cover up her sound too adequately. it caused the others to instantly look up too, and freeze.

"busted." jj mumbled, her gaze finding the ground.

aaron's smile resurfaced, crossing his arms. his tone was playful, yet confused and utterly amused nonetheless. "dad?"

spencer flushed. "uh..."

"oh c'mon. cut the crap." emily interrupted with an eye roll, looking between the two of you. "like it's not shocking at this point. just look at what the two of you were about to do, lecture us-"

"hey no," with a laugh you cut in, arching an eyebrow. "i don't lecture."

"exactly. he does," emily crossed her arms also with a smitten smirk - her point thoroughly exhibited. "you're the flexible one. see, mom and dad."

"i always thought rossi was dad." aaron expressed openly, a small chuckle shaking through his chest.

"no, you were always dad," jj shook her head, "rossi was mom, until," once again, her eyes found yours, smiling softly this time. "until someone else came around, and took on the role wholeheartedly."

you grinned, exchanging a quick, loving glance with aaron. "what's dave now, then?"

"old."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner blurbs #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch fic #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #ssa aaron hotchner #agent hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[chr0llossexygf]

IN RUINS

PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader

SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?

“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.

“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.

you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”

“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.

“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.

“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.

“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.

“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.” you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.

“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.

he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.

the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.

the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.

“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.

“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.

you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.

“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.

jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.

jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”

“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.

“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.

“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.

“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.

“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.

“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,

you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.

you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.

he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.

“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.

“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.

“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.

his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.

his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.

“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.

the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.

“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.

“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.

“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.

he feels his legs going weak.

#fanfiction #imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #angst #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fic #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #derek morgan #jennifer jareau

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #hotch #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #Spotify

[golden1u5t]

take it out on me | a.h x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: your sex life with aaron was usually pretty vanilla. you know, the basic missionary, the 'i love you's", the soft kisses..etc. this night is different thought, aaron gets home from a case and you can tell he's upset. while he usually opts to sit in silence until the mood passes, tonight he decides to take his anger out a different way and you're not complaining.

you were pinned down on the bed by aaron's weight, his hips crashing into yours with a force he'd never used on you before. his hand was tangled in your hair, not tugging but instead keeping your head pressed against the pillows.

the room was filled with obscene sounds, you and aarons moans and groans, skin on skin, the bed hitting the wall. you'd never had sex like this before, you were used to the sweet and soft sex with aaron but you could get used to this type of sex. your mind was completely blank, only being able to focus on the way aarons cock felt dragging against your walls.

drool spilled from your parted lips and onto the pillow because of the way aaron had your head pressed against it, you reached back to grab at any part of him you could.

"aaron!" you cried, lifting your hips to fuck back into him, causing aaron to groan at the feeling of your cunt constricting his cock. he let go of your hair and wrapped his arm around your throat, as if he was putting you into a headlock but without the force. still, the action alone was enough to send you into an unexpected orgasm.

his name fell from your lips like it was a prayer as he fucked you through your orgasm. aaron's hips started to stutter as he felt his cock start to throb and that familiar feeling start to grow. he let his body fall down over yours, effectively pressing you between his body and the bed.

"perfect," he breathed into your ear, snapping his hips into yours harder than before. "made just for me, weren't you? mine to love, mine to fuck whenever i want, you're mine." he let out one last gutural groan before he was cumming, pressing his cock as deep into you as it would go.

by the time he pulled out you were both a mess, more so you than him but still a mess nonetheless, your hair was messy and sprawled all over your face, a trail of drool on the side of your mouth. you lay limp on the bed, trying to catch your breath and regain your composure, while aaron went to the bathroom to grab a cloth to clean you up.

when he was done he climbed back in bed beside you and helped you take a sip of water. he set the cup on the nightstand and pulled you into his side, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. you tilted your head up so you could get a proper kiss from him.

"¡ want to know who it is that made you so angry, i would like to thank them personally."

#golden1u5t #myrarants #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #dom aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch imagine

[dudeitiskarev]

I Want to Hold Your Hand | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau female reader

Summary: Hotch sends you home and you almost die, which only makes him realize how much he truly loves you.

Word count: 2.4k.

Tags/warnings: hurt/little comfort; season 1 Hotch my beloved <3; canon typical violence; Haley and Jack don’t exist in this universe oopsies; angst with happy ending; Hotch is a baby; probably very inaccurate medical talk bc all I know is from Grey’s; not beta read + English isn’t my first language so good luck with that.

Author’s note: remember when I said I was probably done writing for a Hotch? Turns out all I had to do was stop taking my antidepressant 🙄 anyway, don’t get your hopes high. I just needed to take a break from my never-ending Spence fic so I wrote this. Which is basically a rewrite of what happened with Elle. I just wanted to make Hotch suffer a little so I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST

A few hours ago, Aaron kissed the top of your head and sent you back to the hotel with a police officer.

Now, he was in a hospital waiting room with his heart in his throat, hoping the doctor would show up with good news.

You’d been attacked in your hotel room, and it was his fault.

“They’re gonna set up a bed for you in her room.” Jason walked in with a cup of coffee for Aaron. His fourth one already.

“She’s… not out of surgery yet,” Aaron shut his eyes. “We don’t know if —”

“The hospital chief, I know him.” Gideon sort of smiled. “I asked him if he could go check on her. All I know is that they’re closing her up now.”

The words began to sound far and faded as if Aaron was underwater. His vision blurred and his legs would’ve given up if he wasn’t sitting down already.

It was his soul returning to his body.

He didn’t want to get his hopes high, though. If they were closing you up it meant you were alive, but nothing else. There could be a hundred things wrong with you while being alive.

All he could do was nod and put his hands together over his lips like a prayer.

You were alive.

“The doctor should be here with the updates any minute now.” Jason sat next to Aaron and gave him a gentle tap on his back.

Gideon knew. Even when Hotch hadn’t told anyone about his feelings—not even you—he spent most of his day with profilers so of course the best one in his team knew about it.

“I’m heading back to the hotel soon,” Gideon continued. “See what the hell happened. Why… How did they let the unsub enter her room. Garcia should be landing soon. We need to check every security camera.” He smacked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head.

Aaron rose from his seat and tried his best to at least let his shoulders relax but every bit of him had turned into concrete.

“Where are Reid and Morgan?” He asked, pacing back and forth and stretching his neck from one side to the other. Even in moments like this, he needed to know where the rest of his people were. Especially in moments like this.

“Back at the local PD,” Gideon answered.

“JJ?”

“She’s talking to the hotel manager, making sure none of the employees makes any declaration to the press before we catch the guy.”

Aaron nodded, and soon, the doctor walked into the room with the updates.

“Surgery was a success,” he began. “We managed to repair all the damage and save her lung. Now, she flatlined once in the ambulance and then again during surgery so her brain has been through a lot.”

It wasn’t the time to profile anyone, but the way the doctor couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than two seconds told Aaron he was aiming at something more serious.

“Just tell us.” Aaron rubbed his thumb with his fingers.

“She’s not breathing on her own yet and according to her EEG, her last exam, her brain is swollen. It may take her a while to wake up.” The doctor gulped. “If she wakes up.”

Aaron’s entire world crumbled once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to a corner to pull himself together.

This was his fault. You might never wake up and it was his fault.

“When can we see her?” Gideon asked for him.

“You can see her now but… you need to be prepared. A machine is breathing for her. There’s a tube down her throat and it might be a lot to look at.”

Just picturing you like that turned his stomach upside down.

