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hotchnisslvr · 26 days

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“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

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sabage101 · 2 months

Text

When your card declines at therapy and they make you watch season 5 Episode 9 on repeat

“ I worked the case, just like you said ”

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lucyswinter · 3 months

Text

.-‘*•_aaron hotchner dating hcs .•*-.’💗’-.•*

pairing: aaron hotchner x girlfriend!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: some sexual-ish stuff implied

♡ ♡ ♡

-the two of you met after a mutual friend set you up on a blind date. aaron had been a little scared because he thought he was too old to date after his divorce, but after he met you, he was immediately in love

-despite his quite serious demeanour at the BAU office, hotch is such an affectionate and cutesy boyfriend. always showing you and kisses and cuddling you

-he looooves to give you my pet names/praise. “pretty girl” “my love” “sweet girl” “mmm youre doing great sweetheart” “good girl, just like that”

-his groggy morning voice is really sexy and low and he loves to talk to you as soon as he wakes up because he knows it makes you blush

-cuddling is his favorite thing to do at any point in the day. you guys just woke up? he’s pulling you in for the first snuggle of the day. he’s tired after work? his arms are already around you. the two of you are winding down to go to bed? you’re falling asleep in his arms

-after a long day of talking to people and giving orders at work, he loves to listen to you talk about it your day. “oh, sorry am i rambling a little bit?” “no, sweet girl, not at all. i love listening to you, baby.”

-he’s really touchy in a protective way and always has his hands on you. an arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, arm around your waist, slowly snaking down towards your ass

-he doesn’t like to talk about work very much, mainly because it gets pretty heavy sometimes, and he doesn’t want to freak you out by telling you about creepy cases

-first time you ever visited hotch at the office, everyone was absolutely appalled by how sweet he was to you and how quickly he changed as soon as you walked into the room-

-“morgan, this is the last time im going to tell you- oh, oh hey pretty girl! what at you doing here?” “you just forgot the lunch i made you at home so i decided to bring it to you :)”

-derek and garcia are very freaked out at this side of him and keep pestering him because they didn’t know you two were dating. “who are you and what have you done with hotch?” and all he can do is roll his eyes and turn his attention back to you.

♡ ♡ ♡

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds headcannons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch headcannon #lucywrites<3

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ddejavvu · 8 months

Note

okay but bodyguard!hotch falling for the biggest bookworm ever, like he can watch her for hours reading by her favourite spot at the window, overlooking the gardens and rain and he loves reading to her before she falls asleep on his lap 🥹🥹🥹

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

You're too immersed in the novel you're reading to hear Aaron's footsteps approach from behind, but you feel his large hands smooth over your shoulders, fingertips digging into the tense muscles there.

"You make my job too easy," He murmurs, keeping his voice quiet so as not to disrupt your serenity, "Have you moved all morning?"

"No," You grin sheepishly up at him, "I lost track of time."

"You always do that," His beaming smile is equally as sweet as the romance woven into the story you're reading is, and you feel the same butterflies as the main character does when Aaron's hands slide up your neck to cup your chin.

He holds your head up to face him as he stares down at you, your scalp pinned to his shirt. He squishes gently at your cheeks, "Lunch is ready. I thought you'd come and be my taste-tester again."

"Sorry," You hum, sure that he can feel the vibrations of your voice where he's still holding your throat, "I didn't hear you in the kitchen. You don't have to cook for me, y'know? You're not getting paid for that."

"I'm getting paid to do nothing," He teases, kneading more at the flesh of your cheeks with his large thumbs, "You sit in the window all day, I feel like I'm catsitting. I'm happy to make you lunch, otherwise I think you'd get too lost in your reading to eat."

You feel your cheeks heat up at his gentle teasing, and you're sure he does too. You slide your bookmark between the pages that you're on, standing when he finally releases your face from his warm grip.

"What are we eating?" You let him take your hand, trailing after him from the sitting room into the kitchen.

"You're eating soup," He leads you to your place at the table, another placemat across from you, though there's no bowl on top of the fabric. "I already ate."

"Aaron, I'm sorry," You look up at him with a mournful fret in your eyes, "I didn't mean to starve you. I- I'm glad you ate, but next time if you're hungry you don't have to eat alone, you can just come and get me."

"Relax." He tells you, his large hands covering your own as he pulls your chair out for you, easing you into the seat, "I ate first so that I could read to you while you have your meal, honey."

"You want to read to me?" You tilt your head to the side, "I'm reading one of those cheesy romance novels. Mass-market paperback."

"I like cheesy romance," He inspects the back cover of the book you hadn't noticed him smuggle from the sitting room, "Ooh, 'Marilyn's bodyguard has dark eyes and a penchant for holding her hand.' Sounds like a good setup," Aaron grins at you where your face must be burning hotter than the steaming soup in front of you, "What made you choose this one?"

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mggsv · 5 months

Text

NIGHT GUARD

f!reader x Spencer Reid (18+)

summary : You were getting out of jail one way or another, you just needed a coat to ride in. Lucky for you, you fucked the night guard every chance you got.

warnings : manipulation, dom!spence, guard x prisoner, abuse of power, minor spanking, dirty talk, talks of impregnating, squirting

“Lights out!”

