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murder-swan · 2 years

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When Everything Changes

Criminal Minds One-Shot

Summary: The case you realize that you are attracted to your Unit Chief.

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 4513

Warning: Criminal Minds related violence, mentions of sexual assault, cursing

A/N: I am turning this into a series of one shots that are going to follow the BAU!reader through life working with the team and falling for our favorite Unit Chief! These are going to be written as stand a lone one shots that can also be read together as a complete story.

I hope you enjoy this installment of my BAU!reader series! This one shot takes place before Coffee Break.

Masterlist

I hope you enjoy! Please like and reblog!

The elevator pinged as you hit the floor of the BAU. You had just had a much-needed weekend off, the last case had been rough on everyone, but you were ready to get back to work. You loved the work you did with the BAU. After dropping off your go-bag at your desk, you headed straight for the coffee maker. As ready as you were to get back to work, you never gave yourself enough time to make your coffee at home and being late was a big no-no in Hotch’s book.

When Hotch hired you six months prior, he had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t tolerate tardiness. When you had first met your Unit Chief, you had been intimidated to say the least. With his six-foot frame, broad shoulders, and stern dark eyes, who wouldn’t be? You had realized in the months since then that even though he was stern, he also had a big heart, and he truly cared for the team he led and the victims they saved.

Once you had your coffee in hand, you started on the reports that still needed finished from the week before. You were honestly surprised Hotch hadn’t gotten on you about them yet. Since the case from last week had been a tough and the reason for the team’s weekend off, you could only assume he was being more lenient because of it.

As you are working, Morgan came over and leaned against your desk.

“Hey, Mama. How was the weekend off?” he asked you, his arms folded across his chest. There was a time when you first started in the BAU that you would have admired his flexed arms, but you had realized that no matter how physically attractive Morgan was, you just didn’t see him that way.

“It was good,” you said, leaning against your desk. You decided not to divulge how bored you got by the second day; you had a hard time relaxing. You figured it was the constant going since being in the FBI academy that caused your restlessness, but you didn’t want to dig into that at the moment. So, instead you asked, “How was yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he told you with a wink, which you responded with a roll of your eyes and a giggle. Morgan flirting with you had been jarring at first, but you quickly realized that was part of his personality and he didn’t mean anything by it. The sound of a throat clearing jolted you and you turned in your chair to see Hotch standing there, a file under his arm.

“We have a case,” he stated, looking between you and Morgan. His jaw ticked and something flashed in his eyes that made you squirm. “We are meeting in the conference room.” When he turned to walk away and head up the stairs in front of his office, you could see how tense his shoulders were.

“Wonder what’s up with him.” Morgan stated as you both stared after him. You wondered the same thing. A feeling in your gut told you it was more than the normal stresses of the job, but you pushed the feeling away. You were sure it was nothing.

“Probably just stressed about the case,” you responded, rising from your seat you head up the stairs.

Morgan shrugged and followed behind you.

After getting the layout of the case, the team headed out to St. Louis, Missouri where there had been three bodies found in dumpsters throughout the city. You were one of the first to get on the jet other than Rossi, who was seated on one of the couches. After putting your go-bag up, you took a seat at the table, bringing out your folder on the case. You read through the folder while the rest of the team boarded the jet. You didn’t pay them much mind, too engrossed on the details of the case. There would be another discussion on the jet, and you wanted to be prepared for it.

As you are reading through the case, someone took the seat next to you. You looked up on reflex and saw Hotch settling in. Your eyes widen and your heartbeat picks up as you straighten. You mentally scold yourself for your reaction. It was just Hotch. Sure, he had acted weird earlier, but that didn’t mean it had anything to do with you. Especially since he voluntarily sat next to you. Hotch sometimes seemed extra stressed, for one reason or another.

Once the plane took off and your palms stop sweating, the team started to dig into the victimology. The three bodies that had been found were all women that lived low risk lifestyles, which made it more difficult to pin down where they could have been taken.

“The dumpsters were clearly just the dumpsite,” Reid said. “The wounds that were inflicted on the bodies would have involved copious amounts of blood loss and that wasn’t present where their bodies were found.”

“The unsub has to have a vehicle that can haul a body and make it relatively easy to dispose of,” JJ tacked on.

After discussing more details of the case, Hotch split up everyone.

“Reid, Morgan and Prentiss, check out the crime scenes and see if anything was missed. Rossi and JJ head to the M.E to see what was found on the victims. Y/N and I will head to the police station to meet with the sheriff and start on victimology.”

At the mention of you and Hotch being paired together, your heart rate picked up again. You were usually with Morgan or Reid, which is what you were expecting on this case. Getting paired with Hotch wasn’t out of the ordinary though, especially when you first started but it hadn’t happened in a while. That had to be why your heart rate picked up. You just weren’t expecting it.

You are silent for the rest of the trip to St. Louis, opting to stare out the window then turn and talk to Hotch. You knew you were acting weird, but you didn’t want the rest of the team to pick up on whatever was going on with you. The joys of working with profilers.

Upon landing, the team split up into the groups Hotch assigned and you got into the passenger seat of the SUV he had stated was yours, knowing he would insist on driving. The start of the drive is silent, except for the radio playing softly in the background.

“Are you okay?” Hotch broke the silence, causing you to jump. You turn and look at him, only getting his profile since he was still watching the road. You see his eyes drift to you for a moment before focusing back out the windshield.

Gulping, you answered him, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been quiet since we got on the jet,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

Great, you thought. I’m being obvious.

“I’m fine,” you answered, fumbling for a reason for how you had been acting. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You knew the explanation was a poor one, but you honestly couldn’t think of a reason you were acting so different. You usually would voice your opinions and observations during the team discussions and when that was done you usually would talk with the rest of the team. You keeping quiet and staring out the window when the discussion was done was definitely out of the ordinary.

In the six months that you had been working under Hotch, this type of reaction had never happened to you, and you weren’t sure where it was coming from. You hadn’t done anything wrong, that you were aware of, and working one on one with him shouldn’t send your heart into overdrive. Maybe you really didn’t get enough sleep.

Hotch’s jaw tensed at your reasoning, and you knew he didn’t believe you, but he nodded anyway. The rest of the drive to the police station is silent.

At the police station, you automatically started working on victimology while Hotch spoke with the sheriff heading the case. As you are pinning up pictures of the victims, you saw Hotch, and Sheriff Rodriguez walk into the room they gave you to use. Sheriff Rodriguez is an attractive man with black hair and dark eyes, but you can’t help but notice how Hotch almost looms over him. He has at least four inches on the guy. You started thinking about how much taller he is than you and how broad his shoulders are–.

You cut off that train of thought; shaking your head and whipping back around to the board you were working on. You don’t see what is on the board in front of you despite how wide your eyes are, your mind racing. What is wrong with you and the weird thoughts about Hotch? Maybe you do need to start getting more sleep. Or laid. Shaking it off as that, you continue working on the victimology.

Soon the rest of the team meets back at the station, and you are thankful the nothing else strange happened with Hotch before they got back. As everyone is discussing what they found at the dumpsite and the M.E, you are writing up on the board what is being discussed while adding in your thoughts as they come.

So far, the team had narrowed the unsub down to being male, there was sexual assault that signified that. He didn’t have any priors; they unfortunately hadn’t had a hit when they sent in for DNA. Given that each victim had marks around their wrists and the brutality in which they were killed and sexually assaulted, it was clear the unsub was a sexual sadist. While everyone was discussing what the victims had in common to try to narrow down where they could have run into the unsub, you moved from the board and went to take a seat at the table, since adding to the board wasn’t necessary now. When you turn to your right to take a seat next to Rossi, you run right into Reid, who you hadn’t seen get up from his chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you murmured, not wanting to interrupt the discussion at the table. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

You looked up to Reid, and see his cheeks are tinted pink.

“N–no,” he said hastily. “It was my fault; I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle quietly. “We’ll just say it’s both of our faults,” you told him before walking around him to sit down and rejoin the discussion.

After another thirty minutes, the team had a few theories to go off of that Hotch called Garcia to investigate and everyone took a short break to refill on coffee, while JJ went to order food. Looked like dinner at the station tonight. You headed straight for the coffee machine, even though you don’t have high hopes for the quality. Prentiss was already there pouring herself a cup. You went to stand next to her and grabbed a Styrofoam cup from the stack and waited for her to finish.

“One of these days, I’m not going to run on coffee,” she said with a light laugh.

You chuckled, “Yeah, I wouldn’t hold your breath.” You grabbed the coffee pot from her when she offered it. “I’m not.” She laughed at that as she put some sugar into her cup and mixed it in.

As you added sugar to your coffee, she spoke up again, “What was that with you and Reid earlier?”

You paused for a second after putting down the sugar, not grabbing the creamer yet and looked up at her with a confused expression.

“What are you talking about?”

She leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed, and her cup held up. She gestured to the conference room, “Your moment,” she stated. When you gave her a confused look she prompted, “When you ran into each other?” Still not getting it, she continued with a playful roll of her eyes. “Everyone saw the blush on Reid’s face. Something going on there?”

You sighed before turning back to your cup to add in creamer. You should have known. Ever since you had divulged in the information that you wanted a relationship with a good guy to Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia on a girl’s night out, the three of them had been trying to set you up. This was the first time one of them had mentioned someone on the team though.

Before you can come up with an answer that explained that you didn’t see Reid that way, that you saw him like a brother, she keeps going. “Reid is a great guy. He’s handsome and crazy smart.” She said, nudging you with her shoulder. “You guys are around the same age. You should give it a shot.”

You opened your mouth to tell her that you don’t think it’s a good idea to start a workplace romance, especially with a coworker you don’t see romantically, but before you can, Hotch walked up to the coffee station next to you and grabbed a cup. Not wanting to continue the conversation about work relationships in front of the boss she gives you a look that tells you that the conversation isn’t over.

“Think about it,” she said, before walking away.

You sighed, grabbing a stirring stick before sliding down so Hotch could get to the coffee maker. As he grabs the coffee pot, you glance up at him and you are surprised to see his jaw is tensed and the lines of his face are harsh. Almost the same look he got when he told you and Morgan about the case. You bring your cup to your lips to take a sip to try and think of something to say because your boss was clearly upset by something.

As he set the pot back down on the warmer, you said, “It’s mediocre at best.”

Hotch turned towards you with his cup in hand, electing not to add any cream or sugar.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows pulled together. Your glad to see some of the tension had melted away with the question.

“The coffee,” you answered. “It’s not the worst we’ve had, but it could be better.” You take another sip, and though you attest to your judgement to the coffee, it still warms your insides.

“Thanks for the heads up,” he replied, and to your surprise a small smile appears on his face before he turns and heads back to the conference room. You stand there for a second, almost dazed for some reason and your chest feels warmer even though you haven’t taken another drink of coffee yet. You shake off whatever had just come over you and look down at the cup in your hand.

“Maybe not mediocre after all.” You muttered, before taking another drink and following Hotch.

It took another day and unfortunately another body to turn up before the team narrowed down who the unsub was. Charles Davenport worked for the Forest Park service and every woman had a routine of going on morning runs through the hiking trails of the park. Once Garcia narrowed it down, everyone suited up in their bulletproof vests to head out to Forest Park, where he was supposed to be working an afternoon shift.

After everyone is prepared with their vests and earpieces, the team met in the lobby of the police station to go over the groups. The park was over a thousand acres and to cover that much space the team and police had to split into smaller groups. You were put into a group with Hotch, you opted to ignore your heart as it skipped a beat, and the two of you were taking part of the east side of the park. When the plan was laid out everyone headed outside to the SUV’s. You turned to head out with them talking to Prentiss, but Hotch interrupted you.

“Y/N, I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Your insides fluttered nervously, wondering what Hotch would want to speak with you about. You told Prentiss you’d meet her outside before turning back to Hotch. Standing in front of him, your thoughts drift back to when you had first started the case and you noticed how tall Hotch was. Now standing before him, you must tilt your head up to meet his eyes. Your insides fluttered again, but you aren’t sure if it’s because of nerves this time.

“What did you need to speak about?” you asked, when Hotch didn’t start right away. He looked away from your face for a second and you saw his chest rise in his vest as he took in a deep breath. He turned back to you.

“When we are out in the field, I want you to stay close to me,” he told you, his face and tone serious.

Your eyebrows pulled together, “Can I ask why?”

This time as he spoke, he kept his gaze on your face, but he didn’t meet your eyes. “You have not had to hunt down an unsub in this type of environment before, you will be surrounded by open spaces and a threat could come from any side,” he said. “Since this is new to you, I would prefer if you stayed close to me,” he sighed quietly enough you almost didn’t notice it before he pulled his eyes back to yours, “so you don’t get hurt.”