God, if you don’t ever wake up—

“She’s gonna wake up.” Penelope’s voice entered the room and so did the light she carried everywhere.

She was one of Aaron’s comfort people. If Penelope was there, there was hope.

“Garcia,” Jason said in a don’t tone.

“She’s strong.” Penelope walked up to Hotch anyway. “And people wake up from comas. Miracles happen and—” Her eyes filled with tears once she touched Hotch’s arm to get his attention. “She needs us, she needs you. And we need her.”

Garcia also knew, apparently. And if she knew without being a profiler, everyone else knew.

“I found this.” She handed Hotch a Polaroid picture of you. You were leaning on Garcia’s desk, your arms folded over your chest and with your sweet, sweet smile. There was the hope. “I took it a while ago and kept it on my desk along with the others but…”

Aaron took it with a shaky hand. You were mesmerizing.

“García,” Gideon insisted.

A nurse interrupted to let them know they could see you now.

“You go,” Gideon said to Hotch, taking a step back. “Just call me if anything changes. Garcia, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Penelope gave Hotch one last hopeful smile before following Jason out.

Aaron looked at your photo again and took deep breaths to gather himself as walked to the endless hall that took him to you.

“We’ll set up your bed in a few.” The nurse smiled at him, gesturing for him to go in. “She looks good. It might not look like it because of all the machines but she’s doing good. She’s a strong woman.”

Aaron said a quiet thanks before the nurse left.

It was just you and him.

The steady beeping of the machine brought him a sense of comfort—it meant you were alive—yet his feet were hesitant to take him next to you. He stood at the door for a moment, watching you from afar.

As the doctor had said, it was a lot to look at. It reminded him of the last time he saw someone close to him like this: his father. The difference was that back then, he couldn’t wait for his dad to die.

Today, he’d found himself praying multiple times to a god he wasn’t even sure existed most times.

He dared to move and when he reached your side, he almost crumbled. You had a few bruises on your left cheek, your knuckles were split—you even had a broken finger, and you looked beautiful as ever. He wished he could see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, catch you smiling at him.

Guilt brewed at the pit of his stomach again. He should’ve gone with you. He should’ve been with you.

He lifted one hand to stroke your head and tears welled up as soon as his skin touched yours. His chin quivered and he sniffled quietly as tears threatened to spill. He used the heel of his hands to dry them away. He couldn’t cry, even if you were in a coma and couldn’t see him like this—broken. You believed people’s energy had effects on others, and you needed him to be strong. He needed to be more like you.

His bed was set soon after, right next to you. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles were sore. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down. He was scared to close his eyes. What if you died while he was asleep? He stayed sitting down, holding your hand and never losing sight of you.

“It’s raining,” he said out loud, talking to you. “Every time it rains I think of you.”

He smiled at the memories. You’d shown up at his office for your interview drenching, and he was smitten from the very first moment he laid eyes on you.

“Agent Hotchner,” your perky voice caught him off guard. No one inside the BAU building was perky—besides Garcia.

You stood by the door, both hands behind your back waiting for his signal to come in.

“Please.” He gestured with his hand to the seat across from him.

He took half a second to study you quickly. Raindrops were gathered over the shoulders of your blazer and your mascara was a bit smudged under your eyes.

“Forgot your coat, agent?” He commented, peeling his eyes off you and reading through your resume.

“Didn’t think I’d be raining by the time I arrived, sir. I don’t keep an umbrella in my car either. I apologize for my… appearance.”

It wasn’t your appearance that got you on his team, it was your outstanding resume. It made him wonder why you chose to apply to the Behavioral Analysis Unit instead of staying at ViCAP. Your performance there was impeccable.

“I wasn’t feeling comfortable there anymore,” was your answer. “And I want to seek other paths, sir. And I know I’m a good fit for your team.”

You started the very next day, and he partnered up with you to keep an eye on you during your first cases. You were a quick thinker, were fast on your feet, and stayed calm under critical situations.

Not once he felt at a disadvantage in the field for working with the new kid, which only showed him how good you naturally were. He was drawn to you and it wasn’t just because of your professionalism.

It was your fast food order. It was the first joke you ever made that only made him laugh. It was your perfume, the way you spoke with your hands, and how you raised your brows when making a point.

Everything about you made him take a deep breath. You made him dizzy. Lightheaded. Drunk.

Exactly how he felt right now while holding your hand, except that now, the room was spinning at the mere thought of losing you.

“I love you,” he murmured, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised knuckles with shaky lips. “I love you.”

He’d never said it before. He didn’t know he did until now.

“God, I love you so much. From the moment I saw you, you lit up my life. You made it better, made me better.” He kept talking to you, hoping that his voice would heal everything inside you. “I can’t lose you. I won’t make it.”

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

The rain stopped, the hours passed, and the sun never came out.

It’d been two weeks and he’d already made the habit of reading you at night.

“Studies have shown that playing music they really like and talking to the person in a coma increases their chances of waking up,” Spencer had said the day the entire team came to visit you.

Most nights he read case files. Others, he liked to read poetry.

You still hadn’t woken up, but the music, the poetry, and the flowers didn’t stop.

“I hope you don’t mind if I read something by Neruda,” Aaron said as he sat on the chair next to you. “Maybe not Neruda.”

It was one of those nights where hope had watered down with his tears.

He put the book down next to you and held your hand. He hadn’t stopped holding your hand; he hadn’t stopped kissing it either. He sighed deeply and stood up to draw the blinds, turning his back to you.

A loud smack against the floor startled him, making him turn around. The book he’d left next to you had fallen. He didn’t think he’d left it at the edge of the bed, but he picked it up without much curious and went to put it where it was.

Your hand twitched when he grazed your knuckles casually.

Then it twitched again—harsher—and a soft whimper came from your chest. That sound definitely came out of your body.

Aaron was quick to check on you, towering over you and watching you closely. Your eyelids started to move and the next thing he knew, he was making eye contact with you.

Those beautiful twinkling eyes took his breath away.

“We need a doctor in here!” He was quick to react, pressing the call button.

Nurses stormed inside and moved him out of the way to assist you.

“She’s awake. She’s fighting the tube,” was all he heard before a thousand tingles rushed through him.

You were awake.

Your doctor arrived soon after to examine you and Aaron stood there as they took the tube out.

You coughed and writhed with discomfort.

“Can you tell me your name?” Your doctor moved a small flashlight in front of your eyes.

You blinked a few times and searched around the room. Your eyes landed on Aaron. “Hotch?”

Your soft voice traveled to him and enveloped his heart, mending every bit that was broken.

“Hi,” he merely said.

You shook your head and said your name instead. Your doctor asked some more questions like your birthday, where you worked at and what was the last thing you remembered, and the entire time your eyes were trained on Aaron.

“It’s vague.” You took a sharp breath. “I think I was attacked but I don’t know how. I can assume by this unglued scar, though.” You put your palm on your chest.

“We’re still going to do some tests,” Your doctor said. “But you’re great. Pupils are responsive, your lungs sound healthy and there are no signs of brain damage. No memory loss. No speech loss either.”

“How soon can she go home?” Aaron asked, taking another step closer. He finally stood by your side, and you reached for his hand.

This was you. Sweet and caring even at your worst.

“I’d like to keep her under observation for a couple of days, then she can go. But just so you know, you can’t fly for at least two weeks after open-chest surgery.”

The doctor gave you some other indications before leaving, then it was just the two of you as it’d been for the past two weeks. Though now he got to see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, and catch you smiling at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, tilting your head to the side like a puppy.

“I sent you away and—“ he raised his brows.

