#Supervisory Jobs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiderwriter · 9 months

Text

Margaritas and Mistakes

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, smut coming in the next part (it's already written it just felt best to post them separately lmao).

Warnings: Suggestive language, dirty talk, some heavy petting and mention of sexual arousal. 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: On a group night out, you get a little more drunk than you want to, and when Spencer shows up looking like the love of your life and not just your coworker, you realise that the margarita’s are having more of an effect than they should be.

A/N: Welcome back, it's my week off currently so I've been writing a copious amount of smut, so please enjoy this 3.6k word build up to more smut coming soon. Requests are still open, and you can find my masterlist here!

PART TWO!

You truly made all of your worst decisions when under the influence of alcohol. You blamed it on the fact that you really didn’t get the chance to go out all that often now that you were a full time member of the BAU Team. But the job was sometimes rewarding, and considering you’d been working on consultations all week and not a full time case, you were really looking forward to stretching your legs this friday night and getting some much needed relaxation in before you had to stare evil in the eye one more time.

“Girls’ Night Out! No male detectives, partners, Special Supervisory Agents, Unit Chiefs, OR Doctors!” Penelope cheered as you arrived at her apartment that night prior to your eventful outing.

“God I needed this,” Emily sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t remember the last time I got to kick back with a glass of chardonnay.”

“You sent me a picture of your drink two days ago, and it didn’t exactly look like water,” JJ laughed.

“Ah you see, my dear JJ, that wasn’t kicking back. That was therapy.”

“Honestly, though, it’s going to be good to get out of the house. I swear, the only places I’ve been for the last month have been my apartment and work,” you sigh, downing the last of the drink Penelope had handed you on the way in.

“What happened to that guy you were seeing, Y/N? Was he that bad?”

“Don’t even mention it. He took me back to his place and he didn’t even have a mattress on the floor, wanted us to do it on his couch,” you groan. “The couch that was also housing all of his laundry. And I’m not positive it was even clean laundry.”

You really had been having the absolute worst luck with men recently; other than your aforementioned tinder date, the only men who had shown any interest in you being serial killers who wanted to murder you and married cops looking to fool around with an FBI agent. Not the most auspicious of dating pools.

“Okay, operation get Y/N laid is a go. Ladies, your jobs tonight, should you choose to accept it, is to become the best wing-women this town has ever seen!” Penelope joked, and you found yourself giggling at just the idea, thankful that they were taking the time to try to cheer you up.

“Oh I’m all in. I’m warning you now, Y/N, my wing-woman success rate is pretty high. I’ve helped multiple couples achieve not only orgasm, but also marriage and kids.” Emily boasted.

“Emily, next time you might want to think about the wording of that one,” JJ laughed. “But I’m in too, you could use a little unwinding.”

“Not you too, JJ. You were supposed to be our voice of reason tonight.” You giggle into your cup, feeling the effect of your starter alcohol already.

“Nope. We’re having no responsible adults in our midst tonight. That’s why I’ve already arranged for our favourite Doctor to come and pick us up when the last of us falls tonight. He’s at a screening of some Indie Russian flick until 2am which is probably about perfect for our plans.”

This is the first you’ve heard of Penelope’s plans, but you’re not against it. With a solid escape route, you can let loose as much as you want tonight and know that all of your friends are fully able to have as much fun as possible tonight.

“Well, that’s the plan for us, sweetcheeks. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” Penelope winked at you with a nefariously innocent look on her face. And suddenly you weren’t quite as sure you trusted her…

–X–

After your first margarita at the bar you were still feeling fine. Sure, you were talking a lot louder than you usually did, and if you saw yourself in the mirror you’d probably start giggling instantly at the stupid, semi-permanent grin on your face, but you were feeling so relaxed that it was of no consequence.

You’d moved swiftly from Penelope’s apartment to the nearest downtown bar. It looked pretty seedy to you, and the lighting was so low you could barely make out the faces of your friends in their seats at the same table as you, but you were sure some of that was just the alcohol blurring your vision.

Your hearing though was still in top shape, which was why when Penelope asked her next question, you almost spit the drink out of your mouth, rushing to laugh.

“Okay, fuck, marry, kill, Hotch, Morgan, Reid.” She giggled as she posed the question to her teammates.

“Oh come on now, that’s not fair.” Emily laughed at the question posed.

“You’re right, I don’t know a woman alive that doesn’t want a ride on my chocolate thunder.” Penelope let out a faux dreamy sigh and took another swig of her drink.

“And marrying Reid just seems wrong. He’s like our brother at this point.” JJ points out, just shuddering at the thought.

“So we’re all in agreement? Fuck Morgan, marry Hotch and lovingly bury Reid six foot under?” Emily laughs and the other two nod.

“Nope,” is all you manage to get out before going for another large gulp of your drink.

“Well, well, well, Y/N what would you be doing differently?” Emily snaps her head around to look at you, eager for the juicy details.

“None of you are curious what the doctor is packing?” You reply, almost innocently, unaware of the many plots culminating in the minds of your friends at that very second.

“Not at all. “Nope.” “That’s pretty gross, actually.” They all seem to reply at once, but Penelope pushes another drink into your hand as soon as you’re done and gets ready to launch a counter-attack.

“Are you curious about it?” She leaves it at that, and if you weren’t so drunk, you’d have seen them all lean into you, desperate for your answer and ready to hang off of your every word. "Do you think about you and him… You know?"

“Every night,” you sigh dreamily. And you’re telling the truth. In the recent months, you’d found yourself waking up a little hot and bothered after some rather steamy midnight encounters with the Good Doctor. You’d become close to him over the few months you’d worked with him as a member of the team, but it wasn’t like you’d had a crush on him or anything. It was more like your body had an unconscious appreciation of his body. Or at least for certain parts of his body.

“His fingers are really nice, you know. And they’re big, too. Just makes a girl curious, s’all.” You down the proffered drink, hiding your remaining shame behind the glass.

“No, no, no babycakes, we’re gonna need more details than that if you’re gonna claim that you want to fuck Reid more than Morgan.” Penelope insisted, more forceful now than before.

“And what exactly does every night mean, Y/N? Something you should be telling us?” JJ wiggled her eyebrows at you and you lost it for a few seconds having a giggling fit.

“Okay, okay, it’s just… You’ve seen how he looks, right? And there was that one case three weeks back. He confronted that accomplice, and when he was about to bolt he slammed him against the wall and held him there like he’d barely broken a sweat. And you know how it is, we see Morgan kicking down doors on the daily, so I thought I wouldn’t be that interested in feats of physical strength, but my only thought in that moment was that I’d rather like him to slam…me…against that …wall.” You slowed down your speech at the end, looking up to see what looked to you like the grinning faces of three wolves staring down at their prey.

“And now I need another drink, anyone up for another round?” You squeaked out, changing the topic before any of the others could make their own comments.

–X–

Your second round of margarita’s was probably where things went irreversibly wrong for you. You’d returned to the table with two rounds of shots for all, having queued up four songs on the ancient jukebox you’d seen in the corner, hoping to entice the girls away from conversation, and it had worked.

After you’d bought the first two rounds, JJ had bought you another, and then Emily had splurged on another three, and then Garcia had rounded the hour out with one more shot, this time with sparklers attached.

So by the time you got back to your table and took a much needed swig of a drink that didn’t have to go down all at once, you were feeling well past drunk, to say the least.

But with the free-flowing alcohol came the lack of inhibition, so you really didn’t care. True to their word, the girls had been doing their best to convince you to dance with some of the guys in the bar since you’d gotten up, but truthfully none of them had enticed you.

But now, the night was running out, and the alcohol had you a bit hot and bothered, so when you felt a nice, hard body press up gently against yours, you decided to take advantage of the situation. Without looking back, you wrapped your hand around the one of his that had grazed your hips and held in there, moving your hips back and forth and beginning to grind back into your mystery man.

He was a little bit still at first, but eventually began making some slow movements along with you, and you could see the others cheering for you from a distance, Emily especially whooping from her perch at the bar.

You felt the voice lean down to your ear after a minute or so, and you tilted your neck up to hear the tall man a little better.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He whispered against your skin, still letting him guide you through the music. Had you been sober, you’d have realised the voice was more than familiar, especially since he’d said your name, but you were not, and so you did not.

“Well, if you’re lucky, tonight I’ll be doing you?” you giggled back, looking up at the man quickly. But with the hazy lights of the bar and the copious amount of alcohol you’ve ingested, you don’t catch a good enough glimpse of the man to realise he’s your coworker.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he says, when you start to pull him towards the bar, his grip on your hips tightening, accidentally pressing you back into what you expect to be his semi-erect cock, straining against your clothing.

“Oh, what, wanna take me home right now? That’s okay with me, mister.” You giggle, grinding back into him more intentionally this time. You grip his hand and try to force it up to touch more of you, utterly carefree about throwing yourself on what you presume to be a stranger in the middle of a bar.

Before you manage to, however, he lets out a frustrated groan and turns you around by your hips, forcing you to look him in the eye for a little bit longer, and all of your senses finally start working once again.

“Yes, Y/N, we’re going now. Penelope called me 15 minutes ago and said you were ready for that ride home and I can see now that she was right,” Reid leant down so you could hear him enough, but your brain was short circuiting.

