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#hotch x reader fic
doctorstethoscope · 2 years
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Wonderstruck || Aaron Hotchner x fem reader
Hi besties missed you besties!! This is a little something sort of inspired by LDSK-- I was watching it and couldn't help but think how crushed I would be if I was in Spencer's shoes, lol. Not a direct au, just a little something adjacent to it!
and a huge thanks to @spacecowboyhotch for beta-ing this for me!
tw: misogyny, epithets against women, arguing, typical cm canon content.
wc: 2.1k
“He’s a violent misogynist. Sending her in might distract him enough to give us an opening,” Rossi says, mulling over Spencer’s suggestion to send you into an active hostage situation in an attempt to de-escalate.
“I’ll go,” you say, reaching for a vest. Hotch’s hand shoots out in front of yours, keeping you from the stack of protective equipment. 
“No you won’t. He’s a violent misogynist. I’m not sending you in to become a defenseless target.” He says, his jaw set.
“I’m not defenseless!” You argued indignantly. “I’ll have a vest and a gun, not to mention half the FBI as backup.”
“I don’t like the risk. There has to be another way,” he insists.
“Hotch, it’s the best we got,” Morgan tries to reason with him. 
“It’s fine. It’s the job. I can handle it,” you plead to your boss. He holds your eye contact for a moment, your hopefulness appearing to soften his steely gaze. 
“Go get a discrete comms for under your vest. You won’t be able to hear us but I need to be able to hear you to know if things are okay on the inside,” he relents, and you scamper off to prepare yourself. 
Once you’re ready, Hotch insists on walking you to the door of the compound.
“It’s very important that you don’t try to prove anything to him. If he asks you to sit with the other women, sit and acquiesce and attempt to negotiate subtly from there. And if he escalates, stand down. We are getting plenty just from your comms,” he counsels, placing a hand on your shoulder and taking care to look you in the eyes.
“I’ve got it, Hotch. I’m gonna be fine,” you nod.
“I’ll see you when it’s over, then.”
“See you, Hotch.” 
You step into the compound and walk down a long hallway before you make it to the room where the unsub is holding the hostages. 
You knock gently, opening the door and introducing yourself.
“A woman? From the FBI? Ridiculous,” he scoffs.
“I know, but the sooner you and I work things out the sooner I can get out of your hair,” you say sweetly.
“I’d sooner blow this place up than yield to one of you,” he sneers, and a look at the collar of his shirt reveals that he means it— you can see a few threatening wires coming through. 
“What do you need from me to avoid that? I’m happy to oblige anything I can.”
“How about you sit down and shut the hell up, and the FBI gets me a passport and a helicopter.”
There’s another knock at the door and you whip your head around. “This is supervisory special agent Aaron Hotchner, I just want to talk,” he says, swinging the door open. 
“Supervisory, huh? You sent the girl in?” 
“Not by choice,” he scoffs. 
You bite your tongue. It was true, you supposed, but you hadn’t expected him to tell the unsub that.
“And look what good it did you. These women, they get too big for their britches and they think they can start to question our god-given authority.” 
“It’s ridiculous, dealing with this one whining and complaining about my orders. She doesn’t belong here,” Hotch sympathizes.
You think you might throw up. You always liked Hotch, admired him, and you thought the two of you had a mutual respect. Thought.
“She’s a real spitfire, that bitch, thinking she’s good enough to be law enforcement. I bet she’s a real pain in the ass.”  The unsub continues.
“Don’t I know it. Always late, cares more about her outfits and her hair than her work. She ever should have made it to my department to begin with.” He snarls.
You’ve been late a couple times, yeah, but you didn’t think anyone had noticed. And sure, you liked to look nice, but who didn’t? And it never got in the way in the field. You take a deep breath, fighting to keep your emotions at bay.
“And she’s not a kept woman, I’m sure,” the unsub scoffed. 
“Of course not. It’s like you said, who’d want to keep a mouthy brat like her around.” He agrees.
While you want nothing more than for Hotch to turn around and cuff this guy so everyone can leave safely, you secretly hope you don’t make it out so that Hotch never sees that you’re crying. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, the bastard. 
“Between the two of us, if you wanted to give the whore some long-overdue discipline, I’d be happy to turn and look the other way.”
“I don’t think she can be helped, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt, either,” Aaron rolls his eyes, crossing the room and grabbing you harshly by the shoulders. If he can tell that you’re crying, he ignores you. Burn in hell, Hotchner. He pulls you away from the other women. 
“My Glock is in my ankle holster. You need a clear shot to the thigh or the head,” he mutters as he drags you. It takes you a minute to put it together, but you nod once you realize. “You need to struggle so he’s distracted.” 
“Get off of me,” you protest, squirming against Hotch’s grip. His fingers dig into your skin and the tears continue to roll down your face. He slots his knee into the back of yours, toppling you off balance and into the ground. 
“Learn to be obedient, you dumb skank!” The unsub bellows, but Aaron’s body crouching over you  gives you enough cover to unsheath his gun and make a quick shot to the unsub’s thigh. 
He falls out of his chair and Hotch rushes to cuff him, while you work on freeing the hostages. You wipe your last tears away as you escort them out of the building— you had a job to do now, and whether or not your unit chief thought so, you were damn good at it. 
The rest of the team is waiting for you at the compound doors, and they help get the victims over to medical. Morgan moseys over to you as you help the last person in your group into an ambulance.
“Alright mama, your turn,” he says, taking you gently by the arm, and you just follow. Morgan tilts his head in surprise. “You okay? You must be hurting if you aren’t even going to put up a fight about medical,” he says as he lifts you onto a gurney. 
“I’m fine, Derek. Just do me a favor?” You ask as the paramedic begins his assessment.
“Whatever you need.” 
“Don’t let Hotch anywhere near me.” 
He’s a bit taken aback by the request. “Kiddo—“
“Derek, please,” you interrupt him before he can argue. 
“Alright,” he relents.
“You should be okay, miss,” the EMT says. “You’ve got a few bruises and you’ll probably feel pretty exhausted once the adrenaline wears off, but I don’t see any reason that you’d need to be admitted to the hospital unless you’re in any pain. Just rest should do it.” 
“Great, thank you,” you say, hopping off of the gurney. “Take me back to the hotel?” You asked Derek. 
He grits his teeth. “You go sit in the car. You don’t have to talk to him, but I need to let Hotch know that you’re okay before I take you back— I’m not facing his wrath if I don’t,” he explains with a wry smile.
A few hours later, you were tucking yourself in after a long, hot, tearful shower, Netflix on in the background and your laptop open in front of you. Your cursor hovered over the transfer request form as you chewed the inside of your cheek. A knock at the door— presumably the room service you’d ordered— distracts you from your dilemma. 
You swing the door open with a polite smile, and immediately crumple when you see all six feet and two inches of your unit chief standing in the hallway. 
“Respectfully, Hotch, I really don’t want to talk to you.” You tell him, attempting to close the door, but he blocks it.
“Are you okay?” He asks, looking you over. Suddenly you feel small in your ratty old sweatpants and college tee.
“I’m fine, but Morgan already told you that.” You remind him. 
“You’re not injured, but that doesn’t mean your okay.” He says, and he looks so concerned that it makes your blood boil. 
“Fuck off, Hotch. How dare you ask me that. Just go back to your room, I’ll finish my transfer application and we can both pretend I was never here,” you say, stepping away from the door and hoping he’ll get the message. He follows you in, instead.
“What?” He asks, shock and hurt in his tone. “You can’t transfer.” 
“You have a lot of nerve showing up at my door to begin with,” you continue. 
“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered. 
“I get that I’m new here, but I really thought I was proving myself. And as my supervisor, I would have appreciated some feedback if you didn’t feel the same way,” you argued bitterly. 
“What do you mean?” He asks.
“Maybe Emily was right when she said you don’t trust women as much as you trust men.”
“Is that what this is about?” He asks, and he almost laughs. You swear you could hit him.
“Of course it is! How could you say those things? Everyone says you’re such a hardass. I never believed them, and it turns out they were wrong. You’re worse. You’re cruel, you’re mean. Get out of my room.” You’re being loud, too loud, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
“Y/n, I didn’t mean a word of that,” he implores. 
“Oh, sure,” you scoff. 
“It was a strategy. I had to empathize with him. You know that,” he reminds you, his tone begging you to believe him. 
“Even at that, why did it come so easily? Why were all of my worst qualities right at your fingertips? Why was it so easy for you to find reasons to discredit me?” You bite back. 
“It had nothing to do with you. All of that came straight from the unsub’s blog, Garcia found it after you went in.”
The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You could only let out a sheepish, surprised little “oh.” 
“You’re an exemplary agent. I wouldn’t have let you go in if I wasn’t certain of your abilities,” he says, putting both of his hands on your shoulders, staring at you to make sure you were looking at him too, to make sure you believed him.
You couldn’t, not yet. “Why’d you push back on me going in, then? Is it because I’m a girl?” 
“No.” He says resolutely. 
“Then what is it?” You goad him on. 
“It’s not that,” he says through gritted teeth, no longer able to look at you.
“Tell me why, then!” You exclaim. “Tell me.” 
“I didn’t want to send you in because I care for you. And because the thought of something happens to you scares me.” He admits, his voice only hairs above a whisper.
“Oh,” you gasp out. “Oh.”  It’s like all the air has left the room, and the two of you are suspended in time.
“I’m sorry. I know that’s inappropriate.”
“Hotch,” you start.
“If you still want to submit a transfer application, I understand. I’d be happy to write you a glowing recommendation.” 
“No,” you say, reaching out to take his hands in yours, taking three quick steps so your toes are practically touching. 
“No?” He asks trepidatiously, ducking his head closer to yours. 
“No,” you answer. “I think I’d like to stay right where I am.” 
“Thank god,” Aaron breathes against your lips before he kisses you. He wraps his arms around your waist and draws you in closer, and you curl your fingers into the cropped hair at the base of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for thinking you could really believe those things.” 
“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry for not making it clearer how in awe I am of you constantly, as an agent and as a person. I am… wonderstruck by you, constantly, but I’ve done my best to hide it for the sake of professionalism. I’ve done too well, it seems.”
You shake your head. “You did what you thought was best. I couldn’t ever blame you for that.” 
He smirks. “Luckily for us both, I know better now,” he says as he leans back in to kiss you again.
taglist: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @call-me-mrsreid
@dadbodhotch11 @the-modernmary @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @ashhotchner @wheelsupkels @infinite-tides @zetasaturno99 @itsmeiguessidk @ahouseforhermitcrab @catsofsmoke @silversighs
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AATT People!!!
Heyyyy, I'm back. I know I say that like, every few months and then I post a chapter and disappear again, bUT I'm fairly confident that I don't have writers block anymore.
Would you guys still read this if I finally updated it?
Series taglist will be under the cut. And THIS is the link to the masterlist if anyone new wants to read it.
@wanniiieeee @ivebeenthinkingboutu @uwu-sebastianstan @piggyinthesea @thatisthemagic @errorcosplay67 @rynfoxsleeps @phoenixsnape1 @mojofun @pachiibatt @enjoymyloves @word-scribbless @chelseyjoyce @stupidcroissant @ellyhotchner @lora21 @anti-zippy-snoot @sunnysaysbookreviews @flipperpenguins @illegal-brains @kya-li @yeehawbitchs @venomsvl @royal-lyrics @savannahcole99 @oxygenisoverrated @eternal-silvertongued-prince @louisaland @that-demigirl
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headkiss · 4 months
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something more
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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader
summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.
word count: 6.6k
warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!
a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily
Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.
Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.
Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.
He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.
Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.
It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.
Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.
Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.
“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.
Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”
“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.
“I should really get this done-”
“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”
With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.
That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.
“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.
“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.
“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”
Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”
He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’
“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”
“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”
He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.
“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”
You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.
“Okay, put me to work, boss.”
“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.
“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”
Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.
He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.
Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.
Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.
As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.
When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”
Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.
“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.
“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”
Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.
In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.
“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”
“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”
“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”
JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.
You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.
-
Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.
You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.
It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.
You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.
Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.
The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.
“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.
“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.
“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”
And he still wanted to check on you.
“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”
“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.
“Get in here, Hotchner.”
You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.
So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.
Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.
You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.
Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.
“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”
He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.
He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”
You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.
“Who taught you that one, huh?”
“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”
“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”
He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.
During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.
“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.
“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.
“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”
And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.
By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.
“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”
“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.
On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.
You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”
You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.
Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.
You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.
In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”
“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.
“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.
This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.
He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.
-
The flight home from a case always feels the longest.
On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,
Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.
If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.
You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.
The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.
Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.
“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.
You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.
“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”
“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”
“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”
“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.
“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”
“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”
You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.
You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.
He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.
It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.
Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.
When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”
His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.
He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”
You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.
When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.
Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.
Hopeless, she thinks.
Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.
It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.
“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.
“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”
Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.
It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.
Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.
He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.
“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”
“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.
“We fell asleep, but we landed.”
“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”
“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.
-
You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.
It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.
That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.
Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.
You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.
“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”
Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”
He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.
“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”
Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”
“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”
“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”
Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.
“Really?”
“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“
“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”
When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.
He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.
You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.
Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.
You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.
You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.
As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.
“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.
He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.
“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”
“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”
“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.
“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.
“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.
On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.
“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”
Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”
He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.
He likes that idea, too.
Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”
First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”
Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.
“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.
“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.
“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”
Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.
And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.
-
You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.
You guess that this time might be up for debate.
When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.
Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.
“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”
“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”
“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.
In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.
So, your instincts weren’t so bad.
Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.
After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.
It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.
He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.
By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.
Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.
His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.
Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.
“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.
You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.
“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”
For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”
The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.
The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”
His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.
“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”
Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.
Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.
“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”
“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”
One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.
“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.
“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”
“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”
“If you say so, Hotchner.”
He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.
“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”
“Learned from the best,” you say.
You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.
Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”
Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”
Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”
-
+1
Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.
When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.
This year, you’re on a mission to change that.
While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.
You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.
Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.
Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.
While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.
“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”
Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”
You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.
“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”
He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.
Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”
For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.
No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.
So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.
You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.
Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.
When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.
“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.
Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.
“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”
Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.
“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”
Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.
It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.
His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.
You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.
It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.
When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.
“It’s perfect,” he says.
The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”
Similar words come from the rest of the team.
“Finally,” from Emily.
“About time,” from JJ.
“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.
A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.
Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.
And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.
thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3
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weehelers · 1 year
Text
IN RUINS
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PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader
SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?
“ what happened?” hotch says standing infront of the big white board that had some very gruesome pictures of 5 victims splayed out on a park bench. he’s standing tall and strong with his hands crossed in his dark grey suit. he’s looking at you and spencer, who’s walking in right behind you slamming the door close.
“ It’s her fault.” spencer says quickly moving to the other side of the room opposite you, trying to get as far away from you as possible.
you take a deep breath in trying your absolute hardest not to roll your eyes and cross your hands in annoyance and disappointment. “ it’s not my fault reid-”
“ woah woah what the heck happened?” morgan says pushing himself back in the precinct chair watching you and spencer. he looks at spencer, he sees the strong look of disgust and annoyance spencer is shooting at you. he looks at you, he notices you looking at spencer with a disappointed look.
“ she told the unsubs family we are after the unsub-” spencer spits out looking over at hotch, waiting for him to yell at you or lecture you.
“ wait spence we don’t even know who the unsub is. what do you mean?” jj says turning her head to look at spencer confusion written on her face. “ exactly! thank you jj!” you reply throwing your hands up.
“ michael miller is our unsub hotch.” spencer says completely ignoring your attempt to reason with him, his eyes stay on hotch waiting for him to snap at you or just lecture you. “ wait a minute i thought michael miller had a solid alibi.” morgan says laying back in his chair resting his arms on the arm rests. “ he does have a solid alibi it checks out-” spencer cuts you off. “ it does not check out!” spencer says.
“ yes it does! hotch we asked his dad who confirmed his son came home at 8:30 pm from football practice.��� you say growing impatient looking at hotch, hotch’s eyebrows are furrowed tightly. his arms are still crossed listening to you and spencer bicker back and fourth.
“ just because his dad showed the tiniest bit of concern about his son when the fbi showed up to his doorstep does not make him a reliable source, just because you never had a dad who showed any bit of concern and now when you finally see a dad care about their kid does not mean you should not fall into their trap just because you never had a trap to fall into.” spencer spits out finally looking at you.
he watches as your expression hardens. he watches as humiliation and embarrassment fill your once determined eyes, the determined eyes who tried to reason with spencer at-least 4 minutes ago. 4 minutes, that’s how long it takes for your perspective of someone to change. he watches as your eyebrows tremble, a habit you have when your trying to fight back tears. he watches as your throat trembles too, probably trying to fight back that agonising choke you get when your about to cry.
the entire room goes quiet. spencers gaze remains on you, slowly watching your soul shatter because of his words. your gaze remains on spencer, slowly feeling your soul shatter because of his words.
the door that spencer slammed close 4 minutes ago opens, rossi and emily walking in. “ michael millers alibi checks out. we’ve got pictures of him at football practice from 5pm to 8:25pm. he wouldn’t have had the time to commit the murders.” rossi says opening the door for emily. “ also his teammates described him as an extrovert and outgoing which is not what we profiled the unsub to be.” emily says with her hands inside her pockets nodding looking at everyone surrounding the table.
“ i feel as though we interrupted something.” rossi says eyeing everyone in the room raising an eyebrow in confusion. he could feel the tension. emily could too. which is why she immediately looks over at morgan for answers. morgan looks at her for a split second before returning his gaze on you.
“ y/n-” spencer attempts. he tries to bring himself to take a step towards you, but it’s like his words somehow built a barrier between you and him that he now can’t even physically cross. or maybe he’s just scared that if he takes a step towards you, you’ll take a step back. away from him.
you swallow the gut wrenching feeling of tears crawling up your throat. you look down to your converse. “ i’m gonna go…uhm get coffee.” you say turning around immediately walking towards the door. “ excuse me.” you whisper pushing past rossi and emily.
“ oh wonder boy..” garcia says through the tv screen, her bright purple tinted lips which usually wear a bright smile on her face now wearing a frown. her tone disappointed as she presses her heart eye fuzzy emoji pen into her cheek. “ i uhm did my usual background checking on the uhm..list of potential unsubs and a uhm…scott anderson has a sketchy background. i’ve just sent his file to you my pretties.” garcia says stuttering quite a few times finding it hard to sneak her usually bubbly nicknames into the conversation after what had just happened. “ thank you garcia. jj take y/n and check out scott anderson.” hotch says looking at jj his arms finally by his side.
jj nods standing up walking towards the door “ i-i can go” spencer says turning his body towards jj. “ stay.” hotch replies his voice stern and bold. he looks at spencer his eyebrows furrowed.
jj closes the door. “ sit.” hotch says to spencer pointing to the empty seat at the table, spencer slowly walks towards the seat sitting down. “ you shouldn’t have said that spencer.” hotch says crossing his hands. “ hotch-” spencer attempts but is quickly cut off, “ i’m not finished. I get it. your worried spencer. your scared-”
“ hotch-” spencer is cut off once again. “ you may think your hiding it well spencer but your not. we know the unsub is targeting female victims which have similar features to l/n. if your too close to the case spencer-” it’s spencer’s turn to now cut hotch off. “ but i’m not too close to the case hotch!” spencer replies. he wanted the similarities between you and the victims to only be in his head because he wanted only him, himself to notice the similarities between you and the victims. you both have the same hair color, hair length, both considered to be attractive, both have similar personalities, and similar taste in clothing. he didn’t want it to be true. but now he knows that they are, and they’re not just in his head he’s even more worried.
“ your stuttering spencer. you do that when your worried or nervous.” emily says pulling a chair from the table. spencer shoots his eyes away from hotch to emily’s. his gaze softens a bit, emily’s tone wasn’t like hotchs. it wasn’t as stern or bold. it was rather understanding and gentle. “ i just cant control myself around her.” spencer says looking down at the picture of the fourth victim who had been wearing the exact same pair of converse your wearing now. “ well your going to have to learn how to control yourself pretty boy. you shouldn’t have said that.” morgan says looking at spencer. spencer sighs hiding his face in his hands. “ i just..god i’m so stupid.” spencer groans rubbing his tired eyes.
“ stupidity is what ended my third marriage.” rossi says crossing his hands leaning against the bulletin board with a small chuckle, morgan looks at rossi and laughs. “ well thank god pretty boy isn’t married. he’d be the new rossi.” morgan says tilting his head to the side looking at spencer trying to lighten the mood, spencer who still has his head in his hands. there’s a million thoughts going through his head, all of them are about you. all of them are about how he should apologize. is he even allowed to apologize? will you let him apologize to you? would you accept his apology? what if you didn’t? did he just ruin his friendship with you? no screw friendship, he doesn’t just want to be friends. he wouldn’t be as sensitive as he is to this case if he just wanted to remain friends. he’s in love with you. spencer reid is in love with you. and he just potentially ruined any slight chance of ever having you know that he loves you. just because he’s stupid and didn’t think before he spoke.