“Don’t.” You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t… blame yourself.”

“I should’ve come with you. I should’ve— god, you almost died. You almost died,” he repeated in a whisper, shutting his eyes with pain.

The guilt was still there.

“But I didn’t.”

“I was so scared,” he admitted, daring to look back at you.

“I… don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces but I do remember that I wasn’t scared. I think. I… channeled you at that moment.” You laughed. “I remember thinking, Hotch wouldn’t be scared, he would put up a fight, so I did. I fought the guy, which got me almost killed but I wasn’t scared.” You lifted your hand and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “You have a beard.”

He chuckled. “Barely.”

“It looks good. I like it.”

He didn’t like it much, but he was grateful it was there so you wouldn’t see how hard he was blushing. He poured you some water and handed it you to distract himself from it.

“Where are we?” You then asked, taking a sip from the straw.

“Seattle.” Aaron raised his brows while licking his lips.

Last time you two were in Seattle, you’d kissed for the first time.

“Oh,” you mirrored his smirk. “So that’s gonna be like a three-day road trip back to Quantico?”

“It’s either that or two more weeks in Seattle until you can fly there,” he responded.

“Both sound amazing, don’t you think?” you scanned his face up and down and heat rushed to his cheeks again. “Thank you for staying with me, Aaron.”

I love you, he thought.

“How could I not?” he said instead.

Never said there would be a love confession now did I 🤭 But don’t worry, hotch confesses his love during the road trip <33333 also the title is a The Beatles song bc he played The Beatles a lot while reader was in a coma. And bc he held her hand a lot.

I hope you liked it!!!!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[em-prentiss]

I’ve got my eye on you

----

You’re really in no shape to be at work. Aaron coaxes you home.

Cw: fem!bau!reader, reader is on her period, newly established relationship, fluff, use of pet names, no use of yn

Wc: 1.9k

if you have any Aaron requests, lmk <3

----

Your stomach cramps again as you walk out of the elevator. Wincing, you hurry into the bullpen, desperate to sit down and ease the ache in your lower body. 

Morgan looks up at you as you dump your things on your desk and sit down with a sigh. 

“Twenty minutes late, princess,” he grins. “Late night?”

“Not today, Derek.” You stuff your face in your hands, the pounding in your head intensifying. Your voice is low, strained, nothing like the usual teasing tone you take up with him. 

Morgan immediately frowns in concern. “Hey, are you okay?” He leans over the divider between your desks and takes a closer look at you.

“Fine,” you mumble, your voice muffled. You lift your head and give him a weary smile. “Just tired from last night’s case.”

He nods and leaves you alone as you turn on your computer and sigh at the stack of paperwork ahead of you. Looking up out of habit, you smile at the sight of Aaron in his office, his head bent as he works on something. 

The two of you had your first date just before this previous case. He got you flowers, specifically ones that wouldn’t trigger your allergies, and when he told you that with a flustered smile you felt yourself fall impossibly deeper. You had kissed him to stop his rambling, threaded your fingers through his as he walked you to his car and opened the door for you. Like a gentleman, you’d thought giddily, your heart bursting at the image of him in your head perfectly meeting reality.

He got you ice cream after dinner, intimately aware of your sweet tooth, and you were left wondering if it was too soon to think about marriage.

It had been a perfect night, one that left you wanting for more of him just like this; funny and relaxed and soft. You’d wanted so badly to push him into your apartment, have him take off your dress and press his lips to your skin. But you forced yourself to say goodbye at the door, his chaste kiss sweet against your lips. You wanted to take it slow, to do it right. He wasn’t going to be a quick fuck for you and you wanted him to know that. 

Because you’re in love with him, have been for years. And you’re pretty damn sure he’s in love with you too.

You’re broken from your reverie when you hear Emily approaching, a steaming mug in her hands. You give her a questioning look when she sets down the mug on your desk, the light color of the liquid telling you it’s some kind of herbal tea instead of coffee.

“You’ve got that first day period look about you,” she whispers before you can ask. You smile and pick up the tea, taking a sip and feeling the scalding liquid burn all the way down.

“That bad, huh?” You close your eyes when Emily brushes your hair away from your forehead. Her short nails scratch soothingly against your scalp and you hum, resting your head lightly against her stomach. 

“You’re a little pale,” she murmurs. “Did you eat?”

You say nothing and bring the tea to your lips again, avoiding your friend’s gaze. 

“Typical,” Emily sighs—quite boldly of her, knowing she’s no different. “Hotch won’t be happy about that,” she teases softly, her lips turning up in a gentle smile. She may or may not have given you and Aaron the final push you both needed.

You shrug as your cheeks tint pink. “I’ll eat in a bit,” you say, in no hurry to do so with the way your stomach churns. “The pain really blocks my appetite.” You scrunch your nose. 

Emily hums, all too familiar with the feeling. “I’d tell you to take some meds, but you need to eat for that.” She strokes your hair soothingly, making you lean into her touch.

“I will, Em,” you smile up at her. “When my stomach settles. This is helping by the way, thanks.” You tilt your head to the mug you’re now holding against your stomach, the heat of it seeping through your shirt.

“You’re welcome,” Emily squeezes your shoulder and heads to her own desk. 

Sighing, you tip your head back and adjust your grip on the mug in your hands, wishing you had something for your thighs too. And your head. And your lower back. 

You give yourself a few seconds before you rub your eyes and sit up straight, trying to start on your report. 

The words blur on the page in front of you and you blink, trying to bring them back into focus. You sip your tea, hoping it’ll kick start your brain into writing something, but your head pounds incessantly, jumbling up the words in your head.

The next sip of tea brings a sudden nausea with it, the liquid sloshing around in your empty stomach with nothing else. You set it down with a grimace. 

Fucking great.

Morgan and Reid are bickering incessantly behind you, Emily clacks away at her computer and Anderson is talking louder than usual, his voice piercing your head. You blow out a breath and grab your pen, forcing yourself to ignore them and look at your paperwork. You squint at the paper, the bright fluorescent lights of the bullpen like needles in your eyes.

You give up and slump on your desk with a groan, welcoming the darkness and the cool wood against your forehead. You cross your arms tightly over your aching stomach, feeling the frustrating press of tears against your closed eyelids.

Aaron leaves his office in search of coffee and catches sight of you with your head on your desk, your hair shielding your face. Your back shudders as you inhale, the ragged rise and fall of it visible even from a distance.

He hurries down to you and gently touches your shoulder, your name falling softly from his mouth. You tilt your head up to look at him, too tired to lift it from the desk. “Aaron, hey.” You give him a worn out smile. 

Your hair falls into your face. Aaron gently brushes it away and notes your crossed arms held tightly against your stomach, your nails digging into your biceps.

“Are you okay?” He asks worriedly, eyeing your tired face and the bags under your eyes. “You look pale. Are you sick?” He presses the back of his hand against your forehead, but your skin is cool.

If the cramps weren’t currently tearing your body to shreds, you might have felt the butterflies at his obvious concern. “I’m not,” you say slowly, wetting your dry lips. “I’ll be fine, my head just hurts a bit.”

A bit is a gross oversimplification, and from the look on Aaron’s face, he knows it too. “Just your head?” He raises his brows, his eyes pointedly drifting down to your stomach.

A strange heat rises to your cheeks. “I’ll be fine, Aaron.” You insist as you lift yourself up against the chair. The light shines directly into your eyes and you wince, pressing your palm against your lids.

“Clearly,” he mutters, looking at your desk and the still empty paperwork and reports you have yet to fill out. “Go home. You can finish this tomorrow.”