You couldn’t take your eyes away from his, for the reverent look in them pulled you in, as if you doing what he asked of you was of utmost importance to him. The look in his eyes is the only reason you didn’t fight him on it. You didn’t like being treated like you couldn’t handle yourself, but you knew that wasn’t his intention.

“Okay,” you murmured, your eyes still on his. “I will.” You must have stood there staring at each other for too long because Hotch broke whatever was happening between the two of you by looking away and clearing his throat.

“Let’s head out then,” he said, not looking at you as he walked around you to the front door. You hurried and followed him, there was a time crunch after all.

The ride to the park was short and didn’t give you enough time to truly process your conversation with Hotch, which was honestly a good thing. You headed out of the SUV once you arrived and you stayed close to Hotch’s left side, just like he asked. Your group headed east, while Morgan and Prentiss went west and Rossi, Reid, and JJ headed North. There were groups of police officers that filled in the gaps between your groups. Everyone had their guns out at their sides ready to raise them at a moments notice.

You and Hotch were silent for a while, the only sound the crunch of leaves under your feet as you both looked around, keeping your eyes and ears on anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly he took a step closer to you and leaned down slightly to murmur quietly in your ear.

“When looking for an unsub in an environment like this,” he started, “You always want to check behind you every few steps. That way you know if someone is sneaking up on you.”

You had looked up to him when he had leaned into you and had been startled by how close he was, causing your hands to sweat. His eyes were still on his surroundings as he instructed you and you would never admit that it took you a minute to process his words.

“That makes sense,” you whispered back, taking that moment to turn and look behind you, luckily seeing nothing out of place.

Hotch leaned back away from you, a comfortable distance away as you adjusted your grip on your gun, your palms sweaty. There was a slight hill in front of the you and as you and Hotch made your way over it, you heard a muffled scream. Both of you raised your guns automatically and pickd up your pace over the hill. Your first instinct was always to run but you had to know the situation first before you ran in guns blazing, that would only get you or someone on your team hurt.

Once over the hill, you spotted the unsub, Charles, and a woman dressed in work out gear. She was on her back, under him on the ground. Her arms were pinned beneath his knees as she struggled to free herself. He had one hand over her mouth, the other holding a knife to her throat. The scene made your throat constrict and your anger to flare as Hotch shouted out that the two of you are with the FBI.

Charles snapped his head towards both of you and his eyes widen in panic. He shifted, bringing the women up in front of him, using her as a shield with the knife still at her throat. Fucking coward.

“Drop the weapon, Charles,” you told him. “It’s over.”

You and Hotch hadn’t moved any closer, not wanting to trigger him.

“It’s not over until I say it is,” he said with false bravado. As hard as he was trying to hide it, you could see his panic in how his eyes shifted quickly between you and Hotch and heard it in the slight quiver in his voice.

“It is,” Hotch reiterated. “Let the woman go.”

Charles’ hand around his knife flexed and you and Hotch clocked it right away.

“Do you really want to test which is faster?” you asked him. “I’m betting on my bullet over your knife.”

He scowled but seemed to consider his options before he dropped the knife to the ground and raised his hands in the air. You and Hotch shot forward, he went for Charles while you went to comfort the victim. She was sobbing as you went to help her up, not holstering your gun until you were sure Hotch was good and the unsub didn’t have another weapon.

You called for back up while comforting the woman who was still trying to catch her breath. Hotch had started cuffing Charles, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.

“I wish I could have gotten to you first. You would have been exceptional,” he said.

You didn’t have time to be disgusted because Hotch shoved him to the ground and dug a knee into his back.

“Shut the hell up,” he growled, his eyes ablaze as he glared down at him. “You talk to her like that again and I will make sure you never see the light of day.”

A thrill shot through you at Hotch’s actions, his voice deep and venomous as he defended you and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. With his FBI vest and white button down accentuating his physique and tall frame. His hands as he shoves the unsub again and your mind shoots to what they would feel like on you.

Realization pours over your entire being; your already heated body grew hotter from embarrassment. I am attracted to Hotch. The weirdness that had been happening during this case. Your reactions to Hotch being close to you. Your pounding heart and sweaty palms. The feeling that went through you as he defended you. How had you not realized before?

The arrest went by in a blur as the rest of the team arrived and the unsub was taken away. The victim was treated for the scraps she had gotten in their tussle. You try and push away your thoughts of Hotch and your shock of discovering that you were attracted to him. You are standing by the ambulance as the victim got treated not wanting to leave her. Her husband had already been contacted and was on his way. As you stood there you glanced over at where Hotch was directing people. You watch as the authority seems to radiate from him.

Watching him now, you are surprised that you hadn’t noticed Hotch’s attractiveness before. His looks were one thing, he was clearly an attractive man, but when paired with his assertiveness in the field or how he handled the unsub when he insulted you. Just thinking of that warmed you. There was also his care and thoughtfulness when it came to his team and to the victims. You had seen firsthand how he had comforted victims and calmed them down during one of the worst moments of their life. He really was the full package.

You hadn’t realized you were still staring, your mind whirling, until Hotch looked up and caught you. You looked away quickly turning back to the victim to see she was almost patched up. You did, however, see him coming towards you from your peripherals. When he made it to you, you looked back up to him. You heart skipped a beat when your eyes met his and you hoped your thoughts weren’t written across your face. He tilled his head to the side, indicating he wanted to step away to have a private conversation.

Once you were a few feet from the ambulance, he asked, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically. From the look on his face, you knew you had answered too quickly. You sighed, “I’m okay, really.” And you were. You knew he was referring to the interaction the two of you had with the unsub but you mind wasn’t focused on that in the slightest. It was only on him. Your sudden realization that you were attracted to Hotch wasn’t that different to how you had felt first meeting Morgan and Reid. That attraction had melted away though when you discovered you saw them more like brothers and nothing more. You were sure the same thing would happen with Hotch. It just had to run its course and you would be over it soon enough.

“If you weren’t okay,” Hotch continued. “You could talk to us about it. You know that right?”

You nodded and murmured, “I know.”

Hotch gave you a tight-lipped smile and a small nod before turning to walk away. Your hand shot out on its own accord and latched onto his hand. He paused, turning back slightly, and glancing down at your hand on his before meeting your eyes. You dropped his hand automatically, but not before noticing how warm his fingers were in yours.

“Thank you for what you did back there,” you told him. “Defending me. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it none the less.” You noticed his eyes soften and warm causing your chest to feel fuzzy. You pushed the feeling away.

“Of course,” he replied. “Even with this job you should never be spoken to that way.” He gave you another small smile, just a pull of the corner of his lips really, before turning and walking away.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my work let me know!

Tagged: @wanniiieeee, @suhke3

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murder-swan · 2 years

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FUCK YOU DISNEY

Anyways, y’all better start saving your fave fanfics and fanart under the Disney labels cause it looks like they’re trying to curb fair use/fanworks and I’m sure there’s going to be mass panicked deletions even though it’s probably unnecessary cause AO3′s legal team will fight for us.

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murder-swan · 2 years

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Amazing, fantastic. Loved every second of it.

All Of Time And Space

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader x Twelfth Doctor

Word Count: 2974

Warnings: just the possibility of overdosing on cute

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Welcome to what I couldn’t resist! I have just recently started watching the twelfth Doctor for the first time and love him more than I thought I would. After an accidental time jump you find yourself thrown into the future

Prologue: The Dying Girl

Part 6: The Lost Shoes

Epilogue: The Vanishing Act

Finale: All Of Time And Space {You Are Here}

“(Y/N)?”

She closed her eyes and grinned so wide she knew her cheeks would hurt soon. She slowly turned around to face the nervous voice calling her name.

There stood the Doctor, bowlegged and strapping in his tweed. He wore a new bowtie in her favorite color. And held in his hand was a small velvet box. A deep tardis blue box. A ring box.

She took a shuddering breath, tears immediately welling her eyes. She felt a strange surge of energy tingle up her legs and through her spine. Probably just the shock of excitement.

“Hello,” he whispered, full of anxiety. But her earsplitting grin was making him feel better.

She was grinning, yes – but there was something about the nerves coursing her limbs. It was like her very veins were vibrating with static. Her brow began to furrow as the Doctor took a step closer.

“(Y/N)…”

Keep reading

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murder-swan · 2 years

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Ease My Mind

summary: When Bucky is drugged into a coma plagued with nightmares and his heart rate has risen to dangerous levels within his sleep, you are the last resort to wake him before his heart gives out. But you must enter his mind to do so; enter... his nightmares. pairing: bucky x psychic!reader word count: 11.4k warnings: canon level violence, a fun little memory lane down Bucky's trauma, mutual pining dummies in love a/n: the title for this fic comes from the song Ease My Mind by Ben Platt ✨

Help me leave these lonely thoughts behind When they pull me under, and I can feel my sanity start to unwind Darling, only you can ease my mind

The universe must have a sick sense of humor, Bucky decided. Cruel and vindictive and almost certainly biased against him. It was the only explanation for why he was currently strapped to a cold, unforgiving table at the heart of a Hydra base; arms restrained to his sides, bars pressed down over his chest, shackles on his ankles. Old, rusted metal cutting into his skin.

A faceless scientist casually slipped around the room, carrying a clipboard in hand as if he didn’t have the Winter Soldier himself rendered helpless on a table no different than the one Hydra had used to force the super soldier serum into his veins decades earlier.

An IV was embedded in Bucky’s right forearm, the tube slithering up a silver pole where a bag of pale blue dripped an unknown substance into his bloodstream. Bucky tried to stretch the aching pinch on the left of his neck from where the scientist sedated him, but found no relief. His eyes were growing heavier with every breath. His body working against him. Urging him to the comfort, the destruction, of his own mind.

“Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes,” the scientist hissed. He leaned over the edge of the table, intrigued by Bucky’s fight against his desperate need to slip to the unconscious. The mask over the man’s face gave no indicator of what lied beneath – whether his grin curved up as sinister and unnerving as the men who had ripped Bucky’s body to shreds and bore the scars on his shoulder that would never heal – but he could sense the evil lying in wait.

Where the hell is Steve? Bucky thought desperately, his gaze flickering to the open hallway. Begging for a shadow, a scuffle of footsteps, anything, but all that remained was silence. Cold, mocking silence.

“No one is coming for you,” the man snickered, catching Bucky’s hopeful glance at the door. “And I have such wonderful plans in store.”

The last remnants of hope fading from Bucky’s grip as the door sealed shut; locking him inside the room as his body betrayed him once again, as his mind sank deeper into the dark embrace of the unknown. As the scientist inched closer to him, holding a syringe high in the air while Bucky was helpless in its path.

Helpless. Helpless. Always so fucking helpless.

He didn’t even remember how he got caught. Didn’t remember the blow to the back of the head that knocked him out or the needle that sedated him long enough to be strapped to the hard press of a metal table. But he could feel the matted mess of blood at the nape of his neck, could feel the dull ache of a sedative in his bloodstream.

He knew Steve would come for him. The reckless kid from Brooklyn and Captain America himself – he'd come for his friend. Eventually. Bucky only hoped it wasn’t long after his body had grown cold and silent.

Because for once, Bucky had something he was hoping to get back to. A reason to come home. A cause to fight for each sunrise, to get through each tough day in search of a better one, to shut out the demons as they dug their claws into his chest in an attempt to drag him back to the shadows.

But his eyes were too heavy, the scientist snickering under his breath, and Bucky knew the second he gave in, he’d be done for. This man held no affection for the Winter Soldier. No interest in using Hydra’s greatest asset for his own gain. No – he sought to punish the man behind the soldier, to destroy what little was left of what Bucky had become in the wake of Hydra’s downfall. Bucky didn’t know whether it was vengeance or jealousy that motivated the scientist, but he knew it would spell his end.

There would be no mercy for the Winter Soldier. No forgiveness. No kindness in his death.

So, he held on as long as he could.

He held onto the memory of your face, of sunlight dancing over your features and the bright lines by your eyes while you smiled; to the gentle sweep of your hair over your nose and the slight huffed of an annoyed breath as you blew it away.

He clung to the first glimpse of a tender touch on his forearm, patient, asking, and how easily he’d accepted it, craved it, when it was your hand lingering so sweetly over him. Unafraid of the horrors his hands had caused, unafraid of him.

He drew on the comfort, the wash of relief, for each night he crept into your bedroom in the dead of night and you had simply pulled the covers down for him. No questions of the cold sweat on his skin or the skittish terror in his veins. You had allowed him to crawl in beside you without so much as a word and he’d count your breaths until sleep took him again. Safe. Always safe when he was with you.