You’d been grinding on your coworker. The one that had been the cause of so much of your sexual frustration for the past god knows how long. Spencer was right in front of you, and he hadn’t loosened his grip on you that much. Spencer was right in front of you and his erection was poking into you.

Really, your following actions shouldn’t be held against you in the slightest given the situation.

“Are you going to take me home, Doctor? Lay me down in bed and get me nice and comfortable?” you giggled up at the man, now enjoying the way your insinuations were making him blush.

“Y/N, you’re not being fair. We need to get the others and go,” he shot back, irritation dripping from his tone.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I being a bad girl?”

“You’re certainly being very difficult- what are you doing?” He jolted as you moved your hands to his fair, beginning to play with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“It’s softer than I imagined it would be,” you giggled again, pressing yourself forward to press a kiss against his neck.

“Okay, we need to get you home,” he panicked, grabbing both of your hands, pressing them against your sides, spinning you around and walking you back towards the other girls.

“Hello Spencer~” the girls all giggled as you approached. You struggled against his grip a little, but he kept you firmly in place, man-handling you slightly, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Who let Y/N drink this much? Don’t answer that, you’ve all been drinking the same amount, right?” He left out a frustrated breath, and ran one hand through his hair. You attempted to move again, but he’d practically pinned you to the table. Your hips were pressed into the edge of it, his hips pressed against you, forcing you up against the table in a way that should have been uncomfortable. His other hand was resting near your discarded glass, caging you in almost entirely.

“Cars out front, lets go,” he said, his jaw twitching with anger now.

“No need, lover boy, taxis are coming to pick myself, Penelope and JJ up as we speak,” Emily slurred the words, but got the idea across well enough. “You’ll just be needing to take this little kitten home and you’re done for the night.”

They were all giggling now, as you let out a childlike yay, your excitement evident on your face.

“We’ll wait and see you all off together at least, so outside now. She needs some fresh air or something,” he was practically talking to a wall at that point, but after a few repetitions, the women acquiesced and moved outside.

“Ooh, that’s my taxi, gotta go,” Garcia practically runs from you the moment you step outside, and you wave at her whilst wrapped around one of Reid’s arms, stumbling with each step.

“Use protection my sweet babies,” she shouts as she slams the car door just as her car drives away, leaving a spluttering Spencer unable to respond that he’s not touching you tonight while you’re in this state.

The taxis for Emily and JJ arrive swiftly as well, and the two soon depart with similar messages and soon you find yourself alone with Spencer once again.

“So, your place or mine,” you smirk, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes in the sweetest way you can manage.

“You’re drunk, Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Drunk I may be, Doctor, but I absolutely know what I’m saying. I’m saying I want you to shove me against a wall and finger fuck me until I don’t know how to walk anymore.”

“Goddamnit, Y/N, someone’s gonna hear you.”

“Oh you want me to be quiet? If you take my panties off and push them into my mouth maybe you could shut me up for a few minutes.”

“Get in the car, now.” You stick your tongue out at him, but hop into the passenger seat. He slams the door in your face and takes a few deep breaths before moving around and getting in himself.

–X–

Despite having the window open the entire car journey, hoping that the fresh air will do you some good, you’re still on top form when Spencer pulls up to your apartment.

“I didn’t even give you my address,” you pouted, as you tried, unsuccessfully, to remove your seatbelt.

“I memorised your file, now let’s get you into bed,” he unclasps it for you, and you use the close proximity to drop a kiss on his cheek.

“Only if you get into bed with me, hot stuff,” you wink at him and make for the door. “You know, you’re going to remember everything I said in the morning, right?” You asked him.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered under his breath as he caught you just as you were about to teeter into the hedge on the shared green space. You wrapped your arms around his neck for the second time that night and stopped him in his tracks. Looking deep into his eyes, you took one of your hands and traced it gently over the side of his face and down his neck, your eyes following your fingers. He gulped involuntarily when you hit his adams apple, and you snapped your eyes back to him.

“Chances are that I’m probably not going to remember any of this, right?” You smiled up at him.

“Alcohol induced memory blackouts tend to occur in binge-drinkers whose alcohol levels have hit at least 0.16%, and further studies show that 50% of adults will experience some kind of alcohol-related memory loss in their lives, so yes, I’d say you’re probably not going to remember any of this.” He shot back, almost entirely still in anticipation of your next move.

“Good, then I might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts right.” As soon as the words were out of your mouth, your lips crashed into his, and after a beat, his reciprocated, moving over yours just as hungrily. He moved now, walking you back to your door, lips still locked in a ferocious battle for dominance, until he pinched your arm slightly. You gasped a little, ready to pull back and complain about the pain, but suddenly his tongue was in your mouth and you were back at it all over again. He tapped your legs, signalling that he wanted you to jump into his arms, and you did, wrapping your legs around his centre tightly as he finished making his way to your apartment door.

Pulling away for the briefest of moments, he pulled your keys from your back pocket, and made quick work of your door.

“Bedroom, now Spencer, please I need you,” you whimpered in his arms, pressing kisses against his jaw and neck. Unfortunately, he had other ideas.

“No. We are going to the bathroom, where you’re going to wash your makeup off, brush your teeth and change your clothes, and then you are going to get in bed and sleep.” He unceremoniously dropped you at the door of your bathroom, and you slid to the ground.

Pouting up at him, you felt the tears well in your eyes.

“No! I don’t want to go to bed yet,” you sounded like a petulant child and Spencer cursed a little under his breath when he looked down at you.

“Y/N listen to me very clearly, you’re not thinking straight. You’re way past the legal limit, you can’t consent to any of this and I’m not going to sleep with you and then have you forget it in twelve hours.” His tone was harsh, but you listened to him.

Picking yourself up off the floor, you followed his instructions and got yourself ready for bed.

“Okay, I’m all done now, Doctor,” you grumbled once you were done. You half expected him to have left you there, choosing to retreat whilst you cleaned yourself up, knowing that he’d already done what was asked of him by getting you home. But he was still there perched on your bed, and you made one last attempt to get what you wanted.

As he made his way to stand up, you used the last of your strength to push him back down again and climbed into his lap. This time though, you made no attempt to take anything further, just wrapping your arms and legs around him and burrowing into his shoulder. You had to admit, you were getting particularly sleepy now.

You let out a small yawn and burrowed further into his neck just as he opened his mouth.

“Y/N, please, what are you doing?” He sounded tired now, but didn’t attempt to push you off again.

“You said I was probably not going to remember this in the morning. That’s not going to fly with me. So you’re gonna sleep here with me and tell me everything I forgot in the morning.” You informed him.

He scoffed at you, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

“So you want me to just sleep here next to you? No pushing you against a wall? No panties in your mouth?”

“Nope. Like you said, ‘s getting pretty late and it’s been a long week, so it's probably for the best if we…” You tried to finish but your tongue was so heavy in your mouth that you just couldn’t use it anymore. You felt the warm rumble of his answering laugh of disbelief as he manoeuvred the two of you under the covers, taking the time to kick off his shoes and remove his coat and shirt.

“Sleep well, Y/N, because when you wake up I’m going to make you feel all of the torment you’ve put me through tonight tenfold.”

And he held you there against his chest as both of you fell deeper and deeper into your slumber.

PART TWO

2K notes · View notes

blachernaepalace · 5 months

Text

reading comrades and enemies by zachary lockman and it is driving me insane that the south african analogy has been there since before israel was A FUCKING STATE "To support his argument Arlosoroff cited the case of South Africa, where as he saw it conditions most closely paralleled those which confronted the Jewish workers in Palestine. The white workers there were unable to compete in a labor market dominated by abundant and cheap African and Indian labor. They had therefore organized and used their political clout to secure the imposition of a 'color bar' which excluded nonwhites from supervisory, skilled, and well-paid jobs. Similarly, if Jewish and Arab workers in Palestine competed within the same labor market, the result would be not only the cessation of Jewish immigration—for Jews would not come to or stay in Palestine if they could not find decently paid jobs there—but also substantial Jewish emigration, making realization of a Jewish majority unlikely. Joint organization could never overcome the dynamics of the capitalist labor market. The only way out of this dilemma, Arlosoroff insisted, was for the Zionist labor movement to devote its resources and energies to developing a separate high-wage, high-productivity, and exclusively Jewish economic sector, which would coexist with an unproductive and low-wage Arab sector for decades to come. This was in fact already happening, but Arlosoroff wanted the movement to be much clearer about its goals and methods, and above all to give up on what he saw as the dangerous delusion of joint organization."

427 notes · View notes

mindblowingscience · 5 months

Text

In an ideal workplace, organizations should strive to protect employees from abusive supervisors, but for employees who experience this type of intense workplace stress, new research from the University at Buffalo School of Management offers insight and coping strategies. Available online ahead of publication in the Journal of Organizational Behavior, the study examines whether employees can recover from supervisory abuse during leisure time, and if individual personality traits impact the restoration process. "Abusive supervision is detrimental to employees' well-being. Victims experience increased emotional exhaustion, job stress, negative emotions, and physical symptoms like pain, weakness, fatigue and shortness of breath," says study co-author Min-Hsuan Tu, Ph.D., assistant professor of organization and human resources in the UB School of Management. "Our study clarifies why and under what conditions abused employees engage in certain activities to recover after work." Gathering data from 203 full-time employees in Taiwan, the researchers analyzed more than 1,500 daily responses over 10 consecutive working days to measure employee perception of nonphysical aggression from a boss or manager, such as humiliating or threatening subordinates or taking credit for their work.