“No,” you shake your head adamantly despite the roiling in your stomach. “I’m fine, I just—” You shut your eyes and blow out a shaky breath when you feel a sudden cramp in your abdomen, “I just need a minute.” You rasp.

Aaron eyes your dull skin and the way you tightly grip your seat, your knuckles sharp as you take in ragged breaths. He sighs and crouches down in front of you, the gentle way he says your name forcing your eyes open. 

“Please. Go home or I’ll drive you myself.” His brown eyes are soft with concern, his brows furrowed and lips tipped downward.

You want to shake your head, but a sharp pain in your stomach almost makes you gasp. You bite your lip and look down at your watch. “It’s only 11.” You protest weakly. 

Aaron shakes his head at your stubbornness, your pain clear in the way your face twists. “You’re in pain, sweetheart,” he whispers, unable to stop himself from saying it. Your eyes widen slightly at the nickname, but he continues, undeterred.

“Please. Go home, take care of yourself. You can be here first thing tomorrow, I promise, but you’re not well now.” He’s using the same soft, soothing tone he uses whenever Jack is sick and refusing his medication, and it seems to have the same effect on you.

You wilt against the seat and nod. “Okay,” you finally relent, the relief obvious in your voice. 

Aaron smiles slightly, dimples poking out in victory as he stands up. You don’t even have to pack anything, your purse still closed on your desk. You pocket your phone and stand, your hand reaching for Aaron’s elbow when you stumble slightly. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he steadies you with a hand on your back. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

You don’t protest and allow him to walk you to the elevator. A part of you is surprised that he’s showing this side of him at work, uncaring of the team’s piercing gazes that you can feel following you all the way out of the bullpen. 

You lean into his side a little when you’re out of sight, the warmth of his hand on your back seeping into your skin as you wait for the elevator. 

You’re almost disappointed when it dings.

The doors open and you walk in with a quiet sigh. Aaron walks in with you too, ignoring your surprised look. You open your mouth to protest, but he speaks first.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay driving? I can take you,” he offers.

You smile. The thought does sound nice. But you shake your head, despite your aching body and the long drive ahead of you. And the crushing need to let him take care of you. “I’ll be fine.” You force yourself to say. “Thank you, though.”

Aaron nods. “Drive safe.” He smiles at you gently. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Your fingers magically find their way into his hair. You push the soft strands away from his forehead, biting back a smile when he involuntarily leans into your touch.

His hand finds the curve of your waist. “Maybe I can come by later?” He whispers. 

You feel your body grow warm, a comforting glow that he always brings out in you. You smile, momentarily distracted from the pain in your body.

“I’d like that. But I won’t be much fun,” you gesture to yourself with a shrug. The elevator stops and the doors slide open into the parking lot. 

“That’s just nonsense,” Aaron tilts your face down to kiss your forehead, his palms warm on your cheeks. “Be careful, honey.” 

“I will.” You stamp a quick kiss on his lips, your cheeks warm, and head to your car. Aaron holds the elevator doors open and waits until you get in before heading again to the sixth floor.

He walks back into the bullpen, past his team gathered at Emily’s desk, including Garcia. They smirk at him and he glares back.

“Not a word.” 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #soft aaron hotchner

[thewulf]

Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)

In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.

You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.

Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.

"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.

Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.

Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.

As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.

But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.

You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.

Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."

Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."

Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."

The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."

Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."

Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."

Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.

As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.

The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.

In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.

It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.

As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.

Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.

"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"

But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."

The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.

"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."

Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.

Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.

As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.

"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"

You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.

"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.

Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."

As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.

"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."

Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."

You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.

Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.

You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.

The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."

As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.

You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.

Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.

As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.

As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.

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[hotchs-bitch]

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

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—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly. 

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work. 

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk. 

You’re in New York.

— — — 

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm. 

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

———

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t. 

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support. 

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him. 

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.” 

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected. 

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning. 

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports. 

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over. 

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises. 

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” 

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything. 

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out. 

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours. 

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question. 

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…” 

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried. 

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years. 

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long. 

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now. 

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you. 

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead. 

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.” 

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...” 

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave. 

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

-

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

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#my writing #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x fem reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #hotch fanfic #hotch fanfiction #cm fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner angst #hotch smut #hotch x reader angst #aaron hotchner x reader angst #hotch hurt/comfort #Spotify

[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner x Camgirl Reader PART 19

Part 18 is here

Spotify

Pinterest

Word count: 2k

Warnings: cursing maybe? This chapter is leading up to some big things y’all! Also, there’s a time gap. It’s been an entire year 🥹 alcohol consumption, briefly

Many many sunrises later

"Hotch, turn on your tv. Channel 54."

"The cooking channel? No."

I refused to watch anything to do with cooking shows since she'd left. I let my television schedule return to normal. Absolutely minimal unless Jack wanted to watch something.

"I'm serious. You'll thank me later."

Dave was already ending the call, so I humored him, flipping to the forbidden channel to take a small peek at whatever Dave wanted me to see.

"We're here at The Pink Palace, the bed and breakfast hotspot of the summer! This place has it all, folks! A spa on site, complete with hot tubs, pools, and a gym which is all available to use during your stay."

There was a montage of scenery, from a spiral garden maze to the massive spa with a public and private pool, Y/n's house was hardly recognizable.

"That's right, we're here with the owner who is completely booked for the summer season, but the restaurant here is open to the public year round. Let's take a look at some of the summer specials coming up for the season!"

And there she was, tan and glowing, doing an interview like she'd been coached to perfection. I couldn't believe my eyes. In a years time, she'd completely flipped her life around. I was calling Dave back, dumbfounded.

"Did you know?"

"I helped with the menu, Hotch."

I shook my head, rummaging through my closet for something nicer than usual to wear.

"Want to catch dinner there tonight?"

He chuckled, silence filling the line as he contemplated my offer.

"I suppose I could call and see if she has a table for 2 available for 6."

3 hours. I could wait three hours.

I hadn't seen her since that morning at the hotel. Sure, Penelope mentioned her sometimes, but she offered no real details about the last year of her absence.

"What should I wear?"

"She was expecting this, you know." Rossi's voice cut through my reminiscent thoughts, and I should have known. I hadn't moved on. I wouldn't. She was it for me, and when she left, I returned to my shell.

She blossomed without me. She found her whole life in a year, who she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. I was curious as to when she made the decision, and why. Honestly, I just wanted a glimpse of who she was in real life now, and not on the goddamn television.

"I'll be ready at 5."

"We can take a tour of the place. I know the owner."

✨✨✨

"I asked for peonies, Clarice. Why are you in my face with lillies?"

Clarice had a permanent scowl on her face as she buzzed around the dining room, trying tirelessly to swap bouquets around as you made your annoyance known. You wanted opening night to be perfect. After the camera crews left for the day, you did a quick outfit change; a deep cut baby pink dress with big puffy sleeves and matching pink shoes. It was the same color as the house, and the flowers you'd ordered specifically for this occasion.

"They delivered these too. What do I do with them, dear? Send them to the spa? It could use some sprucing," she said optimistically, waiting for your approval. You told her whatever she wanted to do was fine and took a peek at the crowd forming outside the restaurant. They were mostly reporters, all waiting on the cutting of the ceremonial ribbon for photos to commemorate your little slice of Victorian history that would now live on forever.

Who you had hoped to see in the crowd was waiting patiently with Dave, and that made your heart skip a beat before you composed yourself. It had only been a year, but you promised yourself if he showed up wanting to talk, you would listen.