Being in prison was no joke. Doing the same things every single day drove you crazy. Not to mention the literal bullying of some inmates. You had a friend or two, they had your back. You mostly stood up for yourself though. You were quite intimidating once talked to. You stayed to yourself and watched out for yourself. You were sick of it.

And now this week you’re in solitary. “Y/N?” You hear your name being whispered from the other side of the door. A voice you knew all too well. “Pretty Boy.” You smile, “Get me out of here huh?”

“Not tonight.” He quickly shuts you down, but opens the door. Spencer Reid worked the night shift for the prison, being the night guard in your ward. Everyone wanted him- some people tried, many, many failed. But you? Tch. He leans in to kiss you softly on the lips, you moan into the kiss, tasting strawberry on his lips from his lip chap, your favorite. “Double Security tonight.” He murmurs.

His hands are on you in an instant, fumbling to undo the orange jumpsuit you made look so beautiful. You moan softly at Spencer’s lips on your neck, biting as he trailed down to your hardened perky nipples through the white tank top. “Fuck Spence-“ your body’s being pushed up against the wall, kicking out of the shoes and jumpsuit. He takes a moment to admire your frame, standing there in a tank top and underwear. “Well? I don’t have all night.” You breathe. He smiles softly and starts taking off his belt, walking towards you.

“You’re right.” Spencer looks over your body before you’re shoved against the wall. “You know what to do.” He says. Smirking, your body moves to bend over, touching your toes. Spencer moans at the sight of how wet your panties were. The spot only growing larger as he neared, cock hard and waiting….

“Have you heard the rumors going around?” thrust. “Guards are being fired, transferred for having sexual relations with the prisoners.” thrust. “It’s crazy out there- ah fuck..” Spencer’s cock was buried deep into your heat. Your eyes were shut tight, taking the large shaft with pride. You’d get out, you’d.. moaning quietly as he slapped your ass you felt yourself tighten around him. He curses lowly, speeding up. “Oh shit..oh fuck..f-fuck-“ you tremble, cunt squeezing around his thick cock. the grip around your ankles tightened as you held on. You felt dizzy, blood rushing to your head from the position.

“If you weren’t locked in here I wouldn’t have to be so-fuck- careful.” your eyes watered as your legs started to hurt. “How many times have I wanted to fill you up.. ah, how much I wanted to see you full with my cum until your belly’s all swollen.” Another smack to your ass brings you to a quivering halt. your cunt gushes against Spencer’s cock, juices running down your legs while he kept fucking you. “Mgonna cum- I’m gonna cum Spence- I’m..fuck fuck!” You cried out, not caring who heard. Spencer fucks your through your orgasm, his own cum coating your walls shortly afterwards. Slowly, he fucked his cum back into you, pulling out messily while it dripped down your wet cunt with your juices.

“Tsk, tsk.. You weren’t quiet at all angel. Now what if they transfer me hm? How are you gonna get out now?” Spencer daunting voice was loud in your ears, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of your heart beating before your eyes closed.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #mgg #gender neutral reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner #spencer #reid #top reid #cm #spencer reid headcanons #fem reader #reid x reader #spencer reid x f reader #guard x prisoner

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fayesia · 24 days

Text

~nsfw alphabet headcannons~

Aaron Hotchner

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Hotch is a dad in the show so his parental instincts pull through meaning he’d be so good with aftercare, making sure you’re all taken care of physically and emotionally.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hotch loves your ass whether it’s in your office pants or in the newest lingerie he spoilt you with. You love Aaron’s hands. easily distracted by them when you’re both on the job or when they’re wrapped around your neck and he’s pounding into you from behind.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Hotch loves spreading his cum across your ass, painting it all over you after he turns them a bright red.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Hotch secretly loves dabbling in voyeurism, having a quickie in the utility cabinet when fellow agents are looking for either of you, while your moans are nearly heard by passers-by gets him off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they?)

Hotch is well experienced as he’s much older than you are but he’s always loved teaching you new things.

F = Favorite position

As an ass man Hotch loves to have you doggy style, hands either gripping onto your hips or around your neck pushing you into a deep arch against the mattress.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?)

he wouldn’t be too goofy during sex but maybe before or after there would be some humorous moments.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

Hotch is as well groomed down there as he is on his head, neat and tidy for sure.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment?)

Aaron is quite intimate except maybe when he’s really dominant and gets rough with you as a form of punishment.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

On trips across the country where he must be away from you, the two of you might take the risk of mutual masturbation over the phone or he’ll have to jerk off to picture or videos you’ve taken in the past on his phone.

K = Kink(s)

Hotch definitely has a dominant side of him in and out of the bedroom and having you call him sir would have him fucking you ten times harder and faster.

L = Location (favorite places to do it)

you both do it mostly in the bedroom or hotel rooms but one of the most memorable times for the two of you would be when he bent you over his office desk and fucked you.

M = Motivation (turn ons)

Anytime Hotch sees you wearing tight clothes around the office or even when you’re out on duty in your uniform that hugs your curves perfectly, he can barely go about the case without being distracted. When you’re at home seeing you in a summer dress would drive him wild.

N = No (turn offs)

Hotch would draw the line at any age play.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

He would treat you first, eating you out until you cum at least once.

You love seeing him lose control and in his office when you’re kneeling under his desk he’s used to having you suck him off before hoisting you up and fucking you in his lap.