#Science #Health #Sociology #Economics #Stress

404 notes · View notes

hotchnisslvr · 25 days

Text

drunk dial

pairing: platonic aaron hotchner/reader

rating: t

word count: 8.1k

tags: implied sexual assault, referenced sexual assault

summary: when you drunk dial your boss in need of rescuing from a night club, aaron hotchner doesn’t hesitate to respond. the only problem? you thought you’d called emily. hotch insists on you letting him take care of you for the night as you’re in no state to be on your own. as the night progresses, you find that you’re finally able to disclose a trauma you’d kept buried for years.

“Hotchner,” he answers groggily.

A harsh sob echoes through the receiver and he sits up, bringing the phone down to view the caller ID. The dark slash of his brow furrows as he views your name and photo.

There’s concern in his voice as he says your name, but you don’t seem to hear it.

You heave another sob through the phone. “My friend left with some guy. And now this one, he won’t—” Your voice suddenly sounds far away the music pounding in the background overtakes your words. He’s missing information as your voice becomes clear once more. “He wants more than I’m willing to give Emily and I just want to go home.” Your words are slurred. “I just,” another choked sob, “I need he—” The line disconnects.

“Hello?” Hotch questions and tries your name again. He redials your number and curses as it goes to voicemail. Throwing back the sheets, he climbs out of bed and dials Prentiss’ number as he pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt.

She laughs as she answers, “Hotch, it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He cuts her off and curtly explains the call he’d just received. “Where is she?”

“Oh, um, The 930 Club. She’s—”

“Thanks, Prentiss.” He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs his raincoat and keys and swiftly exits his apartment.

The club isn’t far from his complex, but with Saturday night traffic in the heart of DC combined with the summer storm raging on, it seems to take ages. He lays on the horn as someone cuts him off and curses as he slams on his brakes. Briefly, he considers throwing the red and blue lights on, but thinks better of it. He’s not far now and after making it through the next red light, the club comes into view. Disregarding the no parking signs out front, Hotch pulls up alongside the curb and throws the SUV into park.

Despite the rain, a line stretches out the door. Couples and groups of friends clad in leather, satin, high heels, and sleek accessories huddle under wide umbrellas to protect themselves from the storm. Hotch approaches the door and a bouncer stretches his arm across the way.

“There’s a line, old man.” The bouncer inclines his head toward the line of anxiously waiting club goers. “Get to the back before I put you there myself.”

Hotch is unfazed by the bouncer and the sense of power his job provides him. Standing toe to toe with the man, he stares him down, his eyes hard. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his badge. With two fingers, he flips it open and pushes into the bouncer’s face. “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he states flatly. “I’ve got an agent in trouble in there, so get the hell out of my way before I have you in handcuffs.” He’s bluffing, obviously, the bouncer has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t know that though, given how wide his eyes open in fear. He says nothing and steps aside, granting him entry.

“Thank you.” For good measure, Hotch drives his shoulder into the bouncer as he shoves his way into the noisy nightclub. His eyes dart around, scanning the scene. There are two long bars on opposite walls, a DJ against the short wall where dozens of people bump and grind against one another on the dance floor, and two levels of tall tables and booths for people to crowd around or sneak into to get away from the music.

On the phone, you’d sounded distressed. Your words were slurred and he could only hope and pray that you’d not been drugged by whatever “he” was with you at the time of the call. God, he could only hope that you were even still here. If he knew creeps as well as his job had accustomed him to, if a man was trying to procure a woman under the influence, he’d either leave immediately and attack her in a secondary location or he’d take her somewhere more private within the environment.

Pushing through the crowd, he shouldered past couples who shot dagger sharp glances at him and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. The music still pounded over the speakers up here, but this was clearly where people went to escape the bustle of the crowded dance floor and get away to drink or order food or conversate more

privately. He calls your name and begins scanning tables. Patrons dining or trying to steal a romantic moment glare at him. Some curse and tell him to fuck off. He pays them no mind. As he winds around tables, he begins losing hope despite there being much more of the club to explore. He has half a mind to shut the whole place down and call in the team, but that would be a gross overreaction. There is no evidence that you’re actually in danger or missing aside from a drunk misdial. Still though, his heart pounds erratically as he calls your name over the music.

He reaches the end of the second floor and at first doesn’t see that there are people in the booth they’re that far tucked into it. The man’s hulking frame blocks the girl from view and he knows it’s you.

“Hey!” he barks over the baseline.

“We don’t need anything,” the man says without looking back.

Fury floods his veins. Without a second thought, Hotch reaches for the man and grabs him by the back of the neck. He reels back, pulling the man to his feet. Catching his balance, the man pulls his fist back. As he aims to deliver a punch, Hotch ducks and sends his fist into the man’s gut. As the air vacates his lungs and he doubles over, Hotch fists his hands into his shirt and slams him back into the table. With the man immobilized, he looks up at you. A strap on your dress falls over one shoulder and your hair hangs limply, having fallen free of whatever style it had been in. You look at him from half hooded eyes, blinking slowly. The scene is spinning and your temples are throbbing.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. His knuckles blaze white as the man struggles beneath his grip.

“Stop moving!” he barks.

“Can somebody help me?” the man calls.

Someone is saying your name, asking if you’re ok. The music is loud and your ears feel like they’re plugged with cotton. Things seem to move quickly and slowly all at once. Where are you? You’ve not left the club yet, but where did Mariah go? There’s your name again. God, you’re really out of it. Mariah left, you remember. She left with Andrew’s friend and Andrew, God, he wouldn’t leave you alone. When was Emily going to get here? There’s your name again. You blink hard and try to get your bearings. Though things are hazy and tilted through your alcohol laden senses, a picture starts to form in front of you. Aaron Hotchner, your boss, has Andrew pinned against the table in front of you.

“Sir?” you question, though the word feels far away and unfamiliar on your tongue.

Hotch raises his eyes from Andrew, concern reflecting back at you in them. Your eyes widen as you take in Andrew’s form beneath him. You glance down at yourself and see your dress straps pulled down, exposing the lace of your bra. What the fuck had he been trying to do before Hotch got here?

Two bouncers approach as a crowd begins to gather, people are always hungry for drama after all.

“Is there a problem here?” the first bouncer asks. He’s tall, built, and wears sunglasses despite it being dark inside. His ginger beard is bushy and his brow is pierced. He looks pissed as all hell that he has to be up here breaking up a fight. Hotch recognizes the other bouncer from the door. When they make eye contact, his eyes widen.

“Yo, Liam, that’s that FBI agent I was telling you about.”

Liam arches a brow, but his expression softens. “What’s going on, officer? Or should I call you Agent?”

Hotch ignores him and pulls Andrew to his feet, pushing him toward the bouncers. “Get this guy out of here,” he orders. He looks toward you again, his eyes searching for signs of further harm. He turns his attention back to Andrew.

“Did you slip her something?”

Andrew’s face screws. “What? No!”

Hotch steps forward, his face inches from his, and repeats the question louder, “Did you give her something?”

Andrew flinches. “No! I don’t do that shit, man. She took a bunch of shots with her friend. Guys were buying them drinks all night. I just—”

“You just what?” Hotch questions, his voice low and dangerous. “Wait for a woman that can hardly stand, take her upstairs, hide away, and see just how far you can take it?”

“Hey, she was into it!”

Hotch grabs him by the jaw. “Look at her!” he says. “She can barely keep her eyes open! That’s not consent, idiot!”

Andrew swallows and he looks like he might wet himself.

“Hotch,” you say and try your best to sit up, the world spinning as you do so.

Hotch releases him, but first leans in close to his ear. “If you ever, and I mean ever try this again, with anyone. I will have you arrested and will personally make sure you never see the light of day ever again. I was a federal prosecutor, so I know how to make charges stick. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrew nods vigorously and a tear slips from his eyes. “Not so confident now, huh?” Hotch whispers, disdain dripping from his lips. “Get him out of here.”

He watches as the bouncers lead Andrew down the steps. Hotch immediately turns his attention on you. He slides into the booth beside you. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of what’s happening. The music is so loud. Hotch looks around and then back at you. “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” He stretches his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you out of the booth. When you find your feet, you stumble and he catches you, his arm bracing around your lower back.

“It’s raining,” Hotch says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Take this.” He drapes it over your shoulders, his little finger curling under the strap of your dress and pulling it back into place as he does so. The smell of cedar and teakwood reaches your nose, a severe contrast to the club’s overarching scent of vodka, sweat, and the amalgamation of various perfumes and colognes sprayed in earnest.

The second you exit the club your head feels a fraction clearer. The air is muggy, the humidity amping up with the cold rain coming down after a week of intensely high temperatures.

Aaron reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. He clicks the unlock button and the car beeps in response. He opens the door and helps you inside, his eyes lingering on you for a moment as you clumsily buckle your seatbelt to make sure you can get it on alright. Once secure, he gently shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

He slides into the driver’s seat and twists the key in the ignition. He places his hands on the wheel, but before shifting the car into gear, he looks at you, intensely. When he says your name, it’s gentle. It’s not the tone he uses in the office when he’s calling the team for a briefing or to review something you’d written in a report. There’s a warmth in his voice, and there’s real concern there too. “You don’t have to tell me,” he starts. “Just know that you can.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts on its axis. Your stomach roils and for a moment you’re afraid you might be sick. You take a deep breath and manage to hold it down. Hotch tilts his head, regarding you. “Is there anyone at home that can take care of you?”