"4:55, dear. Want to head out there? You'll do wonderful, I just know it."

Your relationship with Clarice had taken a dramatic turn since you started the Pink Palace. Now that your life had direction, without your internet career to keep her bitter, she was much more tolerable. In fact, she'd been your number one supporter throughout the entire process, helping you with permits, contracts, and interior decoration.

"I'm heading that way. Wish me luck."

"I would, but you don't need it."

✨✨✨

Her dress fit her body like it was tailored just for her. She hadn't changed much in a years time, but the subtle differences were there. Her hair was a bit longer, skin shiner from the glow of the radiant sun. She looked like she hadn't missed a sunrise in her life.

She kept her speech short and sweet before cutting the pink ribbon and letting in the horde that had gathered out front. Once she had the line and host stand situated and flowing smoothly, she was making her way towards Dave and me.

"I'm glad you guys could come," she sounded genuinely happy to see us, and I was overjoyed to see her. It had been too long. After she left, she'd changed her phone number, any trace of her was gone and I had no one to blame but myself. I didn't even see her moving her stuff. It was like one day she was in my bed and then poof—gone. I spent the first week so drunk I couldn't walk, canceling plans and reservations I'd made for us when reality set in that she was, in fact, gone. I knew I deserved to feel like shit; it was a more than massive lie. But with her here now, smiling at me like she wanted to reach out and hug me, I felt a strange shift in the universe.

"This is all incredible. You've done an amazing job," I told her, my cheeks sore from the dopey grin I wore. The harder I smiled, the more she turned her body towards me and away from the crowd.

"Thank you. Dave helped. Clarice and a team of others too. Denise handles all of my public appearances, so there's a lot of credit due," she replied, cheeks heating up at my words. Cute girl. She was blushing like crazy.

"Don't be so humble. Her mansion is right across the field from mine," Dave bragged about his new neighbor and she rolled her eyes playfully, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Mine isn't nearly as impressive, and I have Clarice to thank. It was a gift for getting my business degree. I actually had the business license and the permits before I had the degree, but I managed to get it in like, ten months."

She'd been on a roll since she left, and I couldn't have been more proud of her. She was the true definition of success and it quite literally dripped from her aura.

"I told you, when you decide what you want, it'll all fall into place."

She nodded at Dave's statement before she directed her attention towards me.

"Come find me after dinner and I'll give you guys a tour," she said, giving us a small wave as Clarice pulled her towards a flock of reporters. We were seated and I marveled over it all, sitting down and letting the reality sink in that she'd made all of this possible.

"She's incredible," I muttered, watching her answer question after question, a dazzling smile never leaving her face. Occasionally she'd glance in my direction and I let her catch me staring. I wanted her to know everyone, including me, thought she was the star of the show. I couldn't take my eyes off her, gravitating towards her throughout the duration of our meal. No matter how interesting the conversation with Dave was, I'd spot her in the crowd and like a magnet, I'd get stuck on watching her.

"Well, that was exquisite. But I'm skipping the tour. I think you two have a lot could catch up on."

He paid the tab and I sat for a moment before going to the bar, grabbing two glasses of her favorite wine and taking one last deep breath. I knew exactly where she was, and she'd just excused herself from the conversation she was in as if she had been waiting for me all along. I wasn't sure what to expect from her; she clearly wanted to see me on what was am enormous night for her career, and that was special.

If she planned to be rude, reject me again, the smile on her face as I made my way to her gave no indication. It was like no time had passed, and my tunnel vision was blinding as her satin dress clung to her body gorgeously.

"Hi," I barely heard her over the chatter of the full dining room, everyone laughing, enjoying the one of a kind experience she had to offer. She accepted my glass gratefully, clinking her own against mine before she took a satisfying sip.

"Hi."

Just like that, I didn't know what to say. She sucked the wind out of me and all of my vocabulary along with it. Everything came rushing back all at once, the nostalgia enough to nearly knock me over. I knew she felt it too by the way she clutched her glass with both hands, as if to ground herself. Gravity had a way of pulling and tugging us back together, and I prayed that was the direction gravity had planned for us.

"Now that you're here, I'm not sure what to say, Aaron."

I nodded, taking another sip of my wine. I was nervous, terrified. My brain was buzzing with a million racing thoughts. I wanted to apologize but I didn't want to dampen her evening with sadness. I wanted the entire night to be about the recognition she deserved.

"We don't have to talk about anything. But I would like a tour, if the offer is still open."

She nodded, offering me her arm. I hooked mine through it and let her show me everything, from the garden that they used for the dishes in the restaurant to the massive spa and the areas she hoped to expand on. She showed me blueprints and schematics in her bright pink office, and let me see the entire bed and breakfast. Each room was completely unique, offering an individual experience every time you stayed. She had plans to expand it too; eventually turning into a hotel that could accommodate up to 300 people comfortably. Clarice would call her if any issues arose, but the night had went smooth and mostly quiet. It was nearly time for the sun to set. We could see it through the giant bay window in her office.

"How does it feel to have a segment right before James Ricci?"

"He, uh... He came here, actually. Last week. Dave and I finalized the menu Monday and he helped."

I'm sure I looked as stunned as I felt. She'd managed to get everything she ever wanted and I missed it all.

"How was it? How did you feel for your childhood favorite to be in your own restaurant?"

She was leaning on the edge of her desk and I was right in front of her, staring up at her like a lovestruck fool.

"You were the first person I wanted to call and tell about it. But it's been a long time. I didn't want to just call—"

"You can though, you can call me whenever you feel like it. I've gotten a lot better about answering the phone."

She gave me a sad, soft smile before releasing a shaky breath.

"I didn't think I'd have to do this because I didn't think you would come. I promised myself if you showed up, we would talk—if you want to talk to me."

"You want to talk to me about something else?"

She nodded, her lip pulled between her teeth in frustration. It shouldn't have been so erotic to me, but it was.

"I do. But not here. Do you have plans later? I have to make sure everything goes as planned here tonight but if you'll be up later..."

I'd be around at 2 AM if that's when she wanted me to meet with her.

"Just tell me when and where."

#hotch x camgirl #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #ssa hotchner #sugar daddy hotch #hotch x fem reader #aaron hotchner fandom #aaron hotchner fanfiction

[ssahotchnerr]

👉🏼👈🏼 is it ok to request a fic where jack starts trying to take care of the reader the way he sees his dad does? like maybe hotch is away from a case and reader gets sick or sad or idk, so jack takes it upon himself to be there for reader? like maybe he even starts referring reader with the same pet name hotch calls her? tysm!

like dad does

aw 🥹 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of sickness, fluff <3

you awoke with a gentle start; a trail of cold water trickling down the side of your face, pooling vaguely in your ear.

likewise, a more concrete sensation was set on your forehead - a cold compress. most likely a washcloth, and one that hadn't been wrung out too much at that.

but it was relieving, a delightful contrast from your burning forehead.

"oops," a small mumble came directly from your left ear, as well as a soft exhale of a breath. "sorry."

"jack?" you muttered, rather drowsily. you forced your eyes open, finding jack's sweet, concerned face beside you. "what're you doing?"

"i'm taking care of you." he explained softly, his tone so nonchalant as if it were the most obvious and simplest thing in the world. he reached forward, adjusting the top of the blanket that was draped overtop you. "like dad does. he put the washcloth on you yesterday, you 'member?"

he was right; you were on day two, maybe three? of a nasty bout of the flu. quite honestly you didn't know what day it was, they all blurred together, and your scattered sleep schedule didn't help. you offered him a nod.