P = Pace (are they fast or slow, sensual or rough)

Hotch is usually intense and rough, but he’d make sure you were enjoying it and depending on the type of moment it is he could also be slow and gentle holding you close to him.

Q = Quickie (do they like them, how often do they do them)

You would like them more than Hotch but he wouldn’t be against them by any means. They don’t happen often but when they do it’s a spur of the moment and filled with a lot of passion.

R = Risk (do they like risky sex)

He would enjoy seeing you under his control like when you’re trying to keep quiet because of how hard he’s doing you, so the idea of risky sex is appealing to him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hotch would have a good amount of stamina so maybe a maximum of 2 rounds before he’s coming, but he would’ve made you cum a lot more times before he does.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

He wouldn’t own any toys himself but he wouldn’t be against using some of yours on you during sex.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Hotch would LOVE to tease you, if you’re r in public or in the bedroom he does not care.

V = Volume (how loud they are during intimacy)

They’re not that loud but god do they do things that make YOU so loud, easily masking over any of the noises he makes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

ceo!aaron hotchner x personal assistant!reader: he would use you as his own personal fucktoy during work and spoil you all the time when you aren’t together.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hotch keeps in good shape considering his career. He’s probably at least 7 or 8 inches erect.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Hotch isn’t always horny but when he’s around you his sex drive is very strong and he could go for numerous rounds.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

Hotch would make sure you were all taken care of, softly caressing you until you both fell asleep close to each other.

#smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #alphabet headcanons #aaron hotch x reader

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pinkandblueblurbs · 2 years

Note

In light of that fucking hot blurb you wrote with Tommy recently…pussy inspection with Hotch dialogue please? I eat that kink up and can never have enough 🤤🤤🤤

“Let me see.” You know exactly what he means but still you only stare at him, heat rising to your cheeks. His stare doesn’t falter. “You said you didn’t touch yourself, didn’t you? So you shouldn’t have anything to hide.”

You swallow and slowly drop your sweats and underwear, taking small steps to widen your stance, and hotch reaches down, thick fingers feeling through your slit. He raises a brow down at you.

“You’re soaked.” He thumbs over your clit, and you jolt, a soft hiss leaving your lips. “And awfully sensitive.”

#notsfw.gill #hotch headcanon

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bunwritesss · 2 months

Text

A/N: Finally some (slow) action with Neighbour!Hotch <333 Thank you so much for being so enthusiastic with my blurbs, it really means a lot ♡

"I think your Dad wouldn't be happy if he came home now and you weren't asleep, Jack."

You had been arguing with the child for so long now, because the day filled with fun activities you had planned for him apparently did not tire him out.

Jack looked at you with pouty lips and teary eyes.

"Not sleepy!"

"Maybe we could both go to your room, and I could tuck you into bed and read you a fun story? Your Dad wants you to go to bed early tonight, you have school tomorrow!"

"Daddy told me t'was okay to play late!" The child argued.

"I certainly did not."

You both jumped at the sudden arrival of Hotch, a tiny smile making its apparition on your lips. Aaron crossed is arms, his shirt and tie all messed up by the long flight, and you had to mentally fight yourself to keep your eyes on his face.

"Jack, it's 9pm. Let's tuck you into bed, Buddy."

He took Jack's hand and led him upstairs, leaving you all alone in the living room. You were accustomed to this routine, and simply sat into the couch, waiting for Aaron to come back as you would both talk about your days. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours, depending on the day he had and on the schedule you would have the following day. So you took your phone out, quickly responding to some messages, your best friend harassing you to get some news about the "sexy neighbour situation", and urging you to make a move.

It took some time for Aaron to go downstairs, as Jack was still filled with energy, but he ended up coming back to you, two glasses in his hand. You could immediatly smell your favorite drink in the glass, and a big smile graced your face.

"How was work this morning?"

Aaron was the one asking. You usually did not ask, but let him tell you what he wanted to share. There was no need to remind him of the horrors he had seen throughout the day.

"Boring. There was some drama with someone I already told you about though... You're gonna be shocked!"

Aaron watched with a smile as you animatedly told the story, almost dropping your glass many times out of excitation. He ended up softly taking the glass from your hands, placing it on the table near you to prevent the arriving accident. And when you finished your story, his eyes were wide.

"And she did that?"

You nodded enthusiastically, taking your glass back to have a sip.

"Yes! I told you, she really makes no sense! I wish you could visit her and profile her, because I really do not know how to deal with her."

Aaron laughed wholeheartedly at your remark.

"It would be a nice break from the people I usually profile!"

You laughed as well, and remembered your best friend's words as he placed a friendly hand on your knee.

"Anyway, how was Jack?"

"Kind and fun, as always. Fell in the park this morning, but he took it like a champ!"

"He told me you bought him Pokemon bandaids just to comfort him."

You nodded, responding wisely.

"There's no injury that cannot be patched up by some cartoon bandaids."

"Well, Jack is definitely on your side on this one!"

You both fell into a comfortable silence, sipping out of your glasses, and trying to discreetely look at the other (and pathetically failing).

"Thank you so much for babysitting Jack so often." Aaron broke the silence, and you smiled at him.

"It's no problem, really! Jack is such a sweet child."

"And he loves you as well. Told me he wouldn't be mad if you became his new parent."