“No,” you answer and this time you don’t shake your head to avoid aggravating the nausea. “My roommate is out of town visiting her family,” you speak slowly but your words still come out slurred.

Hotch nods and shifts the car into gear. “You can stay with me then, tonight.”

“No, sir I can’t let you do that. You’ve got Jack and—”

A smile cracks his stern visage as he pulls out into traffic. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve taken a mental snapshot as you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a genuine expression of mirth cross his face. “Jack is at his aunt’s. I wouldn’t have exactly been able to come out like this if he wasn’t. Beth has an event for work this weekend, which is why I’ve stayed back in DC. It’s no trouble at all.”

You sink back into the seat, a part of you unable to believe that this is happening while the other part of you is still trying to fully process what all had transpired in the last fifteen minutes.

“Hotch, how did you know—”

His eyes are on the road as he speaks. “You thought you’d called Emily. You called me.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, drawing out the last letter. A scarlett heat creeps into your cheeks and you cover your face with your hands. “So you heard—Jesus Christ. Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotch says, his words genuine. “I’m glad I can help.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. It’s not long by any stretch of the imagination, but the constant stop and go traffic of late night DC has your stomach doing somersaults. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the cool glass of the window hoping it’ll quell the churning in your belly.

A quiet groan escapes your lips as Hotch pulls into his designated parking spot at The Langham. It stopped raining. As soon as he shifts the car into park, your stomach feels as though it’s just been bounced around like. ping pong ball. “Oh god,” you moan and fumble with the door handle. Somehow you manage to undo the lock and fling open the door. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you rush over to the nearest bush, the vomit you’d staved off finally forcing its way up and out of your body. It’s vile, the way the alcohol and stomach acid burns your throat.

Footsteps rapidly approach and there’s a hand at your neck, gathering your hair. “Alright, ok,” Hotch says soothingly, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. “Get it all out, oh yeah, yep. There you go.”

When your body stops purging itself, you gulp down a fresh breath of air before spitting the acrid taste of bile from your lips. You stay like that, hands on your knees, and take a few deep breaths. “Do you have your gun?”

Hotch releases your hair as you stand, but keeps a steadying hand on your arm. His expression is puzzled, his brow arched. “No, why?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the sidewalk leading toward the front entrance to his building. “To kill me now so I don’t have to live with the embarrassment of knowing my boss just saw that happen.”

Something between a laugh and scoff escapes Hotch’s lips as he catches up to you in two long strides. Him and his long ass legs, you drunkenly muse.

The lights hurt your eyes and your temples continue to throb as you let Hotch navigate your way through his complex. The walk feels excessively long and you wonder if all apartment complexes are this maze-like. As he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment you realize you’re actually at Aaron Hotchner’s apartment. You’ve never been to his apartment. You’ve been to Emily’s, Penelope’s, and Spencer’s apartments; Rossi and JJ’s houses, but Hotch? Definitely not. Suddenly you feel like you are about to encroach upon the shadowy place Mufasa warns Simba about in The Lion King.

You blink and that clears the weird image forming of Hotch as a cartoonish fatherly lion from your mind. You stumble through the threshold as he pushes the door open and curse as he catches you again. “These fucking heels,” you grumble. As you reach down to work out the straps your stomach flips and you groan.

Hotch’s eyes flare slightly. “Why don’t you stay up there?” he cautions. “Let me help you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” you respond, voice tight as your stomach threatens revolution once more.

He bends down on one knee and begins to undo the straps from around your ankles. He holds the back of your calf as he pulls the heel off and places it against the wall. You have to catch yourself on his shoulder to keep from falling but as soon as your foot falls flat on the floor, a languid moan leaves your lips.

“Good God, that feels so much better.”

He helps you slide out of the other high heeled shoe and stands. Without the heels on, he has a decent amount of height on you. You have to look up to meet his eyes, those eyes still shining with concern.

“Let me take the coat,” he says, lifting his hands toward you. You turn and shrug out of it, your limbs feeling awkward and heavy as you do so. He hangs it on a hook on the back of the door and gestures down the length of the hallway.

“It’s just the one bedroom,” he explains as he leads the way toward the main room. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” you blurt. “No, no, no you don’t have to do any of that oh my God.”

Hotch chuckles in response. “I think you’ll thank me in the morning if you do.” Wordlessly, you follow as he leads the way to the aforementioned bedroom. He flicks the light switch on and the lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room. It’s simply decorated with store bought abstract paintings and dark blue linens on the queen sized bed. A framed photo of Jack sits on the nightstand, angled toward the bed. The idea of Hotch lying there looking at the image of his son tugs your heartstrings. You move past Hotch and plop down on the bedspread before reaching for the photo. You smile as you look at Jack’s crooked smile.

“He’s so precious,” you muse and poke Jack’s nose through the flat plane of glass. You look up at Hotch from where he stands in the doorway. “He’s lucky to have a dad like you, sir.”

Hotch smiles softly and crosses the distance to sit beside you, the mattress sinking beneath your combined weight. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be honest, it's hard to feel like a good dad some days with our job.”

You bump him with your shoulder, or at least that’s your intention.You more or less use your entire arm to nudge him just barely. “You give him all the time you’re able, we all see that. If we do, Jack definitely does.”

You pass him the picture frame and smile. Hotch smiles in turn, his lips together. “Thank you,” he says as he places it back on the nightstand. “I hope he grows into a good man.”

“With you as his father, there’s no doubt. There ought to be more dads like you out there to teach their sons how to be men.” Your smile falters and your voice grows small. “Maybe then they wouldn’t try to see just how far they can push the envelope.”

Tears spring to your eyes and you use the back of your hand to clumsily wipe them away. Turn off the waterworks, you chide yourself. Your temples already throb from how much the alcohol, first round of tears, and vomiting dehydrated you, no need to compound it now with more tears.

Hotch says your name quietly. “You can talk to me, you know.” He pats your hand that rests atop the bedsheets. “I’m not your boss right now, I’m your friend.”

Your lip quivers as you stare blankly at the wall ahead. “If I talk about it, that means I let it happen. I’m a fucking FBI agent, Hotch. I should know better than to drink that much. I should—”

Hotch’s brow pinches. “Woah, woah, woah,” he starts, “where is this coming from? You know better than anyone that how much you drink doesn’t matter, that doesn’t entitle anyone else to you or your body. And fuck if you’re an agent, you’re allowed to go and enjoy drinks and a night out without worrying if some asshole is going to try and take advantage of you. I think I scared him within an inch of his life, too. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

But it’s not about Andrew. It’s not about tonight anymore. Tears slip over your lash line.They’re hot and fat and you hate how they have little minds of their own, dropping freely down your cheeks. You know what he says is true. Hell, you preach it to everyone, especially when you teach self defense at the local university. What you wear is never an excuse for someone to touch you. How you dance isn’t an excuse for someone to grope you. How much you drink isn’t an excuse for someone to lay claim to your flesh. The only thing that means yes is explicit, enthusiastic consent. You know this. You teach this.

But right now, it’s so hard to believe because that’s what you had to fight so hard to teach yourself when you first had to learn what happened wasn’t your fault.

You drop your head into your hands and stifle a sob. “God, it was nearly ten fucking years ago.”

“What was ten years ago?” Hotch asks, his voice soft and kind.

Oh God. You’d said that out loud.

You scrub your hands over your face and curse as you smear mascara into your eye. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your hand flies to your eye instinctively.

“I’ve got something I think can help,” Hotch says as he rises from the bed and darts out of the room. From your point of view, you can’t see anything but you hear bottles rummaging around from where you imagine is the bathroom out in the hall. When he returns he carries a small green package in his hand. He crouches in front of you and peels back the plastic film on the container. With two fingers he extracts a wipe and folds it in half. As he reaches for your face he hesitates, wipe paused in mid air above your cheek. “Is this alright?” he asks.

Sniffling, you nod. With one hand, Hotch gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist. As he pulls it away, he uses his other hand to place the cool moist towelette against your eye. He holds it there for a moment before he begins to wipe and blot at the black swirls of mascara that had dried in tear stained patterns around your eyes and cheeks and whatever vestiges of eyeshadow remained. Once that wipe is fully soiled, he retrieves a fresh one; repeating the gesture on the other eye before moving on and clearing away what remained of your face and lip makeup. You don’t speak while he does this, and you don’t have to. You needed it. You needed that. You needed someone. You needed him. A friend. Someone that would ask no questions and just show up for you when you needed them most. No questions asked. And when he did ask questions, when Hotch did, there was no expectation to answer. But right now, in this strange moment, in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, in his bed no less, you felt like you could finally tell someone.

“I was a teenager,” you say as he takes one final swipe at your cheek.

His hand freezes along your jawline and his eyes lock on yours. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently, lowering his hand.

“If I don’t say it now on what courage the alcohol left in my system is giving me, I’m afraid I never will.”

Hotch sits back on his heels. “Alright.”