“ are you okay?” jj says both hands on the steering wheel turning around to look at you next to her, in the passenger seat. your heads turnt towards the window, your picking at your nails. a habit of yours. you turn to look at jj and nod. “ yeah i’m fine why wouldn’t i be?” you ask tilting your head to the side with a confusing smile. you know exactly why your not okay. but for some reason, you just can’t bring yourself to actually be upset over it. what’s there to be upset about? what spencer said is true. he’s not wrong. why are you making excuses for him? what he said was not okay. totally not okay. why do you have to make excuses for every male figure in your life for when they’ve done something wrong? why do you always make them the victim and you the villain. you just don’t wanna lose them right? because you know that if your the victim and their the villain they’ll never apologise and the entire relationship will disappear, it always does.
“ what spencer said-” jj is talking in that tone, that tone that she would speak in whenever something was wrong. in a motherly kind of tone. you immediately shake your head, “ it’s- it’s fine jj really, i don’t care. can we just please forget it ever happened? lets just work on the case.” you say running a hand through your hair biting your lower lip trying to stop your voice from trembling, you know when your about to cry and you have that heavy feeling in your throat? you swallow it hard. you turn your head to look at the window not waiting for a response from jj. jj clears her throat, “ no yeah of course.” she nods smiling turning her head back around.
“ this should be it…” jj mumbles stopping the car, parked infront of a 2 story cabin. you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. “ it looks like no one’s home, there’s no car. we profiled that the unsub would have a van or a truck..” jj says closing the car door looking at the house. “ maybe he wouldn’t leave something so valuable to him outside, to the eye of the public. he’s possessive he thinks the entire world revolves around him he probably thinks someone would try to steal it.” you reply reaching in your pocket for your id. jj doing the same thing. you two walk to the front door, you in the front,
you knock on the door. you put your hand against your hip waiting for the door to open. “ we should ask the neighbours. maybe they’ll know-” you knock on the door again. “ scott anderson. fbi.” you say knocking on the door again. jj puts both of her hands on her waist. “ looks like he’s not home-” your cut off by the door swinging open.
you immediately turn your head around. “ scott anderson?” you ask looking at the man infront of you. you know it’s scott anderson, penelope had already sent his id picture on the drive over. he looks at you, then looks at jj. “ who are you..” he says looking directly at jj. “ i’m agent l/n with the fbi and this is agent jareau. do you mind if we come inside?” you ask smiling holding up your id.
he doesn’t even bother looking at your id. “ yeah whatever.” he moves to the side, making room for you and jj. you nod turning around to look at jj. she nods. you step inside jj following you.
“ do you live alone?” you ask analysing the house, its organised. weird for someone that’s his age. “ uhm yeah i do. what’s wrong with that?” he asks crossing his hands. you chuckle, “ no no nothings wrong with that, i also lived alone when i was 17.” you reply smiling. “ i’m 19.” he says looking at you, eyeing you up and down smiling. “ your pretty organised for a 19 year old.” jj says raising an eyebrow also crossing her hands smiling. “ guess i was just raised that way.” he replies rubbing his lips together. you nod. “ how were you raised scott..if you don’t mind me asking.” you say looking around the house. “ yeah scott how did you manage to score such a house at your age. do you work?” jj asks grabbing a picture frame. “ no i don’t work-” he turns to look at jj. “ put that down.” he snaps speed walking to jj. you immediately reach for your gun.
“ right..sorry. you don’t like people touching your stuff.” jj replies throwing her hands up in defeat. he snatches the picture frame. he grabs it caressing it gently, jj looks at you with wide eyes. you raise an eyebrow in confusion. “ scott. why do you have a picture of my colleague framed?” jj asks looking at the frame scott’s holding. your eyes widen.
“ oh god oh god. where’s y/n and jj?” penelope says aggressively tapping on her keyboard. “ what? what’s wrong?” spencer is the first to respond shooting up from the office chair just at the mention of your name. “ they’re at scott anderson’s why?” hotch says turning around, away from the white board to the tv. garcia starts tearing up, “ i-i did some deep digging and scott anderson has a blog about y/n..” garcia says in a shaky tone. no. no. no. no. no not again please.
his heart stopped for a split second. his hand start sweating. the air has been sucked out of his lungs. why is it so hard to breathe? why is there no air to breathe? there’s a million thoughts running through his head, they’re still about you. but now they’re worse. your in danger. your with the unsub. the unsub who has already killed five people. your in the same house with the unsub. the unsub who has a blog dedicated to you. and the last time you saw spencer you were teary eyed. no it can’t be the last time. no. please be safe.
his sweaty shaky hands reach for his phone. he clicks on your contact. hotch grabs his phone and immediately calls jj. spencer immediately puts the phone up against his ear. it rings. rossi and emily immediately stand up, “ penelope send us the address to scott’s house now.” emily says walking to the door. it’s still ringing. spencer starts biting his nails. his hearts pounding. the ringing of the phone case is haunting him. what is happening on the other side of the phone. why aren’t you answering. you always answer the phone. why is it still ringing? y/n why aren’t you answering.
“ god damn it!” spencer shouts into the phone as it keeps ringing. morgan stands up, “ hotch we gotta go.” he says standing up shoving his phone into his pocket.
the ringing stops. spencer’s heart stops. his breathing stops. everyone in the room looks at spencer waiting for any kind of confirmation. “ y/n you’ve gotta get out of there with jj!” spencer says stuttering with a shaky voice. hes scared. hes so so scared. hes never been more scared in his life. it’s quiet. why is it quiet? why aren’t you answering? what’s wrong. god y/n.
“ hey mom.” you reply. spencer takes a deep breath in. he stops biting his nails. he wipes his wet fingers on his pants. his hearts racing. your in danger. why are you calling him mom if your not in danger. oh god. he feels like he can’t breathe again. he can’t focus. he can’t do this. he can’t do this. he can’t do this without you. breathe spencer. she’s in danger spencer. she’s all that matters.
“ y/n. god i…” he chokes. “ you already figured it out didn’t you.” he says his throat feeling scratchy. he hears you giggle on the other side of the phone, your laugh erupts the butterflies in his stomach. under any other circumstances he would absolutely hate the butterflies in his stomach and would be mad at you for making him feel such way. but now they bring a sense of comfort, they make him feel normal for a split second. that this is not that big of a deal, he’s just calling the girl he really likes and he got butterflies from hearing her beautiful laughs.
“ yeah of course. i called aunt lizzie for her birthday mom i’m not stupid.” you respond. god your voice is so beautiful, but he can hear it. he can fear the slight fear in your voice. maybe other people wouldn’t hear it, but he can. spencer can. and it’s killing him. it’s tearing his heart apart. it’s making his legs shake. “ d-did he hurt you- is he gonna hurt you?” spencer says gripping his jeans tightly. he hears you laugh again, “ yeah mom.” you say.
he feels his legs going weak.
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luveline · 6 months
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hi, i have a request for hotch if that's okay with you :)
when they're on the jet, yn is smiling a lot at her phone so the team starts to tease her because the think that she has a mysterious boyfriend. and she does, but he's sitting right next to her and he's also wondering who's making her smile like that since it's clearly not him
tysm!
Hotch is trying hard to award you your privacy, but your smile makes it difficult. You're actually squared away from him despite sitting in the seat beside him of your own free will, your phone to your chest, a huge smile curved across your cute mouth. 'Cute mouth', Hotch thinks to himself with derision. He's thoroughly whipped for you. It might not work out. 
You've been secretive and strange on your phone for an hour now. With nothing left to do but wait for the jet to touch down, you can watch whatever or text whenever you want. Hotch just wishes it wasn't so distracting. Who are you texting? He feels ill. 
"Who's that?" 
The dam finally breaks. As soon as Morgan asks, Emily pipes up, "Yeah, who is it?" as Rossi laughs and declares, "I know that look. Young Y/N's in love." 
You side eye Hotch. "Workplace harassment," you say. 
"Who is it?" Hotch asks. 
You gawp but laugh at his unprofessional questioning, pressing your phone screen tight to your chest. "Hotch, it's–" 
"Your not-so-secret boyfriend? Come on, we all know you have one," Morgan says. 
"I know you know, you're like sharks," you say, giving them all a great long look. 
For weeks now, you've glowed. This overzealous smiling and laughing is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Your nosy coworkers can't hold back their curiosity any longer. Hotch was stupid enough to think that your secretive dates and nights spent curled in on one another might be the reason behind your new hopped up sprightliness, but apparently not. 
"So you admit it!" Emily cheers. 
"Maybe. But it's not what's happening on my phone." 
"Well, what is it?" Spencer asks. 
They've leaned in on you, a circle of eager faces. Your sudden decision to admit you —maybe— have a boyfriend is as much as anyone's gotten out of you in weeks. If anyone could tease the truth from you, of course it's Hotch, and so the team looks to their leader pleadingly. 
He's not sure he wants to know. "They won't leave you alone otherwise," he says, hoping that his expression shows his leniency. Your secrets are your own if you want to keep them. 
You smile at him. Again, he thinks you have a cute mouth, and that he's biassed but you definitely smile sweeter at him than anyone else. You and Hotch know something the others don't, amusement like light behind your irises. "I'll show you," you say smugly, "and only you, Hotch." 
"Typical," Morgan murmurs, sitting back on the couch. 
Hotch clenches his sweaty palms beneath the table. "Alright." 
You lean in against his shoulder. Your phone turns on, and he's taking deep breaths as you click to your photo app, and then an album labelled with a simple, '<3'. 
It's photos of him. Most he knows you took, sitting across from you in dark restaurants or kneeling in your apartment putting together a new set of drawers. Your giggles begin in earnest as you swipe through them to a more recent photograph. You couldn't have taken it more than a week ago, when he'd stayed the night with you by accident, too tired to leave. His face is slack in sleep. He realises it's a video when you click a button and the sound of crinkling fabric plays from your speaker. In the video, you unbutton the tight collar of his shirt, stroking his neck briefly with a loving knuckle. The video moves down to frame his arm, his hand clinging to your other one like a sucker. 
Hotch looks up from the video and blinks at you. Your hand on his sleeping neck, the sound of your tired laughter —he can't not smile. "Oh. That's…"
"What did you show him?" Morgan asks, his voice coloured with both amusement and frustration. The team echo his question.
"I can't kiss and tell," you say, still tucked up by his side. 
"I think it's best if you don't, L/N," Hotch agrees. 
He'd lose all credibility. 
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vervainariadne · 7 months
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Strauss: You need to hire a professional tech analyst for your team.
Hotch: *sees a scented homemade pink stationery resume written in glitter ink*
Hotch:
Hotch: That one. I want that one.
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zvdvdlvr · 3 months
Text
— I Love You
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— 🧠 synopsis. A tough case leaves you in the more than willing arms of SSA Aaron Hotchner.
— 🧠 word count. 2,409
— 🧠 warnings. Foul language. Idiots to lovers. Friends to lovers. Weird plot. Possible jealous!Hotch.
Maybe it was the children that hadn’t been saved in time. Maybe it was the pitying glances from not only the team, but the police officers. Maybe, even, it was the way Aaron’s eyes flitted away any time y/n looked up. 
No, y/n was mad. Angry, spiteful, defiant- any other synonyms for angry. The fact that the unsub had been completely fooled by y/n’s act until he had promptly decided he didn’t believe y/n’s promise to help in any way she could to lower his prison sentence. That’s the thing with schizophrenics: they’re extremely paranoid.
Y/n was so infuriated, she refused to talk- a habit that she had learned from childhood. If she didn’t say anything, she couldn’t get in trouble. It was a bad habit that y/n had eventually stopped by the time she went to college because the anger she kept inside of her without any kind of release would always find a way to rot her from the inside out. 
So now, even on the flight home, y/n still hasn’t said more than two sentences in a row.
— 🧠
Aaron Hotchner was a man with excellent observation skills and the ability to adapt. He knew y/n’s habit of reserving herself to silence due to the amount of time they have worked together, but Aaron felt like something was different this time.
Instead of starting the pile of paperwork he already had, Aaron instead found himself watching y/n. She was always extremely sensitive to cases that dealt with kids, but this seem to hit home, adding to the fact that their unsub had blown his brains out within a five foot radius of y/n and the seven-year-old girl that had been the last victim. 
When the team had gotten to the scene, they watched the little girl dissolve into y/n’s arms, brain matter and blood on the latter’s face. The look in y/n’s eyes when Derek had immediately rushed to the two of them was one of complete despair. Aaron watched, paralyzed, as you picked up the little girl and let her scream and wail near your ringing ears. You turned, pressing her head down so she wouldn’t look at the dead body and look Aaron dead in the eyes and took the child to the ambulance.
Something in your eyes had provoked worry in Aaron. Did you feel guilty? Were you not allowing yourself to break down when you needed to be strong for the little soul in your arms? Was there something you were trying to tell him?
“Hey,” Hotch murmured. He sat down as carefully as he could (which wasn’t too impressive seeing as it was 1 in the morning on a plane).
When you didn’t say anything, Hotch sighed. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I need you to know you did what you had to do. What he did… that wasn’t on you, y/n.”
Then you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and Aaron felt his heart sink. “Oh, honey…” he whispered. 
And then you were in his arms, crying, while trying not to wake up the others. “Hotch, I-“ you started, sniffling. 
“I’m here, sweetheart,” Aaron all but cooed, lightly carding his fingers through your hair. He knew you blamed yourself because that’s how you are. You always strive to do the best you possibly could, oftentimes resorting to neglecting yourself whenever you did something that you knew you could have done better or simply because you forgot. 
“It’s all my fault, Aaron, I- I could have saved him but- I… I messed up and I- I don’t even know what I did! And that little girl…” you trailed off, another wave of tears threatening to overtake your ability to speak. 
Aaron’s throat bobbed as he struggled to find the words to comfort the woman in his arms. Long ago had he resigned to simply being y/n’s boss/borderline friend because he accepted the fact that- as much as he hated to admit it- he was older, not your type, or just simply unattractive. But he would do theoretically anything you asked him to do even if it caused him heartbreak in the future.
“You saved that little girl, angel. *You* did. If you save one of them, you save all of them. Focus on the good, honey, not the bad. If you can do that then you can do anything, and believe me,” Aaron smiled, “I have no doubt in my mind you can do anything.” 
Aaron held you and prayed to God that you didn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. He brushed your tears away and let you sleep on his shoulder, happy that he had hopefully gotten you out of your funk.
— 🧠
Later, Aaron woke up to Derek tapping his shoulder. “Do you want me to take our golden girl home?” Derek asked, with a softness to his voice that he had whenever he talked to you. 
Blinking away the tiredness from his eyes, Aaron shook his head. “No. No, I got her. Tjank you, Derek, but you need to go home and get some rest.” 
Derek nodded. “Get home safe,” he said to Hotch, a small smile in his face when he heard you sigh a little in you sleep and bury your head even further into Aaron’s neck.
Derek patted Aaron’s shoulder before taking his leave.
“Wake up, y/n,” Aaron murmured, heart swelling in his chest when he heard you mumble incoherent words.
Slinging his own go-bag and yours over his shoulders, Hotch helped you stand up.
“Hotch, lemme take my-“ you started, being cut off with a yawn.
“I got it, y/n,” Aaron chuckled. He let you slip your arm in his and all but lean on him as he made his way to his car. 
When he got you settled into the passage seat, Aaron tossed the bags in the back and started the drive to your house. 
“Aaron?” You asked, voice small.
He looked over at you. Despite the lack of light, Aaron watched you pick at your fingers. “Yeah?”
It took you a minute before saying something. You wanted to ask him why he kept calling you ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’. It’s not that you didn’t like it (you loved it), you just don’t think he could keep calling you that if he didn’t have any kind of attraction to you. You, though, you’ve been enamored with Aaron Hotchner since the day he shook your hand and offered you a job. 
Similarly, you wanted to ask him what he did when he got lost in his own mind; when he himself couldn’t pull himself out of his thoughts. 
So you settled on a breathless “Thank you”. 
Silence reigned once more as Aaron tried to pick out the meaning of your thanks. Where you thanking him for driving you home? For letting you fall asleep on him? For… being one of the best friends you’d ever had in your life without saying it?
When Aaron carried your bag to the door as you unlocked the it, he wondered if there was another universe where he was taking you home every night, going to bed with you, waking up to Jack begging for pancakes with you, dropping Jack off at school with you, and then going to work with you. Maybe, Aaron thought, somewhere in another universe I’m watching the woman I love fall asleep with my child in her arms. 
“Do you… need anything else?” Aaron asked, holding out y/n’s go-bag for her to take. 
Aaron kicked himself. He felt like a school boy whenever you’re around, and the fact that he’s standing in front of you and your home isn’t really helping his nerves.
“Would you maybe want to, uh… stay? For tonight?” Y/n blurted. Aaron’s eyes must have widened because he saw y/n become flustered. “I- you know, just for tonight. I need a ride to work tomorrow anyway… You- You might as well just stay.”
“If you want me to-“
“Please?” 
Aaron stepped into y/n’s house and immediately toed off his shoes. “Where do you want me to put this?” 
“I’ll take it.” She accepted the bag and walked to her room.
Aaron walked around the kitchen. Your house was clean and colorful. You had quite a few photos of the sunset framed by your television, but there were a lot more candid shots of the BAU then of your family. Hm.
“Come here, A,” you called from your room (?).
Dutifully, Aaron followed the sound of your voice, pushing your door open slowly and entering your room. Where you sleep. Where you get dressed and undressed. Where you live.
You walked over to Aaron and handed him a little pile of clothes. “These should fit. I guessed your size. If those don’t fit I have more men’s clothes.” 
“Why do you have men’s clothing?” Aaron asked, a smile toying at his lips. 
“Brothers, boyfriends… they’re comfy,” y/n shrugged. “Does it matter, Aaron?” 
Aaron watched you tilt your head, smirk widening. 
“Just curious.” He defends himself poorly, red tinging his cheeks as he scratches his head.
“Bathroom’s right in there,” you say, pointing to the door attached to your room. 
Aarom walks to your bathroom and shuts the door. He immediately releases a breath of air he hadn’t realize he had been holding. After turning on the lights, he changes into the clothes you gave him. Both owns smelled exactly like you, something that made Aaron smile.
He shut off the light and closed the door. “Thank you, y/n. I appreciate it.”
You looked up from your dresser. “You’d do the same for me. There’s nothing to thank me, Aaron.”
“What are you doing?” Aaron asked, approaching your figure. 
“I don’t think you would want to see me walk around in just a bra and boxers, A,” y/n laughs. 
The bluntness of your answers smacks Aaron in the face with a metal bar. “Boxers?” He finds himself asking.
You just laugh. “They’re comfortable.” 
“You don’t have to change your sleeping routine for me,” Aaron says quietly, eyes looking directly into your own.
“Are you sure?” 
“We’re just sleeping,” Aaron shrugs. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”
Your eyes flicker between your boss’s and suddenly your wondering how you got here. The line between boss/employee and more-than-friends/not-quite-dating was blurred and you didn’t even remember putting your thumb on how you felt about your boss.
“Okay,” you say slowly. You close the drawer, holding a sports bra and boxers. “I’m gonna go change and go to sleep… Do you want me to set up the couch or just sleep in the bed with me?” 
“What do you want, y/n?”
You direct your gaze to the floor. “I don’t care, honestly.” You weren’t just gonna tell your crush you feel safer when his touch is what lulls you to sleep, that you’ve been in love with him since practically the beginning of time, that you wanted more than just a night (of PG activities!) with him.
“I hear your brain going 200 miles an hour over there, sweetheart. What’re you thinking?” Aaron teases.
“Will you hold me, Aaron?” You ask, urging yourself to look into his eyes. Moment of truth, you think, he’s either gonna laugh in my face or I’m gonna fall even deeper in love with my boss as we cuddle.
Aaron feels winded at your tiny voice. Yes, he wants to scream, yes! “Go get changed, honey. I’ll be right here.” 
Then that smile is back and all Aaron wants to do his pick you up in his arms and kiss you, maybe spin you around the room. His heart swells in his chest again (it’s been doing that a lot lately, he notes) as you pat his arm in thanks as you pass him to head to your bathroom.