He imagined a world where he might have told you how much he ached for you, how badly his heart beat when you walked in a room. He hoped that you might smile at him, that you might throw yourself to his arms and he might kiss you the way he’d so often dreamt of.

He held onto you as long as he could.

And then, Bucky fell prey to his nightmares.

***

You woke with a sharp breath – violent, painful, like the air had been ripped from your lungs. Sheets pooled around your waist, the cool touch of the air conditioner chilling the line of sweat on your skin. You set a shaking hand over your heart, nestling against the rapid pulsing underneath. Thunderous, aching beats. It was a struggle to draw in a full breath.

It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, not since Bucky had started seeing the therapist Sam had begged him to talk to, not since he’d learned to lean on his friends and the people who cared for him, not since he learned to sleep through the night from the comfort of your bed. Close enough to feel the dip of the mattress, but still – out of your reach.

You hadn’t even felt a glimmer of his nightmares in months, much less anything like this. It was like were on the verge of a panic attack, something worse than terror projecting under your skin. Not even in the early days of Bucky’s recovery before he’d learned to put up mental shields to spare you as much as he could from the demons in his sleep did they slither this deep into your psyche, grabbing such a vicious hold you could hardly tell the difference between his fear and your own.

But Bucky was supposed to be on a mission with Steve across the Atlantic. The lingering aftermath of his nightmares shouldn’t be able to reach you here. It shouldn’t be able to cross an ocean to you. Your power wasn’t strong enough for that.

It could always be someone else in the tower, you considered. Natasha, maybe. She always held such stoic grace in the face of her trauma, no one would be the wiser if she was plagued with nightmares when she slept.

But you could feel Bucky’s imprint in each shallow breath, could feel his presence in every shattered heartbeat. Too familiar. Too aching; infested with a terrible, devastating acceptance. Acknowledgement that this fear and this torture was deserved. This panic was his.

You’d spent enough nights restless with his nightmares, woken only by the stuttering pounding of your own heartbeat, to recognize Bucky’s pain when you felt it. You’d never managed a glimpse inside the horrors that plagued him, unwilling to cross a boundary he was not eager for you to witness. But you felt his fear within the dead of night worse than anyone else within the tower. Perhaps because he’d endured more than anyone else you knew. Or perhaps, because your connection to him ran deeper than either of you allowed yourselves to consider.

You swung your legs off the side of the mattress. If Bucky couldn’t find his way to you on his own, you’d go to him. All it would take would be a gentle coax of your hand along his spine, a glimmer of golden reflection under your palm to soothe the burden in his mind. Never seeking more than to ease the symptoms of the nightmare, to draw him into a gentle, dreamless sleep.

Just as your feet hit the ground, your bedroom door creaked open.

Steve appeared in the framing, a painstaking lack of surprise on his features to find you awake with the sheen of cold sweat on your skin and a trembling in your hands. Steve – with his pale blue eyes coated in ghosts of shame and remorse, with moonlight dripping over the lines of exposed muscle and open wounds where his tac suit had been shredded in combat. The aching question lingering within his silence.

“What happened?” you dared to ask, hands clutching to the edge of the bed. The thin straps of your nightgown slipped over your shoulders as your heart began to cleave in two. Blood dripped from the open cuts on Steve’s chest. “Where is he?”

“Here,” Steve was quick to respond, though it did nothing to lessen the panic rustling through your veins. There was no need to clarify who you spoke of. There was only one man who could cause such tremors in your grip, the slight waver of fear in your own that was entirely your own.

“He’s alive,” Steve added, brushing a tired hand through the short strands of unkempt blonde hair. There was no relief in his reassurance. His gaze fell to the damp stains of sweat on your gown, the sweat beaded on your forehead. “I know you can feel him, Y/n. The nightmares. I... I found him like this in Berlin. They put something in his blood; something to... induce it. He won’t wake up.”

Dread coiled deep into your stomach. “How long?”

“Hours. He should have woken up by now. His heart...” Steve exhaled a tense breath and whatever restraint, whatever energy held you paralyzed to stone upon your bed, shattered.

You lunged for your robe, wasting no time as you sprinted out into the hallway. Bare feet scrambling over the cold, hardwood floors as you raced to the med wing. You barely registered Steve following closely behind if not for the reflection of the shield still strapped to his back catching the florescent lights in the empty hallway. His shadow appeared on the wall beside yours.

When you got close enough to hear the faint echo of a whimper around the bend of the hallway, you nearly stumbled over your own feet. You caught yourself against the wall, devastation rattling deep into your bones. You’d nearly forgotten the sound – the cry that slipped past Bucky’s lips with nothing but the comfort of darkness surrounding him. It was worse than you remembered.

Steve set a hand on your shoulder, urging you to slow down, but your adrenaline was racing too much for that. You could hardly tell whether it was Bucky’s or your own.

You skidded to a stop in front of the only occupied room in the medical floor, hands catching on the hinges of the door.

Bucky was laid under the thin cover of cotton sheets, the fabric bunching around his waist with every movement. His hands were curled to fists, trembling. His legs shifting under the sheets, as if the stillness physically pained him. Muffled whimpers escaped his lips. The features that often rendered him years younger in his sleep were contorted – lower lip quivering, brows pinched tight, eyes squeezed shut. He tossed and turned; his breaths so shallow you were surprised he was able to draw in any air at all.

Your legs might have given out at the sight if you let them.

“We’ve tried everything.” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, not having noticed him standing in the corner of the room, still dressed in his pajama pants and a faded white t-shirt. His arms were folded tight over his chest, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his friend as he spoke. “Super soldier or not, his heart’s gonna give out if he keeps going like this.”

It was a struggle to suffocate the lump building in your throat, to swallow back the stone that threatened nothing but tears and agony. Your fingertips grazed over Bucky’s hand, trying to relax his grip. He wouldn’t budge. Still, you let yourself slid a hand along his arm in long, soothing strokes. Gentle as you could manage.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you said, though it was barely a whisper. You glanced up to the heart monitor hanging over Bucky’s head, the frequent peaks of each beat pinched close together on the screen. You turned back to Steve. “I’ll do what I can.”

A warm, ambered glow lit under your palm as you eased your hand along Bucky’s tense muscles. It sank down deep into his body, soothed every piece of him from rapid course of adrenaline in his bloodstream to the restlessness in his limbs. Gentle and kind and soft in its path. It usually took a few seconds before the murmuring stopped, before his breathing evened out again, and he stilled into a dreamless sleep. Just a few seconds.

But those few seconds turned into a minute. And then two. Three, as Bucky shifted franticly under your touch, his shaking only worsening with each passing moment. You concentrated the energy around his chest, both hands pressed above his heart, desperately willing his mind to release the hold it had over his body, to allow him just a moment of rest. Just rest. An ounce of peace. Please.

A tear slipped down Bucky’s cheek and your heart lurched at the sight of it, trailing over flushed skin, dampening into the sweat in his pillow. The amber light faded from your palms and you brushed your fingertips along his cheek – so impossibly soft he would not have awoken even if he were able. The ends of your fingers were wet when you curled your hand back against your chest.

“I don’t understand...” you murmured, voice trembling. There hadn’t once been a time you were not able to draw him gently away from his demons, to ease him back to sleep. It was the gift of your power – the kinder side of a psychic ability you never asked for. This ability to soothe such dangerous emotion.

“Whatever they injected him with must be keeping him trapped inside his head,” Steve said, the heaviness laced in his tone sinking with confirmation he’d been hoping to avoid. “I brought Dr. Cho a sample of it when we returned, but it could take hours – days, even – to break it down enough to find a stabilizing agent. Bucky won’t last that long.”

Your gaze shifted to the heart monitor and the mountainous peaks inching closer and closer together. That terrible, bright green line pulsing across the pitch-black screen – mocking you. You were grateful only for the beeping to be silenced. Sam must have turned it off before you arrived. It would have been relentless.

“Y/n,” Steve called, an aching plea in his voice.

You turned to him, to Sam. They were both watching you, barely able to meet your eye. Guilt sank into their features, tugged into the lines on Steve’s forehead, wrung as Sam’s hands as he shoved them into his pockets.

You knew what they were asking – the silent desperation behind it.

“No,” you managed to choke out, wiping tears from your eyes. “I can’t. I—I promised him.”

Steve swallowed, giving a short nod as he looked to his friend. He chewed at the edge of his lips, rendering them a raw and swollen pink. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” you whispered, tears slipping over your jawline, spilling onto the edge of the mattress. You gripped at Bucky's wrist, unable to open his fist to hold his hand. This simple gesture of comfort and you could not even offer him that.

It would be a violation beyond trust – to enter Bucky’s mind like this. At his most vulnerable, plagued by the very nightmares he’d spent years shielding you from to keep his demons from spilling out from behind the shadows and stealing him from the light – unwilling to allow his burdens to touch the little good he’d managed to hold onto. It was unforgiveable to bear witness to his greatest fears, to expose the darkest parts of him.

“Maybe,” Sam sighed, “but he’ll be alive.”

It was all that mattered to you – that he was safe. You wondered if Bucky would feel the same way.

“Okay.”

Steve pulled the simple folding chair up along the side of Bucky’s bed and gently ushered you to take a seat. You gave him a graceful smile, one that did little to hide the guilt quickly seeping into your pores. Steve barely returned it at all.

Bucky whined in his sleep, his lower lip trembling with every hollow breath he was able to draw in. His hands shook against the thin sheets, sweat beading on his forehead. Shivering and burning warm. You leaned forward, gently laying your right hand along the side of his face. Your thumb centered on his temple, his ear in your palm. The ends of your fingertips brushed into the short strands of hair behind his head and between the pillow.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered quiet enough only he might be able to hear you, if he even could.

With a deep breath, you allowed the warm amber glow to circulate through your veins – brightening the lines under your skin as it traveled from your heart to the ends of your fingertips. Spider-lines sprang from where your thumb met Bucky’s temple. Golden webs glistened under his skin. You glanced briefly at Sam, who only settled himself into the chair at the edge of the room, waiting, and then to Steve, who stood with one hand rested on his hip, the other on the edge of the desk, his body tense.

Then, you closed your eyes and gave into the pull of Bucky’s nightmare. You followed the rush of adrenaline, the panic. You walked the pathways lined in fear and distress. They led you closer to him, deeper into his subconscious until slow, a picture began to form. The endless comfort of darkness molding into something new.

Voices echoed from the abyss in a language you did not speak. When you looked around the darkness had subsided in favor of a long stretch of hallway with beige wallpaper peeling from the corners and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

It had been years since you dared to step foot in someone else’s dreams. You didn’t care to use this side of your power for a reason – it was disorienting, unnerving. Because the hallway led to nowhere but the crushing cold void, the only other space within existence was the room to your left. A room, you noticed with horrific realization, held a long metal table and operating tools.

The voices were getting closer. Their quiet mumbling in what you believed to be German grew louder with every step. But there was a low, dragging sound at their feet you couldn’t place. It was only as the first of the men came into view – the short, round face of a scientist you'd seen a dozen times in the federal archives – that your stomach began to drop.

Arnim Zola led the soldiers behind him with a clipboard in hand and terribly smug look upon his face. He adjusted the brim of his glasses as he turned past you without so much as a glance. He couldn’t see you, couldn’t even acknowledge your existence. He was only a figment of Bucky’s memory, of his own imagination. It would have to be Bucky’s attention you gained and his only in order to wake him up.

The soldiers filed in line into the room, but the dragging sound remained. You knew – deep down – what it was. The only thing that could make that terrible sound and the low, pained sounds that followed. Tears were already in your eyes before you saw him.

Barely conscious, his head lulled to the side as two soldiers dragged him by the straps of his jacket along the floor, a Bucky decades-younger than the one you knew left a trail of blood in his wake. His arm was freshly severed from the fall, his skin still blue from the snow. Blood soaked into his jacket, his pants, and left behind an awful stream of glistening red. Thick and oozing. You could smell the metallic sheen from where you stood.

“Bucky,” you whimpered his name, hardly able to use your voice at all.

The soldiers dragged him into the operating room, giving little kindness to his body as his right shoulder caught on the doorframe. They yanked him onto the table as if he were little more than a ragdoll and strapped him down. What remained of his left arm hung over the edge of the table.

You were shaking in the doorway, forgetting briefly why you were bearing witness to such a horrific memory to begin with. But when Bucky’s pained cries broke through his unconscious haze, you snapped yourself out of your paralyzed trance.