“I was dating an older guy at the time. I was a freshman in college. He was a senior; vice president of his fraternity. He came from a wealthy family, too. I was naive and so excited to be dating someone like that, someone with status. I grew up comfortably, but not that well off. He took me to nice dinners and bought me expensive gifts. We had a physical relationship, and it started out fine enough.” You pause and take a deep breath. “But we started fighting. He wouldn’t,” you pause. “I couldn’t get him to talk to me or communicate in any way that led to resolution when we did. He’d just keep apologizing and told me that he’d do better next time. He’d start kissing me to interrupt and then his hands would be in my pants and I just,” you stop and shake your head. “I thought if I could just deal with what he did physically, that things would be fine again if I just pretended I liked what was happening and got it over with. I thought that we’d go back to the fun, happy go lucky couple everyone knew us as. Until it happened again, and again, and again. When he graduated I finally felt safe enough to break things off once there was distance between us. I knew something had felt off about those experiences. It never occurred to me that that was assault.”

“You suffered through numerous unwanted physical advances because he emotionally manipulated you through stonewalling.” Hotch says quietly. It’s not an explanation, but validation of your experience.

A choked laugh escapes your lips. “I know that now. At the time, I thought assault was like what you see on TV. That it’s some stranger in an alley that blitz attacks you. I never thought it could be someone you knew, let alone someone you were in what you believed was a loving and committed relationship.” You shake your head again, a wry smile playing on your lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that the perpetrators were almost alway statistically someone the victim knows.”

A warm hand slips into yours. You look up and Hotch is looking at you intently. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You lick your chapped lips and drop your eyes, nodding. “It took a long time for me to learn that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” Hotch says. “To have gone through that alone,” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you reply, because what else was there to say? “I wasn’t completely alone. I did go to counseling throughout the remainder of my time in school, they had services for the students. There was a support group, too; one for people who’d experienced sexual violence. It was there I really learned that things weren’t my fault. Other people had experienced similar things. Without that, I don’t think I’d have made it through honestly. I definitely wouldn’t be here.”

His hand squeezes around yours once more. “I’m glad that you are.” He smiles and a dimple forms in his cheek. “I know I'm a better man for having known you. The team, hell, the impact you have on the lives of those going through the worst possible moments of their lives in these cases we work…you have touched so many lives for the better. Please never, ever forget that.”

You smile crookedly and it feels somewhat genuine. “What do you think gets me through the day?”

The throbbing in your temples intensifies suddenly and you screw your eyes shut, your hands moving instinctively to rub them. “God, I’m going to be so hungover in the morning.”

Hotch claps his hands together. “Let’s see if we can’t get ahead of that.”

He leaves the room and when he returns he has a glass of water. “Here,” he says and passes you the cup.

You graciously accept it and take a long drink, the cool water soothing your throat, raw from crying and vomiting. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“It would probably help if you got some sleep. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”

You scoff, “Ok, Hotch. I threw up and it helped a little bit, but I’m not that sober.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Let me at least get you some clothes. I know sleeping in a cocktail dress won’t be too comfortable.”

“Do you know?” you tease.

He presses his lips together. “Let me go see what I can find.”

You exhale a short laugh as he disappears from view and you fall back onto the mattress, a dull thud echoing as your body hits the sheets. You heave out a big sigh and stare at the ceiling. “This is a weird fucking night.”

You close your eyes and behind closed lids, it feels like you’re spinning. Yep, definitely not sober. You open your eyes and lazily reach up to start pulling bobby pins from your hair.

“Alright, I’ve got a pair of sweats and an old academy hoodie that should fit you.”

At the sound of Hotch’s voice, you let your head loll to the side. “You look absurdly tall from this angle,” you muse.

Hotch chuckles, “Spoken like someone desperately in need of sleep.” He steps into the room and drops the clothes onto the bed.

“Hotch?” you question, ignoring his last comment.

You roll onto your side and push yourself back into a sitting position. He arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why is it you’ve got makeup wipes in your apartment?” You inhale sharply. “Ooo, are you secretly a drag performer?”

Hotch laughs. “I am not a drag performer, though I do think Anderson does drag brunch on Saturday mornings if I remember right.”

You blink twice. “I’m sorry, and you’re only telling me this now?”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Garcia does.”

Your jaw drops. “Garcia knows?? Oh, when I get my hands on her—”

“To answer your question though,” Hotch butts in, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “They’re Beth’s.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Beth keeps things at your apartment? What are we talking, like, a couple of things on the counter? A drawer?”

Hotch’s eyes drop to the floor as a scarlet blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, this is serious isn’t it?” You feel the apples of your cheeks as your smile widens. “Spill, Hotch! Should I be looking at outfits for the wedding?”

To that, Hotch raises his hands as a smile splits his lips. “Calm down,” he laughs. “We’re not quite at wedding bells, but we do see each other almost every weekend. With the commute on the train, it is easy to have a drawer or two at one another’s apartments.”

You feel like kicking your feet, you’re so happy. If anyone deserved this kind of joy and love in their life, it was Hotchner. God knows he deserved it after all the hell he’d been through, all the trauma he survived.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say. “Beth is a remarkable woman”.

Hotch nods, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “She is.”

You reach over and pull the clothes onto your lap. “Thanks, again, Hotch.” You toy with the sleeve of the hoodie in hand. “As horrified as I was when I realized I’d called you instead of Emily, I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was you.”

“We’re a team. We’re family,” Hotch replies. He leans against the doorframe. “Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a bit more protective of you, anyway. So, when I heard your voice on the line, there was no hesitation. I’d like to think if I had a daughter and she were in trouble, that someone in her life would do the same.”

You spring off of the bed, a little uncoordinated due to alcohol still gently buzzing in your veins at this point, and throw your arms around him. You bury your face in his neck and though, muffled, you say, “Thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, for everything.” You don’t need to say what for, he knows. Your gratitude extends far beyond just rescuing you from the night club.

His arms snake around you, his palms pressed flat against the middle of your back as he squeezes you tightly.

“You’re so welcome,” he says into your hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know. Don’t ever forget that.” He pulls away just so and presses a fatherly kiss to your hairline, “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

You nod and brush away a stubborn tear. God, you’d think you’d have nothing left in the tank at this point. You stifle a yawn as you close the door. The clothes Hotch left you fit well enough; the warmth and coziness of the fleece lined fabrics acting as security blanket as you tuck yourself in between the sheets. You barely remember to flick off the lamp on the bedside table before crashing onto the pillows where the heaviness of sleep finally drags you under to the sweet realm of nothingness.

Three things are incredibly clear the second you wake up: one, it’s too bright and you have to squint against the white rays of sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds; two, your mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, you swallow but there’s not even an inkling of saliva to wet your dry throat; and three, it feels like someone has been slamming on a timpani inside of your skull.

You exude a long, slow groan into the pillow before rolling onto your side to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on Hotch’s nightstand. The red numbers blink back 10:23AM. There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand alongside two tablets and a folded piece of paper.

Your brow furrows as you prop yourself onto your elbow and reach for the note. You unfold it with one hand and in Hotch’s tight, neat scrawl it reads:

Ran out to grab a few things. I left some aspirin there on the table. You should probably take them.

-Hotch

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you mutter as you toss the paper onto the bed.

You try not to gag as the pills start dissolving on your tongue and quickly chase it with the glass of water. After washing them down, you make a rather unattractive display of gulping down the remaining water. You drink it so quickly that some spills over the glass and you have to use the sleeve of your sweater, well Hotch’s sweater oops, to wipe off your face.

It doesn’t sound like anyone else is home. Pushing back the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand and for the first time, the room isn’t spinning. Even though Hotch is out, you still walk on the balls of your feet as if you need to be quiet. It feels strange to be stepping out into the hallways and walking into his bathroom. Sure, you’d swung by his apartment a few times to drop off a file or other work necessities. You’d never been in his house though.

Walking in and using his bathroom feels so strange, like an invasion of privacy. Like his bedroom, it’s simply decorated. A shower curtain decorated with blue and green swirls lines one wall. Plush bath mats of a similar blue line the area in front of the shower and sink. His very few toiletries sit in a neat row to the left of the faucet on the sink. He’s a Gillette guy, interesting. You’d always taken him for an Old Spice sort of man. You hear the front door and stop profiling his bathroom, instead, quickly using it for its intended purposes. You can’t help yourself though as you dry off your hands. You pull open the two drawers beneath the sink and smile to yourself. The one holds all of Hotch’s things: razor, comb, toothpaste, the usual; the other is clearly Beth’s: makeup, hair elastics, and the green makeup wipes sit neatly inside among other items. You bump the drawers closed with your hips before making your way back out into the hallway.

“Hey, Hotch,” you say, “Thanks again so much for—” Words fail you as you look up and see JJ and Prentiss in his living room.

Wide smiles spread across their faces. JJ spreads her fingers and holds her hands in the air, “Surprise!”

Brow furrowed, you cross the room and let them pull you into quick hugs.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but what’s going on? Where’s Hotch?”

Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she tilts her head, “He thought you could use a pick me up.”

“So, he called you guys?”

JJ nods. “We’ve all had rough nights, followed by even rougher mornings.” She inclines her head toward Emily. “Remember the morning Hotch ran that triathlon?”

Emily cringes. “God, don’t remind me!”