"thank you." you gave him a small, closed mouth smile. if it weren't for the germs, you'd reach out to touch his cheek. you sat up a bit from your position in bed, your voice hoarse. "where is your dad?"

"a meeting."

your eyebrows furrowed, the facial movement burning your sinuses. "he's home?"

jack nodded, "he's in his office, but he said it might take a long time. so that's why i'm helping you feel better."

his face brightened a bit, as if a realization struck him. he reached into his pant's pocket, retrieving a few cough drops he had shoved in there, dropping them onto your blanket covered chest.

"i'm sorry i can't make you soup." jack apologized, solemnly as his shoulders dropped. "but i'm not allowed to use the stove."

your face softened, the weak smile resurfacing. "that's okay bud, don't worry. you can help dad make some later when he's done, how 'bout that?"

he nodded enthusiastically, before hoisting himself onto your bed.

"hey no no no, i wouldn't," you protested gently, your heart also melting at his action. "i don't want you getting my germs."

"if i get sick i get sick." that's the same thing aaron had said, multiple times, when he insisted on getting into bed with you earlier. jack scooted somewhat close, staying mainly on his father's side of the bed.

"and if i get sick, i don't need to go to school."

you laughed softly, but finding yourself too weak to argue, you did the only thing you could - go right back to sleep.

it was restless; you were in and out of slumber, and could roughly process jack getting up here and there - solely due to the distant sensation of the washcloth leaving and returning to your forehead, dampened once more.

and once aaron's meeting had ceased, he went in to check on you, and was pleasantly surprised, and touched, to see jack accompanying you.

you were out, with jack diligently watching over, while also keeping himself busy - his sketchbook and colored pencils were scattered amongst the bed.

"how's it going?" aaron asked him from the doorway, the door producing a sharp creak as he pushed it forward a tad.

"good. i brought cough drops, the washcloth, and made sure she got lots of rest. just like you did." jack continued to draw as he spoke, before his head shot right up. "can we make soup?"

"sure buddy," aaron nodded, a tinge of pride pulling at his heart. he tilted his head towards the hallway, and jack immediately scrambled off the bed. "c'mon."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

[mrs-weasley-reid]

Suit Jacket

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

part 2 | Invitation Letter

Summary: Aaron Hotchner seems to love his suit jacket on you.

Warning: Nothing besides a few curses (I think)

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This was also sitting on my drafts for almost a year and barely proofread, so I apologize for the errors.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Sunday, March 11, 2:04 AM

"Thanks, unibrow." You grinned drunkenly, smiling at your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, as you collapsed in the cab's backseat. His suit jacket kept you cozy and covered like a cocoon while you comfortably giggled at the applied inside joke of his new nickname.

With Penelope's constant peer pressure, your inhibition has reached rock bottom eleven shots, five cocktails, and two whiskey glasses ago. You downed liquor like water, easing your stiff shoulders.

Aaron only stared at you with the same impassive face he had and shut the door before the cold caught you. He hunched in front of the driver's window, "This woman is a federal agent, and if something happens to her, I'll hunt you down. Please, drive her home safely." He straightened back up, casually tapping the vehicle's roof.

The cab took you away only after Aaron snapped a picture of the cab's plate number. He sighed as the vehicle slowly disappeared from his line of sight. He twisted on the balls of his feet, met by his other children, agents drunkenly calling his name.

Tuesday, March 27, 10:14 AM

You scurried out of the elevator, weaving through the sea of agents in the bullpen and then to the conference room where everybody was already settled in.

"So sorry! There was this son of a b—" You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, clenching your fists. Then, you exhaled profoundly with a calm smile at the end. "I got in a car accident. Go on, Pen. Sorry for interrupting." You took a seat between Aaron and JJ.

JJ turned to you, "Are you okay?" Her hand gently landed on one of yours, giving you a worried squeeze.

You gathered a smile and raised a thumb, "Thick skull and strong bones. Nothing can break me, not even this unsub... whoa—" Your eyes widened a bit.

How ironic for your case to be about an unsub who performed a craniotomy on the victims. You smiled awkwardly, the similar tight-lipped smile that Spencer would always plaster on his face.

The other agents coughed a chuckle at your reaction while Penelope continued the debrief with the same horrified look.

Upon listening to the case details, you slowly felt colder, subtly rubbing the sides of your shoulders. You were so caught up in your anger towards the guy that rear-ended you you could've sworn your body was overheating. You left your blazer somewhere and were sure it wasn't in your wrecked car.

"Alright, wheels up in 30," Aaron announced, sending everyone to get out of their seats and grab their go bags and snapping you off your trance in the process.

You rushed to collect your file copy and headed for the door but halted when Aaron called you. You pivoted on your heels, "Yes?"

He was taking off his jacket, handing it to you as soon as it peeled off his body.

"I don't think dry cleaning your suit is part of my job description, Sir." You kidded as you stared at his black jacket.

Aaron rolled his eyes. It was so rare that you had to blink twice to ensure you didn't have a concussion from your minor car accident. "You're cold." He wasn't asking, plainly stating your slight predicament.

Your eyebrows knitted, mouth slightly opened. And as if the universe was mocking you, a sudden draft slapped you in a shiver. You snatched his jacket and mumbled a small thank you.

As you walked out of the conference room, teasing eyes bore holes into your being. Each BAU team member's narrowed brows held you captive, and their loud thoughts rang in your ears. You ignored all of it, though, taming your anxiety with the warmth of Aaron's jacket.

Wednesday, April 13, 1:37 PM

"Garcia, look for old cases with one young boy as a survivor." Aaron started, listing each task that everyone was to complete.

You were so focused on the case that your next movement caught you off guard.

Your back snapped straight from the slap of Minnesota air. It was brief. An officer merely opened and closed the door, but your body was nowhere near as warm as it was a few seconds ago.

The warmth of cotton fabric soon hugged your shoulders, along with the momentary weight of Aaron's hands, before he fully let go of his suit jacket.

He continued talking as if what he had just done was normal or anything close to casualty, "Morgan and Reid, try speaking with the victim's family one more time."

Emily exchanged looks with JJ, conversing silently while you obliviously sipped your coffee.

Friday, May 2, 5:04PM

"Capital O-M-G!" Penelope squealed, drumming on your shoulders as soon as she came close.

"Garcia, breathe," JJ gently placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders, modeling a regular breathing pattern.

Emily gave you a look as she sipped her coffee, which you returned with a shrug. Penelope was ever so eccentric. You've gotten used to it over the years you've been with the team.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm good. Just that— I was— Ugh! Look!" Penelope shoved her phone in your face.

You saw a blinding blur, forcing out a sarcastic, "Wow! I can definitely see."

Luckily, JJ took it to herself to pull Penelope's phone away from messing up your eyesight and looked at the image plastered on the screen. A smirk immediately covered her lips, "Oh."

"What is it? Let me see—" Emily walked behind JJ. Her jaw dropped not long after. "Anything you want to tell us?" She cooed as she gave you the widest grin she had ever flashed, at least for that morning.

Your eyebrows clashed, and your forehead creased, "Whatever are you on about?"

"You're telling us nothing's happening between you and a guy?" Emily's grin only widened. You wondered how wide it could get, terrifying you in the process.

JJ flipped the phone to your end. The brightness of the screen stung your eyes a bit. "Want to explain this?"

Photo: It looked like the picture was cropped because you saw Derek's arm around you, but he was nowhere to be found in the image. Aaron's jacket was around your shoulders while he was behind you, glaring at Derek's arm.