You rushed to him, sprinting through the soldiers who broke apart to clouded mist before reforming again. Ghosts. Memories. Dreams. They weren’t real. As you glanced over at Arnim Zola, the man who caused Bucky so much pain throughout his long enough, it was difficult to remember that. He bore so many details upon his face from the wrinkle along his brow, to the sharp tug of pink on his cheeks. Even the brim of his glasses was slightly uneven, unbalanced over his nose. The tiniest details Bucky’s mind held onto – details that made his nightmares so impossibly real.

“Bucky,” you called, hovering over the side of the table. You reached out for him, trying to slide your hand over his hair – the short strands of a 1940s haircut – but your fingers slipped through him as if you were a ghost, as well.

“Bucky, can you hear me?” you tried again, hovering your hands along his cheeks. It was agonizing not being able to touch him, to ground him to something safe. His eyes were fluttering closed, the pain sinking him back into the cold comfort of unconsciousness.

Tears slipped over your eyes as the room began to fade as he did. Darkness swept in and before you could utter his name again, the scene changed.

When your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you found yourself now standing in a concrete room. Bucky was no longer laid upon the metal table, left arm exposed and bleeding into a bucket on the floor, but instead, sitting stiffly on the edge of a worn-down cot. His gaze was fixed on the wall, as if he was seeing straight through you. His eyes red and puffy, bruising marking much of his skin. His hair had grown out somewhat, the ends only brushing over the tips of his ears.

You looked up to find no ceiling hanging over you. Only darkness. You suspected more of the same beyond these walls. The dreamworld held no need for completed blueprints – only what was necessary. You shivered, struck with derealization.

“Bucky, listen to me,” you started, crossing the room to him. You knelt to his right, not allowing your gaze to slip over the stains of faded red on the floor or the loose springs in the mattress that likely cut his body as he slept. “You have to wake up, okay? You’re safe. You're home at the compound. I’m there with you. So is Steve and Sam. You’re safe, Bucky. It’s okay to wake up.”

He didn’t so much as glance at you. A lump burned in your throat.

“Don’t do this. Come on,” you said to yourself, desperate to keep from crying again. You tried to set your hand on his knee, to draw him any kind of comfort because footsteps were beginning to approach from down the non-existent hall and his hands curled into the edge of the mattress in anticipation. You hand slipped right through his thigh but this time, he narrowed his eyes, his gaze turning to where you had touched him.

He’d felt something.

You moved to try it again when suddenly the door to his cell slammed open. Bucky flinched as if he’d been struck and then quickly scrambled to his feet. He inched backward as the men approached carrying long batons in their hands, the ends flickering with electricity. They wore little more than malice and greedy excitement on their faces.

“Bucky, if you can hear me, I promise I’ll get you out of this,” you said to his ear. He didn’t acknowledge whether he could hear you, not over the pounding in his heart that seemed to echo throughout the room. You ran your hand down his right arm, if only to offer him a semblance of comfort amongst this horrific room though it could not touch him at all. Still, a shiver slid up his spine.

“You’re okay.” You eased your hand along his arm again. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. It’s only a memory, I promise. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

But Bucky was trembling despite his efforts, a frantic look at the men and then to the corner he was backing into. There was nowhere for him to go. No one that would come to save him. He knew what was going to happen – he'd lived it enough times. He still bore the burn marks on the sides of his face to prove it.

“It’s only a memory,” you told him more urgently as the men approached, the electric ends of their batons sparking to life. “It can’t hurt you. It can’t--”

You choked back a scream as they plunged the tasers directly into Bucky’s ribs. He collapsed to the ground, his knees giving out easily under his weight and the uneven balance of metal on his left side. He shook with violent tremors as the men began to laugh, snickering to one another as they jammed the tasers against his body again and again. Laughter echoed into the room and drowned away Bucky’s muffled whimpers.

“Stop,” you cried, though you knew it was no use. “Stop!”

But the nightmare did not yield to you. These men were not real. Nor were the tasers in their hands. Bucky’s pain was imagined. A memory. And you could not save him from it.

“Enough games gentlemen,” Zola smirked from the edge of the room. “It is time.”

“No,” you whimpered. You knew what was coming. You knew, as they grabbed Bucky by the arms and dragged him from the room, exactly where they were going. Blood and infection oozed from the edges of metal where Bucky’s left arm met his shoulder – big angry scars swollen under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He barely resisted as they threw him into the chair.

You’d never seen it before, never had the heart to imagine such a machine that stole away Bucky’s memories and his access to free will. Somehow, it was crueler than you’d expected. Cold. Unkind. As if a piece of machinery could have intention and feeling.

Bars strapped down over Bucky’s wrists and chest to hold him still. Zola approached slowly as if to corner a frightened animal. He held a mouthguard in his hand. Bucky tried to resist it at first but ultimately opened his mouth for his captor and bit down on the plastic. The shame coursing through the faded blue in his eyes was enough to shatter you.

You walked up to him, standing close enough that he would have felt the heat of your body beside him if it were not a dream. Setting a gentle hand along the side of his face, you moved to brush the hair from his eyes. Through your tears, you did not notice as a strand moved at the will of your thumb.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whispered, your heart cleaving down the center as Zola readied the machine. “I don’t know how to stop this. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay. I promise. I’m here.”

You gasped as the clamps lowered to the sides of his face, the machine moving straight through your translucent hands. You jumped back, startled with the loud whirring of the mechanisms. Sparks lit along the wiring, rushing through the cords until – Bucky began to scream.

It only lasted a few seconds before it faded into the darkness again. But those seconds would stay with you the rest of your life. You’d carry them for an eternity.

You could barely stand when the scene began to change.

Slowly, the familiar pale blue walls of a hallway came into view; a door with a slight squeak in the hinges and a photograph hanging on the wall from a reluctant team building activity at a rundown bowling alley that turned into one of your favorite memories.

You were back in the compound.

Bucky was pacing at the end of the hall, winging his hands with every step. A sheen of sweat lined his forehead, pink coated into his cheeks. His t-shirt was damp along his spine, his chest rising quickly with each breath.

His hair was longer than it was in the last memory, hanging loose over his shoulders and despite the panic nestled to his features, he looked healthier. Stronger. His body had filled out with proper nutrition and he walked with bare feet along the hardwood floors – no trace of a weapon tucked to his body. Despite his fear, he still felt safe enough to wander the compound halls in only his pajamas, unarmed.

He paused at your door, staring at the wood frame.

You followed him, trying to place the memory as he began to pace outside your room. You stood beside him, watching the nervous shaking in his hand as he rose to knock on the door. Before you could call his name, to try to draw him away from whatever nightmare laid in store, the door swung open.

It was disorienting to see yourself like this, from someone else’s gaze. It wasn’t like staring into a mirror. It was as if she was an entirely different person. Her hair was still messy with sleep, pillow marks on her cheeks as the dream-you looked at Bucky with narrowed eyes.

Could it only be a dream? Perhaps this was how you were going to wake him up, by interspersing kinder memories amongst the nightmares. You’d seen this play out a dozen times – Bucky standing reluctantly at your door, a quiet shamed request to sleep by your side. You’d draw him into your arms without question, rubbing your hands along his back until the tension began to fade. He’d start at the furthest edge of your bed until you carefully eased him into your arms and he found sleep resting over your heartbeat.

Relief swelled in your chest as you waited for the dream-you to do the same, to offer him her hand and tell him that he was safe in this room, that he was always safe with you. But instead, her lips curved to a tight frown.

“What is it, Bucky? It’s the middle of the night,” she sighed, impatience lingering in her tone as she tapped her fingers on the doorknob. Short nails clicked against the cold metal. Your heart began to pound in your chest – the sudden uncertainty crippling.

“I know. I’m sorry to wake you,” he murmured, his voice still hoarse as if he’d woken up screaming. He shifted in his stance, his right hand was growing red as he tugged and twisted at his fingers. “I... I couldn’t sleep and... I just needed to see you.”

The dream-you took a less than subtle glance over her shoulder to the clock sitting by the bed. The bright red numbers indicated it was close to three in the morning. When she turned back to Bucky her jaw was clenched tight, her nails still incessantly tapping on the doorknob as if to count away the offensive seconds.

“Okay, so you see me,” she replied flatly. “Is that all?”

You didn’t miss Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, not even as your stomach plunged to the depths of the compound; covered in cobwebs and dirt, sinking to the foundation below.

“I... um...” Bucky could barely string his words together.

Once, you’d gathered his shaking hands in your own and led him inside without him having to say anything at all. He’d simply tucked his face to the crook of your neck as you ran your nails gently along his spine in slow, deliberate strokes. The memory of his tears on your skin stayed with you long after he fell asleep, even months later.

You’d have taken him into your arms in a heartbeat. You’d have let him through the door before he so much as said a word.

But she hadn’t even offered her hand.

“Ask,” you encouraged him gently, watching as he drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. Perhaps it was blind hope – a desperate need to know that Bucky trusted you, that he didn’t have an underlying fear that plagued his dreams that you would reject him like this. He couldn’t.

“Just ask, sweetheart,” you pressed. “She’ll say yes. You know she will. I always have.”

Bucky nodded to himself, almost as if he might have heard your words. Slowly, he pulled in a heavy breath, enough to quell the shaking in his hands. His lifted his gaze. “Can I... Can I stay with you tonight?”

You smiled at him, moving to rub his back in gentle circles in exchange for the strength of his vulnerability. Your fingertips slipped through the soft fabric of his t-shirt as if you hadn’t touched him at all, but he straightened his back as your hand ran although his spine like it had drawn new energy to his bones.

The dream-you sighed, her lips puckering to a frown. “Look, I'm sorry that you get bad dreams, but I have an early morning tomorrow.”

The trembling returned to Bucky’s hands. “I can sleep on the floor,” he offered quickly. “You won’t know I’m there.”

“I need to be able to sleep, Bucky. I can’t do that if you’re waking up screaming every ten minutes,” she replied as though it wasn’t cleaving a knife through his chest, through yours too as you stared at a vision of your own reflection you hardly recognized at all.

“Please,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “The dream... it was about you. Something happened and I—” He swallowed though it looked near painful to do so. “I can’t convince myself you’re safe. I can’t get myself to calm down. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” The cold metal of his left hand rubbed along his right forearm until the skin was worn and red. “I hate asking this of you. I know I shouldn’t put this on you but I... I can’t keep myself together on my own. I need you.”

While the dream-you stood there silently, you crept out in front of him, standing between you and the false mirror behind you. The gentle blue of Bucky’s eyes did not meet yours, staring straight through you unfocused, and still, you reached for the sides of his face, soothing your fingers along his cheeks. For a moment, you swore you felt the stubble on his jaw.

“You can always ask me, Bucky,” you told him sternly. “You don't have a say a single word and I will let you in the door. I will always let you in. You know that, don’t you? You know I’d do anything to take this burden off your shoulders?”

But your voice came from the ghosted figment of Bucky’s dream instead. “Then don’t put it on me, Barnes. We all have shit we’re dealing with. I can’t take on yours, too. You’ll drown me in it.”

You had never wanted to throttle someone more in your life. If your hands were corporal in this state, you would have strangled your mirror image without a second thought. Disbelief was not enough to quell the rage boiling inside of you, steam burning through your ears.

This was not a memory, not one that you’d ever had any part in. But it was still a nightmare, still a fear of his. Your heart cleaved in the knowledge that Bucky – on some level – feared you would turn him away like this, that he believed you could be cruel and unkind to him when he so desperately needed you.

“You’re right,” Bucky muttered defeatedly, taking a step back. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

No other words were exchanged before she closed the door. You could hear her steps back to the bed and the squeak of the mattress as she curled up under the blankets again, ambivalent to Bucky's panic standing just outside her door. He kept his gaze focused intently on the door, his nose only inches from the wood.

“Bucky,” you started as his hands began to curl into fists, his breathing picking up in pace, “this isn’t real. You know this isn’t real. You’re dreaming, sweetheart. You know me. You know I’d never turn you away. Don’t you?” Tears burned your eyes as you asked again, “don’t you?”

“Stop it,” Bucky whispered to himself, unable to hear you. “Come on, Barnes. Don’t fucking do this right now. Pull it together. Stop. Stop.”

He only made it a few steps before he sank to the floor. Bare feet on the hardwood floors, knees curled tight to his chest. He could hardly draw in a full breath, his gasps becoming shorter and shorter. Cheeks flushed pink, reflective marks just under his eyes. His hands were trembling so violently, he gripped into the excess fabric on his sweatpants for support.

“I’m here,” you soothed, kneeling down in front of him. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. Just breathe, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just breathe for me."