Aaron climbs into your bed, setting his essentials (badge, keys, gun, etc.,) on the nightstand. 
You flip off the light switch and pad over to the bed and slip under the covers. 
For what felt like a millennium, Aaron held his breath and waited. 
“Aaron, I have to tell you something. It’s been on my mind and… just hear me out. Please. You don’t have to say anything back and I understand if-“ you babble.
“Take a breath, y/n,” Aaron soothes. “What’s up?”
“I’m in love with you, Aaron Benjamin Hotchner. Like, if I had to choose between you over breathing I would literally spend my last breath telling you how much I love you. You are always on my mind, Aaron, and it hurts because I can’t do anything about it. I know I’m not your type, I know I’m just your co-worker, I know you probably aren’t looking to date anyone, but I just… I want you to know,” you ramble, words tumbling out of your mouth like Reid when he get’s started on some random fact. 
Aaron blinks, pupils widening. “Do you seriously think you’re ‘just a co-worker’ to me?” 
You swallow. “Yeah?”
“Do you think I would let just anyone call me Aaron? How often to you see me taking out Morgan for coffee when he gets cranky? Do I almost always end up sitting by Emily on the flight home after a case? Do I call Spencer ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’?” Aaron asks quietly, hand resting on your cheek while he tucks a loc of hair under your ear so he can see your eyes better. “Jack loves you. I love you.” Aaron laughs at how comically large your eyes get.
“Jack loves me?” You ask.
Aaron laughs. “He loves you ‘to the moon and back’.” 
“He loves that book, Aaron, don’t laugh at your baby boy,” you scold playfully.
“I outdo him though, because I love you to Saturn and back.”
You turn to the nightstand and shut the light off before turning back to face Aaron. “Will you hold me, Aaron? Please?” 
“C’mere, sweetheart,” Aaron says, opening his arms to welcome you into him. 
And then that’s when you know his words are true. His heart rate  is definitely elevated, but so is yours. “Will you tell me you love me, again?”
Aaron, now lying on his back with you clinging onto him like a weighted blanket, complied. Carding his fingers through her hair, Aaron lulled her mind off to a quiet, safe place. “I love you, angel,” Aaron whispered, pressing a soft kiss to y/n’s forhead.
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angellsell · 2 months
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Honey is for Love
Summary: you have a nickname, one from both Aaron and Jack Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Genre: fluff [oneshot] Warning(s): none A/N: I don't particularly like the way I wrote this one but I hope you do
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The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city. 
Aaron and I were seated at the dinner table, enjoying a homemade meal after a long day of work at the BAU. Across from us, Jack was enthusiastically recounting his adventures at preschool, his eyes wide with boundless excitement. I gazed at the little man, and a warmth blossomed within me. His innocence and enthusiasm were contagious, wrapping me in a blanket of joy.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when Aaron reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Honey, can you pass me the salt?" he asked, his voice tender.
I smiled, handing him what he asked. It wasn't the first time he had called me ‘honey’. It was a term of endearment that had become second nature to him, a sweet nickname reserved for me only that warmed my heart every time.
As we continued our dinner conversation, Jack's eyes kept wandering between his dad and me. I could see the wheels turning in his four-year-old mind. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up at me with innocent curiosity.
"Daddy calls you honey" he said, his words laced with a childlike statement of sincerity that could melt even the coldest heart.
I chuckled, ruffling his hair. "That's right, sweetheart. Daddy calls me honey"
The next day, we decided to spend some quality time together at the park. The sunlit afternoon was perfect for a leisurely stroll. Aaron, Jack, and I walked side by side, the small relationship growing and becoming a blend of laughter and shared moments.
As we strolled through the park, Jack tugged at my hand, pulling me slightly off balance.
He looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes that I’m sure only children are able to do. "Can you hold my hand, honey?"
I blinked, glancing at Aaron, who had a delighted expression on his face. Jack had just called me ‘honey’ without any prompting. My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through me.
I looked down at him, suppressing a grin. "Of course, sweetie. I'd love to hold your hand"
The three of us continued our walk, Jack happily skipping alongside us, his small hand firmly grasping mine. Aaron and I exchanged glances, silently reveling in the unexpected sweetness of the moment.
Later that evening, as we settled into the comfort of my boyfriend's apartment, Aaron gently lifted Jack and sat him on his lap.
The boy's eyes sparkled with innocence as he looked at his dad. 
Aaron leaned in, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Jack, I don’t think I ever told you clearly and I’m so sorry for that. Her real name is Y/N. Can you say that, buddy?"
Jack looked at me and nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Y/N"
“Good job!”
He smiled at his dad but suddenly his expression froze. "But daddy? Why do you call Y/N 'honey' then?" the little boy asked, his curiosity unfiltered.
Aaron smiled, exchanging a glance with me. "Well, buddy, I call her 'honey' because I love her"
Jack's eyes widened in understanding, and he turned his gaze toward me. "Daddy loves you, Y/N"
My name flowed so sweetly from his lips as he felt it for the second time. His mouth curved, a proud smirk covering his whole face.
I felt a surge of warmth in my chest, tears threatening to fall. "And I love your daddy too, Jack"
For the rest of the evening we all sat there, the room filled with the joy of shared moments and the understanding that had formed between us. 
As we sat there, basking in the warmth of our little growing family, I couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected and heartwarming journey that had unfolded - one filled with love, laughter, and the sweet simplicity of a child's genuine affection.
An affection that would link the savor of 'honey' to love.
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hotchscvm · 9 months
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bad ideas (and good results)
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pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, sort of spencer reid x reader
summary: after aaron’s rejection, you enlist spencer’s help to make him jealous.
word count: 4.2k
warnings: reader putting on a naked show, airplane turbulence, reid calling reader out for daddy issues
a/n: accidentally put too much spencer in this whoops
You couldn’t take it anymore.
The tension between the two of you was so palpable you were practically choking on it. You couldn’t be alone in a room with him without resisting the urge to throw yourself at him. Even with others around, you still had to peel off your drenched panties when you got home and take a cold shower.
And you knew he felt the same, though he wasn’t as obvious about how it affected him. The team had commented how you were his soft spot, always assigning you to him on cases (when you were newer, you had brushed the thought aside, thinking he wanted to watch over you and evaluate your work), getting your favorite coffee every morning and even putting his jacket around you when you’d been soaked in lake water after catching the unsub.
So when you decided to take the leap and ask him if he wanted to have dinner, you weren’t expecting him to reject you so blatantly. Just a flat-out no. Didn’t even try cushioning the blow.
You still couldn’t erase his expression from your memories as he told you he didn’t like you in that way. Confused at the time, you had stood there dumbfounded by what he was saying. Walking out of his office and heading home was a blur and you wondered if you had imagined his previous actions.
Sitting on your couch with a bottle of wine in hand, you thought about your interactions. Surely you didn’t imagine the way he looked at you on those nights you stayed late to help him with paperwork? Or the way he had comforted you after an unsub had harassed you mercilessly during an interrogation. Or when you had to share that hotel room in Alaska and sleep in the same bed for “warmth.”
After an hour of watching The Wedding Date, you had got an idea that was so delusional it might work. Calling Spencer in the wee hours of the night had him pick up the phone after the second ring, concerned it was an emergency. In a way it was, and he had gotten to your apartment in record time.
He had barely knocked on the door when you swung it open, grabbing by the arm and practically dragging him and his Jesus haircut inside. Spencer raised an eyebrow at your excitement, glancing at the state of your apartment as you drag him to the couch.
“What’s going on? Why’d you need me to come at,” he checks his watch. “Eleven thirty-seven at night?”
You sighed, pushing him to sit on the couch and grabbing the remote. “I kind of asked Hotch out. And before you congratulate me for making the first move, he doesn’t feel the same and basically told me he found me ugly and disgusting.”
Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “He did not say that.”
“Whatever, it was implied,” you reply and Boy Genius gives out a snort at your dramatics. “Anyways, I was watching The Wedding Date when I got this idea … In the movie, this girl hires an escort to be her date to her sister’s wedding because her ex is going to be there. And I was thinking …”
“Go on.” he encourages.
Spencer was the only one to know about your crush on Aaron. The others, especially the girls, had a suspicion you did but Spencer was the one you spilled all your information to. Mostly because he was the first to catch you making eyes at your boss and the closest in age to you. He had listened to the details of your days with Aaron, sometimes debriefing you on how Aaron had interacted with you, the words he had said about you, or the way his body language gave him away. You had eaten up everything he had said in the hopes it had been true.
He was also the only one you could go to with this plan. Derek would’ve had you relayed all the details of your crush to him before agreeing and you didn’t want to tell him he had been right about your crush. You’d have rather died than have Derek Morgan know he was right. Spencer was sweet and attractive, and despite your taste for older men than the doctor, it would be believable considering how much time you spend with each other outside of work.
“I was thinking that we fake date to make Hotch jealous.” you finish, slightly grimacing at how stupid the plan was now that you said it out loud. Before Spencer could reply, you jumped in. “I know it probably won’t make him jealous considering he doesn’t like me that way but on the off chance that it does–I kind of want him to hurt a fraction of what I had tonight. And you probably think the plan is idiotic and pathetic–”
“Alright,” he said, cutting off your rambling. When you raise an eyebrow, he lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it's idiotic or pathetic. I think we should do it.”
It took you a few seconds to process his words. “Really?”
Spencer nods, giving you a small smile. “Yes, I would do anything for you. Besides, it would be a good experiment and I love experiments.”
You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Of course you do.”
“So how is this fake dating thing going to work?”
You spend a good half hour talking about the parameters of the plan. Both of you had decided it was best to keep it subtle instead of announcing to the team you were “seeing” each other. Neither of you would confirm it and if asked, you’d redirect the topic somewhat noticeably so whoever had asked would be able to pick up on it.
Spencer surprised you when he came up with the idea for small touches and light flirting. When you had given him a look, he was quick to explain his idea. Obviously, you had to be affectionate towards each other in front of the team and especially Aaron, but not so much that it qualified as PDA.
The smart doctor had proposed small touches like lingering fingers, a hand on a shoulder (you pointed out you did this with him quite often and he argued it would only make more sense to keep doing it), hair ruffling (again you told him you’ve done this to him and he admitted he liked getting his hair played a certain way), and hand squeezes.
You waited for the shock on Spencer’s face when you wondered out loud if it was effective for you to “sneak” into his hotel room during a case and have a member of the team see you going into his room so they could relay what they saw to the others; instead, you were met with an intuitive hum of agreement.
By the time you’d gotten done with planning, it was ten minutes past midnight and Spencer was yawning every few minutes. And while his apartment was only about ten blocks from yours, you offered for him to stay the night with the promise to stop at his place before work for him to get a change of clothes. He accepted and both of you had fallen asleep in the living room while the credits of the movie played in the background.
In the morning, you came to the realization that the wine you had drank had caused you to oversleep, and keeping Spencer up past midnight had also caused him to wake up about half an hour later than usual. You slapped him awake with a pillow before rushing to get ready.
Spencer had been half asleep as he got in your car but after a near-death experience with a semi, he had woken up and clutched his seatbelt all the way to work. As you entered the building, you were rolling your eyes as he mumbled how you were more of a reckless driver than Derek–impossible–and how he feared for his life whenever you were in the driver’s seat.
As soon as you pushed through the glass doors, Emily noticed something different. You placed your stuff on your desk, plopping down on your chair when she sits on your desk, glancing between you and Spencer, eyebrows raised.
“Reid, are you wearing the same sweater from yesterday?” she questioned, and your ears perked up at her words.
Your eyes flicker to Spencer’s outfit. With your lateness, you weren’t able to stop at Spencer’s place and he had assured you he could change into something from his go bag. He was in the midst of picking up the duffel when Emily commented on his fashion sense. You gave him a look to play along but he was looking down at his outfit to notice.
He tilted his head, nodding. “Yeah, we woke up late this morning.”
You’ve never seen Emily’s head turn so fast–you were worried she had accidentally snapped her own neck. The brunette smirked at you before turning back to Spencer. “We?”
Spencer looked up, eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes flickered with recognition and took the opportunity to start your idea. His slight blush was the cherry on top. “What?”
Emily’s smirk grew, and she looked like a cat that swallowed a canary. She turned to you, giving you the look she’d make when a guy would flirt with you during a girl’s night out. “So … what’d you do last night?”
You couldn’t help but grin at her nosiness. “Work. Long, hard work.”
“Yeah, I bet.” she chuckled, side-eyeing Spencer. “The work definitely looks hard when you’re doing it.”
The water you sipped trickled out of your mouth at the innuendo, and you furiously wiped your chin. Emily cackled at her own joke, drawing JJ’s attention from nearby. You try to ignore her, gently pushing her off your desk, mumbling about having to do work, but it only makes her gasp for breath.
JJ sauntered over to your desk, curious at whatever made Emily cackle like the green witch from the Kansas movie. “What’s going on here?”
Emily leans over to whisper in her ear before pointing at Spencer who had taken his go-bag along with him to the bathroom. JJ adopts Emily’s smirk, sharing a look with the brunette before glancing between you and the men’s bathroom.
The blonde pulls up a chair next to yours, the girls surrounding your desks. JJ leans in close, grinning mad wildly at you. “I thought you liked Hotch, not Spence.”
You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed by the whole thing while you smiled internally. “I don’t like either of them, beyond friends. … Stop looking at me like that!”
“Clearly you like Reid more than that if you guys spent the night together.” Emily wiggled her brows, earning another chuckle from JJ. She yelped at the small smack you gave her on the arm.
“We didn’t spend the night together.” you hissed, keeping your voice low. How you would’ve loved to show Rossi your performance right now after he commented you were a terrible liar. “We were doing paperwork together and we fell asleep because it was late and so we woke up late.”
The girls gave each other a look, nodding at you, clearly not believing the semi-lie you told. (Did it count as a lie if you told them the half-truth but in a way that was unconvincing?)
“Uh-huh.”
“Of course. It makes perfect sense.”
“Yeah, especially if you guys were up late. It’s only reasonable that he stayed the night.”
“Mm-hm. You guys were probably so tired you didn’t do anything before sleeping.”
The sarcasm was leaking from their voices, practically dripping on the floor. You didn’t know how to answer their cryptic responses, covering your smile with a hand. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. Despite Aaron’s harsh rejection not even twelve hours ago, you were feeling better.
Thankfully, you were saved from coming up with a reply when Penelope came in the room with a case file in her hands, gesturing towards the briefing room. Unfortunately, JJ and Emily’s amusement was so obvious, Penelope was able to pick up on the brewing gossip from just the look on their smug faces.
You passed her on the way up the stairs, giving her a small smile as she stayed back to get the information from JJ and Emily. You rolled your eyes when you heard the technical analysis gasp, walking to the briefing room faster.
While you temporarily escaped Penelope’s wave of questions upon entering the briefing room, you were met with the presence of the man your bones–and pussy–ached for. You avoided looking in his general direction as you sat next to Derek.
He turned to you as the girls entered the room, smiling. “Damn Mama, you look tired. What’d you do last night?”
And as if on cue, Spencer sat down in the empty chair on the other side of you, causing Emily to burst out laughing. The guys turned to look at her, confused by her reaction to Spencer’s timed action. She waved away their confusion, hiding behind her iPad, pretending to study the case all the while her shoulders shook from silent laughter.
Penelope had her eyes set on you and Spencer, giving you a look that read she wanted all the details directly from you. Saving you from having to explain Emily’s reaction, Penelope started the briefing, pulling everyone’s attention from you and Spencer to the serial killer running around Los Angeles.
It was easy to ignore Aaron’s stares through the briefing, too focused on the case details to give him attention but that couldn’t be said on the plane, especially when he walked up behind you on the steps. Your eyes met his and it felt like your nerves told your brain it was a fight or flight situation, causing you to internally panic.
You more or so sprinted up steps and into the plane, inadvertently sitting down next to the man half your coworkers suspected you were hooking up with. While it wasn’t unusual for you to sit next to anyone on the team, your normal spot had been right beside Aaron, the window seat while he took up the aisle seat. So accidentally sitting next to Spencer had caused Emily and JJ to share a glance with each other.
After Aaron had given the team details on what they were supposed to do–thankfully he had partnered you up with Rossi instead of himself–your phone buzzed relentlessly as Penelope texted you asking for details about your new paramour. Said paramour was peeking over your shoulder to read the numerous Penelope had sent.
After a second of them being left unanswered, she called you, her name popping up on your phone. You playfully glared at Emily and JJ before getting up and answering the call.
“Yes, baby girl?” you cooed, pushing the curtains aside to get a cup of coffee. “What can I help you with?”
“You and Reid?!” her voice was so loud you flinched as it hit your eardrum. “I thought you liked Hotch!”
“I don’t like either of them.” you sighed, heart pounding at the lie. Even just hearing his name had caused your body to tense, and you were sure there was a patch of wetness on your underwear. “And Spence and I are just friends.”
“JJ told me you guys spent the night together,” she replied, and you could practically hear her brain cogs working overtime. “As in doing intimate, not-suitable-for-work stuff.”
“No funny business, I swear,” you mutter, hissing when you spill coffee on yourself.
“Please don’t lie to me,” begged Penelope. “You can tell me anything, you know that. And you don’t have to be ashamed that you like Spencer, he’s cute in a nerdy way! You guys would make a great couple–”
Spencer pushed through the curtains, and it was as if Penelope sensed him through the phone because she went silent. Boy genius reached over you to grab a plastic cup from the counter, pouring his own coffee.
“Is that Garcia?” he asked, motioning to the phone. You nodded, smiling at the nearly inaudible hitch of Penelope’s breath. He chuckled, moving a tad closer to the speaker. “Hi, Garcia.”
Before she could reply, you intervened. “Bye Pen.”
You hung up, sighing. Taking a sip of coffee, you leaned against the small counter. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think our plan would progress so fast. Do you think it makes it look less believable?”
“I don’t think so. If anything, it just made it more so,” said Spencer, mirroring your actions. “It’s very realistic friends would hook up when the situation pushes them to like working late nights, watching movies, or going to chess tournaments together.”
Giving him a blank look, you slurped your coffee rather loudly.
He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Anyways, the only thing people may not believe is that I was able to … get you.”
“That’s insane. Why don’t you think you could pull me?”
Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m me and you’re … you. It’s kind of obvious you’re out of my league. I mean you’re very pretty and you could get any guy and honestly, I find it hard to believe Hotch would turn you down–”
You grinned, interrupting his rambling. “Aww, Spence, you’re so sweet. But you underestimate yourself. You’re very cute and if I wasn’t attracted to men twenty years older than me, then I would’ve gone for you.”
“Have you ever wondered if your attraction to much older men is caused by your daddy issues?” he blurted.
The plane lurched to the side, bringing Spencer to pin you against the counter, a hand placed on the counter to keep himself from falling right into you as the plane stabilized. Fortunately, Spencer’s coffee had spilled on the floor instead of either of you. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Aaron had chosen that moment to walk into your little space.
You and Spencer freeze in place as your boss–and the object of your desires–catches you in a position that would’ve had Penelope screaming from excitement. Spencer's free hand was on the counter, trapping you in between. His torso touched yours, your breast pressing up against his chest and your right hand was on his shoulder to stop him from crushing you during the turbulence.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed at the contact and the lack of space between you and Spencer. Both of you immediately sprung into action, Spencer taking a step back while you slid to your left, trying to put more space between you both.
While you were internally celebrating Aaron’s almost-jealous expression, you were more embarrassed at what he must be thinking. You didn’t plan to be so outward with Spencer, after all, you both agreed on only subtle touches, not pressed up against each other in a public space.
“Are you two alright?” Aaron questioned, eyes darting between you and Spencer.
You didn’t want to be delusional and lie to yourself but the vein on Aaron’s neck was bulging, a thing that only happened when he felt stressed or angry. You must’ve smiled subconsciously because he stared at you, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, the turbulence just caught us by surprise,” you reply, motioning to the coffee-stained floor. You stepped around him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. The curtains parted and you backed out. “I’m gonna head back.”
You don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you walk back.
By the time you head back to the hotel, you’re grumpy and sticky from sweat. Throughout the day, everyone has heard you moan and groan about the heat. By now, the team has figured out you’d rather freeze to death than heat.
The AC at the police station could only do so much when the temperature outside was over one hundred degrees. Rossi fanning you while you checked out the crime scene hadn’t helped and when you got back to the station, you begged Aaron to let you stay inside, breaking that awkward tension between the both of you through your hatred of heat.
Not that the tension hadn’t grown whenever Spencer and you were in the same room. Aaron would send him out to look at the body or interview close friends but as soon as he came back to the station, Aaron would find some excuse to send him back out, not giving you two the opportunity to work the plan. Not that you cared that much, you were too busy melting.