"What about it?" The confusion was solid in your voice. However, you had a bit of an idea of what the three of them were insinuating.

Penelope stepped closer to you, "Uhuh, sure," she started as she zoomed in on the picture. "You're telling me you can't see Hotch's jacket on your shoulders, let alone Hotch glaring at my chocolate thunder?"

"He let me borrow his jacket because I was cold. Doesn't he always do that with everyone?" You innocently asked, looking at each one of them.

"Still doesn't explain him glaring at Derek." Emily chimed in a teasing tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your eyes widened, "You think Hotch was mad at me because I took it? He offered it to me, and I was cold. You think he was just being polite or?"

Penelope rolled her eyes and aimed her fluffy pen at you, "You oblivious profiler! He's jealous!"

"Uh-no," You chuckled.

"You don't believe me? Look at this."

Photo: This photo was older than the first one and might've been your third or fourth year with the BAU team. It seemed like all of you had just ended a case. You were snuggled on the couch on the jet. Aaron was draping his jacket over you.

"Who took that picture?" You queried.

Penelope raised her hand, "I was going to check in on everyone, then the camera spotted it, and I took a screenshot because I couldn't help myself. I was going to tease you about it but forgot for a very, very, very, very long time until I saw that picture from our last team night out." She wiggled her eyebrows, a playful smile on her lips.

"Looks like our boss has a favorite," JJ sang softly, looking at you with a knowing smile.

Emily nudged you, noticing the blush on your face. "You've gotta admit that's very sweet of Hotch. I think he likes you wearing his jacket." She teased, poking your sides.

"He does that to everyone, though," You reasoned. If you recall, he had offered his jacket to many people before.

"Nope, no!" Penelope shook her head vigorously with a tight lip. "He offers it to some but gives it to you."

"We had a case where it was biting cold outside. Hotch offered to help me if I needed a jacket. I said no because of politeness and shit, but he didn't insist. He didn't even offer his jacket. He offered to give me time to return to my room and grab my jacket." Emily grimaced, obviously still holding a grudge regarding the incident.

"I've known Hotch for years. Giving out his jacket was only for emergencies. If it's the only choice he had. We've had cases where a victim was a little too exposed, and his solution was to wrap them with the newspaper he conveniently found." JJ exclaimed, sorting the manila folders on her chest.

You gave it some thought and considered every possibility, but you shook your head. "He's just being nice because he's my boss. Plus, I'm still a bit tense around the team." You straightened yourself, fixing your top.

Emily cackled, "Getting flat-out drunk with us is definitely you still a bit tense around us."

"You know what I mean," You defended, blushing.

The three exchanged looks and shrugged. If you wanted to turn a blind eye, then it was your choice. But they had a perfect theory and tried to test it out.

Aaron was heading to the elevator as you exited the bullpen. The three of them grinned.

"Going for girls night?" Aaron quipped, raising his eyebrows.

JJ frowned, "We were, but she's feeling sick. I think the cold's getting to her." She gave you a pitiful hug.

Your eyes blew wide, jerking your head behind you where the other two stood with maniac grins. You knew what JJ was doing. It didn't take a second for you to figure it out. And as if luck was on their side, the elevator dinged.

You followed their figures as they piled in in the lift. You glared at them, but Emily focused on the man beside you.

You gazed at Aaron and were met with his jacket stretched out to you. Your mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"It's cold outside this time of night. You'll feel worse if you don't layer up." Aaron cleared his throat, "Take it."

You reached for his jacket so slowly that he took it in himself to wrap it around your shoulders. "Thank you," Your voice quivered, hesitantly stepping inside the elevator.

He followed, standing beside you. You could feel the three devils behind you, preparing yourself for their constant teasing.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Aaron was holding his breath in the hopes that none of you would notice his blushing ears.

Monday, May 16, 8:12PM

The entire day has been a drag. Besides the unsub being disgustingly great at hiding his tracks in the safety of your local area, your stomach had been giving you the worst time of your life.

Later in the evening, in Aaron's orders, everyone was sent home to get some rest and start fresh the next day.

You were thankful. You needed to rest from all the stomach-emptying vomit you did in the restroom. Your acid reflux was having a field day and didn't let you get a breath. You practically lived in the toilet. You even had to call Derek and ask him to put you on speaker so you could contribute to finding the unsub. Luckily, they didn't question it.

Emily retracted away as she exited your hug, "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home? We practically live in this building. I don't think they'd mind you leaving your car here for a night."

A warm smile brightened your drained face, "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for the offer." You bid her one last goodbye before heading to your own car.

Your head was down as the day's exhaustion finally caught up. Your senses were off. You walked as if time stopped. You wondered if you should've taken advantage of Emily's offer.

With your loud thoughts and vulnerable senses, a heart attack almost killed you when a sudden cage of warmth engulfed your body. For a moment, your body wanted to fight, but it didn't take long for you to remember the familiarity of this warmth.

"What took you so long?" His voice was gentle and comforting enough to put you to sleep immediately.

You looked up at Aaron, who refused to unwrap his arms around you, "I didn't know you were waiting. I thought you went home already. Isn't Jack waiting for you? It's movie night."

Aaron smiled, "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked. Captain Jack's orders."

You couldn't help but smile as well. He held the door for the passenger seat before jumping to the driver's seat. As you watched him go around, you noticed his scent lingered on your shoulders.

Aaron placed his jacket on yours.

"You ought to be careful," A chuckle passed your lips, "The gals are onto you."

"Why?" Aaron looked at you with a confused expression. His face made you giggle. The genuineness of his expression made you wonder his reaction if you had said the same thing two years ago.

A grin glistened on your face, "They say Agent Hotchner has a crush on me." Your voice danced with playfulness.

Aaron copied your grin and shrugged, "I'm surprised they haven't figured it out after all these years." He turned his body to face you, "So? Do you like him back?"

If only the BAU team knew how their unit chief, the SSA Aaron Hotchner, was a lot friskier than they perceived him to be, Aaron wouldn't last a day from all the teasing.

Then you wondered how the BAU team would react if they found out you and Aaron have been dating for the past two years and successfully kept it a secret from everyone except Strauss and Rossi.

Or the number of questions you'd be bombarded with when they learn that you recently moved in together with Aaron and Jack. You knew well enough that the ladies would be interrogating you like a serial killer.

You shrugged, "I heard he's got a fiancée." You fished the necklace well hidden under your shirt. A golden ring band shaped like vines with an oval-cut blue moon diamond dangled on the chain.

"Yeah..." Aaron held your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, "You wouldn't want to be in the way of that." He smiled widely, an ever-loving expression you indulged yourself with for the past two years and soon... for a lifetime.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #criminal minds #criminalminds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #cm #ssa aaron hotchner #ssa hotchner #fem!reader #x reader #x female reader #character x reader #hotch #aaron hotch fluff

[greg-montgomery]

Texting bf's dad hotch by accident when you're drunk and trying to get your bf to pick you up...

this idea >>>>

also aaron has another son besides jack in this

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

They were just a few margaritas. You didn’t expect a casual girl’s night to turn into a pounding headache and a room that was spinning around you.

It was fun and your friends wanted to stay longer, but your upset stomach would not let you enjoy the rest of your night. You were more than ready to get out of there.

“I’m gonna ask my boyfriend to come pick me up,” you told your friends, who seemed a bit too drunk to process your words.

As carefully as you could, you made your way outside the bar, and took your phone out of your purse. Going through your contacts you stopped when you spotted your boyfriend’s name.