Your eyes widened and Aaron snickered. Maybe you were helped by your best friend's words, maybe you were just feeling brave, but you said without thinking:

"Maybe take me to dinner first, and I'll think about it!"

He stopped laughing for a few seconds, apparently not expecting you to react like that (take that, mister profiler!). And he shrugged, always a confident man.

"I would love to, to be honest. How about tomorrow night, if you are free?"

It had taken him one look at your face and nervous hands, to guess you were only half joking. And he had immediatly jumped into the rare occasion.

"My coworker recommanded me this charming italian restaurant, that I promised him to try anyway."

You nodded, a sudden need to pinch yourself to check if you were dreaming.

"It would be a pleasure!"

He smiled at your words, and you cleared your throat to gain some contenance back.

"8pm, tomorrow?"

"That's perfect!"

He smiled, and you slowly rose up from the couch. Now that you had earned yourself an obligatory two hours phone call with your best friend, you had to leave early.

"Maybe I'm going to get back to my house, you had a long day, and I am getting tired."

This wasn't a lie, Jack really was a dynamic child.

"But thank you so much for the invitation! I really cannot wait."

He walked to his door with you, and placed a hand on the side of your face as he kissed the other cheek.

"Good night, Y/N."

You smiled back, looking at him directly in the eyes.

"Good night, Aaron."

He watched as you walked back to your house, only closing his door when he was sure you were home.

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #bun writes

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hotchnisslvr · 17 days

Text

through love and loss

~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~

pairing: hotch/reader

rating: t

word count: 9.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?

“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.

“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.

“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”

“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”

His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”

“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”

“Humor me, will ya?”

Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.

“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”

You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.

“Can you do that?”

You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.

“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.

You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.

“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”

You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.

Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.

“I promise.”

His hand goes limp in yours.

The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.

“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”

There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.

“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.

The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.

Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.

“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.

“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”

Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.

“She suffered a blow to the head—”

Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.

White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.

Someone’s calling your name.

“He told me he loved me.”

And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.

•

“I can walk you inside.”

“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from

digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

“Just?” he hedges.

You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.

God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.

The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?

The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.

Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.

There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.

“What are you doing out here?”

You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”

You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.

When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.

His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”

Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”

Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”

A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”

“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”

Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”

Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”

•

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.

A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.

A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”

“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.

“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”

She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”

You inhale slowly and swallow.

You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.

Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.

“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.

When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”

“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sweetie?”

You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.

You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”

As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.

Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.

•

Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.

It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.

You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?

Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.

As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.

Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.

“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.

“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.

He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”

“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.

A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”

Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.

“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”

“Mm, not Reid.”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”

“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”

Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?

You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”

“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”

“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.

There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.

You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”

•

You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.

The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.

Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.

He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.

When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.

“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”

Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“How long, what?”

“How long do the dreams last?”

Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”

Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”

A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.

“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.

Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”

“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”

“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.

“Of course I can.”

You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.

He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.

He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.

You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.

He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.

•

The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.

The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.

You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.

For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.

You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.

He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.

He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.

You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.

You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.

Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.

“Another cup? Really?”

You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.

“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.

“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.

Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”

You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”

“Since?” he presses.

You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.

“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.

“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.

You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I’m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”

At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.

Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.

•

When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.

Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.

Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.

You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”

He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”

“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.

“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.

For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.

“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.

You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”

You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.

“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”

He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.

You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.

“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”

That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”

He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.

“So, what?”

He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”

“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.

“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”

You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”

“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”

“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”

He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.

“Thank you, Spence.”

•

Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.

You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.

Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.

You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.

Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.

Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.

If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.

God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?

You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.

You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.

His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a

moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.

“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.

Hotch nods, “Please.”

You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”

A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”

There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.

You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.

“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.

Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”

It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.

After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.

“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.

Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”

You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

•

*Two years later

“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.

“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.

“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”

You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”

The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.

“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”

A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.

There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.

“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.

“Just about,” you say.

Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small leggings hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.

You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.

A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.

You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.

“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”

You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.

“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.

And that’s an encouraging thought.

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whereireid · 11 months

Text

˚ · . 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron hotchner x plus!sized fem reader | masterlist

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After months of waiting, you finally give Aaron what he's been craving most — you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship. fluffy icknames (honey & sweetheart). words of affirmations, declarations of love. age gap. nsfw content; first time(s) stomach bulge. aaron has a huge cock. p in v (soft sex, making love) oral, fingering, virgin!reader, nipple play.

Trapped between the plush mattress and Aaron's hard chest, you let out a quiet hum as you feel the pad of his thumb softly glide over your knuckles. There's something so blissfully domestic about being intertwined with your boyfriend in the late evening; him still in his work clothes, and you dressed in your satin pink nightgown.

His large, muscular frame presses into yours as he embraces you, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he drinks in your appearance. You had been laying in his bed when he returned home from work, having just put Jack to sleep, and you were waiting up for him. Aaron had bid goodnight to his sleeping son, a content smile on his lips as he traipsed towards his bedroom, and he swears that his heart had stopped beating in his chest when he saw you.

The pink, satin chemise that you're wearing has forced his eyes you since the moment that he stepped into the bedroom. It's a perfect fit, tracing the curves of your body, slightly outlining the small pudge of your tummy as you sit. He didn't even have time to change — he simply toed his shoes off before he collapsed atop on you, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed your scent in, desperately trying to calm the throbbing ache in his trousers.