When everyone got to the hotel, Aaron held out four keys, and the team groaned. You’d have to share.
JJ snatched a key from Aaron’s hand. “Me and Em will share.”
“I’m not sharing a room with Reid, again,” Derek announced, crossing his arms. A confused Spencer tilted his head at him, a little hurt at the comment.
JJ smiled, handing Spencer a key. “Spencer can share with his friend.”
You glared at JJ, and she threw you another smug smile. Emily snorted, faking a cough when Rossi turned to look at her. Turning to Spencer, you nodded. “Yeah, we can share.”
“Actually,” objected Aaron, eyes never leaving you. “It’s Reid’s turn to have a room to himself.”
Derek looked at him, confused. “No, it isn’t. He had a room to himself in Alaska, it’s my turn actually–”
“Morgan, you can share with Rossi,” Aaron said with finality, giving him a key. He looked at you once again. “I’ll share a room with you.”
You knew the plan had worked but you were too exhausted and sticky to be happy about it. Not that you hadn’t wanted to share a room with him again, but all you could think about was taking a cold shower and hopefully freezing your entire body to the point where you stay cold all throughout the case.
The team dispersed. Aaron and your room was on the third floor while the rest stayed on the first. He carried your duffel bag, and you didn’t bother fighting him like you usually had. The elevator ride up was awkward and you wished he could make up his mind on whether he wanted you or not.
As soon as he unlocked the door, you rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, setting the temperature to cold. You snatched your bag from his shoulder and ran back to the bathroom, peeling off your work clothes. A moan slips out as the cold water hits your skin, and for the entirety of the shower, you forget about the man behind the door.
Exiting the shower, you notice you haven't shut the bathroom door completely. The tiny crack allowed you to see Aaron sitting at the table, staring at the file in front of him. If you could see him, he could probably see you.
This is fucking crazy.
Maybe it was a breeze from the vent or maybe you mastered some form of telekinesis but the door cracked open further, about four inches wide now. You don’t make a move to close it.
Heart pounding, you dry yourself, turning away from the door as you bend over to dry your legs. The vent was the only noise you hear as you do so. You’re about to cave and shut the door but you feel eyes on you as you stand up straight.
You don’t turn around. Confidence grows as you take your time drying your hair with the towel, sometimes running a hand through it to separate the wet and semi-dry strands. The reality of the situation finally dawns on you when you squeeze the remaining water out of your hair.
Growing wet at the thought of Aaron watching you, nakedly drying yourself, you can’t help but give him a small peek at what he was missing. You turn around, enough so he could see a glimpse of your pussy. No, you don’t look in his direction, but you can see him staring from your peripherals.
The door had cracked open further since you last saw it. There was no doubt he saw every inch of your backside as you hadn’t wrapped the towel around you once.
You let your hands squeeze your breasts once before bending down to grab a t-shirt from your go bag. It’s oversize, the hem falling just below your ass. Putting a pair of red panties on, you remember how much Aaron likes the color.
Once you’re done, you zipped up your bag and looked in the mirror. It’s obvious how free your breasts are under the shirt, your nipples peeking from the thin material. Reading the words on the shirt, you realize it was one of Spencer’s. You remember stealing it from his duffel after swimming into the lake to save an unsub.
Your lips twitched into a smirk. Opening the door, you were met with Aaron’s unrelenting stare, eyes drifting up and down your body. Not giving him the satisfaction, you ignore him, dropping your bag on your bed.
Wait.
Looking around the room, you notice just one bed.
Shit.
In your distracted haze about the one-bed problem, you failed to notice Aaron moving. A hand gripped your waist tightly, pulling you back towards a hard chest. You freeze, glancing behind you to see a heated Aaron. His lips graze your ear.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”
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irndad · 13 days
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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.
a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!
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Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 
This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.
The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.
Which isn’t to say that he has one. 
There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 
It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.
That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 
Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 
He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 
“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 
He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 
“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”
She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 
He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 
He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 
He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 
It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 
“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 
“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 
“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”
It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 
He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 
“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 
It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 
“I thought you’d never ask.”
(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 
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doctorstethoscope · 8 months
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Sink or Swim || Bonus Blurb
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Hi besties long time no talk <3 This little blurb fits into September!
series masterlist
contains: discussion of sickness and doctors/medical appointments, mention of food
wordcount: 1.5k
When you’d first started with the BAU, a three-day case nearly felt like a vacation. In and out of a place before the work week was done? It was like you barely even left, your routines completely unaltered. If the timing was right you wouldn’t even miss a workout class. 
Your life is so, so different now. With kids to think about, you felt every hour you spent at work after 5pm in your bones. The kids don’t think anything of it, which usually helps to soothe you, but when Bridgette called you on the second night and said that Lexie had been fussy and in pain since she finished her course of antibiotics right before you left, the weight of every hour since had felt like torture. By the time the jet touched down at Quantico, your skin was crawling. It was around 7; you knew that most of the team would stick around to finish their after-action reports, and Aaron would likely stay even later to review them, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.  After settling the things at your desk, you walked up to Aaron’s office, entering and closing the door behind you without knocking.
“Babe?”
“Yeah,” he answers without looking up at you— he’s not trying to be dismissive, just focused on the task at hand. 
“D’you think it would be okay if I went home? I just keep thinking about Bridgette and Lexie cooped up these past couple days– it seems like maybe the antibiotics didn’t work, and I’ve been torn up thinking about her in pain,” you say, feeling a little silly. You know you don’t need to explain it to your partner, but you feel like you owe your boss an explanation. “I can bring my after-action report home, or I can get it done first thing tomorrow—”
“First thing tomorrow is fine,” he says, looking up at you now, but he’s still all business. He rises from his chair when he makes eye contact with you and crosses the room to wrap his arms around you.
“She’s okay, hon. She’s sick, but she’s okay. The first time Jack caught something while I was away I was a mess.”
“So it gets better?” You sniffle into his chest, and you feel his half-chuckle more than you hear it. 
“Not really, no. You just get better at managing it,” he tells you, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go home to our girl, she needs you.” 
“Love you,” you tell him. 
“Love you too,” he says. “I won’t stay too late here.” 
“See you at home,” you say before you leave his office, quickly gathering up your things and leaving Quantico behind for the night. 
You can hear Lexie’s cries through the front door before you’ve even fished your keys out of your purse and you physically crumple. Your poor baby. You rush in, and Bridgette’s face washes over in relief when she sees you.
“Oh, honey,” you say, and you’re not sure which one of them you’re talking to. Alexis is making her displeasure clear, but Bridgette looks a lot worse for the wear. You cross the threshold and take the baby from her.
“I was going to take her to the doctor tomorrow morning, I made an appointment. She had Tylenol about two hours ago, I’ve been doing my best to keep her comfortable but—”
“Honey, relax,” you tell her soothingly. “She’s sick. Her discomfort is not a personal failure,” you remind her, parroting a phrase Aaron’s said to you in your less confident moments. Lexie quiets at the sound of your voice and the sensation of being in your arms, although her face is still twisted up in pain. It just about breaks your heart.
“Thank you,” Bridgette smiles. “Can I help you with anything else?” 
“God, no. You’ve been here for days. Feel free to grab something to eat before you go; I’m sure this one has kept you occupied all night, but you’re off the clock. I’ll plan to take her to the doctor in the morning and you can get some sleep. Jack was okay for you?” 
“He was an angel as always. I left him in bed, told him he could finish the chapter he was reading and that he should shut his light off and go to bed after that.”
“Thank you,” you smile. “We could not do this without you, truly.” 
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she smiles back, grabbing her things and leaving you alone.
It’s not the first time you’ve been solo with the kids, not by a longshot, but you’re a little intimidated, and thoroughly exhausted from a tiring case. Lexie still in your arms, you head to Jack’s room, finding him asleep with the lights on and his book splayed on his chest. You smile fondly at him, gently maneuvering the bookmark into the book and the book onto the nightstand with one hand before switching off the light. 
“Alright sweetie. Do you think mama can get changed into her pajamas?” You ask Lexie in a little hush as you bring her into yours and Aaron’s bedroom, placing her on the mattress briefly as you reach for more comfortable clothes. Lexie makes her displeasure known immediately, squawking out a cry. 
“Oh, Lexie-loo, I’m sorry,” you coo. “I know you don’t feel good,” you say, reaching out to place one hand on her stomach as you use the other to shimmy out of your work pants and into a pair of pajama shorts. Your touch calms her, but only having one hand doesn’t exactly make undressing easy. You manage to change with minimal incident, scooping Lexie back up as soon as you’re done. 
“You’re tired, my baby. So, so tired,” you say, more to yourself than to her, as you bring her into her dark nursery and settle into the rocker. “Shhh, shhh,” you attempt to soothe her to sleep. She fights it every step of the way, stubborn girl, but her droopy eyelids win out eventually– you rise gingerly, attempting to transfer her to the crib, but she senses the loss of you in sleep and lets out a renewed, piercing cry. You’re overwhelmed and overstimulated, and willing Aaron to come home by the sheer force of your mind. 
“I know, sweet girl,” you say to her, leaning your body over the crib so that you can reach in and rub her back. “It’s okay, my girl, just rest,” you tell her, continuing to rub circles over her soft skin. “Shh, shhh,” you comfort her, even after she stops crying. She’s not asleep yet, you’re sure of it. You’ll just have to rub her back a few minutes longer. 
The house is quiet when Aaron makes it home later that evening, but the lights in the kitchen and the living room are still on, which is unusual. He takes his usual route through the apartment, setting the alarm and checking on Jack, who was sleeping peacefully. Lexie’s room is next, and he’s surprised to find you there, bent at the waist and halfway in the crib, sleeping as soundly as the baby. He smiles a little, coming up behind you and placing a hand on your back, where he was certain there would be soreness tomorrow morning. 
“Honey,” he whispers.
You wake with a jolt. “What?” You whisper out urgently.
“You fell asleep with the baby,” he orients you. 
“Oh, sorry,” you squint against the sliver of light from the hallway.
“It’s fine, angel. Is she okay?” He asks. 
“Bridgette made an appointment for her. It's her ear, still, but she’s grabbing at the other one now.”
“The infection probably spread before the antibiotics kicked in,” Aaron tuts. 
“We should get out of here before we wake her.” You say, stumbling towards the door. Aaron just chuckles, reaching out to stabilize you with a hand at your waist.
“How long was I like that?” You ask him once you’re back in your own bedroom. 
“Not sure. I left work about an hour and half after you did.” 
“Need a sick day,” you muttered into your pillow, but Aaron’s able to make it out. “I told Bridgette I’d take her. I think the past couple days were tough.” 
“She’s good to us,” Aaron says. 
“Our baby’s in pain,” you frown.
“Her mom’s home, so that helps,” Aaron reminds you. “She fell asleep in her mom’s arms, and she’ll see the doctor in the morning. The best thing we can do for her right now is make sure she has rested parents in the morning,” he says as he hurriedly changes into his own pajamas so he can join you in bed, clicking off the light before he does so.
“G’night, Aaron. Love you.”
“Love you.”
tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores
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tlou-reid · 5 months
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Cheese Danishes ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner
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♡ SUMMARY: aaron is struggling to navigate his feelings, and his fears, as his relationship with his younger graduate student neighbor progress
♡ WARNINGS: smut (piv) mdni, oral (fem recieving), fingering, fluff, angst mentions of criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and george foyet, age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s)
♡ NOTE: the timeline on this is wonky when compared to the show. in my head, aaron and jack did go into witness protection and left for a while, but once foyet was caught aaron returned as unit chief to the BAU. so the team is made up of the people in the later seasons, including prentiss, but aaron is still in charge.
Part one
—♡
Aaron pulled your body tighter against him amidst the start of the season’s first snowfall. “Thank you,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. It wasn’t very often he allowed himself to stay after you two had been intimate, only after he had been away for a rough case. You basked in the attention every time.
As much as you wanted more, your relationship with Aaron has been primarily physical. You could count on one hand the amount of times you two had a connection outside of sex. It wasn’t necessarily his ideal either, but life gets in the way when you’re pulled away to attend to serial killers every week, in between spending time with your son.
You two lay together for a while, not saying anything. This was the time you used to pretend things had turned out the way you wanted them to. Of course, you lusted over him when you first met. Something about having a sexy, older neighbor fulfilled a fantasy you didn’t know you had. But, over the months you got to spend with him, both before and after your drunken declaration of interest, your feelings for him had evolved.
You’d learned how much more he was than his stoic exterior. He was gentle, like the way his calloused hands caressed your hips as he pulled you into his lap while you made out. He was funny, constantly teasing you for your abnormal habits. He was kind, making sure you were safe and sound before he retreated to his home.
But, most of all, he was distant. Physically distant a good portion of the time, being needed in different parts of the country at any given time. Mostly, he was emotionally distant. It was as if something was tormenting him most of the time, keeping him from truly giving himself to you. Even when he was buried deep inside you, it was as if there was a gap between you, preventing any real connections.
He gave you an even tighter squeeze, warning you he would be leaving soon without using words. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your body tensed back up when he did this, knowing how empty the house would feel in just a few minutes. He let out a familiar sigh, before pressing one more kiss to your forehead. “I should probably head back,” he spoke his usual phrase into the darkness of your bedroom. You nodded against his chest before pulling yourself away from him, allowing him to get up.
He noticed the way you pulled your comforter closer, trying the replace the warmth he had been providing. Aaron’s heart broke, wanting to crawl back next to you and hold you close for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if he could.
But, he couldn't. He knew that. If he allowed himself to be honest with you, to tell you all the ways he has fallen for you since you showed up on his doorstep with a container of desserts, he would ruin everything you had. Whether it be from him not being able to handle his own emotions, or something as terrifying as George Foyet, something would ruin the sparse nights he got to spend with you. He came with too much baggage, too many ways you could be hurt, to allow himself to have everything he wants.
So, he slips back on his pressed slacks and buttons up his white shirt. He moves quietly, trying to convince himself you are falling asleep, not worrying about what he is doing. Your soft voice ruins this, “Let me know when you get home,” you say, as you do every night he’s here. He lets out a sound of agreement, even though he knows he won’t do it.
The room falls quiet again as Aaron tries to find his suit jacket. He uses his phone flashlight and sees the arm sticking out from beneath your bed. He quickly bends over to grab it, hoping you don’t hear the way his hips creak as he lowers himself. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he finally makes his way to the door. He’s one step through it when you speak again, “Aaron?”
“Yes?” he replies quietly, ignoring how timid your voice sounds. “Maybe we could get lunch or something soon?” Your heart beats against your chest, reverberating in your temples as you ask. It doesn’t make sense. You have no problem letting him know when you’re soaking through your panties because of the lewd photo he sent you, but you’re on the verge of a panic attack as you ask if he’d like to have a meal with you.
“Yeah,” he nods, actually meaning it. He would love to have lunch or something with you. Of course, no one knows if it will ever actually happen. “Cool,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll text you.”
“Yeah,” is all he says as he closes your bedroom door, making his way back to his house. Your body shivers with both chill and loneliness when you hear your front door close.
Aaron’s shoulders were slumped as he made the trek across the street. He threw his jacket over his shoulders, but not putting his arms through the sleeves, to try and protect him from the cold. This year’s winter had come in full swing this week, with the first snowfall happening tonight. He couldn’t make out where the little hand on his watch was, but he knew it was some time after midnight.
He was carrying a lot of guilt and he had no one to share it with. He couldn’t tell you because the repercussions could result in you losing your life, the same way Haley did. He couldn’t tell the team because they didn’t know about you. And that was all of the adult people in his life, pretty much.
His key turned in the door and he let out a sigh. He’d forgotten to turn his heat on when he left for the last case, so it was freezing inside. He stopped in the hallway to change the thermostat, before making his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting it properly heat up before he began to remove his clothes.
The cold he was feeling was both literal and metaphorical. The chill air burned his skin, opposite from the way your warm touch soothed it.
Aaron felt like he was on autopilot as he cleaned himself, put on his warmest pajamas, and made his way to his bed. It felt bigger than it did before he left. He fell asleep pretty quickly, both from the strenuous case and the orgasm he had not that long ago.
The next morning, you were woken up by the sun casting through your window. You had forgotten to close the curtains last night. You reached for your phone, seeing two messages from Elise. ‘Meet us for brunch?’ and ‘Bring your old man ;)’. The “us” in question was her and her new girlfriend, Annie. They were a cute couple: they seemed like they were made for each other.
You texted back, asking about the time and place, choosing to ignore her second message. When you got up to get ready, you couldn’t help yourself from peeking to see if Aaron’s car was parked across the street. It wasn’t, so you pretended like you didn’t consider asking him to go to brunch.
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“Alvez,” Aaron’s voice cut through the chatter in the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing, focusing on the glare on Aaron’s face as he continued, “Stop.” Luke had been teasing Spencer, making the entire team laugh. Luke didn’t answer, knowing it wasn’t worth messing with him anymore. The entire team had picked up on the attitude Aaron had been carrying around lately. There was no more room for teasing in the BAU, as he always seemed angry nowadays.
As the team finished debriefing their last case, Emily lingered inside the meeting room. “Hey, Hotch?” She questioned, usually being the advocate for the team. Aaron didn’t answer but shifted his attention away from the files in front of him and to her. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Just fine, Prentiss,” he lied, becoming embarrassed under her harsh stare. “Hotch,” she cut through the silence again, “we both know that’s not true.” As much as she was trying to be sympathetic, her prying was just pissing him off. “What is going on in my personal life is none of your concern.” He ended the conversation bluntly, not wanting her to pry anymore.
Like a dog who had just been scolded, Emily made her way out of the room. Hotch lingered for a little longer, hoping the team would disperse before he made his presence known again. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking over what Emily was saying to him. Something was wrong, but nobody could fix it. Nobody but you.
Your phone dinged from its spot beside you, and you tried to not let your professor see you reach for it. Sure, you were a grown woman who was allowed to be on your phone, but you didn’t want to seem rude by being distracted from his lesson. You set your pink pen on top of your notebook and lowered your phone into your lap. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you saw the message was from ‘Aaron &lt;3’.
It had been about four days since he left your house and he had not texted since. You refused to text first, not wanting to appear desperate. ‘Hello, I am dropping Jack off at a friend’s at 6:30. Could I come over after? I can order us dinner.’ You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. You quickly typed out a reply, ‘My class ends at 5 and I have to stop by Elise’s to pick something up. Meet at my house at 7?’. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
Your leg excitedly bounced throughout the class, willing the clock to move faster. Your notes were messy due to your brain moving faster than your hand could go. When the professor finally wrapped things up and asked for any final questions, you shoved things into your bookbag, knowing you’d regret it the next time you needed something from it. You were the first one out the door.
You tried not to speed as you drove to Elise’s. You were picking up a new dog bed that Anna was getting rid of. Your dog, Jackson, would love it. You left yourself in her house, yelling out to let her know you had arrived.
You had not been completely honest with Elise. You had told her your relationship status with Aaron was complicated, which was half-true. It was very complicated, but also very non-existent. You rushed through your interaction with her and Anna, ignoring the joke she cracked about you having a hot date.
You arrived home close to 6:45 and immediately made your way to your closet to throw on something nicer than the leggings and sweatshirt you wore to class. You used the extra time to clean up around the house.
Aaron knocked on the door at 7:00 on the dot, making you giggle at his punctuality. “Hello,” you smiled at him as you opened the door. He said his greeting and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You could feel your face warm up at his actions. When he came in, you two settled on the couch, catching up on the things you had missed in each other’s lives.
“Is that new?” Aaron asked, putting at the large dog bed Jackson was resting on. Your heart swooned at him noticing such a small detail. “Yeah! Elise’s girlfriend, Anna, was getting rid of it. She fosters dogs most of the time but she had to stop after the last one got adopted because her dad moved in with her. He’s sick, so she spends a lot of time taking care of him.” Aaron nods in understanding, “You spoil him, huh?” You giggled at his answer, knowing most of your paychecks went to funding Jackson’s expensive lifestyle.
It didn’t take long for you to wind up in his lap, his hands gripping your ass. He was holding you close, pressing his tongue into your mouth. Aaron had a lot of skills, and kissing was probably one of his best. When you pulled away to breathe, he made quick work of moving his lips to your neck, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear. You let out a gentle moan, moving your hands from around his neck to tug on his hair.
Your moment was interrupted when your stomach grumbled, surprising Aaron. He pulled away, looking up at you with wide eyes and puffy lips. You giggled out an, “I’m sorry.” Aaron soon joined you in your laughter. “You said we’d order food! I haven’t eaten since breakfast!” You smiled, enjoying this sweet moment with him.