‘Babe can you come and pick me up? I can’t drive’

You hit send, and right after, you shared your location with him.

‘I’ll be there in 20.’

Oh.

That was it? No whining? No scolding you for drinking too much? No complaining about you being an inconvenience?

It was a full moon; maybe he was going through some kind of transformation.

You closed your eyes for a bit and rested your head against the wall. The minutes would simply not pass fast enough. I’m never drinking again, you thought.

Your phone buzzed in your hands and a new message flashed across the screen.

‘I’m here.’

You were ready to lift your head and search for his car, but your eyes were glued on the contact name that appeared above the text you had just received.

It didn’t say Mark. It said Mark’s dad.

No way, you thought. No way, I asked Aaron Hotchner to come pick me up from a bar because I’m wasted.

But that was exactly what you had done.

The word embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions you were feeling at that moment; especially as you watched him get out of his car and walking towards you.

Why did he have to look so good? As if drunk texting him wasn’t embarrassing enough, he had to look like a god in a suit that cost more than your monthly rent.

‘Mr. Hotchner,” you said, when he approached you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to text you. I wanted to text Mark, but I got confused and God…I’m so, so dizzy.”

 His expression stayed serious, but he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let’s get in the car.”

Aaron opened the door for you and held your hand so you could get inside. You expected him to close the door but instead he leaned over you and fastened your seatbelt for you.

Your heart started jumping around at the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his face so close to yours. You weren’t proud of it, but Aaron Hotchner was your forbidden desire. And the star of more dirty dreams than you’d ever dare to admit.

His thick fingers brushed against your stomach as he made sure that your seatbelt was tight enough to keep you safe.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm your body down.

“Are you alright?” he asked, softly.

His deep voice was the cherry on top that had you melting on your seat.

“Yeah,” you answered weakly. “Just dizzy.”

He closed the door and made his way to the other side, and soon he was on the driver’s seat.

There was a small water bottle in the cup holder and he picked it up. “Here,” he offered, “Have some water. It’ll help.”

“Thank you,” you said taking it from his hands, and shivered at the contact when your fingers brushed.

The bottle was half empty which meant he already had some of it before you. He had wrapped his lips around it; around where your lips were now.

You devoured any water that was left and realized how bad you needed to get hydrated. “I needed that.”

“I can tell,” he laughed. “Come on,” he added, and started the car. “Let’s take you home.”

“Were you asleep?”

“Hm?””

“When I texted you. Did I wake you up?” you asked with a worried tone.

“I rarely sleep, honey. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You pressed your thighs together at the sound of the pet name and the sight of his hands around the wheel.

“Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said. “You needed me.”

“I did,” you said, breathless. “Mark would…”

You paused.

“Go on.”

You hesitated. “He would have probably told me to call a cab.”

“He’d let his girl get in the car with a stranger in the middle of the night? When she’s drunk?”

“Sometimes he gets upset with things like that. And, listen, I get it. I can be trouble sometimes.”

“Oh you can be,” Aaron said. “But not for the reasons you think.”

“What do you mean?”

He ignored your question, but it didn’t take too long before he spoke again.

“I’m gonna have a word with him. He’s not treating you well.”

“No, please don’t.”

The only thing that talk would achieve would be Mark getting upset with you.

There was a long pause, and you took advantage of the silence to stare at him. His side profile, his hands, his arms. He was perfect.

‘I wish Mark was more like you,” you said before thinking any better.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I could say way worse.”

He chuckled. “Unless you want both of us to get in trouble, don’t.”

“But-”

Aaron reached out to hold your hand, making you go quiet. “You’re drunk. But what I do want you to know is that I’m always here, okay?”

“Okay.”

He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go the entire ride home.

part 2

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch 🪐 #ask

[ynscrazylife]

i need to be excused (aaron hotchner x wife!reader)

summary: yknow that scene where hotch says “excuse me” and then faints? imagine that but his wife does it to him.

Having a profiler for a husband gets annoying with how observent he is. Unfortunately, you’re also a profiler, so it’d be hypocritical to complain.

Still, when Hotch notices the slightest thing wrong, he latches onto it. He’s had his eye on you ever since you took a hard hit from a fight in the field. You barely had time to recover before the team had to board the jet again to respond to some emergency Strauss needed them for.

Apparently, a man who claims to be linked to other murders and who was a former BAU agent had made a threat against Strauss’s family. Finally back at the BAU, the team’s stuck calling people, making arrangements, going through endless paperwork to try and get more information and figure out what was going on.

You’re not doing so hot. Still reeling from the pain, but also exhausted and definitely moody. Hotch keeps it professional since they’re at work, but is still watching out for you.

Hours later, after correctly identifying the man and making the arrest (which included lots of running around), the team again returns to their base. They’re going through everything and debriefing next steps, when you abruptly stand.

“I need to be excused for a moment,” you say, already sounding breathless, before promptly keeling over and collapsing onto the floor.

For a second, everyone freezes in shock. Hotch is the first to react. He all but screams your name, dropping to his knees and trying to assess what’s going on.

“Honey, honey? C’mon, wake up. What’s going on? Sweetheart, please,” Hotch says as he shakes you, moving you so that your head is in his lap.

Spencer kneels on your other side, gently taking your pulse and reporting that it’s stable. “Could be exhaustion, dehydration . . .” He trails off, listing all the reasons he can think of.

Hotch uses one hand to run his fingers through your hair and the other to cup your face, lightly tapping your cheek. After nearly a minute of the team standing around, wondering what to do, your eyes start to flutter open.

“Aaron?” You mutter, seeing your husband’s eyes first.

“Hi, hon. You passed out. I need you to tell me how you’re feeling,” he says, keeping his voice soft but letting out a breath of relief now that you’re awake. He continues threading his fingers through your hair and rubs his thumb against your cheek.

You blink a couple times and then say, “Tired.”

Exhaustion, then. “You’re sure that’s it? Is anything else wrong?” Hotch asks, anxious to role out some underlying cause.

You nod, then grimace at the lightheaded feeling it gives you, turning and smushing the side of your face in Hotch’s lap. He looks up at the team and gestures his head towards the door.

They get the hint, though Emily and Spencer do offer to stay behind and help. Hotch thanks them but assures them that you’ll be alright and the team takes off.

“Do you feel alright to sit up?” Hotch asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” you murmur and, with his help, sit up. You immediately lean into his arms. “Ooh, wow. Dizzy.”

“I think you pushed yourself a bit too hard, sweetheart. We gotta make sure you rest properly. Wouldn’t hurt to get some food and water in you, too,” Hotch says, cradling you.

You hum in agreement. The two of you sit there for a bit, Hotch being in no rush to move you. He can’t help but reflect a bit and he sighs, shaking his head.

“What?” You ask grumpily.

“Just a little in shock that you actually excused yourself before fainting,” he says. He recognizes the funniness of it, though he lacks any amusement, still too worried.

You chuckle. “Was tryin’ to be polite,” you explain.

“I’m sure you were,” Hotch says, smearing a kiss against your head.

You continue on sitting, Hotch rubbing your back. Finally, he gets the both of you on your feet, and leads you out to the car. He sits you in the passenger’s seat and buckles you in, driving you home. Once there Hotch immediately gets you in bed, helping you change into pajamas before doing the same. He gets you a glass of water and a snack, making sure that you eat and drink it all.

“Wanna sleep now,” you mumble once you’re done, curling into his chest.

“Of course, dear. Just relax,” he coos, already planning to call you both out of work tomorrow. He does not take his wife fainting lightly and is going to do everything he can to make sure you’re okay.

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