You exaggerated your breaths, trying to get Bucky to follow in suit. He hadn’t been able to acknowledge you the entire time you’ve been in his dreams, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer like this. Even if the odds were stacked against you, you'd fight for him at every turn.

Slowly, Bucky’s breaths began to lift in time with yours.

“Good,” you soothed, setting your hand against his knee. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good. Keep breathing. Just like that. Deep breaths.”

Bucky paused for a moment then, his attention turning slowly to where your hand laid over his knee. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes struggling to focus, but you were certain his gaze had centered where your hand rested over his leg.

“Bucky?” you called, stunned. “Can you hear me?”

He narrowed his eyes as if he’d heard something muffled through the walls – distant, like a voice calling to him from above the water. Still, his eyes never met yours, never so much as looked in your direction. You were a ghost to him.

Carefully, Bucky stood and brushed the lingering dust from his pajamas, ridding himself the evidence of the panic attack that rendered him to the unforgiving floors. He wouldn’t attempt to sleep again for the rest of the night. No – he'd keep the lights on in his room and stare at the ceiling until his eyes burned. There would be no comfort in the silence. He’d flinch at every sound. It didn’t matter that the scene began to darken around you as he retreated back to his room, that he’d only be made to endure this particular brand of panic for a few seconds longer. It still broke your heart.

When the dreamworld pieced itself back together again, you were standing in the middle of a warzone.

Well, not a warzone per se – the middle of downtown Manhattan. Bullets were raining from all directions, the violent echo of gunfire rattling in your ears. The metal passed straight through your body, gold shimmering amongst the translucence as it moved through you without impasse.

To your left were those you recognized – your team, your family. To your right, was a faceless enemy you could not name; horrific in shape, with a vague blur where their facial features should be. Bucky’s mind was growing tired of inventing new enemies. You supposed these faceless creatures served the same purpose.

“Bucky!”

You recognized your own voice as it shouted through the chaos. Whipping your head around in search of the owner, you quickly caught sight of another dream induced version of you sprinting around the barriers, wielding a gun in her right hand, a machete in the other. She was racing in search of Bucky and you were determined to follow her.

“Dammit, Bucky! Where are you?” she screamed, desperation breaking the edges in her voice.

The scene around you was not one you recognized, was not a memory that Bucky was drawing off of. No – this must be another fear of his. Maybe, if you could somehow stop the nightmare before the crux began, you could wake him up. It was the only plan you had. Nothing else had worked this far.

“Here!” Bucky finally called back. He was limping as he made his way to the dream-you. Blood trailed down his forehead from where he’d taken a nasty hit and his pant leg was ripped along the thigh as if a knife had sliced directly through the fabric and several layers of skin and muscle. He was winded with every step.

Still, he did not stop the dream-you as she raced towards him – her arms thrown around his shoulders, face burrowed into the crook of his neck. The momentum knocked him back a few unsteady paces but he didn’t seem to mind, not as his right arm curled protectively around her waist and he held her tightly. Fingertips pressing into the small of her back, curling into the tough fabric of her suit.

It was a strange thing to watch from the outside – how you could recognize pieces of yourself in her, knowing you’d held him like that once, that’d he’d held you just as desperately, and to still feel a sliver of a jealous ache in response.

Bucky breathed her in, lingering in the embrace as long as he could even amongst the violence around them. “Are you okay?” he muttered quietly to her ear.

She nodded, pulling back only enough to hold the sides of his face, to brush her thumb against his eyebrow and steer the blood dripping from his hairline away from his eyes. She touched him so lovingly, with such unbridled affection. You longed to give that to him beyond the walls of your room, beyond the frantic relief in the middle of missions – to grant him this kindness, this love in the light of day where everyone could see how cherished he was. You wondered if perhaps that was what he wanted, too.

For a moment, you hesitated to try and wake him. Only a moment, because a smile gently lifted the edges of Bucky’s lips. Even amongst the crusted blood on his skin and the slash of an open wound against his cheekbone, Bucky Barnes was smiling.

He didn’t take his eyes off the dream version of you, not even as he lifted his rifle and shot down one of the faceless creatures jumping over the barricade.

“How much longer is she going to be in there?” a disembodied voice echoed softly behind you. Sam’s voice, you realized, back in the compound. “We’re running out of time.”

“Five minutes, Sam,” Steve pressed. You could hear his quiet steps as he paced the tile floors, could picture how tight his arms folded over his chest. “Give her five more minutes.”

“Then what?” Sam shot back, the concern in his voice pushing you another step forward. “We have no other options, Steve. Bucky’s heart is going to give out. He’s going to die if she can’t--”

“Stop it,” you warned, the vibration in your throat aching. “I can do this. Five minutes.”

Whether they heard you or not, you didn’t know. But you did not hear another word as you moved to close the distance between you and Bucky.

Before you could reach him, the nightmare reared its ugly head in the shape of a faceless man sprinting beyond SHIELD’s foreground, a rallying cry of “Hail Hydra!” shrieked from a horrific void where his mouth should have been. It pierced through the chaos – shattering the gunfire to muted silence.

The dream-you reacted before Bucky ever had a chance, shoving him hard enough in his injured thigh to push him from the line of fire. Even as Bucky lost his balance and collapsed to the pavement, disbelief wrung through his features – shock, betrayal, agony worse than you’d ever seen twisted to the beautiful lines of his face.

It happened in slow motion, as if the dream itself had warped time and space to dig its knife deeper into Bucky’s chest and twist the serrated blade until the muscle was little more than shredded tissue.

“No!”

His scream was worse than you could have imagined – raw and broken. Shattered. As if the entirety of his soul escape through his lips as the bullet tore through the chest of your mirror image, blood spewing from her back where the bullet passed clean through her lung. She collapsed – hard – onto the ground and you could hear the nauseating snap of bone as her wrist caught the wrong angle.

You gasped, halting firm in your place.

Bucky crawled toward her the moment she hit the pavement, his whole body shaking so violently he could hardly move himself at all. His leg dragged behind him, leaving a trail of blood in his path.

When you turned to look at the monster responsible, it had vanished. As had the rest of the warzone around you. All that remained was a stretch of pavement a few yards in every direction. The chaos dulled to a white noise until it was nothing at all. Bucky’s labored breathing was all that remained as the dream world began to close in around him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky soothed, his voice breaking on every word as he gathered the mirror image of you into his arms. Blood soaked through her suit, spilling onto his skin as he sat in the pool slowly expanding along the ground. Thick and crimson against the grey stone. Her eyes were already unfocused, lids barely able to stay open.

“You’re okay,” Bucky cried, a sob fracturing through his spine. Tears slid along his cheeks, cleaning uneven lines from the blood on his face. As gently as he could, he slid his left hand over her forehead, brushing the sweat-damp hair from her eyes. She hardly reacted at all. He pulled her tight to his chest, holding her though she could not return his embrace.

“You’re okay,” he said again, this time against her neck, against her hair. Breath hot to her chilling skin. He said it until his voice gave out completely and her hand had fallen still – limp as it laid against the pavement. Bucky’s breath hitched as he felt the small movement cease – so impossibly still as he held her, as he realized she’d already taken her last breath in his arms.

Horror drew to his features, panic unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“No...” he murmured so quietly you could hardly hear it at all. “No. No, please. Please, don’t... don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t...”

Darkness began to sink in from the sky, replacing the cool morning blue with the unsettling weight of the void. Behind you, you could no longer see the barricade or the swarm of faceless men beyond it. The dreamworld was falling to the emptiness again and you weren’t sure whether Bucky’s heart would make it through another nightmare.

“Bucky,” you called gently, kneeling down at his side. You tried not to look at the body in his arms, tried not to recognize your own face staring blankly through unseeing eyes. Bucky held her so tightly, you wondered if his strength might fracture one of her ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, rocking back and forth. He buried his face into her neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so—”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” you begged, tears blurring your eyes as Bucky kept repeating the same apology over and over again. It was an endless tape, a broken record stuck on the most heart wrenching notes. Guilt laced with shame and he could not rid himself from the words.

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and he froze. “You’re dreaming, Bucky. Everything’s okay. You’re only dreaming.”

Slowly, Bucky began to pull back. The void had consumed the entirety of the world around you – leaving only you, Bucky, and the unmoving body in his arms behind. Darkness inched closer until there was little more than a few feet of pavement around you. He didn’t seem to notice, not as his gaze carefully lifted to yours. Confusion pressed onto his features, his brows knitting together.

Then, quicker than Bucky could prepare himself, the dream-you vanished from his arms. Weight lifted from his lap, a ghosted mist remaining until there was nothing at all. Bucky scrambled along the ground, panicked.

“It’s okay,” you rushed to assure him. “Bucky, it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s only a dream.”

He stilled, though his chest was rapidly rising with every breath. He looked down at his hands to find them coated in blood – oozing between the plates of metal and staining to his flesh. Dripping onto the floor.

“I don’t-- I don’t understand.” His voice was small, frightened – like a child’s. “What’s happening? What—What is this?”

You moved to step forward, but Bucky retreated a step back. A rock lodged in your chest, but you held still for him, watching the panic morph into fear.

“You were on a mission when you were captured,” you explained slowly, hands raising defensively in the air to show you did not mean him harm. “Steve and Sam found you like this – trapped inside your head. You’d been injected with something to induce an endless stream of nightmares. Your heart can’t take it, Bucky. But you’re safe, I promise. You’re back in the compound. You’re not alone.”

Blue eyes shifted to the darkness below as he began to put the pieces together. He moved to brush his hands through his hair but stopped abruptly as he remembered the fresh blood on his palms – your blood. He let out a shaky breath.

“You’re in my head.” It was not a question. He still had not looked at you.

You swallowed, cheeks burning hot with shame. “Yes. I— I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way. I’m... I’m sorry.”

Bucky drew the inside of his cheek between his teeth and bit. You were certain he could taste the blood of it as a muscle twitched on his lip.

“How do I—” He let out a pained sign, as though the words were too exhausting to speak. “How do I wake up?”

There was nothing he needed to do now. The rest would happen on its own; the simple acknowledgement enough to draw him consciousness back to the surface. His image had already begun to fade from the dreamscape, even as he waited on your answer.

“Just breathe, Bucky,” you told him gently, giving him something to focus on. He nodded, content with your answer. Neither of you said another word as he watched his own hands begin to fade.

You waited until he had disappeared from the dreamscape before you let go of his mind, unwilling to leave him on his own for even a moment longer than necessary. There was no relief as you allowed yourself to come back to your body.

***

You woke with sharp breath.

Steve rushed across the room to you, a steadying hand on your spine as you pulled back from your position draped against the bed. Your temple ached from where you had laid your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Your spine throbbed. A quick glance up at the heart monitor told you enough as the frantic line as soothed out to long, even peaks. Bucky was going to survive.

“He should wake up any second now,” you told Steve quietly, unable to say much more under the weight of your exhaustion. You could feel Sam’s eyes watching you as you stumbled out of Steve’s concerned hold.

Your legs were weak under your weight as you dragged yourself to the door. It was too far away – like the tiles has somehow stretched to an endless hallway and dumbbells had been strapped to your ankles. Tears threatened behind your eyes as you leaned against the wall for support, demanding your body to move.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, though there was a slight bite in his tone. It was only made of concern; you knew that. He’d seen the way you looked at his friend, how much you cared for him. And though Sam prided himself on how easily he could push Bucky’s buttons, he did not enjoy seeing him hurt. He believed Bucky would look for you when he woke up, would search for you as a means to ease his own fears. He was wrong.

“I told you, Sam. He won’t forgive me for invading his mind like that,” you said quietly, gaze fixated on the floor near his feet. “I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t be here when he wakes up. He won’t want to see me.”

Sam looked as though he was about to argue when Bucky began to shift on the bed, a low moan slipping through his lips. Steve eased a hand on Bucky’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him as his eyes fluttered open. Sam held his arms by his sides, fists curled, as if he was ready for Bucky to react defensively. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken from his nightmares and swung a right hook at his friends without realizing where he was.

Within their moment of distraction, you slipped from the room unnoticed.

***

Bucky was almost certain an anvil was sitting on his chest. He hadn’t seen Thor in quite some time, but perhaps the god of thunder had decided to pull a prank on him and leave that blasted hammer sitting over his heart. It was an effort to draw in a full breath.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, Steve and Sam were hanging over his bedside, staring at him as if he might snap at any second. Sam’s defensive stance did not go unnoticed, nor did Steve’s cautious glance at Bucky’s left arm as he began to stretch his sore shoulder.