He tapped your side, signaling you to get off of his lap. He reached for his phone, “What do you want to eat?” You two scrolled through your options, settling on a local pizza place. Your stomach grumbled again after he placed the order.
It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive, and you two watched silly YouTube videos while you waited. The evening was filled with giggles and greasy pizza. It was everything you wanted with Aaron.
Once your bellies were both full and the paper plates had been thrown away, you two resumed your position on the couch. You were back in his lap and his lips were back on your neck. His hands were tight against your hips as you rocked against his cock, which was growing hard underneath you. The room was filled with languid sighs and deep moans as you made out.
His hands slid up your sides, moving to pull your shirt off. You separated for just a second, just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. Once it was thrown by the brand new dog bed, Aaron’s large hand was reaching up to cup your bra, quickly aggravated by the material blocking your skin. His hands moved to unclasp it, not letting his lips leave yours. The bra joined the shirt, and Aaron brought one of your nipples into his mouth.
The rough skin of his right hand felt like heaven on your right breast, eliciting moans of his name to fall from your lips. He was leaving deep, purple marks around across your tits, fueled by the sounds you were making. The light tugs of his hair had him painfully hard in his dress pants. 
You pulled away to look him in the eye, “Bedroom?” Aaron shook his head no, lifting your body to lay flat on the couch. “Wanna take you right here,” he rushed through. Stoic, well-spoken Aaron Hotchner was reduced to slang like “wanna” in these moments with you.
From his spot between your legs, he kissed down between your chest, down your stomach, to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, asking for permission to take them off. You nodded and your pants quickly joined your ever-growing pile of clothes. “Aaron?” He let out a ‘hmm’, entranced by the wet spot in your panties. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” This broke him out of his spell and he stripped himself down to his boxers.
His hands made their way under your thighs and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your clothed sex. “Take ‘em off?” You nodded at his words, lifting your hips so he could pull them off. As soon as your panties were off, he licked a long strip up your slit.
You let out a moan as he began to bury himself into your pussy. His tongue delved into your hole and his nose nudged your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer. You weren’t sure if he could breathe with how he was pressed into your pussy, your juices spreading all over his chin. Once your grip on his hair relaxed a bit, he pulled his face away. As he slid two of his thick fingers into your hole, he said, “Taste so good, honey.”
As soon as he finished his sentence, he moved down to use his tongue to draw little figure eights along your clit. You let out a loud moan, “Aaron, ‘m gonna,” you cut yourself off with another moan, “gonna cum.” Your thighs held him in his spot as you reached your high. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move from his spot as you came on his fingers.
His fingers didn’t stop as he rode you through your orgasm. Once your thighs relaxed, he brought himself up to you. You could see the way your juices glistened on his chin as moved himself to kiss you, then you could taste them on his lips.
“Taste yourself?” He asked. You felt your pussy clench at his filthy words and gave him a shy nod. He smiled, before resting his head in the crook of your neck, pressing more kisses into it. Your arms came to wrap around him, holding his bare chest against yours. You two stayed like that for a little bit, basking in each other’s aura.
“Gonna fuck you now,” He informed, lifting his body a little. He looked you in your eyes, making sure you were still okay with it. You nodded, reaching down to align his dick with your entrance. He kept his eyes on you as he pushed in, noticing the way your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out.
Aaron’s cock wasn’t too long, but the thickness of it left a satisfying burn inside you. Aaron wasn’t one for an intense sex life. He was mostly content with missionary, enjoying the closeness and eye contact that came with it. You’d begun to get him out of his shell, testing things like riding him and doggy style throughout your three months hooking up.
His thrusts were deep and slow, drawing out the delightful burn in your pussy. After your previous orgasm, the stretch of his thick cock was almost enough to send you over the edge again. Everything about him was intentional, especially the way he held your legs so he could angle himself to hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl.
“Faster,” you moaned out, needing more. “You take what I give you,” he demanded, letting his rare dominant side come out. He knew you liked that by the way you clenched around his cock, squeezing him just right. It only took a few more strokes for him to start increasing his speed, never wanting to displease you.
He was chasing his own high, bottoming out with every deep thrust. You could feel the way you were leaving a ring of your arousal at the base of his dick. “Aaron,” you sighed out, trying to let him know you were about to cum again. While you couldn’t get the words out, he could tell by the way your muscles were beginning to tense up and you were letting out higher-pitched moans.
The way you clenched his dick had his orgasm following close behind your own, allowing him to ride you through your high. He let out a deep sigh as he came down, burying himself back in the crook of your neck. He placed gentle kisses along your neck as your hand drew loving circles along his shoulder.
You willed him to keep his head buried in your neck so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes began to fill with tears. It’s not that you were sad, or even disappointed. There was a deep longing feeling in your chest. In your heart, you knew this was where you wanted to be, but, in your brain, you knew it wouldn’t last.
Aaron let himself lay there with you for a while. He didn’t move as his dick softened inside of you and as your loving caress left goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill in the room, he was comfortable.
A few moments pass before he pushes himself off of you, making his way to the bathroom to clean up. When he reappears in the living, he asks “Do you want to take a shower?” You eagerly accept his offer, getting up to guide him to your master bathroom. He smiles behind you as you turn on the water.
You’re very surprised at his actions but scared that if you mention how different he’s acting, he’ll stop. He usually doesn’t stay to clean up with you, besides retreating to the bathroom. You both step into the shower, muscles relaxed by the hot water. Aaron flinches away from it. “Too hot?” You ask, forgetting that not everyone takes scalding hot showers.
“I’ll get used to it,” he compromises. It’s a tight fit, but you both make do. He’s the first one to reach for the wash rag. Soaping it up with your lavender-scented body wash and bringing it to your shoulders. He allows himself to enjoy washing you, taking time to massage and caress your skin. He moves gently and lovingly, as if he would break you if he pushed too hard.
Despite the amount of times you had sex, this shower was the most intimate thing you and Aaron had ever done. It would’ve been easy to convince yourself that you two were a couple, one that is deeply in love and would never hurt each other. However, you could never do that because of the gnawing knowledge of his future departure. You weren’t a couple and he would be retreating to his home any minute now.
Aaron let you stay under the warm water as he washed himself, both of you opting to not worry about washing your hair tonight. You stepped out first, grabbing a towel off of the rack attached to the shower. You wrapped it around yourself, moving to get Aaron one from your towel closet. He enjoyed the warmth of the shower while you were gone. Once you appeared in the steamy bathroom, he turned off the water and wrapped himself in the towel you handed him.
It was quiet for a moment, both of you just enjoying the presence of each other. Aaron was rubbing the towel, trying to dry his hair when he spoke up, “I don’t believe I have any clothes here. Do you have any you think could fit me?” You were gobsmacked at his words. Luckily, you weren’t facing him, so he didn’t see the way your mouth dropped in surprise. You quickly turned around to face him, “Are you staying the night?”
“Is that okay?” He sounded awkward, not really knowing what to do. Sure, he’d left every other time, but he thought it would be okay since you spend so much time together anyway. He was trying to be better than he was before, trying to overcome the fears that had been keeping him from truly being with you. “Of course it is!” Your voice was excitable again, almost as lively as it was the day he met you. “I think I have some sweatpants, I can look.”
Your heart was pounding as you left the bathroom to dig through your dresser, seeing if there was anything you wouldn’t mind Aaron keeping. He followed behind you, settling on the edge of the bed. He was distracted as you looked, admiring you in just a fluffy towel. He wished he saw this side of you more often.
Once you found an old, gray pair at the bottom of your third drawer, you tossed them at him. You got dressed and he slipped them on, choosing to forgo underwear rather than put on the precum-stained ones from earlier. “What do we do now?” You asked sweetly, not really knowing how to go about this sleepover, but excited to have it nonetheless.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” He suggested, subtly pointing at the TV hung on your wall. “Sure! What kind of movies do you like?” You asked him as you moved to sit criss-cross on your bed. He chuckled at your cute demeanor, “Me and Jack tend to watch action or comedy, but I love a good romcom now and then.” This sent you into a fit of giggles, picturing Aaron curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and ‘When Harry Met Sally’ being the only thing illuminating his face in the dark room.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” He said with a fond smile on his face. He laid down, leaving space for you to curl yourself against his side, tucked right into his armpit. You felt like you belonged there. “I just didn’t realize you were such a softie,” You said with a few more giggles. He shifted his head down to look at you the best he could, “I can be.”
You two settled on ‘Do Revenge’, playing into Aaron’s apparent love of chick-flicks. You two got comfortable under the covers. About halfway through, Aaron heard your gentle snores filling the room. He reached across you to grab the remote and turn off the TV. He reached back over you to put the remote on your nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled himself down, falling quickly into a deep slumber.
The next morning, you woke up to an unfamiliarly cold room. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, looking at the messed up bed. Your gaze followed the blanket that had been thrown around to an empty bed.
Your eyebrows crinkled in confusion, remembering that Aaron had spent the night. A part of you hoped when you got up, he’d be making breakfast for you like the husbands always did in the cheesy romcoms you two talked about last night. The other part of you knew he had left.
To confirm your suspicions, you made your way to the living room, trying to ignore the steadily increasing beat of your heart. You made your way to Jackson, who was asleep in his brand-new bed. You sat next to him, tears filling your eyes. His clothes were gone. Even the stupid sweatpants you let him borrow. Jackson snuggled closer to you, almost providing the warmth Aaron took with him when he left.
You let yourself lay there for a while, dwelling on the hurt in your heart. It wasn’t as if this was unexpected, but he could’ve had the decency to not lie to you. You explicitly asked him if he was staying the night and he said he was. How could he just leave? As if your time last night didn’t mean anything? As if any of the nights you two spent together didn’t mean anything?
You were forced to get up when you heard your phone alarm going off in your bedroom, indicating it was time for you to get ready for work. You had a busy day ahead of you that would consist of work and catching up on homework. You didn’t have time to worry about a man who wasn’t worrying about you.
You felt numb throughout your whole shift. You ignored Elise’s texts asking you to go out tomorrow, considering you hadn’t had a Friday night out in a while. You ignored pretty much everything, burying yourself in your tasks. You were on autopilot as you drove home. You quickly took care of Jackson, taking him on a brief walk and feeding him. You went out your back door and followed it until you knew you couldn’t see Aaron’s house. You didn’t want to think about him, and you definitely didn’t want him to see how sad you were.
You did homework for the rest of the night, ignoring the world around you. You didn’t turn on the TV or look at your phone once. You took another scorching shower, basking in the burn it left on your skin.
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You went on like this for another day. It wasn’t until you returned home from work late on Friday night that you had to come face-to-face with your feelings.
It was actually your choice. No one forced you to slam your car door as soon as you saw Aaron get out of his in his own driveway. No one forced you to stomp your way across the street. No one forced you to yell his name.
No, you were solely guided by your own anger, your own sadness, to approach him. You didn’t know who was around, and you didn’t really care as you started yelling at him. “Fuck you,” You spit out first, “You said you were staying. I wanted you to stay. But you fucking left. I was going to make you breakfast, you know that? The best fucking baker around was going to make you breakfast. But you left. Without saying goodbye.”
You didn’t normally cuss, or yell, really. The anger you felt became too much and you were talking before you could really think about what you were saying. Your eyes started to fill with tears. “Y/N,” he interrupts. He wasn’t yelling at you, more raising his voice so you’d let him talk. “I didn’t want to leave you.” He confesses, a guilty look spread across his face.
You’re instantly quieter and the tears start falling as you speak. “You didn’t?” You quietly question. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to scream and cry and cuss at him so he could feel just a little bit of the hurt you felt when you woke up yesterday morning. But that wasn’t in your nature. You were good and kind and sweet, not mean and nasty.
“No, honey, of course not,” He speaks softly, taking a few more steps towards you. You let him rest a gentle hand on your shoulder as he continues, “I got a call from Jack’s friend’s mother. They had snuck out and gone skateboarding. Jack fell on his arm and they were on their way to the emergency room. I had to meet him there.”
Guilt started to fill your chest as you listened to his explanation. “Aaron, I’m so sorry,” You breathed out as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he spoke, “There’s no need to be. I should’ve called you but I got distracted with work.” You nodded against his chest. He held you as you calmed down, letting your tears subside. “I’ve got to run, we’re leaving for a case and I forgot my go-bag,” You nod at his words, “Be safe, please.”
“Of course,” He said as he started taking a few steps backward. He turned around and made his way to his door. His hand was reaching out for the knob when you called his name. “What are we?” You asked the dreaded question that had been weighing on your chest. It seemed childish, but there was no other way to phrase it. You hoped he wanted to be in a relationship. You hoped he wanted you the same way you wanted him.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” He said as he made his way back to you. “I owe you a conversation, that’s for sure.” You nod at his words, “When can we have it?” You asked, knowing he needed to leave for work. “I’ll text you as soon as we wrap up the case.” You nod again as he makes his way back to his front door.
He’s the one who turns around this time, calling out your name. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “For everything that happened before. I’m going to make it right as soon as I get home.” You give him a soft smile and a gentle nod before turning around to make your way home. 
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It takes a full week for the team to wrap up the case. Reid and JJ ask if they can spend the night in Phoenix, not wanting to be on the jet at three in the morning. However, Aaron vetoes this immediately, knowing he needs to be home as quickly as possible to talk to you.
He texts you while Luke drives the SUV, letting you know he will be boarding shortly and to expect him to be over sometime in the morning tomorrow. You’re fast asleep and do not reply, but Aaron knows you’ll see it in the morning. 
And you do. You check your phone first thing in the morning. Usually, your Saturdays are spent catching up on missed homework throughout the week, but today you immediately made your way to the kitchen. When you are stressed, this is where you usually find yourself. You threw on the “kiss the cook” apron Elise had given you a few Christmases ago, pulling up the recipe for raspberry cheese danishes you had seen online the other day.
You had just put them in the oven when you heard the knocks on your door. Aaron had gotten just a few hours of sleep before he made his way to your house. His heart was beating in his chest as he waited for you to open the door.
All of his nerves quickly dissipated as he saw you in your apron. He smiled at it, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss before either of you could even say hello. You giggled when he let you go, opening the door wider so he could come in. You were glad he greeted you the way he did. It took away some of the awkwardness that was looming over you due to the conversation topic.
“It smells phenomenal in here,” he complimented as he made his way to the dining room table. He sat down at the of the table and you settled into the seat on his left. “I’m sorry I had to run the other day, duty calls.” You nodded in understanding at his words. “Did you think about my question?” You asked timidly, wanting to get the conversation started so it could be over sooner.
“I did,” he said with a thoughtful nod, “I’m not quite sure how I would define us if I’m being honest.” His answer left you speechless. Not in a bad way, and certainly not in a good way, but in a way that signaled that you didn’t know how to reply. “I mean, I don’t know how I would define us back then.” He continues on.
For the first time since he kissed you when you opened the door, he made eye contact with you. “I would like to define us as a couple now if that is alright with you.” He didn’t miss the smile that quickly spread across your face and the way you started to twiddle your fingers. “Aaron Hotchner,” You let out an overdramatic gasp, “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
Aaron laughed at your theatrics, “Yes, I am.” You immediately threw yourself in his lap, pressing a kiss to his blushed cheek. “I would love to!” He could feel you smile against his face as you threw your arms around his neck. He let you love on him for a little bit before you made your way back to your seat. “I think there are a few things I have to tell you first, though,” Aaron informed again and you noticed the way his body tensed up. You didn’t say anything, creating a safe space for him to get anything he needed off of his chest.
“Ever since the day I barged in after you left me that voice message, this is what I wanted. I wanted to kiss you when you greeted me at the door. I wanted to watch cheesy films with you. I still really want all of that,” He let out a deep breath, “but I come with a lot, Y/N. Even just being with me puts you in danger. My last relationship ended due to my job, and I lost her. My wife, she, uh,” His eyes began to well up with tears.
You reached your hand out to hold his, understanding what he was trying to tell you. His wife, Jack’s mom, had died because of something related to his job. You weren’t going to force him to continue if it was this painful for him to talk about. “I understand,” You spoke gently, not wanting to upset him more, “And I’m okay with that risk.”
Aaron nodded at your words, not really knowing if you meant them. You did. Even if you wouldn’t admit it quite yet, you were in love with Aaron. You understood his job was scary and he dealt with a lot of evil in his line of work, but not even that could keep you from wanting a relationship with him.
“And, there will be times when I’m not around. My job, it is very demanding and very important to me, and to the world, I think. When they need me, I have to go.” You knew this part, he was away a lot. That’s why you had spent so much time texting before he was aware of the crush you had on him. However, before you could respond, the oven dinged, telling you it was time to take out the danishes.
Without thinking about it, you jumped up from the table, exclaiming, “My danishes are done!” Aaron laughed at this, following you with his eyes as you made your way to the oven, pulling out the desserts and sitting them on the counter to cool. You were looking over them are you spoke, “I know that, Aaron. I’m a busy bee, too. I think I’ll be okay when you’re away.”
“These look this delicious,” he complimented, reaching for one. You quickly swatted his hand away, “They need to cool!” He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. “What are they?” He asked, not moving his face from the crook of your neck. “Raspberry cheese danishes! It’s a new recipe.” You could feel yourself getting giddy at the thought of Aaron Hotchner, your boyfriend, and personal taste-tester.
“Well, they look and smell amazing. You’ll have to make some for the BAU holiday party.” He said, very casually. You froze in your spot as he unwrapped from your figure. “You want me to go?” You were surprised at his invitation. From getting to know him, you’d realized that the people in the BAU were some of the most important people in his whole life. “Of course,” he smiled, “Everyone brings their significant others.”
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♡ TAGS: @himboelover @zaddyhotch @lcvdoll @h0t-as-h3ll @lamentis-10 @cherubswhispers
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canuck-eh · 9 months
Text
Loose Morals
MINORS DNI
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Younger!Fem!Reader (college student)
Summary: You and Jack have been friends for two years when you start having hot dreams featuring his father. Unfortunately, Mr. Hotchner happens to be just your type...
Tags: age gap, daddy issues, migraines, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, implied daddy kink, daddy kink if you squint, praise kink, Jack isn't necessarily a good friend, trauma bonding in a way, masturbation, smut, fluff, etc.
Word count: 11.2k
A/N: I wanted to take a break from editing Vanilla Twilight by writing a short one-shot. The thing is, I don't know when to shut up... Anyway, this ask and this pic inspired me, and I opted to write an entire fic around them. I just really needed to write smut after all the fluff and angst these past few times. I hope you like this one!
Being Jack Hotchner's best friend had its perks.
For one, he was honest and kind, and he was simply different than the rest of the guys your age. 
Honesty had always been at the core of your friendship, through your first two years of college, you’d not only found a friend in him, but a brother. 
You weren’t sure he saw you as his sister, but you didn’t care. He was still your family. 
You were the first person he came out to, and he was the first person to whom you had admitted you had major daddy issues (which you still believed had been caused by not having a father around growing up). 
Considering your mother had punched out when you turned 18, Jack was without a doubt the most important person in your life even if you weren’t the most important person in his life. 
But being Jack’s best friend was sometimes a curse.
A sharply dressed, tall, and broad man disguised as a curse, that is. 
Jack had an incredibly handsome dad, and to make matters worse, Mr. Hotchner was exactly the type you went for when you needed company.  
Jack knew you had slept around with older men, he knew what your type looked like, yet he had never once mentioned his dad fit that pattern to a T. 
Of course, you knew Mr. Hotchner was off-limits. You’d never try anything, you’d never do anything to jeopardize your friendship with Jack. But you couldn’t help how your eyes lingered on Mr. Hotchner sometimes, and it didn’t hurt anyone to just look. 
You could control yourself, but forbidden things always had an extra appeal to them, didn’t they? 
It was why, very early on in your friendship, you had reached an unspoken agreement with yourself: You would never spend the night at Jack’s house and you would avoid being alone with Mr. Hotchner at all costs. Thus, when party season was in full effect, you never drank to make sure you could drive yourself home after dropping Jack off. 
Ironically enough, Jack loved having you around even more during that time because since you didn’t drink when you went partying, you could always be the designated driver. 
Tonight had been no different in that regard, but a recent breakup had made Jack miserable and he had ended up drinking way more than usual.
Bringing him home was something you were happy to do, and each time you did, Mr. Hotchner thanked you profusely for bringing Jack home safe.
Each time, you tried not to make a fool of yourself, and you smiled and left without adding anything. 