“Where is Hotch, anyway?” you ask, craning your neck around Emily and JJ.

“Oh,” Emily says, her lips forming the shape of the word. “He should be right behind us he—”

Just then, the front door swings open and it’s not Hotch.

“There she is!” exclaims Penelope. She waltzes into the apartment, adjusting the massive purse on her shoulder as she does so. Her knee length pink skirt swishes around her legs as she crosses the room to pull you into an embrace. The smell of jasmine clings to you as your face is buried in her chest and neck. She pulls away after a long moment, though her hands don’t drop from your shoulders. Her eyes scan your face. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. Do not fret! Penelope is here to help get you feeling refreshed and revitalized!”

You look to JJ and Emily for help. “I look like shit, don’t I? Be honest.”

JJ shakes her head. “Noooo.”

Emily presses her lips together and tilts her head back and forth, “Well—”

JJ slaps a hand against her stomach and Emily winces. “What?!”

“Drink this,” Penelope says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of yellow liquid. You take it and turn to read the label, Crisp Lemon Berry Pedialyte. “It’s got electrolytes. You need those!”

“Yes ma’am,” you say agreeably and crack open the bottle. The label makes it seem like it’ll be better than it is, but the taste is bearable. You need as much hydration as you can get at the moment, so you don’t complain.

“Sorry I took so long!” Hotch’s voice fills the room as he enters carrying a drink tray of coffees and an extra one in his free hand. “Line at the cafe was nearly out the door.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee?” you ask, salivating at the thought.

Penelope points a purple polished finger at you. “Finish that, then you can have coffee.”

He sets a cup down on the kitchen table before approaching them in the living room. “Non-fat, vanilla latte for you,” Hotch says, passing a cup to JJ. “London fog for Emily, can’t quite shake England there, can you?” he teases as Emily accepts the cup, not before flicking him off though with a cheeky grin playing on her berry red lips. Iced matcha green tea latte—”

“With soy?” Penelope questions, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

“With soy,” Hotch confirms and she accepts it happily.

“Last but not least, almond milk mocha for you.” He holds the cup out and smiles warmly. You hold his gaze for a moment, the exchange carrying more than a simple ‘thank you’ would allow for. He dips his chin just slightly in acknowledgment. As you reach for the cup, Penelope’s hand shoots out to intercept, her bangles jangling against her wrist.

“I’ll take that!” she chirps before taking a long sip of her own drink.

“Hey!” you whine.

Penelope gestures toward the Pedialyte with your coffee. “Finish!”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly chug the remaining liquid. “There,” you say and shake the empty bottle. “Happy?”

“Very!” pipes Penelope. “Oh! Here!” she reaches into her bag and withdraws a drawstring bag. Did she own the Mary Poppins bag? How did all of this fit inside of her purse? “I stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Toothbrush, deodorant, change of clothes, the works.”

“Oh, Penelope Garcia, you are my angel!” You gratefully take the bag into your hands and disappear down the hall into the restroom.

The aspirin has started to kick in alongside what attempts you’ve made to rehydrate and the throbbing in your skull has dwindled to a soft drumming. Searching through the contents of the bag, you praise Garcia’s name as you find your skincare and toothbrush.

It takes all of ten minutes for you to brush your teeth, wash your face, and style your hair up and out of your face. Garcia had packed you two different styles of underwear, (leave it to her to give you the choice of thong or bikini styled undergarments. She’s probably also one of the only people you’d feel comfortable rummaging through your underwear drawer if you’re being honest) a pair of leggings, and a cropped Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You change quickly and fold the sweats and sweater Hotch had lent you. You throw all of your toiletries into the bag and shrug it over shoulder before scooping Hotch’s clothes into your arms.

Hotch and the girls are sitting around the coffee table on the couch and recliner, enjoying their beverages. Penelope smiles widely when you emerge.

“There she is!” she exclaims. “I brought your Birkenstocks too. They’re by the door. Hotch said you’d worn heels out and I knew you definitely wouldn’t want to be in those.”

“Good call,” you say and take your coffee from Penelope. You take a slow sip of the warm mocha and moan.

Everyone laughs. Emily checks her watch and shoots up. “We better get going if we’re going to catch Anderson’s performance.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait.”

Emily smiles and nods. “Yep. He comes on in about an hour. We figured you’d need a nice greasy brunch after last night. The place he performs at makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

“And potatoes with sausage gravy!” Penelope adds. “Though I’m more partial to mushroom gravy because precious baby piggies should not be slaughtered for my breakfast.”

“Okayyy, Penelope,” JJ teases as she loops an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure they added veggie sausage to their menu just for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “They were probably afraid she’d hack their system and mess with their food shipments otherwise.”

Penelope looks over her shoulder as JJ guides her to the door. “I could do that!”

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that!” Hotch calls after them as JJ and Penelope leave the apartment.

“I wonder if they remember I’m the one with the car keys,” Emily says, her lips drawn into a warm smile. “Meet you downstairs?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.”

Emily nods and leaves. You cross the living room toward the door where Hotch stands, one arm holding it open.

“Hotch I—

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“No, Hotch. I’m serious. What you did for me last night, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he says, his tone firm. You look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “I would do it again without question. Like I said last night, we’re not just a team, we’re family. We look out for each other. We pull each other up when we’re at our lowest. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.”

You can’t help the quizzical expression that pinches your features. “For what? All I did was wake you up in the middle of the night, throw up in your bushes, and kick you out of your own bed on a Friday night.”

Hotch laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, well when you say it like that, it definitely doesn’t look good. What I was going to say though, is thank you for trusting me. I know that I wasn’t who you expected last night, but I’m glad I could be the one to help you when you needed it. Furthermore, I’m incredibly grateful that you felt as though you could trust me to tell me about your past. I know that can’t have been easy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope it’s clear now that you’ll always have a listening ear with me.”

A surge of emotion courses through you in that moment and you can’t help but launch yourself at him. You loop an arm around his neck and awkwardly attempt to hug him with the other arm that stills holds his clothes, the bundle of fabric creating an odd wedge between your bodies. Hotch is taken aback by the gesture, but his arms comfortably fold around your back and he squeezes you gently.

“I could’ve used someone like you, you know.” You say after a moment. “I didn’t really have any older male figures I could talk to at the time it happened.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he assures you. “And I’m not going anywhere. That is, until Strauss gets sick of me.”

You pull back and scoff. “Yeah, like that’ll happen any time soon.” You hold the clothes out to him. “Here! Before I walk out with them.”

“It’s actually a bit breezy out there,” Hotch says as he takes the bundle and passes you back the sweater. “Why don’t you take this?”

You reach out and accept it, pulling it back into your chest. “I’ll bring it with me to the office on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile. “Oh! And you’ll probably want these.” He walks away and while he’s off grabbing whatever it is he’s talking about, you scoop your heels up off the floor and slide into your Birkenstocks.

Hotch returns with a pair of black Ray Bans. “If I know one thing about hangovers,” he says as he passes them to you. “It’s how horrible a sunny day can be on the eyes.”

He reaches for the door knob and pulls it open for you. “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As you slide his sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, you curse. “Shit! The report on the McPherson case. I was going to work on it today. I’ll email it to you first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hotch explains. “Emily and JJ took care of it for you before coming over this morning.” He’d orchestrated everything with them as soon as he’d woken up to make sure you had nothing to worry about today except for fighting your hangover. He’d not told them everything of course, he’d never betray your trust like that. Some things the team didn’t need to know, and that was okay. If you were ever ready to tell them, he knew you would in time. For now, he just told them that you’d had a tough night and would need some TLC from the girl gang. They hadn’t even bothered with follow up questions. The three girls were ready to drop what they were doing and change their plans to be able to bring comfort and fun to your Saturday morning. He’d have done the same thing for any of them if they’d been in your shoes.

Your lips quirk into a small smile knowing further words weren’t necessary to convey your gratitude and appreciation for all he’d done and continues to do. “I’ll see you, Monday.”

He smiles in turn, “See you, Monday.”

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #f!reader #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x female reader

313 notes · View notes

moonlightspencie · 1 year

Text

Things I Can’t Say

Description: Aaron Hotchner has a lot of things on his mind. Most of which he can never bring himself to say. Until one slip unravels everything. (originally posted on ao3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: usual criminal minds-level mentions of cases, hotch being dumb

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: it’s me. hi. i’m back

The case was turning out to be a rough one. Each lead was turning up as a dead end, and every member of the team was just about over the chase after a couple of days.

Y/N sat in the office the local precinct had set aside for the team, on the phone with Penelope as she rattled off a million ideas. They eventually came to a possible suspect, Y/N putting the phone on speaker for Hotch and Reid to listen to as she listed her points.

“He could be a good starting point. He knew Quinn, and hung out in the same circles as the other three,” Garcia offered.

“Okay, we’ll check him out. Thanks, sugar,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Anything for you, my sweet.”

She hung up, looking to Hotch to find him already looking at her.

“She already sent the address,” he said, holding up his phone.

“Awesome.”

“You’ll come with me to check out the first suspect. Reid, I want you to stay here and complete the geographical profile.”

“Sounds good. I feel like I’m getting somewhere,” Reid said, nearly mindlessly.

Hotch nodded, starting towards the exit of the precinct with Y/N on his heels.