“Shit,” he groaned, wincing under the pounding thumping in his head. “What happened?”

Sam’s hands relaxed, a tense laugh escaping. “You were a few feet away from the shiny light at end of the tunnel, buddy.”

Steve shot a glare in Sam’s direction, though Sam only offered a shrug in return. He was right, after all. Bucky could feel the truth of it in his chest, in the lingering ache left behind from the strained muscle. The cold touch of his left hand massaged at his chest, pressing deep into the throbbing though it did little to alleviate it.

“What do you remember?” Steve prompted carefully.

Bucky let his hand fall back to his side, his head sinking to the pillow. Fractured images flashed through his memory – the sharp pain at the back of his head that rendered him unconscious, the straps securing him to a table in that Hydra warehouse, the mask worn by the disgruntled Hydra doctor who injected something into his veins.

Then – the nightmares.

Bucky always remembered his dreams. It was part of his curse. The universe couldn’t allow him a moment of peace, couldn’t grant him the kindness of forgetting the horrific images the moment he opened his eyes. Of course, it couldn’t. There had been so little good in Bucky’s life since the day he was drafted. Why would he expect anything different?

But that wasn’t true completely true, was it? No – he found a family again after decades of torture and a resignation to the darkness. He’d escaped Hydra and started to make amends for all he’d done under the hand of vile men. He’d met you.

“Fuck.” Bucky jolted up on the bed, sheets falling to his waist. It was only then that he noticed the folding chair pulled up to the side of his bed, noticed the faint scent of a floral conditioner he’d grown to find comfort in through every breath.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked. There was no need to clarify who he spoke of, not when he could still feel the lingering trace of you in his mind – the gentle, comforting hold of your powers that had eased his nightmares for as long as he’d known you.

Sam and Steve exchanged a look, though neither said a word.

“I know she was here,” Bucky pressed. The image of you following him around in his dreams – his nightmares – left an awful feeling behind in his stomach, a stone threatening to pull him below the tiles of the floor.

It was a promise you’d sworn to uphold. A promise you'd made the first night Bucky had found himself in your arms, tears wet on his cheeks, his body shaking in your arms. He’d begged you to never look inside his mind, to not bear witness to the horrors he’d dreamt of.

You’d soothed his fears, taken his panic more times than he could count. He’d burdened you enough. He did not wish for you know of the trauma he’d endured under Hydra, of the fears he carried for his future, of his desperation to be loved by a woman he could never deserve.

You’d broken that promise. He could still feel your presence in his mind – soothing him. Lingering aftermath of your psychic abilities. He could still picture the shock in your eyes, the pain, as you watched all of his fears come to life. Bucky swallowed back the shame burning hot into his throat.

“She did it to save your life,” Sam said slowly as if to defend you, as if Bucky could be angry at you for even one second. As if he were capable of it.

Bucky nodded. He knew it would be the only reason you went back on your word to him. He knew you would not enter his mind for anything less, and still – the ache of it hurt worse than he thought.

How could you possibly look at him now? How could you ever want a man so irrevocably ruined by his past? A man, whose greatest fear is losing the woman he would give his life for?

It was too much; he was certain of it. Too much weight on your shoulders. Too much baggage for you to carry. It was the sole reason he begged to keep you from his mind – to shield you from realizing how truly broken he was.

“I have to go,” Bucky muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Before he could stand, Steve jolted out in front of him, pressing a cautious hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Buck,” Steve warned, the stern drop in his captain’s voice rising to the surface. “You’ve been out for hours. Your body has got to be exhausted. You need to rest.”

“What I need is to find Y/n.” To do what, he wasn’t sure. Apologize, maybe? Get on his knees and beg her to forget what she’d seen?

Bucky’s hands gripped into the edge of the mattress, sheets gathering in his grip. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet Steve’s, who only shared a sad look of understanding upon his face. Then, he stepped out of Bucky’s way.

The entire walk to your room was nothing short of a marathon. Bucky could hardly remember the last time he struggled to catch his breath on the stairs, if he ever had at all. His body was screaming at him to rest; he’d practically been tachycardic for the last twelve hours. But there wasn’t a chance in hell Bucky was going to find sleep again. Not until he made things right with you.

A dim crack of light was visible through the small opening of your bedroom door. It slipped out into the dark of the living room, touching yellow light to the hallway. Bucky paused before he walked into the light, settling himself in the darkness. He could make out your figure pacing inside your bedroom, the constant gentle thump of footsteps his confirmation. You mumbled to yourself words he could not discern.

Bucky forced a breath to his lungs. The sooner he got this over with, the better. Maybe he could convince you his baggage wasn’t all that heavy, that Steve and Sam had started picking up some of the load. Maybe he could promise you he’d never put that weight on you again. Maybe, if he could just reverse time to before you saw all the ugly parts of him, you’d stay.

When he reached the edge of your door, your pacing stopped. You exhaled a heavy sigh and slumped onto your bed. Hands pressed over your eyes, your body sinking into the mattress.

Bucky tried not to notice the slight hitch in your breath as he knocked on the door. Surprise, perhaps. Dread? He couldn’t tell and it made his knees weak. Still, you sat up slowly and removed the heels of your palms from your eyes.

“Bucky?”

He shivered at the sound of your voice, of his name called so gently from your lips. It wrapped around him in such warmth, he might have mistaken it for an embrace. How your voice alone managed to soothe him like this, he wasn’t sure. But it was still a comfort.

He steadied himself on his breath and pushed open the door. There hadn’t been such weight there before – this resistance, as if he were willing a mountain to move. Bucky could not get himself to step past the frame, holding himself on the very edge of your room.

“How are you feeling?” you asked slowly. There was a nervousness in your voice Bucky didn’t recognize and he wondered whether you might be trying to find a kind way to cut him out of your life. His stomach sank – made of lead and metal heavier than his own arm.

“Better, I think,” he replied. A hand raked through his scalp, scratching painfully down into his neck. “I thought you’d be there when I woke up.”

Your gaze swiftly dropped to the floor. Hands wringing in your lap, breaths drawing in heavier within your chest. “I thought I was best if I wasn’t.”

“Right,” Bucky nodded, the bitter taste of copper on his tongue.

Of course, you wouldn’t want to be around him after witnessing what you did – the horrific memories of what he’d endured under Hydra, his pathetic desperation to hold you, how easily he crumbled at the thought of losing you. You were distancing yourself from him. This was the start of it. He could already feel you slipping from him, his fingertips barely clinging to yours as your hand pulled further from his reach.

“I know what I did was unforgivable,” you muttered quietly and Bucky’s heart nearly stopped beating entirely. His stunned eyes shot to yours, though you still had not managed the strength to look at him again. “I’m sure you must hate me for what I did, but... Bucky, you have to know I would never betray your trust like that willingly. You were going die. I—I was watching your heart give out. I couldn’t just stand there and wait for—for your heart to stop when I knew I could do something. I had to, Bucky. Please, believe that. Please believe I’d never intentionally cross that line with you unless I absolutely had to.”

Tears were in your eyes as you looked up at him – sliding down your cheeks and trailing down your neck. Your lower lip was trembling and you dug your teeth into it to keep yourself steady. He recognized the guilt as it sank into each line upon your face, burrowed into every crevice, because he’d seen it enough times in the mirror to know the demon by its name.

You thought he’d be angry at you for invading his mind, for violating a promise he’d begged you to swear years earlier. The thought alone that he could feel anything but relief around you burrowed hollowed shells into his stomach.

“Do you know why I asked you to never look inside my head?” Bucky started gently as he sat on the mattress beside you. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Y/n. It wasn’t because I was afraid of your power or because I was clinging to some desperate sense of control that had once been taken from me.”

He drew in a shallow breath – uneasy in the inhale, barely enough to fill his lungs. “I— I was trying to shield you from all the awful shit in my head. The things I’ve done, things I’ve been through... no one should have to see that. Especially you.”

Bucky didn’t dare to steal a glance at you, not as his cheeks started to warm under the shame of his confession. “You’ve done so much for me. More than I deserve. And it’s more than just easing my emotions when it feels like I’m drowning under the weight of them all. It’s you, Y/n. Just being near you is enough. Powers or not. I thought that if I could keep you from seeing just how incredibly fucked up I am, if you never saw the horrors inside my head, then maybe you... you wouldn’t leave.”

Bucky tried not to notice how incredibly still you’d become, how you’d hardly taken in another breath since he started speaking. He could feel your gaze on him – warm and comforting despite the adrenaline pumping through the veins.

Then, before he could prepare himself, your hands closed around his, drawing them gently into your lap. So impossibly gentle as you stroked his skin, as you grazed against metal and flesh– gingered touch on such violent history.

“I see you, Bucky,” you whispered, so soft it nestled deep into his chest. Slow enough he could have stopped them if he wanted, your hands slid up along his arms and nestled against his cheeks. Holding the Hydra-made assassin so tenderly in your arms, you stroked his cheekbone with your thumb until he found the courage to meet your eye.

“I see you and I’m not afraid. I see every piece of you, all the darkest corners and the light you carry. I see all of it and I’m still here with you. I’m still here.” You held him even as his jaw began to quicker, even as his body grew weak in your arms. You held him and told him sweetly, “I’m not going to leave you, sweetheart.”

Something cracked in Bucky’s chest; not his heart, but a wall he’d constructed decades earlier of all the broken pieces left behind over his many years. Born of necessity, to protect what Hydra sought to destroy, and it crumbled under your vow, shattered as your hands cupped the sides of his face, tears catching against your thumbs. His fragile, beating heart remained exposed beyond the rubble and for the first time in his life, he did not fear the hands that carried it.

---

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murder-swan · 2 years

Text

Reblogging so I can come back and reread this amazing hotch fic as many times as I physically can.

9 Months of Getting to Know You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 6.1k (i got a little carried away...)

~Masterlist~

Description: A drunken night leads you to a pregnancy with your boss. You've never had feelings for him before, but could a baby change your entire relationship?

Warnings!: allusions to sex, implied sex, flirting, angst, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, crying, um those bueatiful things called *hormones*, Aaron hotchner being hot, cursing, more fluff

A/n: I haven't written in so long, and I'm so sorry for being away!! There are probably so many spelling mistakes in this, be warned! Also, if you dont understand the set up his, this is written in like different sections, a snippet from each of the 9 months of pregnancy.

----------------------

September 15, 2010

You're eyes fluttered open as you breathed in the morning air. Light shone through the blinds and the air was calm.

The bed was comfortable, the pillows dragging you back to sleep. Your eyes drifted closed.

An arm found its way around your waist and you burrowed into the person beside you.

Your head lay on his chest, your legs tangled together.

It wasn't until you felt his skin on your own that your eyes snapped back open.

Just about the same time his did.

You didn't even recognize him at first. His disheveled hair and sleepy eyes. But you couldn't mistake that face for anyone else.

"Hotch!" You squealed.

"Y/l/n! What are you doing in my bed?" He shouted right back.You stared at him wide eyed and he had a similar look on his face.

"Your bed? What are you doing in my bed?" Your voice got higher as each word left your mouth. What the hell happened?

You looked sound and realized you were in fact, in his bed, in his room, in his house!

You both scooted away from each other and you felt the sheet slip from your chest. It took a moment to notice that you were indeed naked. "Oh my god!" Hotch shouts before slamming his eyes shut and looking away.

"Oh my god." You repeat as you bring the sheet to your chest. "I'm naked! Are you naked? Why the hell are we naked?" You stuttered out while trying to stay calm.

"Yeah, I uh, im naked too." He replies shyly as he shifts so that he can hide himself. "Why the hell are we naked?" He repeats your earlier question turning to look at you, and you try to think back to the previous night.

"I...I don't know. I just know I was really drunk." He nods, because he was too. You both just sat there staring at each other before you asked the dreaded question.

"We didnt… we didn't have sex did we?" You asked. He was silent for a few minutes trying desperately to think back to last night.

"I-I don't know." He says exasperated. You nodded and take a deep breath before wrapping the sheet around yourself, grabbing your clothes and scrambling to the bathroom. You got dressed as quick as humanly possible and quickly came back out of the bathroom.

"I'm gonna go. And we, can just pretend this didn't happen." You suggest and grab your phone before bolting out the door.

"Y/n wait-" but you were already grabbing your keys from the table by the front and leaving.

Your mind was running a million miles a minute and this mornings popular question kept running through your head.

What the hell happened?

* * *

September 30, 2010

It had been, an awkward couple of weeks to say the least. You still had no idea whether you and Hotch actually slept together and you both mutually decided not to mention it and to avoid each other at all costs.

And it was working just fine.