Truth was, even tired beyond words, Mr. Hotchner was extremely handsome. He was so effortlessly beautiful that you didn't trust yourself not to say something incredibly stupid to his face, and thus you actively chose not to talk to him alone when you could avoid it. 
Sure, you could engage in small talk when Jack was awake and responsive, but when he was nearly passed out drunk, you did your best to avoid Mr. Hotchner.
There was something about the way his eyes bore into you that you couldn’t deny you liked, but you often explained it away by reminding yourself that Mr. Hotchner looked at everyone like that, with intense fixed gazes that could remind you of every wrongdoing you had ever committed.
Nothing you had tried had ever stopped you from blushing when you felt his eyes on you, and your high-pitched nervous laugh was only deafened by you chewing your cheeks furiously each time Mr. Hotchner said something nice to you.
You were positive Mr. Hotchner already thought you were a nutcase, or at the very least, that you were too shy and awkward to function properly when you were around him. 
So, whenever you could, you avoided him out of self-preservation. 
You had had to start evading him more in the past weeks when recurring sex dreams featuring him had started invading your nights. 
It didn’t help that you were convinced that he was a sex god walking on two delightfully long legs. It didn’t help that you were sure that he had two muscly thighs that surely showed how he ran every other morning. 
You had seen Mr. Hotchner sweaty and breathless only once, with his chest heaving big breaths that drew your attention to how deliciously large he was, and you had risked a glance at his whole body, licking your lips at the sight of his hairy legs, instantly concluding that coming over to study before noon wasn’t going to happen again for the sake of your sanity. 
From that day, you had started having torrid dreams about grinding down on his damp thighs, dreams which had startled you awake and kept you on the verge of climaxing. Each time, you had woken up too worked up to care, and you had brought yourself to orgasm with only a few flicks on your clit before you screamed his name into your pillow. 
It wasn’t right, but it was the only thing that did it. You had tried thinking of other things, you had even tried watching porn, but nothing worked except thoughts of Jack’s dad. 
While it was great to be living alone because it meant that whenever the urge was too strong, you could get yourself off, it also meant that you had absolutely no control or restraint since nothing satisfied your incessant hunger for him, since nothing could scratch that particular itch… 
You had managed to break two magic wands in the past three months, so you never stayed home too long when you had nothing to do, too afraid you’d turn into a sex addict.  
But then there were the other dreams you were having, dreams way scarier than having Mr. Hotchner get you off. 
Those dreams, dreams in which you shared a whole life with Mr. Hotchner, were your favorite. Yet, they were also heartbreaking because once realization hit you, once your mind was clear enough, you knew it would never happen, that it could never happen, and that hurt you a little more every time.
You had had so many dreams in which domesticity was the norm, in which you danced around the kitchen to great tunes while cooking together, in which his arms wrapped around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder, as he hummed and squeezed you into a tight embrace, as he turned you around to kiss your forehead before he told you how much he loved you.
Your longing for him had only intensified in the past weeks as vivid fantasies muddled your mind, and you had had to escape any situation where you would find yourself talking to Mr. Hotchner even when Jack was around just to make sure Mr. Hotchner wouldn’t suddenly realize that every waking thought you had included him. 
Mr. Hotchner probably knew most of the signs of attraction. Having been a profiler for the greater part of his life before he got a steady desk job meant that he was talented at observing, and you knew for a fact that he was brilliant and astute. You often chose not to dwell on those facts, instead, you averted your gaze so he wouldn’t read behind your eyes, so he wouldn’t magically deduce how detailed your imagination could be, as if he could know from a quick glance how you had envisioned him around you in every possible position and scenario. 
You focused on Jack in the backseat, his blond hair ruffled by the wind coming in through the cracked window. The car smelled like alcohol and bad decisions, and your heart dropped in your chest when you noticed Jack shaking, hearing choked sobs every few seconds. 
Fortunately, while you attempted to find the right words, he slumped and grew quiet. 
The way it usually went when you brought him home was, you got Jack inside with your spare key, you dropped him on his bed upstairs before you left without making a sound.
But Jack was way drunker than usual, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to make him walk up the stairs by yourself. He was in no state to get himself up the stairs either. 
You tried to talk to him to gauge if you could shake him awake just enough to get him up the stairs once you reached his house, but he just muttered strings of syllables.  
The closer you got to his house, the more you realized you’d need help bringing Jack upstairs. 
He was still mumbling things that made no sense, and you admired how the car ride didn’t make him throw up because he made no effort to hold up his head as he slouched in the back seat. 
You chastised yourself for not asking someone to tag along to help you with Jack because now you would have only one option, and you weren’t sure you wanted to wake him. 
It didn’t matter what you wanted, though. Jack was your family. You’d do anything for him.
Reluctantly, you asked Siri to call Mr. Hotchner.
He picked up on the first ring and you were relieved that perhaps you hadn’t woken him up by calling at this hour. 
“Hi, sweetheart. Is Jack okay?” he muttered sleepily. 
Shit. Maybe you had woken him. 
Mr. Hotchner often called you ‘sweetheart’ but at this time of night with a husky voice? If this wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever heard… 
You berated yourself for being distracted, intently focusing on the road and what needed to be done.
“Hello, Mr. Hotchner. Yes, he is. He’s just too drunk for me to bring him upstairs. Can you come down and help?” you asked, keeping your voice as even as you could.
“Of course. ETA?”
You looked around as you put on the turn signal. “I’m turning on your street.”
“Good. Thank you.”
You hung up just in time to park, getting out of the car swiftly to try to bring a clingy Jack out of the backseat.
Mr. Hotchner joined you before you even noticed he was outside, and a hand on your shoulder made you move back from trying to pick up Jack. 
“I got him. Just help me when we get to the stairs, okay?”
You nodded. 
It was all you could do because the sight of Mr. Hotchner in pajama pants and a tee shirt was apparently enough to bring your cerebral functions to a halt. 
You were unable to comprehend how his hand had even ended up on you and how you could still feel the imprint of his palm on your skin.
Mr. Hotchner grunted from the effort it took to pick up his son, and you did your best not to memorize the sound for later use. 
You shut the car door and followed him inside, taking some of Jack’s weight off Mr. Hotchner’s shoulders as you both brought him up the stairs and into his room. 
You removed Jack’s shoes as Mr. Hotchner brought the covers over his son’s frame, and you tried not to think about the fact that you made a great team to get Jack into bed so efficiently. 
Mr. Hotchner placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, smiling a little at how unresponsive he was. 
Clearly, he found the situation relatable and you wondered if Mr. Hotchner had ever been this drunk when he was Jack’s age.
You found it endearing to see how a good father could be so loving to his grown-up son, and even if it hurt that you had never gotten that, you still loved seeing it when it happened. 
“Goodnight, bud.”
You didn’t want to intrude so you made your way out of the room just in time for Jack to mutter under his breath something that made you flinch and stop in your tracks. “I fucking hate you, Dad. It’s your fault Mom isn’t here.”
The room was dark, but the silver sheen of the moon glimmered enough that you could make out most of his frozen features. You saw Mr. Hotchner recoil and you heard his breath hitch. 
It was fair to assume his face had probably contorted into a deep frown as you witnessed his arm going up, his palm meeting his forehead. 
You knew the story. But you also knew Jack didn’t blame him. He never had. He had always said his father was his hero. You had heard him ramble on and on about how proud he was, and he had almost given you a formal presentation to celebrate him and every achievement of his. Every time he spoke about his dad, his eyes sparkled with joy, and getting to know more about how extraordinary Mr. Hotchner was had never helped lessen your deep-seated infatuation with him. If anything, it only magnified it.
So why was Jack saying this now when his dad had always been his role model?
Had he been lying to you this whole time?
You debated saying something, but in the end, you and Jack constantly called each other out on your bullshit or whenever you were out of line, and this time, he was clearly out of line. 
For all Mr. Hotchner’s faults, you knew he was loving and present, and Jack shouldn’t take that for granted. You certainly wouldn’t.
“Jack, what the fuck?” you snapped. You clenched your jaw to abstain from scolding him, it wasn’t your place, but you wanted to bark at him to apologize. 
The cold glow shone and lit the room just enough, making it easy to see how Mr. Hotchner’s shoulders dropped, and the silent shock that plagued the room made his bleak expression all the more distressing. Luckily, before you could question your next move, he turned his back so you couldn’t scrutinize how pain stained his gaze. 
Jack turned towards you, baring his teeth. His glassy eyes and his jutting chin betrayed a rooted but still gaping wound, sadly mixed with an obscure and previously undisclosed fury. “This is a family matter. Leave,” he snarled.
Jack had never once said anything of the sort to you, and to have him belittle your importance so freely hurt you profoundly. 
He was your family, but perhaps he was right, you weren’t his. 
You left the room before your vision got too blurry to walk out, and you heard harsh whispered tones before you went down the stairs. 
You wiped your eyes and were halfway out the door when a firm hand grasped your arm and brought you back inside swiftly. 
Your face met a firm chest and you knew who it was before you could try to hide your tears, and you didn’t care about anything other than comfort right now.
It occurred to you that Mr. Hotchner was probably seeking some comfort too, after all, it couldn’t have been easy hearing his son tell him that. 
Your arms encircled his softer middle section naturally, and you banished the thoughts that started to emerge. His tummy was a part of him you longed to cherish in your most lucid dreams, but it was unfair to bask in the sensation of his tall build covering yours because this was simply two sympathetic bruised souls engaging in friendliness. 
You shut your eyes for a second, trying to breathe in and out, hoping the pain would subside. 
“He didn’t mean any of it. He just gets like this sometimes,” he said softly.
You slightly moved away from the hug, still holding on but barely, aware it wasn’t appropriate for you to indulge too much. 
You looked up into Mr. Hotchner’s eyes, and his distant stare and set jaw made your heart ache. 
He was hurt. He was holding it together, but he was evidently tormented by trauma, and his tense stance wordlessly confirmed that some invisible wounds lurked and continued to run deep.
His gaze softened all at once as it met yours.
“He loves you. He always says you’re his hero. He even told me he never once blamed you for–” 
A tentative hand came up to cradle your cheek, and a flick of his thumb picked up a few stray tears. “Sweetheart, even if he hates me, I’m his dad. I’m always going to love him.”
You forced a smile as tears welled up in your eyes. 
You truly admired the father before you, and as much as you felt crushed that Jack didn’t consider you important, you could almost forgive him because it had led to this soothing closeness.
“Are you okay?” he fretted with genuine concern in his voice. 
You suddenly realized how close he was, how he hadn’t loosened his hold on you when you had. 
You could feel how strong he was every time he breathed, you could smell his aftershave and detergent, and a blaring thought reared its ugly head; his scent and his presence made you feel more at home than anything else ever had. 
You couldn’t entertain that thought. 
Not now, perhaps not ever. 
You moved back, hugging yourself as a chill ran over you. “I’m fine.”
Mr. Hotchner frowned, but he didn’t push it. 
Truth was, you weren’t emotionally equipped to deal with any of this. 
Jack and Mr. Hotchner would have to be on the back burner for a few days, and you would have to go home to lick your wounds before you would even consider talking to Jack again.
You turned away, opting to leave before you did or said something stupid, but again, a firm hand grasped your arm before you could escape.
“You’re not driving anywhere at this hour and in this state,” he protested. 
Fuck.
"I'm just going to sleep in the car," you explained, knowing it wouldn’t work but nonetheless hoping it would.
As if he sensed your discomfort, he released your arm and held his hands up in front of him. 
"Just take my bed. I'll take the couch."
Sleeping in his bed? Sleeping where he slept? Sleeping where his scent would overwhelm you? 
Considering how often you had dreams about him…
You knew danger zones. And this was one. 
Hell, no.
"Oh, no. It's fine, Mr. Hotchner. The car seat reclines–"
He chuckled, startling you with the unexpected sound. "When are you going to stop calling me that? We’ve already talked about this. You make me feel old."
"You're not–"
A small lopsided grin graced his face, and the sight reassured you on the spot. “You can either stay the night or you can finally tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not–”
He quirked an eyebrow, and you should have known the profiler would notice you avoiding him at all costs when you used to talk to him a lot more, even if most of the time Jack was present, you still used to interact with him more frequently than you did now.
“It’s nothing you did,” you stressed.
He gave you a tight-lipped smile at that. "Come on. Get some rest. I'll wake you early in the morning if you really want to leave before Jack gets up."
You knew there was no saying no to him, so you nodded and made your way towards the stairs.
You knew where his room was because there weren't many rooms upstairs, and Jack had made you visit the entire house early on in your friendship.
"Goodnight," he breathed as you trodded up the stairs. 
"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner."
You walked into his room and looked down at yourself. Sure, a summer dress would be fine to sleep in, but if you closed the door and slept in your underwear, no one would know.
You discarded your dress before you lay down in the middle of the most comfortable bed you had ever been in. 
You shut your eyes, smelling Mr. Hotchner all around you as you had a bit earlier. 
It didn't take long for you to find restful sleep, and it took even less time for your mind to drift off to thoughts of Mr. Hotchner.
You were in the throes of the hottest sex dream you had ever had, so close to reaching your peak untouched as you woke up with a glaring pain behind your eyes and at the base of your skull.
Oh, shit.
You were no strangers to migraines. You had had them for years, but getting one when you were far away from your meds, and in someone else's home, someone else's bed... 
Someone's bed. 
Right. 
You had just been dreaming about that particular someone going down on you.
Great.
You needed something for the pain and you knew where the ibuprofen was, so you tip-toed down the stairs, making your way to the main bathroom.
You were trying to look through stuff in the dark when the light was turned on, instantly stilling your movements.
"I'm just– I have a migraine," you stuttered before he could ask what you were doing in his medicine cabinet.
Mr. Hotchner wasn't frowning, and he didn't look unhappy you had woken him up in the middle of the night again, but as soon as you shared the reason why you were awake, he furrowed his brow with concern.
Then he looked up and down at you.
Shit. I'm in my underwear.
Mr. Hotchner raised an eyebrow as he smirked, removing his tee shirt and offering it to you so you could feel less naked.
His gaze made you feel more naked than anything you could wear or not wear.
He was such a gentleman that he gave you his shirt even if he was the one who ended up half-naked next to you.
Well, better him than me.
You put it on and Mr. Hotchner just waited until you cleared your throat to let his gaze fall back onto you.
You tried not to look at his bare chest or at the scars you knew were there.
You failed within seconds, but you had enough decency to make an effort to keep your eyes locked on his face.
"I'm sorry about your migraine, honey. What do you need?" he uttered in a soft hushed tone. 
You shrugged, taking two pills from the bottle before looking away and down at your feet. "Cold compress? I don't know."
Mr. Hotchner offered you a glass of water before he moved around you to wet a cloth with cold water, and instead of giving it to you, he just took your hand and made his way to the couch. 
He sat with you, facing you with his legs crossed. Somehow, he looked younger sitting like this, waiting for you to join him. 
"Put your head here," he said, gesturing to his lap.
You had no idea what to do, but you were in pain and emotionally unstable, apart from being sleep-deprived, and you would never turn down an opportunity to be close to him under those conditions because your judgement was certainly impaired. 
You lay down your head in his lap, looking up at him looking down at you. 
He placed the cold compress on your forehead, making you sigh in relief as your eyes fluttered close. Gentle hands started massaging the back of your neck, your temples, and your scalp, making you shudder as he pressed on spots where the pain stabbed and blinded you. 
For his apparent rough exterior, Mr. Hotchner had a very tender touch, and you wondered in what world it was okay for you to know that.
"How's that?" he pondered.
Your tense shoulders went limp as you relaxed even more, his fingertips rubbing your nape expertly. "Really good," you purred.
You were at his mercy, lax and drowsing in his lap unashamedly. 
“I used to get migraines and tension headaches at your age. You know, law school was–  I used to be permanently stressed out, living my life on high alert.”
“You?”
“Yes. Why is that so surprising?” he asked.
You opened your eyes to meet his, watching him wait for an answer. 
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Hotchner, but you just look like the kind of person who has it under control all the time,” you stated.
He looked pensive for a split second, but he resumed massaging your temples, removing the cloth and folding it the other way around before putting it back on your skin. He was apparently making sure it remained somewhat cold enough to provide relief. It was a small thing really, but it spoke volumes that he cared enough to do that.   
“Not all the time–” he said calmly. “Anyway, I wished I had someone take care of me when I was– and I didn’t so…”
What about your wife?
You let that go as soon as it echoed around in your head. It wasn’t any of your business why Mrs. Hotchner didn’t take care of him when he wasn’t feeling well. 
To be fair, you’d always thought marriage was about finding someone you wanted to take care of. Someone for whom you’d cook soup, someone whose tummy you wanted to rub, someone to hold, someone to pet your forehead when you’re feverish. But that was perhaps the daddy issues talking.
He picked up the TV remote, and he offered it to you. 
“Do you want to put something on while we wait for the pills to make you feel better, honey?”
You nodded. “Let’s just keep it low.”
That was mostly for your sake rather than Jack’s since he would have deserved to be woken up by a movie blasting in the living room, considering.
He seemed intent on letting you choose so you settled for something corny that wouldn’t require you to focus. You selected The Fault in Our Stars since you had already seen it and you were certain you would be able to follow the story without having to think.
You decided to move before you dozed off in his lap, but Mr. Hotchner just held you down as he stretched his legs on the sofa, leaving you with some leeway to find a comfortable way to lie down while still keeping you close. You shifted on your side, hugging his leg as your face rested sideways on his firm thigh. It allowed you to see the TV while still feeling his warm hand palming your scalp. 
You removed the cloth from your forehead after a while, and Mr. Hotchner took it from you before he set it down on the coffee table.  
You pretended not to feel him tremble when the movie took a sad turn, and as his hand came up to wipe his eyes, you had to shut yours to avoid getting tempted to offer to lick his tears away. 
You also had to compose yourself because knowing Mr. Hotchner was the kind of softie who cried at sad films only made your longing more acute. 
Having your head on his leg was enough of a treat as it was. You just had to reel it in and keep a tight lid on whatever it was you felt. 
Your plan to compose yourself with your eyes closed completely backfired when you realized you had fallen asleep. 
You woke to soft whimpers and a bulge protruding near the side of your head, right before you realized your name was being moaned. 
Repeatedly. 
You opened your eyes to find Mr. Hotchner asleep in a way that would surely hurt his neck, and he was rock hard next to your head, moaning your name as if chanting it like a prayer.
It's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything.
You turned on your front to fully see what was poking at your head. The tent in his pajama pants was huge, and the flimsy material of his pajama pants did nothing to hide the fact that he was big.
You salivated at the sight, incredibly aware that everything you wanted was within reach.
A particularly throaty moan escaped his lips and this time, when you looked up, he was frowning at you.
You got down on your knees in front of him, making him turn to follow you, letting him plant his feet on the ground, and you weren't sure how to proceed from there but the man had just moaned your name and followed your move on instinct. 
He was sporting an impressive erection, and you wanted. 
How you wanted.
It didn’t take much but you were done questioning it.
You smiled softly, deciding to bend down and mouth at his clothed cock. 
If he really didn't want this, he would have tried to hide, he would have moved, he would have been embarrassed, he would not have been moaning your name, and simply put, he would stop you.
Instead, the second your lips were around his clothed hardness, his hips jerked up into your face and he groaned loudly.
You were thankful Jack was passed out drunk because surely, this would have woken him up.
"Are you sure you want this?" he hissed. 
You just mouthed at his dick with more conviction, making his eyes roll back in his head.
His hands ended up at the back of your head, pushing your face infinitely closer.
“I knew from the second I saw you that you had raging daddy issues. Are you about to prove me right, sweet girl?”
You were putting a wet spot on his pajama pants, trying to taste him through layers of clothing. You placed both your hands on his thighs, sinking your fingernails into his hard flesh. Your fingers dug through the material as your mouth moved on him, but you wanted so much more than this. 
“Mr. Hotchner–”
“You’re always so formal–” he tutted. He put a tender hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb on your soft skin. “Maybe one day, I’ll have you calling me by the right name.”
You let your hands roam on his bare chest as you continued to wet his pants with your saliva, trying so desperately to get some friction as you started rutting on his foot. 
Mr. Hotchner stopped you, palming himself through his pajama pants.
“Please, Mr. Hotchner,” you pleaded, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 
“If you really want this, come up here,” he said, gesturing to his lap. 
You got up so fast your head spun, but you straddled his lap without hesitation, patting his solid chest with determined hands. You felt him grip your waist, and you opted to trace his sideburns with the tip of your fingers before you let your fingers run through his hair. 
He groaned instantly, rocking his hips up into you. 