They pulled up to the house after a long drive, already getting the feeling this wouldn’t be their guy. Hotch pulled the key from the ignition, and they walked up to the front door.

A man opened the door after a firm knock, burly and a bit unkempt. Y/N spoke up first, hoping to soften him up to questioning.

“I’m supervisory special agent Y/L/N, this is Agent Hotchner. Can we ask you a few questions?”

He raised his brows. “Anything you say.”

“We’re inquiring about a man named Quinn. We hear you were good friends,” Hotch stated.

“Is there a question in there, agent?”

Hotch sighed. “Do you know the last time you saw him?”

“Week ago. Maybe two.”

Y/N crossed her arms, whispering to Hotch. “He’s not our guy. We’re looking for someone highly organized.”

Hotch nodded, dropping his arms.

“Well,” Y/N started, handing the man a business card. “Thank you for your time, sir. If you have any information, please give us a call.”

He looked at the card briefly. Then, “One question.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Pretty girl like you: what are you doing working with the FBI?” the man asked, a sly smile on his face. “Don’t you think you’d be happier someplace else? Maybe around here?”

“She is a federal agent,” Hotch said, moving to stand in front of her. “Try practicing a little more respect.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to be afraid of you, G-man?”

“You may be too incompetent to be the unsub we’re looking for, but I promise you this: one more slip-up and we will nail you to the wall for the illegal guns, and the drugs. I’m too busy to deal with scum like you currently, but you can believe I’ll have local law enforcement coming back with a warrant and subsequent 20-year sentence.”

The man stopped in his tracks, color draining from his face and confidence waning completely.

“Hotch,” she said, a hand on his arm. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine,” he huffed, turning towards her. The man shut his door in the meantime. “We’re federal agents on a job. There’s no reason for anyone to think it appropriate to treat you like that. Especially in a situation like this.”

“He’s put in his place now, though. I think you put the fear of God in him.”

She laughed, taking half a step back. He didn’t falter, though.

“I just—“ he started and stopped just as quickly.

“I know you’ve been a little on edge with this case. It’s okay. Just… Don’t worry about the little things like that. I could’ve taken care of it.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Come on,” she said, starting to walk back towards the car. “I’ll let you have your pick of the music on the way back.”

He hid a smirk, following after her. The ride back to the precinct was quiet. Too quiet.

She turned to look at Hotch as he drove, uncharacteristically silent. It took a few seconds before he realized she was watching him, and he shot a sideways glance in her direction.

“You have something on your mind,” he stated, not even bothering to ask a question.

“Yeah. You’re being really quiet. Much more so than normal.”

He sighed, not giving a response.

“What is it, Hotch?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you still mad about that guy flirting with me?” she asked with half a smile.

“No,” he said shortly.

She scoffed. “Right. That was real convincing.”

He side eyed her. “I’m not.”

“You know, it’s okay if you are. I get it,” she started, a smile breaking out. “I really don’t mind if you’re all jealous.”

His face flushed, embarrassment taking hold.

“That’s not— It’s not what that is,” he muttered.

She raised a brow, the smile fading from her face as she took in his flustered state. She sat up straight in her seat, looking at him.

“Hey, I was just joking…” she trailed off. “Wait, are you actually jealous?”

“No.”

“You’re flushed and acting really flustered. It doesn’t take a profiler, Hotch.”

“I— No. I couldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he said with a raised voice. He then took a moment, taking in a breath. “I can’t be. I have Beth, I can’t.”

Her heart stopped in that moment, she was sure. She didn’t know what to say, settling back in her seat and watching the road in front of her as they continued on towards the station. He was just as quiet, though internally panicking over letting it slip. He couldn’t help but think back to when he first realized she would become a problem for him.

—————

They sat at the table in the restaurant, exchanging the most embarrassing stories they could think of. Everyone was busting up with laughter through the night.

“No!” she exclaimed, looking at Reid with wild eyes. “You took down an old woman?”

Reid groaned. “Not on purpose! I tripped!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t break a hip,” Derek said with a laugh, slapping a hand against his back.

“At least it isn’t Y/N, here, getting thrown up on by a suspect,” Hotch said, smirking at her as he let something she’d been trying to keep secret slip.

“You asshole,” she laughed, lightly smacking his arm. “I was hoping to take that to my grave.”

“Oh, that is so gross,” Kate said, laughing.

“She had to change her pants in the car. It was lucky she had a change, because I did not want to ride back with her covered in… that,” Hotch laughed.

She groaned, pressing her face against his arm and away from the group. He laughed it off, his hand reaching down to rest on her knee as she waited out the laughter of the others. Though, this small gesture started feeling like too much for him. He could tell his face was reddening, and he took his hand away quickly to not alert anyone else to his condition.

He swallowed, trying to calm his nerves. He took in a breath, smiling slightly as she finally pulled away from his arm, though he felt his heart still pounding wildly. He couldn’t feel anything for her. He was her boss. She deserved better.

—————

She sat in her seat, unsure what her next move would be. Unsure what it should be in a circumstance like this. Did he really just admit he was jealous?

“We can just pretend this didn’t happen, you know? I— I don’t want you to feel guilty or freaked out about this,” she offered, still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, I know. I know you didn’t,” she said, nodding. “You— You have Beth. You have a lot going on right now, frankly. I don’t want you to feel like this is adding on, or…”

“I understand. I really appreciate that.”

“Anything.”

He swallowed. “I just… I didn’t mean for that to slip out.”

“I know. You really don’t have to explain anything, it’s okay.”

He nodded quietly, both parties turning back to their own worlds as the pavement flew by them.

The rest of the case was a welcome relieve to the conversation they didn’t want to remember any longer. While they never wished for a difficult case, neither of them could say the mental gymnastics weren’t a great way to forget everything else around them.

Before long, though, the case was over. And, unfortunately, they were surrounded by profilers.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked as he sat next to Y/N. “You’re spaced out, sweet stuff.”

She smirked. “I’m alright. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly. It’ll pass, so no worries here.”

He nodded, not convinced. “If you need to…”

“You’ll be there,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I appreciate you, Derek Morgan.”

“Right back at you, mama,” he said, nudging her side with a smile. “And if you need me to kick ass…”

“Won’t be necessary.”

“Just an offer,” he said, hands raised in surrender.

She smiled. “I know.”

The next couple of weeks were excruciating. She kept up a happy face, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his pseudo-confession. She wished she had the guts to say something back, but she knew it would have been pointless. He had someone, and had too much on his plate to deal with a younger subordinate confessing feelings for him. It wasn’t unwelcome when Garcia scurried through the bullpen with talk of a new case.

“Meet Maria Gonzales, thirty-four, and Cameron March, twenty-nine. Both women were reported missing within the past month, and just turned up in the past two weeks, bound in plastic with ligature marks on their wrists and ankles. They were each taken from a different healthcare facility in the San Antonio area last month. Now, a Miss Bryar Johnson has been abducted from yet another facility.”

Y/N sighed. “Yikes. So, we should have about a two-week period to find Bryar?”

“Yes,” Garcia started. “The first two women were killed right before they were dumped. Bryar was reported missing three days ago.”

“Plastic could be a sign of remorse,” Spencer piped up.

“What was the cause of death?” Rossi asked.

“Strangulation,” Hotch said, not looking up from the files. “Wheels up in 20.”

The San Antonio case was going surprisingly well, though Y/N felt that it could be going better on a personal level. Usually she’d pair up with Hotch for most of the case, especially since their similar skill sets matched with their different personal presentations was always helpful in getting answers whenever they needed them. This time around, he hardly looked in her direction.

“I know you said you’d tell me if something was wrong, but you’re still not saying a damn thing,” Derek said, walking up to her at the table she sat at.

She looked up at him, then went right back to searching through the files that sat before her. She could tell Derek was staring a hole into the back of her head, but couldn’t justify telling him what was happening in her life at the moment.

He sat down next to her, dragging the files away from her line of site.

“Mama, I know when something is up with you. You can’t hide that from me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not saying anything.”

He sighed. “You’re being awfully difficult.”

“What’s new?” she questioned with a smile, finally looking at him.

He chuckled. “Touché. You’re talking to me now, at least.”

“I always talk to you, Morgan.”

“Most of the time. Except when you’re trying to hide something.”

She glared at him. “Have you considered I’m not talking for a reason?”

“Oh, I’ve considered it. I just know that when you hold stuff in you get all solemn and grumpy. I don’t want you to get to that point,” he said, turning her chair towards him. “Talk.”

“I can’t, Derek.”

“Why not?” he asked, voice quieter.

She sighed. “It’s… It’s hard to explain. It’s really personal.”

He reached for her hand, quietly taking it and not saying another words for a few moments. She looked to where their hands connected, letting out a shaky breath as she did.

“It’s Hotch,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“What? Is he okay?”

She nodded. “He’s fine. I’m just— I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you like this,” he noted, brow furrowing in concern.

She shook her head. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t know. Have you ever felt something so strongly, but just knew there was nothing you could do about it?”

He paused, studying her for a moment. He scooted forward slightly, eyes still trained on her face as he spoke quietly.

“Do you have feelings for Hotch?”

She nodded after a beat. “And I think he confessed the same to me but— There’s just nothing to be done about it. The worst part of all of it is that he can’t even look at me now. We haven’t really spoken since then. That was a few weeks ago.”