Awkward, but fine.

That is, until you got sick.

Puking often, sore boobs, you were bloated and you just felt exhausted.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay? This is the third time this week that you've run to the bathroom to throw up." Garcia paused as she paced outside of your stall. "Maybe you should go to a doctor." You leaned back from the toilet seat before moving right back up to puke again.

This was getting old.

"Maybe you're right, Pen." You got up and gathered your things. Garcia assured you that she would clear it with Hotch while you called your doctor and left for a quick pop in.

The appointment took a while, per usual and the doctor insisted on drawing blood. She came back quickly to ask you some questions.

"Okay Y/n, how long have you felt like this?" She asked, a clipboard in hand ready to record your answer.

"Um, about two weeks I think?" You say, unsure of when the puking started.

"Okay, and when did you last have your period?" Your blood ran cold at the question. And it all came rushing back. Being drunk, the did we did we not sex thing, Hotch. You were three weeks late.

"Oh god. I'm, I'm three weeks late." You stuttered out and the doctor's eyes grow wide.

"Is there any way you could be pregnant?" She asks hesitantly and you close your eyes, begging the tears to stay at bay as you nodded your head slightly. A nurse walked in the room and handed the doctor some paperwork.

"Well, the test results just came back in, and you are in fact pregnant Y/n. We will need to get you started on some prenatal vit…." Her voice drowned out as everything went fuzzy.

Pregnant?

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.

You were pregnant.

And Hotch, your stern, strict, bossy untit chief.

He was the father.

***

October 2, 2010

Four days. It had been four days. Four days since your world came crashing down.

Since you found out you were pregnant.

You wanted to be excited. You had always wanted to be a mom.

Not like this though. Definitely not like this.

Because you had to tell your boss that you were pregnant with your baby. And that you were not giving it up.

You couldn't.

Penny knew. You told her as soon as you got back. She was the only one. She just didn't know who the father was.

But she was begging you to just tell the father. Ot was obviously eating you alive.

Morgan and Prentiss even began noticing your lack of engagement. And even though it had only been 4 days, they still noticed.

Stupid profilers.

You decided to just rip off the bandaid. You waited until everyone left the office, knowing he would stay after. You slowly made your way up to his office after Reid finally left.

You gently knocked on his door, hearing a soft come in. You walked in and took a seat across from his desk and waited for him to acknowledge you.

"What can I do for you y/l/n?" He asks after looking up from his paperwork.

"Um, I need to talk to you. It's important, Hotch." He sets down his pen and folds his hands together in front of him. His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

"Okay, what's up?" He asks, brows still furrowed.

"T-there really isn't a good way to say this." Your voice shakes as tears spring to your eyes. Hotch's expression grows worried.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" He asks quickly.

"Yeah. I think so. Um but, I just need you to not freak out okay?" He nods and you take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I'm pregnant." You say. Hotch nods along in understanding but looks confused, wondering why he would freak out. Until it hits him. That night. That drunk night. "Y-you're the father." You day softly, in case he didn't realize.

His face is frozen, showing no emotion at all. He takes a deep breath before evening his mouth. Just to shut it again. It takes him a few minutes to speak.

"Pregnant? As in-" you cut him off.

"Pregnant Aaron. I'm pregnant." Your voice is soft and he just nods. You both sit in silence before Hotch stands up and begins pacing back and forth muttering to himself.

"Hotch?" You say hesitantly.

"Hmm?" He asks, stopping for a moment.

"Can you say something? Plese?" You begged. He only said one thing.

"What the hell happened?"

* * *

October 9, 2010

A week later you were sitting in the waiting room of your new obgyn's office. Hotch sat beside you, rubbing his thumb over his fist. Your knee bounced up and down nervously as you sat and waited for the lady to call you back.

"Y/n Y/l/n?" She finally calls and you and Hotch follow her back to a room where you wait in awkward silence once again.

The doctor finally comes in 20 minutes later with a smile and warm welcome.

"Alright, so miss Y/l/n are you and your husband ready to see the baby?" She asks after going over the technical stuff.

"Oh, um no he's not we're not-" he speaks at the same time, stuttering just as much.

"I'm not her, you see its complicated." She just laughs and nods in understanding.

"Oh don't worry, I get it. We get couples like you guys all the time." You ignore her comment and watch as she gets the stuff for the ultrasound. She rubs the ointment on your stomach and it's freezing to say the least. You wince at the cold and subconsciously grab Hotch's hand, squeezing it as you wait for her to show you the picture.

A faint beating is heard and she looks at you both with a smile.

"That's the heartbeat." She tells you and you feel Hotch squeeze your hand as a smile breaks out on your face. "Would you like to see your baby?" She asks and you mod vigorously.

She points to a little bean on the screen and you gasp lightly, as tears spring to your eyes.

You looked at Hotch and he stared at the screen, a soft smile adorning his face. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. You hoped your baby was just as beautiful as him.

You quickly shook your head of these thoughts as you turned and desperately tried to focus on the doctor's words.

There was no way you were attracted to your boss.

There was absolutely no way you could ever be attracted to your boss.

Right?

* * *

November 26, 2010

Thanksgiving, your favorite time of year. You all gathered at Rossi's, a feats prepared before you. Fall decorations surrounded the room alongside the sound of laughter.

If only you could enjoy it.

If only you weren't worried for them all finding out.

You and Hotch had discussed not telling the team shortly after your first ultrasound. They didn't need to know until they really needed to know.

Which may have been sooner than you though considering the growing bump and the constant urge to throw up.

Rossi broke you away from your thoughts as he called you all to the dinner table. You all sat down, smiling and laughing along to Morgan's awful jokes and Garcia's teasing. While you all waited for Rossi to bring in the turkey, the topic moved to relationships and somehow the focus landed on you.

"So Y/n, what about you baby girl? Got anyone special?" He jokes raising his eyebrows up and down. You giggled awkwardly avoiding Hotch's obvious gaze.

"Um no, I-I dont. What about-" your voice cut off as you got a whiff of Rossi's turkey as he walked into the room. You suddenly stood up not being able to hold anything down anymore. "Oh god-" you ran from the room straight to the bathroom, Hotch following soon behind to hold your hair back.

He rubbedd your back softly as he whispered soothing words as you puke your guts out.

As soon as you finished you quickly washed up and Hotch walked back out with you.

"Y/n, you okay?" Prentiss asks, sending you a worried glance.

"Mhmm, fine." You turn slightly as you sit down and JJ gasps. Your eyes shoot to her and you know she knows.

"No way." She says softly. "No way!" She says a bit louder. You look at Hotch worridly and you know that now JJ knows everything. "No way." She says one more time after seeing the look you sent Hotch.

Everyone looks confused before you sigh and take a deep breath.

"There is no way that you are pregnant!" JJ says and you look shyly at your plate.

"Well…" you trailed off and the whole table erupts. Questions begin flying about when and how long and who the father was. You glanced at Hotch again and they all shut up, adorning the same look JJ had on her face.

"Before you all freak out, just know we were very drunk, and we barely remember what happened. But uh, I am pregnant and Hotch is the father." You look down shamefully and you can see Hotch does too. Though why, you're not sure.

The team just stares at you wide eyed.

One stupid question going through their mind.

The only question anyone can seem to ask.

What the hell happened?

* * *

December 17, 2010

Another month goes by and you and Hotch are close. You have become friends, good friends. You joke and you tease and you mess with each other. But he's also caring and sweet and sincere.

He takes care of you and he comforts you.

And he fucking confuses you.

Noone ever told you that when you're pregnant you're emotional. That your feelings are all mixed up. That you want to cry all the fucking time.

But apparently, that's a normal thing, according to your doctor.

But is it a normal thing to start growing feelings for the man that is both your baby daddy and your boss? You're not really sure.

Which is why you decide to just ignore Hotch and push him away.

In your emotional state of mind, it was your only choice. Admittedly it was hard considering he had insisted you stay with him until the baby was born.

So here you sat, curled up in the guest bed, crying because you can't get a hold of yourself.

You check the time and it's about 2am when you hear a knock on the door. It slowly opens and Hotch walks in, worried look on his face.

"Hey, hey, hey. Honey, what's wrong?" The word slipped from him before he could stop it, but you barely noticed through your crying.

"I-I don't- hotch what are we gonna do?" You ask desperately for an answer. Suddenly all of your insecurities hit you like a brick and you start rambling. "I mean, we aren't together, I'm pregnant, we're having a baby. We work so much! When will we have time to watch our kid? And we don't live together so our kid will have to grow up switching back and forth from houses. And hotch I had to do that, I can't do that to my kid." Your breathing grows rapid and Hotch tries to calm you down.

"Y/n, I need you to breathe. Breathe honey. Just breathe with me." You match your breathing to his and slowly begin to calm down. It isn't until your completely calm do you realize that he has his arm around you, you pressed into his side. One hand clutches his shirt while he shushes your cries.

"I know it's scary. But we'll figure it out. It will be okay. We will figure it all out." He says soothingly, running his hand through your hair as your sobs subside.

This was going to be such a long pregnancy.

* * *

January 22, 2011

Soon enough it was time for one of the most exciting moments of your life. Finding you the gender of your baby. You were showing quite a bit now and you were so excited to figure out what your baby was going to be.

You both sat in the office, like you did at the first ultrasound.

You got called back quickly and only twenty minutes later your doctor was asking you if you wanted to know the gender..

You nodded vigorously and Hotch chuckled at your reaction.

“I just want to know. I’m so impatient I think it would kill me not knowing.” You say with a smile stretching across your face. Aaron, as he has insisted you call him many, many times, grabs your hand and holds it tightly.

You wait with baited breath as the nurse spreads gel across your bump and begins looking at the monitor. She smiles softly and turns to you.

“Your baby is very healthy, which I know you are happy to hear.” She takes a pause for a moment. “I am very happy to share with you that you will be having a baby boy.” You feel Aaron squeeze your hand as tears fill your eyes. You can hardly believe it, a baby boy.

You let out a watery chuckle as Aaron leans down and presses a kiss to your stomach. Your heart soars and you don’t know if it's butterflies or nausea that flutters in your stomach. Maybe both.

But that’s a discovery for another day. For now you celebrate with your boss, the baby boy you will have in only a few short months.

* * *

February 14, 2011

Unfortunately the bubble of happiness could only last for so long. When Hotch informed you that you would be benched from this moment on, you were extremely, well frustrated. You understood why, of course.

But it left you with days and days of bordem and uncertainty for your team.

You knew this wasn’t good for the baby, so you needed to find a hobby, something to distract you that you could very well end up raising a child yourself if a case went wrong. Worrying about Aaron this much was new to you, and a very unwelcome feeling when so many other feelings flooded your mind about this man.

To distract yourself you decided that cooking and baking was the way to go. You had asked Rossi for some recipes before they left for the most recent case and you had decided to make food for Aaron the night he got back, especially because it was the week of Valentines.

Of course you had not been planning a romantic dinner. Rather a thank you for not leaving and for being so supportive in such a weird situation.

He called to let you know they would be flying back the day of Valentines, and you were ecstatic. It was perfect. You had begun the recipe in the early evening, serving a special pasta with some delicious brownies you had made on your baking adventure the past week. You put the food in the oven so that it would stay warm and poured Aaron some whisky before heading to the sink to wash some dishes.

Aaron is welcomed home by the smell of dinner and the woman carrying his child humming while doing dishes. He isn’t able to hide his smile, and his heart beats out of his chest at the domestity of the situation. He watched you for a moment before making his presence known.

“Hey.” He says softly as he enters the kitchen. You turn to him with a smile.

“Hey, Happy Valentine’s Day.” You grab a rag and dry your hands. “I made dinner.”

“Smells delicious. One of Rossi’s?” He asks and you giggle as you pull dinner from the oven.

“Yeah, I don’t trust anyone else other than the Italian chef himself.” Aaron chuckles and tries to help you move evrything to the table.

“Let me help, you’ve been on your feet way to long anyways.” You roll your eyes but let him help nonetheless.

Dinner was a nice affair. It was quiet, but not awkward, more peaceful than anything. For some strange reading however, you found yourself staring at Aaron quite often. His features illuminated in the dim lighting of the kitchen, and despite the tiredness so obvious on his face, he looked quite handsome.

It stole your breath, realizing how long you had been staring and you quickly looked away.

You shook your head in disbelief, blaming the pounding of your heart and the heat on your face on pregnancy hormones.

But really, how much longer would that excuse work?

* * *

March 27, 2011

The day started out like any other. You had however woken up, a bit more tired than usual, back aching. Your feet were swollen, and you felt too huge to even sit up.