You're not quite ready for what he wants to do to you, yet and he knows that — but you're just so delicious, gazing up at him with hazy eyes, feigning innocence as your nails run over the lightly buzzed sides of his hair.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all day," Aaron murmurs sweetly, a small smile on his lips as you squirm beneath him. His eyes flick down to your thighs, mesmerised by the way your chemise rides upwards, exposing your plump flesh. "Couldn't get you out of my head."

Your heart feels tight in your chest as his hands slide down your body, his knee delicately parting your thighs as kisses you. There's an affectionate expression fleeting across his features, and you smile up at him shyly. "I thought about you a lot, too," you say quietly, biting back a smile as he presses a soft, drawn-out kiss to your lips.

He pulls away, smiling down at you, and your skin blazes with warmth. He's so handsome, so big — you can see the way his biceps strain against his shirt as he leans over you, and you try to hide the way your breath hitches as his knee rubs against the black lace panties you're wearing beneath your gown.

"I love you," Aaron says, between the gentle chaste pecks he delivers you. His hands gently squeeze at your waist through your nightgown, his voice rumbly as he adds, "so much."

Warmth blooms beneath his touch, and you desperately hope that he doesn't think too much into the way you squirm beneath him as he kisses you. "I love you," you repeat back to him, your voice as sweet as honey. Your nails gently scratch at his scalp again, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut as you touch him. His hands stay fixed on your waist. "Was work okay?"

Aaron hums softly, and his stubble skims against your cheek as his lips trail peppery kisses from your cheek, down towards your jaw. "Work was work," he responds, no hostility in his voice; just slight hesitation, "but I don't want to focus on work right now, honey. Not when I've got such a sweet thing like you beneath me."

Honey. The sound of his husky voice makes you tingle, and your breath hitches in your throat as he delivers hot, wet kisses to your neck, suckling at your pulse point softly. The sensation makes your cheek flush with warmth, and Aaron smiles into your neck as he feels your pelvis softly grind into his knee.

"Oh," you whisper, your cheeks glowing with warmth as he nips at your neck. A knot forms in your stomach as his tongue flicks over the skin he had just bruised, in an attempt to soothe your neck. "So, you want to just focus on me instead, Aaron?"

"Yes, honey," he responds, but he doesn't let up, his teeth softly nipping at your neck, his hands trailing down towards your thighs. An ache grows in his trousers as he feels your plush thighs beneath your gown, an insatiable desire beginning to bubble in his gut as he continues to kiss down your neck. "I just want to focus on you, if that's okay."

For the first time in minutes, Aaron pulls away from you. You can see the genuine concern circling in his dark brown eyes, a sharp contrast to the usual black sheen, as they study your face. Your eyes flick down to his lips, your heart pumping fast as he squeezes your thigh gently.

"Yes, please," you say, your voice eager, "that's okay, Aaron."

Your voice is soft and delicate, and it's all the affirmation that Aaron needed. He lets out a quiet groan of approval, before dipping his head again, his focus zeroing in on the purple mark which has begun to form on your neck. "My sweet girl," he murmurs as his tongue laps over the bruised area, "You're just as sweet as honey."

The phrase causes butterflies to bloom in your stomach, and you let out a quiet moan of agreement as his hands begin to ride up your gown.

Sweet as honey. It was what Aaron had described you as on your first ever date, and when you had flustered and squirmed as a result, he made it a habit to use the phrase whenever possible.

You don't stop his wandering hands, instead, you invite him to touch you more. As his lips trail along your chest, just short of where your gown rests above your plush breasts, you open your legs shyly. Your motions are timid, and you allow for his hands to roam closer and closer to the area where you need him the most.

His fingers twitch against your inner thighs, but they don't move. Aaron's focused on making you feel good, and he doesn't want to pressure you into anything. He knows that you're still a virgin, and he understands that whilst you trust him, you may not be ready to commit fully yet.

"Aaron," you whisper, your hands falling to clutch at his biceps, "More, please."

"More, please?" He repeats, gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes. He pulls away from you somewhat, though you're still pinned beneath him, and he observes your face. "What do you mean, honey? Use your words."

His hands gently press against your thigh, and a breathy moan catches in your throat as he carefully rocks his knee against your clothed cunt.

"This," you say, "but more."

An amused expression flitters across Aaron's features, and you have to close your eyes as you feel him press his knee into you with more pressure. You feel slightly flustered, pinned beneath him, ashamed that your body reacts so needily to his every touch.

He hums. "You can't be coherent, honey? That's okay. I think I know what you want." He cocks his head, a small grin on his lips as he shuffles downwards slightly, pushing your gown up softly.

His knee abandons your cunt, and you pout, opening your eyes and looking down at him. Aaron has nestled between your thighs, and as you lock eyes with him — his hazel irises are sheathed by his pupils, which are dilated massively as a result of his lust — you can't help but shudder.

"You always know what I want,” you say quietly as he looks at you for permission, and your body trembles as his fingers delicately push your wet panties to the side, "please make me feel good, Aaron."

Your voice wobbles slightly, and your tone is syrupy; sickly sweet, causing the ache which pulsates in his trousers to worsen. He coos. "How can I say no when you ask me like that?"