Mr. Hotchner leaned down to put his lips on your clothed breasts, savoring each one with warm breaths and enthusiasm, making you moan gently before he looked up at you on top of him.
He cocked his head while you panted above him, desperate to grind down on his erection to get some sort of relief. 
His hands were on your rib cage, his fingertips so close to your breasts that even clothed, it felt like he was voluntarily teasing. 
“How often I’ve dreamed of having you like this,” he noted, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear. 
You started grinding down on his lap, making him gasp as you rocked your core against his. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, exhaling hot air onto your face, reminding you how close you were like this. It didn’t take long for your rhythm to falter and for the shirt to ride up your waist. 
You were so lost in everything you felt that you had shifted away from his erection and you were left breathing hard as your panties slid back and forth on his hard thigh. 
You saw Mr. Hotchner look down, his smirk wide as you both realized how wet you were. You were leaving an impressive spot on his pajama pants through your panties.
“You’re soaking me,” he croaked, his voice betraying he was as affected by this as you were. 
You steadied yourself on his chest, feeling his hands grip your waist more forcefully, and without the tee shirt, he’d surely be leaving a mark. 
He helped you rub yourself against his thigh, undoubtedly sensing you were consumed by the kind of craving that made you tingle from head to toe. 
“Good girl. You’re doing so well,” he praised. 
Of all the things he could have said, he happened to say the one thing that made you clutch his chest with biting nails.
“Mmffhm—”
“Oh, you like being called a good girl, sweetheart?”
You started shaking with need, feeling the coil in your stomach heating up and tightening. 
His hand came to wrap itself around your throat, his eyes dark and filled with lust. “Answer me.”
“Yes, Mr. Hotchner.”
“Good girl,” he cooed with a smile, releasing your throat. 
The flutters in your stomach melted with the burning desire raging inside you. 
“Will you touch me?” you stammered, drunk on the feeling of his stiff thigh. 
You could probably come like this if you continued. 
Mr. Hotchner smiled cheekily, barely ghosting his finger over your drenched panties. 
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he grunted. 
“Please–” you begged. 
“I think you can come just like this, sweetheart. For me…”
You knew you probably could. You were close already. 
He put his hands back on your waist, guiding your movements on his thigh, watching your hips rock back and forth intently. 
“Are you going to make a mess, dirty girl? Am I going to need to wash you?” he asked huskily. “Maybe I should punish you for avoiding me. For not letting me talk to you or look at you.”
You were too far gone to wonder whether it had been as difficult for him to stay away from you as it had been for you to stay away from him. 
You moaned as your hips moved without restraint on top of him, rolling them back and forth just right so the friction of your panties rubbed your clit perfectly.
“Oh, god.”
You were so close to reaching your peak, and you felt unbearably hot on top of him. You knew you were soaking his pants, making a mess on his thigh, and the thought of him wanting to wash you, of him being angry and punishing you because you had avoided him… It only spurred you on. The thought of him missing you in the slightest set you alight. 
“Look at you, so beautiful wearing my shirt.”
“I’m too hot,” you whined. 
“Do you want me to help you with that?” 
You nodded eagerly.
His fingers pulled at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over your head, his eyes stuck on your face as you continued to grind down on his thigh. “You’re breathtaking.” 
You smiled at the compliment, doing your best to ignore how delightful it felt that he thought you were breathtaking because you were sizzling from the inside with thirst, and you couldn’t deal with the weight of his admission while you chased your orgasm. 
“Mr. Hotchner, you are so perfect–”
Lost in all the sensations and the sea of feelings that you were drowning in, he leaned down, his breath fanning over your breasts. He kissed a spot between them so softly, you thought you had imagined it for a second. 
“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he whispered. 
The throbbing started to hurt, and you needed a bit more than just his thigh. You unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts, making your boobs bob up and down as you rubbed yourself on his erection a few times. 
“Please, Mr. Hotchner.” You didn’t even know what you were asking for, but you needed him to do something.
He grinned at you before he wrapped his lips around a nipple, licking it before sucking on it, making you whimper on top of him. 
He brought his other hand up around your throat before he decided to tap on your lips with his digits. 
“Suck on them for me, sweetheart.”
You opened your mouth, and his index and middle finger sank between your lips. You sucked on them instantly, making him hiss your name as you felt him twitch in his pants. 
Mr. Hotchner started licking your other nipple, sucking on it before he nipped at it gently, blowing hot air onto your skin as he alternated between them. 
He removed his wet fingers from your mouth, making you whine at the loss before he mouthed at one nipple, pinching the other with his fingertips.
“So good, Mr. Hotchner–”
You shifted again as your rhythm faltered, rutting on his thigh again. 
“Do it. Come on my thigh, sweet girl.”
You moaned loudly into the room, unable to keep the sounds from leaving your throat.
“Quiet,” he warned. 
“I can’t,” you pouted with a whimper. 
“Do you want me to keep you quiet?”
You nodded. 
He put his middle and ring fingers into your mouth while his other hand came up around your throat, barely squeezing it, but it was enough. Sucking on his fingers with a hand wrapped around your throat, having him put pressure on your windpipe whenever you were about to be too loud, well, it did wonders.  
You spared a thought for your sleeping friend upstairs, but as petty as it was, you couldn’t care less if you woke him right now. 
Mr. Hotchner looked at you adoringly, showcasing his dimples as his lips curled into a dazzling smile, and the sight was enough for you to let go, the coil in your stomach ripped to shreds. 
Your high came in violent waves as your body was overtaken by sharp shudders. 
Yet, you felt as centered as ever when a soft palm tenderly stroked your back. 
You opened your eyes, unaware you had closed them, and you found his gaze instantly, watching his hooded eyes, heavy with desire, survey you. He wasn’t scanning you for signs of uncertainty, his eyes simply darted over every inch of your face as if to take in your bliss. 
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
You let yourself fall forward, reveling in the feeling of him under you, surrounding you with his warmth, his cologne, his soft hands running up and down your back, his fingertips as they grazed your spine and made you shiver in delight. 
“Thank you,” you muttered in the crook of his neck. 
You’d probably regret this come morning, you’d probably question it, go over it a thousand times, but right now, he felt too solid underneath you to do anything but appreciate his enveloping comfort. 
“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
You weren’t sure if your coming undone on his thigh would be the end of it, but you were thrilled that it apparently wasn’t. 
You quietly entered his room with him, watching him lock the door before you let him remove your panties, watching him discard his pants and boxers eagerly. 
He was indeed huge, leaking pre-cum and throbbing in need. The head was almost red, and you knew without a doubt that you wanted to take care of him as well as he had just taken care of you. 
But Mr. Hotchner took the lead, and you willingly followed. You would always willingly follow him, and as terrifying as it was, the thought helped you draw in a full breath. 
It took a matter of seconds for him to hover above you completely naked, and you couldn’t help but cup his cheek, feeling the shadow of a stubble scraping your palm.
He closed his eyes as if to savor it, and you cupped his other cheek, startling him enough to have him look into your eyes. 
“You are so handsome.”
He looked giddy and shy for a second, two things you never would have thought to associate with him. 
“This is way better than my imagination,” he admitted. 
Wait. Had he thought about this too?
“You–” you started, your mind spiraling with a thousand questions. 
“Yes, sweetheart. I’ve had to touch myself a lot because of you.”
“Show me?” you prompted. 
He searched your features but he surely found you were dead serious about this. 
Seeing his huge paw stroke his cock would fuel every last fantasy you would ever use to get off during your alone time. 
“You really want to see, sweet girl?” he queried, rubbing the back of his neck. 
“Yes.”
“I’ll– Okay. But on one condition: Would you say my name?”
From your very first interaction with him, he had insisted on having you call him something other than ‘Mr. Hotchner’, and you had always been afraid that overstepping that boundary would be crossing a line, that you wouldn’t be able to come back from it if you engaged in something less than formal. 
You smiled at him, assured that you wished to trespass.
“Aaron.”
“Hmm…” he hummed contentedly. He positioned himself with his back to the headboard, looking at you sitting down between his legs, facing him. He watched your hands caress his thighs before he looked at you again. “Say it again.”
“Aaron.”
He beamed at you, offering his left palm to you. “Spit.”
You obliged him, spitting into his hand a few times before he wrapped it around his erection, immediately mewling your name as he relieved some pent-up pressure. 
Watching his hand move up and down on his dick made you swoon, and the level of intimacy of this whole display wasn’t lost on you. 
He trusted you. 
And you trusted him. 
You leaned down to kiss his thighs, watching his hand speed up on his cock as you gently started biting his flesh, making him growl your name above you. 
“You’re doing so well, Aaron,” you applauded. 
His hips jerked up at the praise, making him thrust into his fist. He not only loved hearing his name, he decidedly loved this, too. 
Aaron looked absolutely delicious, and you would have to appeal to every last ounce of self-control you had not to touch him or taste him. 
“Ever since you came into our lives, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind,” he declared, and his voice completely mesmerized you as you observed his movements on his cock like a hawk. “Haven’t been on a date. Haven’t had sex. I can’t even watch porn without thinking of you, sweet thing. Fuck–” he added, gritting his teeth. “I don’t even like porn.”
You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your face so close to his cock you could almost taste the tangy salty pre-cum leaking from the tip.
“I touched myself to thoughts of you, too. I touch myself thinking of you. A lot,” you disclosed candidly. 
His hand lost its pace when his thighs started trembling, and he grabbed your chin, smiling at you. 
“My sweet forbidden fruit.” 
You hummed his name again, kissing his thighs in quick succession, biting him gently to elicit deep guttural moans to come flying out of his mouth. 
You were positive the soundproofing in this house was decent by now. 
“I’m close– Do you want me to come like this, sweetheart?” he asked.
You knew this was Aaron’s way of inquiring where this could go, where the limit was, and whether you wanted this to stop, but you wanted all of it. If this happened only once, you needed to experience all of him. 
You shook your head, raising yourself up. “As beautiful as this is, I want more.” You leaned down, kissing his chest gently before you sucked on a nipple, biting it a little as he had done to you earlier. It made him gasp in surprise. “Sorry.”
“No– I– I liked it.” He paused, caressing your face. “Way too much.”
“I want to cherish you. All of you.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he uttered smoothly, cupping your face. “We’ll do that some other time. I feel almost ready to explode.”
Another time?
You really wanted another time, more than you cared to admit, and you were beyond happy he wasn’t rejecting the idea of having this happen again.
“I need you,” you blurted out.
He chuckled breathlessly, in no way mocking you but visibly, he was amused by your impatience.
“What do you want? What do you think of when you touch yourself?”
“Just you. Your mouth. Your fingers,” you clarified.
“We can make that happen.”
He flipped you, pulling you down on your back before he started kissing your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you rock upwards, seeking friction. 
Aaron started kissing his way down your body, lending great attention to your breasts again. He licked and sucked before he nipped gently, making you bury your hands into his hair. He groaned against your skin, thrusting his hips into nothing. 
“What you do to me…”
He made his way down, kissing your stomach with so much affection that you felt cherished from head to toe.
You’d do the same to him some other him. You promised yourself that right there and then. 
You were about ready to lose your mind once he settled between your legs, blowing hot air on your aching cunt. 
“Please.”
“Say my name,” he demanded.
“Aaron.”
He grinned before he kissed your inner thighs, spreading you wide and pulling your legs over his shoulders. 
“You smell delicious, sweet girl.”
He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, not losing any precious seconds before he sucked on it, making you rock your pussy onto his face. 
He pressed down on your stomach with one hand, keeping you in place. He flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly, making you arch your back, thrashing against his face regardless of the hand that he kept on you. 
You pulled on his hair as he started sucking more vigorously, shaking his head with the movements of his tongue, making you whimper as you bit harshly into your hand to silence your cries.
He whined the more you pulled, and you released your hold on him. Aaron instantly gathered your hand into his and put it back in his hair. 
You resumed the motions, this time gently tugging, and he growled against your cunt, making you thrash more violently under him. 
The coil started tightening in record time, threatening to tear incessantly, and you were helpless to his oral assault. He seemed to understand his hand was pointless on your stomach the more you moved, and he removed his mouth, licking his fingers before he breached you with one, putting his mouth back where it belonged before you could protest. 
He devoured you while he finger-fucked you, and you were left trying to find the right words to express how absolutely wrecked you were. He was ruining you for every other man, and he looked as if he knew it. He looked way too smug to be able to get you off this easily.
He added another finger, arching them into you just so. 
You saw stars before you could even warn him, and you came with a loud shudder as you heard him growl your name from between your legs. 
He didn’t relent, and when you started whining because of how sensitive you were, it seemed to fuel him. He was trying to milk this orgasm out of you bit by bit, and he was succeeding. Your legs quivered and unexpectedly, you felt a spurt of wetness drip down your pussy and onto his face. 
You could barely comprehend what had happened when you got lost in subspace, but the sound of his voice kept you firmly tethered in the here and now.  
Aaron made his way up to your face, kissing your cheek so delicately after basically eating you out like a five-star meal. 
His face glistened with your juices, and you realized how soaked his face was, how sticky and warm it was, but he didn’t seem to care and you certainly didn’t. 
You cupped his face with one hand, letting the other gently pat his hair to make up for the fact that you had pulled on his roots. 
He definitely liked having your fingers massage his scalp, he shuddered as you traced his scalp with your fingernails. 
He looked at you with a simple question in his eyes, but the only thing you could think to say was, “Please fuck me.”
He met your gaze with a serious look, his frown deepening. “If I take you, there’s no going back, sweet girl. I don’t share.”
He was making a statement but offering you an out. He was opening the door, but he wasn’t letting it close behind you. He was serious about this whole thing, and it occurred to you all at once that he liked you enough to not want to share you.
And while you were ready to agree to anything to feel him inside you, while you needed it like you needed air, you liked him enough to know what you were agreeing to.
What you felt for him was sometimes inexplicable, but there was no denying that you would not want any other man to touch you after this. 
You caressed his raven hair once more, smiling at him without a single doubt clouding your mind. Two orgasms would tend to make anyone carefree, but above all else, as bare as you were, you felt safe. Protected. Cared for. At home. 
He smiled back when he didn’t find you uncertain, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to find something in the drawer of his nightstand.
If ever this was the one and only time you got to be with him, you needed to feel him. If ever your morals got to you in the morning, if your head went against your heart, you needed to be as close to him as you could.
“Aaron, I’m on the pill. Please… I need to feel you.”
He nodded and positioned himself between your legs again, but something overcame him as you tried to bring his face closer to yours to finally find out how his lips felt against yours. 
He flipped you on your stomach as if you weighed nothing at all, a hand found its way to your stomach, bringing your ass up in the air. 
On all fours, you felt incredibly naked before him. But he stroked your skin lovingly, and somehow, it felt right. It felt magnificent. 
You didn’t feel all that naked anymore. 
He tapped his cock on your ass a few times before he breached you with the head of his cock, making you clench around the width unwillingly. 
You groaned and whimpered the more he sank into you, stretching you out and splitting you in half painfully slowly. 
“So fucking tight–” he grumbled.
A hand settled on your waist, gripping it tightly as you felt him twitch inside you. He would probably leave a mark if he continued to grip your waist this way, but you would admire it for days to come if he did. 
Fortunately, you were still dripping wet so it didn’t take long for the pain to subside and blend with pleasure, a dull throb echoing around your inner walls and making you clench around his dick. 
He was fully sheathed, but he made sure you remained bent over, your face breathing in his scent on the pillows.
It was intoxicating to be surrounded by all of him, but it was also troubling because you would never get enough. 
He slowly pulled out before he drove his cock back in in one go, and it was obvious as you tried to think that you had been rendered dumb and mute by his dick. 
“Mmffhm—”
“You feel so good, sweetheart.”
His hips started snapping abruptly, his rhythm unforgiving as he thrusted in and out of you sharply.
Aaron was surely driven by forces of nature or by sheer animal instinct as he gripped your ass cheeks with his hands, chewing your flesh with his fingers. 
It felt absolutely amazing to be taken. 
It felt empowering to know he was making you his. 
“Go on, tell me this pussy’s mine,” he drawled as his thrusts became sloppy. 
“Yours. All yours,” you affirmed, chanting his name into the pillows as each thrust of his hips made your cheek rub against the sheets. 
His thumb gently tapped on your asshole, letting you know you were at his mercy. 
“All those pretty little holes are mine,” he groaned. “You are mine. Say it.”
“Yes,” you whimpered. “I’m yours.”
He let a hand wander down to your stomach before he reached your clit, palming you enough to make you shiver and thrash relentlessly on the bed.
The only sounds in the room were skin tapping against skin, muffled moans, and low groans.
He worked his fingers on your clit with harsher flicks, rubbing and pinching in succession. 
“You’re clenching so hard around me, sweet thing. You have a vice grip on my dick.”
You could only partially moan incoherent syllables. “Mmffhm—”
“That’s right. I’m fucking you so good that you have to keep quiet or we’ll make the entire neighborhood.” He punctuated his sentences with harsher thrusts. “One day, though, I’m going to make sure to memorize all your pretty sounds while you beg and scream my name.”
Would there be another time? It wasn’t the first time he had suggested it tonight. 
You couldn’t even think straight. 
“I can feel your walls fluttering. Is the coil in your stomach tight?” he whispered breathlessly.
You barely nodded and a few soft slaps landed on your ass cheek, making you miss his fingers on your clit, but the sting of his palm was exquisite, sending an electric shiver down your spine before you felt flutters in your chest. Your stomach burned with need, you overflowed with happiness, and you were so close to losing it for a third time. 
“Oh.”
“You like that, too, huh?” he teased. He said it as if he was making mental notes of everything that turned you on, and knowing him the way you did, he probably was. He was nothing if not observant, and he would surely make sure to know exactly how to get you off if the occasion presented itself again. 
You couldn’t blame him, because regardless of the fact that you couldn’t form a single sentence, you had still taken note of everything that made him moan somewhere. You’d probably even get to revisit those things in your fantasies. 
Aaron was all you could think about and he was all you could feel. He was everything that you wanted, and he would be everything you would ever want. 
He drove his dick into you with longer thrusts, hitting so deep you saw stars as you chanted his name. He was not just grazing your g-spot, he was actually hitting it with precision every time he sank into you, and when his fingers found your clit again, you had to bite into his pillow to refrain from screaming your lungs out as your orgasm rocked you in waves. 
You hadn’t had time to warn him, but it seemed to be a blessing when you felt him still behind you, his deep groans filling the room.
You felt him throb inside you, pulsating with each shot of cum you felt painting your walls. 
He seemed to come for longer than you were used to, shaking violently enough to rattle the bed, but you wouldn’t move because you weren’t sure you could, and you wanted nothing more than to have his seed everywhere inside you.
Aaron suddenly let his entire weight fall down on you, seemingly unable to hold himself up any longer, toppling you over before he pulled you close to him as he rested on his side, watching you on your front as he started to delicately trace your spine with his fingers. 
He smiled at you lazily, like a man who had just fucked you silly. 
He looked proud, but he also looked genuinely happy. 
You smiled back, finding it easy to be lost in this silent moment with him. 
Nothing needed to be said or acknowledged. 
His cum was shoved so deep inside you, his dick had stretched you so good you’d feel it for days, and he was smiling at you with affection in his sparkling eyes. 
You didn’t want to wonder whether it would happen again because you were determined to make sure it would. 
You remained transfixed for a few minutes, waiting for your trembling limbs to stop tingling.
Aaron started drifting off, but he shook himself awake and he grabbed your hand with determination. “Come on, I’ll wash you.”
You tried to follow him to what looked like an ensuite bathroom, but your legs were too wobbly to sustain you.
“My legs–” you explained as you almost fell face first.
His arms held you up effortlessly, and he just looked way too smug to have made your legs surrender.  
“Oh, I’ll take care of you,” he cooed. 
Aaron picked you up bridal style without notice as if it was normal to do so, bringing you to his shower as he started it with one hand.
He made it seem easy to hold you up, and you put your arms around his neck, indulging in the proximity he was providing.
He brought you inside the shower once he seemed satisfied with the water temperature, putting you down worriedly, holding you close as you verified that your legs could hold you up. 
He was so gentle and careful, you wondered if this was the same man who had just fucked you senseless into the mattress, the same man who had told you to tell him you were his. 
The same man who is your best friend’s father.
It came crashing down on you all at once. 
You felt guilty, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret any of it. 
Truth was, you would do it again. 
All of it. 
Am I a horrible friend?
It didn’t matter when Aaron was looking at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever held. 
He kissed your forehead under the spray, letting his lips linger there before he kissed your nose and hovered above your lips. 