One of those days you supposed. You grumpily got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom to start your morning routine.

Hotch was doing the same in his own room, unbeknownst to you however, he was thinking about you. How you should be in his room, waking in his bed.

His feelings had grown extraordinarily since the news of your pregnancy. But it’s to be expected, hormones are flying, you’ve been living together, so many intimate and domestic moments. It was bound to happen.

He wonders often if you are pushing the feelings away like he is. Are you feeling it too? Are you pretend inf it’s not there? Are you imaging the family you could be if you two were together? All of these were questions Hotch constantly asked himself.

If only he had the courage to talk to you about this. If only he could-

“Aaron!” His thoughts are cut off by yoir voice yelling his name from your room. “Aaron!” He’s leaving his bathroom in an instant, he swings open your door so fast you think it might fly off the hinges.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He begins panicking as he looks you over. “Is it the baby? Honey, what’s wrong?” You calm him down by placing your hand over his.

You draw him closer by his wrist and press his open palm to your stomach.

“What are you-?” He begins asking but quickly shuts his mouth when he feels it. A small thump. Barely there, but noticeable enough.

It’s his son.

He’s kicking.

Hotch stares at his hand on your bump as the baby kicks harder right in his palm.

“He knows it’s you.” You whisper. Aaron looks up at your face, tears gathering in his eyes. He brings himself to his knees, eye level with your baby bump.

“Hi buddy.” Another kick.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a giggle.

“I read somewhere that it’s good to talk to the baby, it helps the baby realize who you are.” Makes sense. He places both hands on your belly.

“It’s your dad.” You smile widely at his words. “I just want to say hi, and that we can’t wait to meet you.” Another kick.

“Keep talking.” You murmur.

“Uh, I- I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to hold you and take care of you. Your mama has been holding you for so long I think it might be my turn.” Hotch chuckles and so do you. “We love you buddy.” He presses a lasting kiss to your stomach before standing and grabbing both of your hands.

“He’s kicking.” Aaron says and you smile, nodding as a tear escapes your eye. His hand reaches up to swipe it away, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing your cheek gently. You're so close together, you see him lean in slightly closer, your lips close. You can feel his breath fan you face. And just as you lean in, lips almost meeting-

A shrill ring brings you both out of your trance. You move away from each other quickly and Aaron takes a moment to compose himself before answering his phone.

“Hotchner.” He says, his voice gruff as you try to collect yourself. What just happened?

You were going to kiss. He was going to kiss you, your boss, your baby daddy, the man you have grown to care for was going to kiss you.

You didn’t think you could really blame this feeling on pregnancy hormones anymore.

“Hey.” Aarons soft voice stops your thoughts and you turn to face him.

“Yeah?”

“That was JJ, we have a case.” You nod.

“Of course, I’ll uh, I’ll see you soon then. Let me know when you guys land.” He nods, leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek and takes his leave.

And you stand in the middle of your room, with feelings you can no longer push away. Feelings that are very much there and that, apparently always have been.

* * *

April 19, 2011

Another month passes and the moment when the baby was kicking is not spoken about. Of course there are plenty more times where the baby kicks and Aaron wants to know about it, but other than that the topic is avoided.

He has however, been acting strangely. You can’t quite figure out what it is, but he is softer around you, even more so than before. He is caring, meeting we’ve need you have, whether it would be driving to the store in the middle of the night for a craving or reading you a story on the couch. Like you are doing now.

Your head rested on his shoulder while he read to you softly from the novel in his hands.

His gruff voice swarms your mind like honey, and the warmth from his body lulls you to sleep.

It isn’t quite a deep sleep, but you are just so damn comfortable curled up with him.

Aaron swears he will wake you soon, but for now he rearranged himself so he is laying on the couch, an arm thrown around you. He grabs a blanket, and wraps you up so you are warm.

He swears he will wake you up.

He promises himself.

But alas, he falls asleep circled around your protectively. He was just too caught up mesmerizing the features of your face to realize quite Joel’s tired he had been.

He awakens with a soft jolt the next morning. It’s enough to jolst you, but you are quick to murmur softly and fall back to sleep. Aaron waits with bated breath for you to begin softly snoring before he looks down at you.

Sunlight streams through the windows and shines on your face, making you look almost angelic to Aaron. He smiles slightly, and presses his hand to your protruding belly. He speaks softly to the baby, whispering words of love and care and that’s what tou wake up to.

You don’t want to disturb the peaceful air, or interrupt Aaron so you pretend to sleep, making sure your breath is even as to not give you away.

“You are going to have a great mom.” You hear his say. “She’s so strong, and brave, and beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.” You fight to keep the blush from your face. “And I love you both so much.” Your breath hitches slightly b ur it’s enough for Aaron to notice. He holds his breath and thinks you just shifted in your sleep. He decided to take his leave, standing slowly and leaning down above you.

“I love you sweetheart.” He murmurs and presses a kiss to your hairline before making his way to his room to get ready for the day.

He loves you.

He loves YOU.

And yeah, you definitely, stupidly, one hundred percent love him too.

* * *

May 5, 2011

It’s been almost a month since Aaron had whispered those three words to what he had thought was your sleeping form. It had been a month since you had last spoken to him properly with awkwardness in the air. It had been a month since you had let him near you other than reasons for the baby.

And Hotch was pained. He was physically pained by you pulling away. It hurt more than he could describe because he didn't know what he had done.

Had he offended you? Had he hurt you in some way? He hadn’t the slightest idea.

Meanwhile you had been stewing on even more than the confusing feelings. Like how were you going to work with an infant at home? How were you and Hotch going to live? Would it be together?

Everything from that first time Aaron had found you crying came crashing back. That was the last time you had pulled away from him so much, and at the time the problems seemed solvable, but now, now they were here. The due date was a month away and you felt completely helpless.

Aaron was done with the avoidance however, and on a particularly bad day (dealing with Strauss), he came home angry.

Your avoidance only made things worse.

“What is your problem?” He demanded after you brushed him off. You were stunned, but figured he would have said something sooner rather than later.

“I-“ you could say what you really wanted to say. “I just don’t know what we are going to do!” Your voice raised slightly and Aaron rolled his eyes.

“This again? Really?” Hotch was beyond pissed. He knew he shouldn’t be taking it out on you, your feelings here were valid, but he couldn’t seem to get past the blinding rage in front of him.

“Oh I’m so sorry that I’m burdening you with my issues.” You say sarcastically.

“I work all day and come home to complaining. Of course you're burdening.” His words hit deep and you turn away from him.

“What do you care! You don’t have to listen! It’s not like we are in a relationship!” That strikes him deep. Especially because he knows how much he loves you.

“Thank god.” He murmurs and tears prick your yes.

“If I’m that damn bad I will gladly leave Aaron!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” You stomp off, not knowing how the conversation had escalated so quickly. You slam your door shut and crumple to the ground in a fit of tears. Why had you said that? Why had he said that?

What had happened, and why did it happen so quickly?

Aarons heart clenched as he heard your sobs from the kitchen. Sometimes he hates his stubborn and stony nature. He was being rediculous, taking out his frustrations on you for no reason. And calling you a burden.

“Dammit.” Aaron murmurs before making his way back to your room. He knocks hesitantly. “Y/n?” He calls and you try to silence your cries.

He opens the door slowly and takes a look at your broken state. He falls to his knees and quickly pulls you into your arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” He says and you continue crying into his shoulder. “I should have said any of that. Strauss was on my ass all day and I just, I’m sorry.” He says and you nod in understanding through your tears.

“I just, I-“ you hiccup and Aaron shushes you, cradling your head against his chest.

“I’ve got you. Let it out. I’ve got you sweetheart.” The term of endearment warms your heart, but you continue crying. Because you love the man who is holding you, but you don’t know how to tell him.

You know you will work out plans and how to live and how to work. But how on earth will you figure out doing all of it with the man you love? Especially when he doesn’t even know.

* * *

June 11, 2011

The day the baby comes is hectic, but also very calm. On a rare day at the office, you had decided to pop in for a visit.

“Hey mama, what are you doin in here?” Derek welcomes you with a hug.

“Just wanted to visit my favorite profilers.” You say as JJ notices you and also greets you with a hug. Soon the whole team is gathered around Derek’s desk, catching up and gossiping about office drama.

Aaron dooms comes out of his office and notcices the crowd.

“Y/n?” He asks and you send him a small smile and wave. “What are you doing here? You should be on bed rest.” You roll your eyes as your team mates chuckle.

“Oh hush I’m fine. Besides, I was going stir crazy in that apartment.” You laugh along with the team and even Aaron gives a small smirk.

“Fine, but please take it easy.” Hotch leans forward pressing a kiss to your forehead, shocking you in the process. You knew he loved you, but you had never thought he would show it like that in front of the team.

Although, your thoughts quickly change when a searing pain shoots through your back.

“Agh!” You exclaim lightly and all heads swivel to tou.

“You okay sweets?” Garcia asks rubbing you back, but you wince.

“Um… I-“ you can’t for a word before water gushed between you legs.

“Oh my god.” Reid mutters.

“Oh my god.” Rossi shouts.

“Oh my god!!” The girls squeal. You look right into Aaron’s eyes and he grabs your hand.

“Oh my god.” You say. “My water just broke.” Your voice is trained as another contraction shoots through your body and suddenly everyone is moving and running.

The next thing you know you are in a car being rushed to the hospital.

“Just deep breaths Y/n. Big deep breaths.” Reid encourages from the passenger seat. Morgan’s driving and Aaron is gripping your hand in the backseat.

“Tell me that one more time Reid! I fucking dare you!” He flinches at your words but knows it’s just because of the pain. You are quickly rushed from your vehicle to a room once arriving at the hospital.

Hotch is the only one with you as your contractions hit quicker and quicker than before.

The doctor is in the room sooner than you are ready for and everything seems to be happening too fast. You turn to Aarona me find him staring right at you.

“Aaron, I’m scared.” You whisper, but he hears you nonetheless.

“I know, but I’m here. Just a little longer and we get to meet out baby boy.” His words encourage you. The doctor tells you it’s time to push and the. Your pushing with all your might.

“You’re doing so well honey.” Aaron allows you to squeeze his hand as you yell out in pain. “So proud of you.” You push and push, sweat gathering on your forehead.

You’re panting and you’re tired and you’re crying, but the whole world stops when that cry fills the air. You don’t even realize it’s over, until the doctor is placing your healthy baby boy in your arms.

“Hi baby.” You coo at the newborn. “My sweet sweet boy. It is so good to meet you.” Tears leak from your eyes as your exhausted body sinks into the bed. Aaron stands behind you, and arm wrapped above the top of the bed.

“He’s beautiful.” He murmurs. “I’m so proud of you, look at our boy.” He’s so happy he can barely contain himself.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to hold your son?” You ask and look up at him.

“Yes.” He whispers and takes the delicate baby from your hand. “Get some rest sweetheart, we’ll be here when you wake up.” You nod and smile, falling asleep to the sight of Aaron and your precious baby boy.

* * *

You wake hours later, your key slumped and groggy from the extraneous activities that filled your morning. The team is gathered in the corner taking turns cooing at the baby. They leave one by one, not realizing you are awake.

You watch as Aaron bounces the baby in his arms.

“You’re only a few hours old and you are already so loved.” He walks over and take a aseat in the chair by your bed. “You are so beautiful, just like your mama. I love you both so much.” You’re taken back to that first moment, when the baby first kicked. How Aaron was so delicate when he spoke to your child. How he told the baby how much he already loved him.

“You know, I don’t think I ever would have realized how much I love your mama if it wasn’t for you.” Aaron says and you smile despite your façade of sleeping.

“I probably wouldn’t have realized either.” You say, startling Aaron for a moment. He readjusts the baby in his arms and stares at you for a moment.

“What?”

“I love you Aaron.” You smile at his shocked expression. “I think I always have.” He sitter for a second before carefully handing your boy. Once held in your grasp, Aaron leans over and places his lips firmly against yours. You smile as pieces click into place in the most chiche ways. You love this man with all of your heart, and he you.

“I love you. And I love your child, and I will love you both for the rest of my life.” You smile tiredly and peck his lips one more time before adverting your attention to the infant in your arms.

“We need a name.” You say softly and Aaron nods.

“How about Jack?” He suggests and you love it already.

“It’s perfect. Jack David Hotchner.” You say and Aaron laughs.

“Daves gonna have a field day with that.” You giggle and press your lips to Aarons again.

“God I love you.” He says and you nod.

“I love you too.”

The end <3

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Thank you so much for reading <3<3<3

Have a great week :)

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