As if to praise you for your obedient tone, Aaron tilts his head down. His eyes flutter shut as he dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue softly glides over your sticky slits. "Sweet as honey," he growls instinctively, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pushes his mouth against you. His nose presses into your pelvis as he slides his tongue around your pulsing pearl, "my favourite dessert."

The feeling of his tongue rolling skilfully against your heat has you panting, your back arching into his touch. Being treasured by Aaron is your favourite past-time, and whilst your relationship has never gone any further than the innoceuous pleasure of worshipping one another with your hot mouths, you desperately crave more.

Perhaps, you're now ready for him. You can feel the strain of his trousers as his crotch presses into your ankle. Aaron eagerly laps at your cunt, and your walls flutter as his lips suckle at your clit. He relishes in each desperate breath you take and the sounds of your lewd, quiet moans spilling out into the open air.

"Aaron," you mewl, your toes curling as a familiar warmth begins to bubble in your stomach, pleasure spilling over you in waves, "I'm gonna—"

"It's okay, honey," he praises, his voice sickly-sweet as he grinds against you softly, his mouth hot against your heat, "you can let go for me. I'm right here."

"I need — ah," you gasp quietly, your thighs beginning to tremble as he continues to worship you, "more, Aaron. I need more, please!"

As though to make a point, you grind against his palm, and he hums in acknowledgement, the sensation sending a vibration pulsing over your clit. Skilfully, Aaron parts your slits further with his fingers, and he softly pushes two of his digits inside of your cunt, your walls sheathing him instantly.

You're tight around him, and he's careful as he softly curls his fingers inside of you, his tongue simultaneously working on you. Desire rolls through him as your thighs tighten against his head, your plush flesh warm against his ears as you shake and tremble.

You writhe above him, and Aaron can't help but groan as he feels you convulse. You taste so delicious, so sweet as your cream floods his tongue, his senses heightened by your overwhelming orgasm that crashes over you.

The knot inside of you frays and snaps, and you eagerly tug at his hair, your back arching. Your breasts spill from your chemise as you do so, and you whimper softly as Aaron keeps lapping at you, his tastebuds dancing with the sweetness of your cum.

“So sweet,” he praises again, pulling away from your cunt once your thighs dull their trembling.

You can tell that he’s going to pull away from you — and whilst you love that he respects your initial hesitance to anything more intimate than the general exploration of one another’s bodies, you can’t help but want more.

"No," you murmur quietly, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing heart. You reach out towards him, your eyes pleading and your chest tight with nerves. "I'm ready, Aaron. I need more. I need all of you."

"All of me?" He repeats, and his deep brown eyes stare into yours, "Do you mean—"

"—I'm ready, Aaron. I want you. I'm ready."

Truth be told, you're not sure if you'll ever be ready. Aaron's so big, and you struggle to take him in your mouth. The thought of his cock burrowing inside of your cunt strikes fear inside of you, but you simply can't wait anymore.

He's been patient, and he's been kind, and it's been six months — you're unsure of any other man who would wait that long, and the fact that Aaron has been so forbearing makes your heart feel full.

"You're ready?" He breathes, adjusting himself so his trousers are pressing against your soaked panties, and he swears that his body sparks with electricity as you nod vigorously. "You're sure?"

"Yes," you affirm, "I'm sure. I want you so badly, it hurts.”

A few seconds pass, and you're worried that you've said the wrong thing, so you part your lips to speak. Your words are silenced by his mouth pressing against yours, his lips entrapping your own in a feverish kiss.

Wisps of his hair tickle your face as he kisses you. His warm hands gradually begin to pull your chemise up, and as the cool air nips at each inch of exposed skin, goosebumps rise. You fluster as Aaron pulls away from you, his eyes darting over your frame, which grows more exposed with each upward pull from his hands. He tugs, further and further, until he pulls the gown over your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, and his hands instantly dart down to grope and grab at your body, "you have no idea what you do to me."

You gasp quietly as his hands slide over your waist, trailing over the pudge of your stomach. He lets out a quiet groan as he gives your plump flesh a small squeeze, dipping his head to kiss you again, his tongue running over your swollen bottom lip. His hands are gentle against you, but his movements blaze a fire beneath your skin, and you find yourself growing hot and needy.

"Stop teasing," you breathe against his lips, "I need you now."

Aaron smiles against your mouth, before he pulls his lips away, trailing wet kisses across your jaw. "I need to make sure that you're wet enough to take me, honey," he utters quietly, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm wet," you say in response, shivering as his hands part your thighs slightly, "I'm so wet. Fuck, Aaron, please."

He laughs as your hands pull at his tie, smiles when your fingers begin to shakily unbutton his shirt.

"Somebody's eager," he comments, and he sits so that it's easier for you to undress him, and his hands abandon your body in favour for unbuttoning his trousers.

You're frantic, but he's smooth; calm and collected. Aaron lets his eyes explore you, and he can't help but palm himself through his trousers as he drinks in your flushed body.

Every curve, every soft indentation of flesh makes him feel feral. Your body, so generous and cushy, drives him wild, and he chokes back a groan as he slides his eyes over your soft stomach and your wide hips. The sight of you makes him ache, and he couldn't be more thankful that you're too inebriated by your own lust to notice the extent of his.

There's a fire in his gut, and his hands shake somewhat as he finally rids himself off his trousers. Aaron's face blazes as he notices the patch on his underwear, evidence of his own lewd desire, but you're too busy pushing his shirt off of him to notice.