Morgan sighed, looking down. “Damn.”

“Damn, indeed,” she said with half a smirk.

He chuckled slightly. “I’m sorry, mama. I— I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re a smoke show. Who could resist?”

He laughed out loud. “You know me so well.”

She laughed along. “What can I say?”

He stood up, taking her hands as he did. She stood with him, accepting a long hug from him.

“You deserve to be happy,” he whispered. “Let this one go. You’ll find the right person.”

“I get it. It just really sucks right now.”

“I know.”

“We have a break in the case,” Hotch’s voice rang out in the small room, breaking the two of them up.

“Yeah?” she asked, pulling away from Derek. “What do you need from us?”

Hotch looked between them for a moment, then continued on.

“Garcia should have just sent an address. We need to leave now, though. A massive storm is rolling in and roads are getting bad.”

“Gotcha,” she said, nodding curtly. “Are we all riding together?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

She paused for a moment before responding. “Right.”

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Morgan said with finality. As soon as Hotch left, he turned back to her, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s finish this and get home.”

The storm turned out worse than they all had expected. The take-down ended up slightly more difficult due to power outages across the state, and the more difficult part was the fact that they would be forced to stay for the night when Y/N wanted nothing more than to go home to her own bed.

She sat inside the SUV with Hotch and Rossi on the way back to the hotel for the night, staring out the window at the pouring rain. Their voices became a type of white noise to her as they conversed quietly, though her silence didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch glanced back at her every couple of minutes, feeling a sense of dread at the coming conversation she currently knew nothing about. His heart felt like it might burst, and putting up a front was getting harder and harder by the minute. He had a million thoughts running through his head, and it certainly didn’t help that she was completely spaced out in the backseat.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Rossi noted, finally breaking the two out of their own heads.

“Just tired,” she said. “The rain doesn’t help. I always get sleepy during storms.”

“You sure?”

She hummed. “Yeah. No worries here, Rossi.”

They pulled into the parking lot after a few minutes, and prepared to run inside of the building and away from the downpour. They all got in with minimal damage done, though not without some wet hair.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at the two men, her own head safe after using a jacket as a shield.

“Good look, you guys. The drowned rat thing really suits you,” she said with a smile, looking between them.

“Hey, watch it. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky,” Rossi said, laughing lightly as he shook his hair out.

Hotch smiled, scrunching his nose as he brushed his fingers through his hair. Y/N watched him with intent, though not without missing the fact that Rossi knew that look on her.

He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head off.”

She looked to Rossi as he gave them one last knowing look. A look that was a bit too smug for her liking.

“He’s acting weird,” she said out loud.

Hotch nodded. “That’s Dave.”

“Only when he knows something,” she said, looking back to him expectantly.

“What would he know?” Hotch questioned.

She watched him for a moment. “You tell me.”

He cleared his throat, glancing away. She was silent, hoping it’d prompt him to say something.

“Can we talk privately?”

“Why?”

“You said you wanted to know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hotch, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not saying you would.”

“Y/N.”

She crossed her arms. “We haven’t talked in weeks. I don’t know how to act around you right now.”

“I never should have said anything. Not like that, I know,” he said with a sigh. “I would really appreciate if we could talk about it now, though. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Please. Can we go someplace else? The others are going to be here any minute.”

She glanced around the hotel lobby, then back to the man in front of her. He sure looked less intimidating with soaking wet hair and puppy dog eyes.

Eventually, she nodded. “Okay.”

They stepped into the hotel elevator, unsure what to say in the silence. She looked up at him, receiving a small smile. The elevator dinged on the floor they were all staying on, and she led him to her room.

He followed after quietly, standing awkwardly by the door after she closed and locked it. She turned to look at him once she sat on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m still wet.”

She couldn’t help by laugh. She then got up, making a quick stop in the bathroom to grab a towel. She came back, standing in front of him to hand it over.

“Here,” she said, arms extended with the towel in hand.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

She watched as he scrubbed at his head, his hair flying in all directions by the time he was done.

“You look ridiculous,” she said with a smirk.

He dropped his arms, towel still in hand. His brow quirked up.

“That bad?”

“Not bad. Just ridiculous.”

He failed to hide a smile at that, looking around for a place to set down the towel. She took it from him, instructing him to take off his shoes as she went to throw it in the bathroom once again. She came back to see him settling down on the edge of the bed.

“So,” she started, trailing off as she sat next to him. “What’s up?”

He snorted a laugh. “A lot. I think, first, I need to apologize to you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he said with a nod, turning to look at her more fully. “I shouldn’t have let on that I had any kind of feeling for you other than professional ones. That’s… It was really unfair to you, and puts you in a bad position. I want you to feel safe and respected at work, and I feel like I’ve put that at risk.”

“Hotch,” she said, stopping him. “You didn’t. I know you respect me, and I do feel safe. As safe as an agent can get, anyways.”

She laughed, drawing a small smile from him.

She continued, “I made a joke, and it turned out to be true. You didn’t just up and tell me. I’m just like… Really good at my job.”

He fully laughed this time, head dropping into his hands.

“You’re making it really hard to feel bad about this,” he mumbled.

“Good. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

He sighed, looking back up. “I still will. You don’t deserve to be worried that your boss is going to— make a move.”

She quirked a brow. “Make a move?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not worried about that and never have been. You care way too much about this team and people in general to make advances at someone who didn’t want them,” she said, scooting an inch closer. “Besides, you made our boundaries clear. You have someone you love, and I know you’re not the cheating type.”

He paused, then let out a heavy sigh, looking anywhere but at her.

“Uh oh,” she said, looking at him curiously. “What nerve did I just hit?”

“I, uh… We broke things off. Beth and I.”

She deflated. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—“

“No, no,” he waved her off. “It’s okay. It was mutual. Distance has been wearing on us for a while, and honestly neither of us were really feeling it anymore.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last week.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “It’s not been as difficult as I thought it would be. Jack has been handling it very well. He told me the other day on the phone that I’m going to find the perfect person one day.”

Hotch smiled at that, finally looking back at her. She smiled back, nodding.

“I’d have to agree with him. He’s got that big old brain from his dad, you know?” she said, nudging him in the arm.

He laughed softly again. “He’s a great kid.”

“The best, arguably.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Can I ask you something?” she said after a beat of silence.

“Anything,” he replied with a brief nod.

“Do you ever say or do the things you want to?”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You just keep so much bottled up. Do you ever let yourself dump it all out?”

He cleared his throat. “On occasion, I suppose.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He watched her, knowing something was stirring in her head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly.

“Can I slip a secret?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed. “I really, truly wasn’t uncomfortable when you let it slip. The whole jealousy thing.”

“What?”

Hotch’s heart started up again, unsure where she was going with this, but really hoping it went in one direction.

“I know what you were feeling. Like, every time we show up to a new town and half the ladies in the place are staring you down. I get it.”

He let out a breath. “I don’t—“

“If this is like, way too inappropriate for me to say, I’d really appreciate if you didn’t fire me. But, I’ve had a thing for you since my first day on the job. Frankly, these past few weeks have been hell.”

“Y/N…”

“Again I ask that you don’t fire me.”

He chuckled. “I won’t. I— Since your first day?”

“Remember when I couldn’t remember my own name for a minute there at the beginning?”

He hummed. “You were nervous for the interview.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I’ve never been more prepared for an interview. I was nervous that my possible new boss was a smoke show, and it freaked me out even more that he was staring me down the second I walked in the door like I was an unsub.”

He smirked. “A smoke show? Really?”

“As if you don’t know,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I just… I guess I kind of freaked out seeing you. And hearing you talk so passionately about work for the first time. Not to mention the way your voice sounds…”

“Alright, let’s not get carried away,” he said, color rushing into his cheeks.

“It’s also super cute when you blush like that,” she said, squeezing in the last phrase before he could stop her again.

He sat quietly, just taking her in for a moment. She hid a smile, unsure what her next move should be. He cleared his throat.

“So, are you really all that sorry that things with Beth ended?”

“Sorry that it might have hurt you? Yes. Sorry that it’s done? Not really.”

“I see.”

“I also don’t know how excited I should be, considering you could totally blow me off right now and see if sleeping around is your new lifestyle. That might make things worse for me, honestly.”

He laughed. “Oh, yes. Leaving the person who gave me the courage to finally end a serious relationship is at the top of my list.”

Her face dropped. “What?”

He took in a breath, now realizing what he’d just said. A nervous laughter bubbled out of him, his eyes wide.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You broke things off because of me?”

He groaned. “Not fully.”

“Hotch, what the hell,” she said, laughing fully. “What if I was, like, not on board?”

“I didn’t think you were until now. I guess I still thought it was worth it. Plus, like I said, we’ve both been wanting to for a while.”

“Still!”

She laughed, scooting even closer to him. She took his hands in her own, a wild smile on her face as she looked at his bewildered one staring back.

“Are you fully insane?”

He stumbled over words for a moment. “I— I might be.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then decided all of the thinking and overthinking they’d both done was getting ridiculous. If he could act impulsively, so could she.

She leaned forward, pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He stayed still for a moment in shock before responding eagerly. His arms found her waist, and he tugged her into his lap as soon as he could.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

#luna rises from the dead #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner one shot

790 notes · View notes