You're trapped beneath him, pinned, and as his clothes become abandoned on the floor, he dips his head down, and he burrows his head in your chest. His tongue glides over your right breast, his hand palming the left, and you gasp as you feel his teeth nip at your sensitive bud.

"Do you know what you do to me, honey?" Aaron asks as he worships your body, delivering kisses over your pillowy chest, burrowing his head between your cleavage. He pinches your nipple softly, relishing in the way you writhe from his touch.

"I have an idea," you squeak out weakly, your thighs trembling as his hands slide down to pull at the waistband of your panties.

He shakes his head, looking down at you through thick lashes as he abandons your underwear to the floor. "No, you don't," he responds, and his head is instantly burrowed between your chest again, his hands trailing the curve of your waist and hips before he slides his palm between your legs, "you have no idea what you do to me."

A satisfied sigh glides past your lips as you feel his fingers glide through your sticky slits, and you eye him cautiously, your eyes zeroed in on the tight crotch of his boxers.

He's so hard, and you wonder if he's in any pain, because you are. You're pulsing between your legs, desperate to take him in, but he's being so sensual and considerate that it somehow makes you hurt more.

"You're so beautiful," he comments, and he adjusts so that he can slip his own underwear down. His voice is husky, and his hot breath fans against your ear as he murmurs, "I could look at you forever, honey."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." Aaron's voice is serious, weighty, and he smiles down at you softly. His eyes are focused on your glistening face, wet from tears of pleasure and sticky from the summer heat. "You're just perfect."

You flush under his gaze, and you whimper as he kisses you again. Aaron's lips are soft this time, gentle as he moulds his mouth against yours. You let out a quiet gasp as you feel his hands part your thighs further, the sensation of his cock flexing against your folds making you shudder.

He's so big, but you're so wet, and you hope that it's enough to stop the sting. You wish that you had more experience, you wish that you could take cock perfectly, but you can't, and you and Aaron both know that.

You cried the first time he fingered you, so this is going to hurt.

"I'll take it slow," Aaron's voice pulls you from your thoughts, "and if it hurts — tell me, honey, and I'll stop, okay?"

You flick your eyes up to meet his. You instantly drown in his hazel irises, which are so round and soft and considerate. You nod your head. Your throat feels a little bit dry, and you feel somewhat hazy, but his words are so gentle and reassuring that you beckon him in.

"Okay," you respond, your voice wavering.

Aaron presses a soft kiss to your neck, his hand giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "I love you," he murmurs quietly, gently sliding his cock through your sticky folds, trying to keep his breathing even as he sees your eyes flitter shut.

"I love you," you mumble back to him, trying to stay lax as his hand slides over your stomach.

"Are you ready?" He asks, his tongue wetting his lips as he squeezes your flesh softly. He can feel precum dribbling out of his slit, and he's desperate to burrow deep inside of you, to feel you swallowing his cock.

His lips tickle your neck again, and you whine softly. "I'm ready. Please make love to me, Aaron," you say shakily, your arms wrapping around his neck for support, your fingers riding through his hair, "I want you."

Your confirmation was all he needed.

He keeps his hand against your stomach, his eyes focused on yours as he gently slides his cock inside of you.

You're so tight. Your walls are pillowy and soft, insatiably warm and wet, and he lets out a quiet groan as he feels you tighten around him.

You whimper below him. Aaron's eyes are soft, and they carefully scan yours. You can tell that he's enjoying this, even if right now he's hardly moving — just slowly pushing his hips forward, encouraging your cunt to swallow him inch by inch.

"Hurts," you say shakily, the sting bottoming out any feeling of pleasure. The only satisfaction that you feel right now is knowing that Aaron's enjoying himself, and the fact that your cunt is slowly beginning to feel fill.

His brows pinch together as stills his hips. "You want me to stop?"

You shake your head. "You're not even in all of the way yet," you say warily, "keep going, please?"

Nodding his head slowly, he continues to push himself inside of you. Your walls flutter around him and his breath hitches, his body tensing as he palms your navel, feeling your stomach bulge slightly as you finally take all of him in.

Aaron stills his hips.

Your chest heaves, and your eyes prick with tears. It hurts, and it feels intrusive, and you know that it's supposed to hurt — but this much, really? You curse yourself somewhat for losing your virginity to a man whose cock is quite literally huge, and you exhale shakily as you meet his eyes.

"Is this okay?" He asks, and he's so caring that your bottom lip trembles slightly. He can see tears prick at your eyes and his heart drops in his chest, worrying that he may have hurt you.

His hand comes forward, swiping away the stray tear which slips from your eyes. "It's okay," you affirm, his warm palm cupping your cheek, "I'm okay. It just hurts, that's all."

"Do you want me to stay still, just like this?"

Your walls flutter around him as he speaks. He can feel how wet your cunt is, even when he's not moving. It's the most blissful thing he's ever felt in his entire life. Aaron wants to press against your navel again, wants to watch your plump stomach bulge further from his cock, but he restrains himself, because has plenty of time to do that; he has the rest of his life to do that with you.

Right now, all he needs to focus on is making you feel good.

"I want you to move," you say finally, tilting your head. Your nose brushes against his, and you give him a soft kiss. "Slowly, if that's okay."

Aaron gazes down at you through half-lidded eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his dark brows knit together in concentration as he slowly begins to roll his hips into you, ensuring that his motions are gentle.

A warmth blossoms in your stomach. It's a different kind of warmth, and you feel the familiar feeling of pleasure beginning to shroud the pain of his intrusion.

"Right there," you choke out, your eyes screwing shut as his cock brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, "just like that."

A quiet groan slides past his lips as you praise him. He's doing good, and he bites down on his swollen lip as your walls tighten around him. His hands slides over your body, runs over your plump flesh lovingly. Aaron swears he could do this forever, just continuously fuck his cock into of you whilst simultaneously groping at your plump flesh. The way you moan and writhe beneath him is addicting, so beautiful, and he wants to worship you this way for forever.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he continues to softly roll his hips into you. His eyes are fluttering shut, and his hair is sticking to his forehead slightly, and he looks so good. The scent of sex and his cologne floods your senses, and you softly drag your nails over his shoulders, arching into him as his movements pick up.

He moans softly, and you screw your eyes shut, unable to look at him anymore, the pleasure growing overwhelming.

"Please," you beg, "more."

"I don't want to hurt you," Aaron whispers, and his voice shakes slightly. He grips at your hip to steady himself, the lewd sounds of your squelching cunt echoing around his bedroom.

"You won't hurt me," you say, and you look up at him, pressing your lips against his in reassurance, "I promise."

Aaron's jaw ticks, but he nods his head. His head lulls, his nose brushing against yours as he carefully begins to increase his speed. His hands linger at your hips, digging into the plump flesh softly, and he groans as your walls flutter around him again.

You're so wet. The sound of his balls slapping against your soaking cunt shrouds the bedroom, and you find yourself growing closer and closer as he moans against you. His cock hilts inside of you, brushing consistently against the area where you need him most.

You can feel the love that he has for you poking through. You feel it in every gentle squeeze he delivers you; sense it in the way that his eyes lingers on the soft jiggling of your breasts and your stomach. You don't feel insecure around him — you feel powerful, and you arch your back more to allow him deeper inside of you.

The sting is gone, replaced by an insatiable pleasure that devours you from the inside out. Aaron’s cock is perfect, hilting inside of you, and your walls squeeze him, milking everything that he's got.

You gasp. You feel warm and fuzzy, and your body tingles with desire. He keeps squeezing you, his hands enveloping your thighs as he pushes your legs up slightly. The position allows for a better angle, and you sigh contently as you feel him ride against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.

Aaron's eyes scan yours, and you feel so overwhelmed, so beautiful. "You're so beautiful, honey," he murmurs, his eyes dragging down to study where your body meets, where the two of you become one. His breath hitches, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "My perfect girl."

You flush wildly, your face burning with heat. He feels so good inside of you, and you moan against his lips as he kisses you again, gently, softly. You savour the taste of him, relishing in the fact that you can still somewhat taste yourself on your tongue, and your nails dig further into his shoulders as he rolls inside of you.

You're growing close. You can feel it in the way the knot inside of you is beginning to fray and break loose. Aaron’s lips stay pressed against yours, and he squeezes your trembling thighs reassuringly.

"It's okay," he breathes incoherently against your lips, "you can cum, honey. Be a good girl and let go for me, okay?"

Nodding your head, you allow yourself to lax, to succumb fully to the comforting feeling of him inside of you. His cock nuzzles against the most sensitive spot inside of you, and then your eyes flutter shut, an orgasmic bliss beginning to pulse through you.

You whine as you cum around him, your walls tight, fluttering around him. You tremble, but he keeps you steady, his hands gently pushing into the flesh of your thighs as he allows himself to grow sloppy in his thrusts. Aaron sighs contently as you paint him with your cum, his balls and thighs growing wet from your squirt, and he can't hold back anymore.

You gasp as you his cock leak inside of you — you feel his hot, ropey cum paint your walls, and it feels good; intensifying your own orgasm as you shake below him, your walls fluttering, your cunt swallowing all of him.

His hands stays tight against your thighs as he finishes inside of you. Aaron's lips graze over your neck, the sensation causing you tingle and shy away from him. He groans quietly into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you as his hips still.

Your chest heaves and your heart races. Your body is tingling with the aftermath of your orgasm, and you pause before you purposefully tighten around him, trying to gauge his reaction. He cries out into your neck, and your stomach flutters in response. You milk his sensitive cock softly, your walls tight around him. His hips jolt into you, and you gasp as he hilts inside of you again.

Aaron's thankful that his balls no longer feel heavy, that the ache is dulled. He presses lazy kisses against your neck, his hand softly trailing up and down your burning skin. You're so warm that it's comforting, and he wants to stay like this forever, moulded inside of you.

Your motions are lazy as you drag your nails up and down his back, goosebump rising in their wake. His head stays nuzzled in your neck, and his breaths come slowly.

“Was that okay, honey?” He asks finally, his hair tickling you as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You didn’t hurt me, Aaron,” you murmur softly, looking at him with adoring eyes, “if anything, you did the opposite. That was really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, uh, I’d like to do it again with you sometime.”

The cheeky grin that you send him doesn’t go amiss, and he chuckles, giving you a small kiss. You smile as he sinks down, burrowing his head in your chest, his hands squeezing your hips and waist softly.

You could stay like this forever.

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