You didn’t let him hesitate, knowing he had probably not kissed you until now because this was sacred. This was more. This wasn’t about carnal needs or desires, it was about having a real emotional connection. 
It was about acknowledging this was more than just fucking. 
You grabbed his head and closed the distance, finally finding out that his lips were soft and sweet, and that his breath was warm and soothing. 
You kissed him until he let you graze his tongue, until you sucked on his lower lip, until his knees buckled and you had to hold him up as much as he was holding you up. 
He was out of breath by the time you pulled away, his eyes dark but soft. 
This time, he was the one who couldn’t find the right words.
“Can I wash your hair?” you inquired. 
You knew he liked having your fingers in his hair, and you figured that since you were both wet anyway...
He nodded and kneeled, picking up his bottle of shampoo before handing it to you with a grin. 
His eyes gleamed with anticipation, and he hugged your waist as you patted his head, watching how much younger he looked like this. The lines on his face were nothing if not incredibly attractive, but his whole demeanor as he kneeled innocently before you was simply adorable. He looked carefree, but above all else, he was unguarded. 
Aaron moved back just enough to let you work, his hands on your legs, looking up at you like a golden retriever looked at his favorite human, with pretty and big brown eyes filled with adoration.
You finished washing his hair and you used his body gel to wash yourself clean swiftly, loving that you would smell like him for hours if you wondered whether your mind had played a sick trick on you when you woke up. 
Aaron let his head fall down and for a second, you admired his fleeting vulnerability. You had caught a few glimpses of it tonight, but you knew without a doubt he was having second thoughts because of his son. 
He was a good man. You were a good person. At least, you thought so. 
And you had both just done something very… questionable. 
But questionable shouldn’t feel this good, right?
“He doesn’t hate you, you know,” you whispered softly, hoping to calm the quiet storm which seemed to rage inside him. 
You lifted his chin with your fingers, meeting his tender but apprehensive gaze. He wasn’t hiding and he wasn’t panicking, he was just calling his morality into question. You knew because you were, too. 
He was completely bare before you, in every way possible. “Thank you.”
Aaron didn’t voice that Jack would probably hate him if he found out about this, and you were grateful for that. 
Nothing needed to be said. You had both risked your relationship with Jack tonight.
He didn’t mention that he was concerned that his son already hated him either, but you knew he was worried. To be fair, Jack probably hated the entire world because of his breakup right now, and you didn’t think it had been directed at Aaron in particular. You were both just caught in the crossfire earlier. 
While he and Jack had had their fair share of hurt, their relationship wasn’t rocky. You knew that much. After all, you were around for the last two years and not once did you feel any animosity between them.
You got on your knees, hugging him close under the warm spray. Whatever this was, whatever happened, he deserved comfort. 
You got out of the shower still holding on to one another, wrapping yourselves up into towels before you walked back into his room. 
He offered you a tee shirt before he kissed your crown, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist. “Are you hungry? I could make us something.”
He was so thoughtful, so considerate… 
I am in love with him. 
It wasn’t a scary realization, it wasn’t even unsettling. It was just there. 
“I’m good. Thank you.”
He smiled and put the tee shirt down over your head before he put on a pair of boxers. You wondered what the right course of action was as he got settled in bed, but it became obvious as you watched Aaron opening up his arms to you. You didn’t hesitate and you wrapped yourself around him like a koala, your arms finding their rightful place around his waist.
He kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering there.
“What does this mean?” you finally asked, addressing this pleasant energy between you.
“It means that you should sleep here more often.” 
“Aaron–” It still sounded foreign rolling around in your mouth, after all, you had called him ‘Mr. Hotchner’ for over two years, but it was not unnatural. “What are we–”
“I don’t know. Just stay with me?”
“This can’t ever happen again, right? Jack would never forgive us if he found out.”
“Why? He doesn’t want you for himself–”
Wait. How does he know that?
“Sorry?”
"I know my son isn't attracted to women, sweetheart. I figure, when he's ready, he'll tell me."
Apparently, Aaron was as observing as you gave him credit for. 
But Jack wouldn’t be mad because he was jealous. He would be mad because he brought you here, and you had betrayed his trust.
“It’s not that. He’s my only friend. He’s–”
“Taking you for granted most of the time. He’s everything to you but–” He paused. He clearly knew how much it hurt you to hear it voiced out loud. “You’re a great friend, honey. He’s not. I know my son. I still love him but he’s not perfect– Look, you might have convinced yourself he was the closest thing you had to a brother, but I’m telling you, a friend– a brother– gives back. You bring him back from parties, you make up cue cards for him when he needs to study, you do some of his essays… When was the last time he did something for you?” He paused again, letting you think. “And if he knows exactly who you are like you think he does, he must know what kind of men you like–” he added, tracing your arm with the tips of his fingers, raising goosebumps as he painted your skin with soft touches. “And still, he brought you here…”
“Aaron–”
He kissed your forehead, angling his body so you could curl into his embrace a bit more. His lips were slightly parted as he looked into your eyes, and a faint taint appeared on his cheeks. 
You crinkled your nose in amusement at the sight. 
He was buried inside you minutes ago, and now he was blushing because you had used his first name unprompted. 
He loved hearing his name leave your lips, that much was obvious from his dilated pupils and long lazy blinks. 
“I’ll be good to you, sweetheart. I just need you to let me,” he murmured.
His hand finally sat on your rib cage, and you involuntarily pouted because this was exactly what you wanted, and he was offering it to you on a silver platter without any reservation. 
“I just–”
“Sweetheart, we could find a million reasons not to but I want–” He paused, long enough for you to admire his pursed lips and furrowed brow. He was gorgeous self-assured, as you knew, but he was somehow even more stunning when he was insecure. He tugged on the hem of the shirt he had put on you, bowing his head down before zeroing in on your face. A fond expression ghosted over his features, looking at you through eyelashes that should be illegal on a man. “Look, we’ll figure it out, okay? You live alone, we can sneak around and… I don’t know. We don’t have to decide anything just yet, but I’d like to explore this. I really like you.”
“I– uh– yes. Me too.”
He set an alarm on his phone before he kissed the top of your head, squeezing you tightly into his arms. 
“Sleep, sweet girl. I’ll wake you. Jack sleeps in till noon when he’s hungover anyway.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
You didn’t miss how his breath hitched at the nickname or how his pulse quickened as you yawned against his chest. 
He let out a long breath as his arms engulfed you, lulling you into peaceful safety and unwavering comfort. He played with your hair and massaged your neck, tracing the lines of your face with his fingertips as if he wanted to be able to draw you from memory, effectively rendering you oblivious to the world before you could think about the possible repercussions of what you had just agreed to be for one another.
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headkiss · 7 months
Note
I LOVE the idea of protective Hotch constantly having an eye out for younger bau!agent who’s literally sunshine personified and the complete opposite of him!! Do u think u could write something along the lines of that—maybe him protecting her from something or just their dynamic?
i also love protective hotch!!! tysm for the request i hope u like it baby :D | 1k of fluff, tw for a small burn!
You’d been surprised when you got a job at the BAU. You didn’t have that much faith in yourself at first. Not to say you don’t believe in your skills, but it’s a widely known part of the bureau. A lot of people wanted the job.
And then, there’s Agent Hotchner, unit chief and intimidating though you’re sure he doesn’t mean to be. You were insanely nervous at the beginning.
That was before you started, before the team welcomed you as the new media liaison after Agent Jareau became a profiler. You met Garcia and her collection of fun high heels, Reid and his never ending supply of facts, and you sort of fit right in.
Hotch became much less intimidating. A kind man who cares so deeply for his team that you couldn’t help but like him the way you do. Not to mention the dynamic that built between the two of you.
The small things he does for you that are impossible to ignore. A hand covering the edge of your desk to protect your head when you were searching underneath it for a dropped paper clip, the way he physically places himself between you and danger if he ever gets the chance.
He’s always there, protecting you in ways both big and little, and you enjoy it more than you should.
It’s even brighter on nights like tonight. Drinks and snacks at Penelope’s after a tough case. Nights when you get to call him Aaron instead of Hotch, when he smiles and laughs freely without restraint.
The beep of the oven cuts off yours and Garcia’s conversation, and when she shifts to take care of it, you stop her, “I got it! You’re already hosting, just relax a little.”
“Thank you,” she smiles, squeezing your arm as you walk by.
The smell of food in the oven hits your nose as you walk into the kitchen, humming along to whatever song spills through the speakers.
You pull the oven open, reaching in without thinking and touching the pan with your bare hand. You drop it quickly, metal clanking as it falls back onto the rack in the oven.
“Shit!” You say it loudly, and then, even louder, addressing the team in the next room, “I’m okay!”
They all laugh a little at your reassurance, and then, like they know he wouldn’t let anyone else check on you before him, pretty much every set of eyes in the room lands on Hotch.
He shakes his head and heads to the kitchen, because he would’ve gone either way.
“You okay?” He asks, finding you with an oven mitt on your non-burnt hand, reaching into the oven, and your burnt hand shaking by your side.
“Oh!” You set the pan of nachos on top of the stove and slip off the mitt, turning off the oven and looking at Hotch. “I forgot oven mitts were a thing for a second there. Burnt my hand, I think.”
He’s on you in a second, his hands gently grasping your injured arm, pushing back your sleeve and guiding you over to the sink. His hold is light, never bruising even though you know he has the strength to do so.
It’s the kiss of sunlight on skin.
Aaron turns on the sink, places his fingers under the water to make sure the temperature’s okay before guiding your hand under the stream.
“You still took out the nachos first?” He asks, even when he knows that’s what you’d do, because of course you’re worrying about everyone else before yourself.
“I didn’t want them to burn.”
You’re trying to be brave, though your hand hurts so much there are tears misting your eyes. You’re bouncing on your feet a little to try and deal with the pain.
“How bad does it hurt?” Hotch checks.
Aaron’s felt this sort of protectiveness over you ever since you started. A little younger than him, this ball of light that’s come bursting into his life. You’re always the positive one, even in the darkest situations and he can’t help but want to shield you to keep it that way.
There’s this thing in his chest that tugs and tugs when you’re around, that makes him stand next to you in any room, in front of you in darkness.
“It’s okay,” you say, though your voice cracks a little. “I’m sure you’ve seen much worse, Hotch.”
“Aaron,” he reminds you gently, “and you don’t have to pretend. It’s alright if it hurts, I just wanna help.”
The sink running mingles with the music coming from the next room, the background noise to your moment with him.
“You could bring the nachos out? I told Garcia I would, but we see how that turned out.”
“Okay, I'll bring them out.”
“Don’t forget oven mitts!”
He huffs with a smile, somehow always surprised with how easily you can turn something around. A smile on your face even with tears shining in your eyes and a hand that’s surely stinging.
Aaron carries the tray of nachos and drops them off, then turns to Penelope, “you have a first aid kit?”
“Oh my gosh! Yeah, bathroom cabinet, I can grab it.”
“It’s alright, Garcia. I’ll get it.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing major, I’m taking care of it.”
He grabs the first aid kit and heads back to the kitchen where you’re still holding your hand under the stream of water.
“Okay,” Aaron sets the kit down on the counter, opening it and then turning off the tap. “Let me see, honey.”
The word melts into you, sticky sweet, and you hold your hand towards him, palm up.
He starts by drying your hand with a piece of paper towel, pressing your skin lightly. His other hand is under yours, his palm against the back of your hand a painkiller in itself.
You hiss when he hits a sensitive spot, and he’s quick to apologize, his voice low and quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Almost done.”
“It’s okay, Aaron. It's not your fault I thought I was heat-proof.”
“You’re cute.”
A smile spreads over your face, your head tilted down to stare and his hands around yours. You watch him spread some Polysporin over your burn, his fingertips featherlight over your skin, soft apologies leaving him every time you flinch a little.
By the time he’s done, the first aid kit shut on the counter, you’ve both forgotten about the rest of the team in the next room. Aaron’s happy to bask in your sunshine.
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weehelers · 5 months
Text
IN RUINS 2
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PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader
SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?
IMPORTANT COMMENT!!!!: hi my pumpkin cupcake stinky wonky pookie bears. IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN A FRAUD! 💔💔 jokes but I’m rlly sorry I haven’t been writing for the past months ive been to the hospital multiple times and also had someone close to me pull a ‘I’m dead’ card on me and then I was oh! BUT I think I’m okay I think I’m better and I’ll start posting more I have a lot of ideas but tbh this one was a draft before allat happened so it’s shit but and I wanted to get rid of it cus it js reminded me of everything that happened before 😭 BUT I’m rlly rlly sorry ITS SO LATE
" why is your mom calling you she hasn't called you in 7 months " scott anderson says rubbing his face repeatedly his fingers shaking, his other hand is in a fist digging his nails in the palm of his hand. he walks away from jj who's tied up on the floor with her feet and hands wrapped in rope. the grip on your phone tightens.
" she's calling me because it was my aunts birthday scott." you say looking at scott in the eyes. he stands up biting his nails. " your lying to me." he says walking to you, his eyes dark. you wish his eyes at-least looked like they had nothing behind them, but his eyes definitely have something behind them.
his eyes look determined. they looked commited. and he’s looking at you. your eyes widen. your hands become sweaty. you take a step back. “ i’m not lying to you scott.” you respond back gently shaking your head. you raise your eyebrows softly smiling at him. “ i wouldn’t lie to you scott.” you say the grip on your hand tightening to the point where your hand is shaking.
his gaze softens for a second, his eyes aren't so dark now. his eyebrows soften. " you wouldn't lie to me y/ n?" he whispers gently walking up to you. you nod gulping, " ¡ wouldn't lie to you scotty" you whisper smiling. he smiles. taking another step towards you. you take a deep breath in.
"y-your doing a great job y/n" spencer's shaky voice speaks into the phone. it's the only thing keeping you sane right now. he sounds nervous. you can hear him gulp repeatedly. he's stuttering a lot right now. he's probably blinking a lot. a habit he has when he's nervous. a habit you've absorbed from afar. " your doing a really really great job y/n. i'm so proud of you." no he shouldn't have said that. he should not have said that. he shouldn't have said that. you tear up. why are you tearing up? you can't tear up right now. not right now. please not right now.
your throat feels heavy. your heart feels heavy. a part of you feels funny. your ears feel funny, never having heard those words before. your brain is trying to process the words. it can't process them. it's funny though. no matter how much insane messed up stuff you've heard on the job none of it really ever seemed to take a toll on you. but hearing those 5 words. it's taking a toll on you. and it's not the right time. why are they so triggering. what are they triggering? the inner child inside of you who never got to hear those words? the teen inside of you who never got to hear those words? or is it adult you who still hadn't heard those words up until now? it's too much. why are you tearing up?
“ why are you crying.” scott says. something in his eyes has changed. oh god. his eyes darken. his eyebrows tighten. he’s shaking his head smiling. “ what is your mom saying? why is she making you cry? do you want me to kill her?” he says with pleading eyes smiling. he’s taking a step towards you. “ or are you not talking to your mom right now…” he mumbles. your eyes widen. you shake your head. “ or…your not calling your mom you bitch!” he shouts taking another step towards you. you don’t have time to react. he grabs you by the neck slamming you against the wall. his hand tightens around your neck.
you choke on your words. the tears that gathered up finally start to fall. your free hand wraps around scott's arm thats choking you. you repeatedly hit his arm. " please stop." you plead shaking your head. his grip tightens on your neck. " your a liar. your just like him." he spits his gaze darkening. he grabs your phone throwing it across the room. it knocks over a glass vase.
"¡'m not like him." you choke out shaking your head. " shut up! yes you are!" he shouts in your voice, spit getting on your face.
" let her go!" ji shouts from the floor. her voice cracks mid sentence. probably due to fear. watching you struggle is affecting her. just watching you struggle makes her feel as though she is the one struggling.
scott turns his head around. " what did you just say?" he says slowly releasing you. you take a deep breath in. you look at scott. another wave of fear hits you. what's he gonna say to jj? what's he gonna do to jj? she shouldn't have said anything. she should've kept quiet. he can't hurt her. you have to do something.
" i said let her go. you can't hurt her. she's what you want right? you can't hurt her. why would you hurt someone you love?" jj says her eyes darting between you and scott. to scott she looks desperate, to you. you know what jj's trying to say with her eyes.' we will be fine. seeing ji look at you like that. a rush of adrenaline hit you. you have got to do something. why are your hands so weak. why do you feel as though you don't have control of your body. why do you feel as though you can't control anything. damn it.
" you show love by hurting the ones you love." he whispers. you slowly reach for the gun in your pocket, trying not to alert him. and god is it hard " y/ n would know." he says chuckling. your so close to the gun. " isn't that right y/n?" he turns around to look at you. he sees your hand. he sees the hand thats reaching for the gun. he grabs your gun. your hand immediately forms into a fist, you punch him in the jaw. he falls back. holding his jaw. " you bitch!" he shouts.
you run to jj. you drop down to your knees. your shaky hands immediately start to undo the knots of the rope. "jj you need to get out." you say out of breathe. your trembling hands making it harder to undo the rope quickly. " no- what. y/n dont. i'm not leaving without you. the team is coming t-they're on their way y/n. ji says shaking her head in denial. her hands are untied. " god jj! i always follow your orders! just follow mine! just this once." you snap back moving onto her legs. you untie her. " get out of here now jj! he wont hurt me jj. hes obsessed with me he wont. trust me." you say nodding.
jj hasn't been a profiler for a long time. anyone else on the team would've called you out for your bullshit right now. if he wanted to hurt you. he definitely would. he would do anything to get you to be obedient. he could probably kill you if he wanted to. but jj doesn't know that. she thinks he's just a stalker who's obsessed with you and probably wouldn't seriously harm you. but you know unsubs like him all too well.
ji stands up running to the door. she opens the door. she turns to look at you again. you look at her and smile. " just go." you mouth. she quickly nods running out and closing the door. a wave of relief washes over you. jj is fine. jj is okay. jj is safe. he can't hurt jj anymore.
your not fine. your not okay. your not safe. he can keep hurting you. you turn around. he's standing right behind you. he's looking down at you. he's standing tall. his eyes are on you. his expression is dark. his eyes are empty. not a single thought behind his eyes. you were wrong. his eyes without a single thought behind them is scarier. because now you know, there's nothing really stopping him. there's no determination. there's no commitment. there's absolutely nothing behind those eyes. those eyes that are just about to do you harm.
“ me looking down on you…does this remind you of anything?” he says tilting his head to the side smiling. you shake your head. but oh boy do you know exactly what he’s talking about. your dad. “ oh right sorry. let me do something that will surely make you remember.” he says chuckling. he crouches down. he punches you right in the eye, your left eye. the one with the healed over stitches. you stiffen at his touch. not just because your scared of him. yeah of course your scared of him. but also because you’ve never had someone touch you in such an intimate place. you’ve never had someone grab your cheek and gently caress your scars.
he starts laughing. " oh my god let me see that" he gently grabs your cheek. tilting your head up towards him. he runs his finger on the scar. " he did that didnt he?" he whispers gently rubbing the scar. " he gave you this scar didnt he? i read it.. in one of your hospital records. he gave you this 2 weeks before he left right?" he whispers gently caressing the scar. your shaky hands reaches for his cheek.
he stiffens at your touch. he's just like you. " he gave this to you..right?" you whisper, gently caressing the cut on his lips. scott nods. " you and me.we are the same y/n. we both grew up in the same households. we both put up the same abuse. we..we are meant for each other y/n. your meant for me. and i'm meant for you." he whispers caressing your cheek gently. you nod.
" yeah.yeah we belong together." you mumble nodding gently.
i thought so too..until i saw a picture of you and your co worker spencer reid together." he whispers softly still smiling. your eyes widen. " w-what." you mumble. he chuckles, " yeah.i saw a picture of you two together. it was when you and your team were working that case in chicago." he whispers tightening his grip on your cheek. you shake your head.
" s-spencer? spencer reid? he-he means absolutely nothing to me." you say gently reaching for his hand. " don't lie to me." he whispers tearing up. " i'm not lying to you scott." you whisper rubbing your thumb gently against his arm. " your lying to
me. all you do is lie. your just like him." he whispers tears rolling down his cheeks. " i'm not like him scott." you whisper shaking your head, trying to calm him.
" your just like him.you lying bitch." he shakes his head standing up, forcefully pulling you up with him. his fingers dig deeply into your cheeks, surely 100% going to leave a mark. but who cares at this point.
" scott just listen to me-' he cuts your desperate cries with a punch to the mouth. you fall down to the floor, on purpose however. you want him to think your weak. your worn out. he can easily control you. he can easily throw you around like a rag doll. so he can feel some sense of confidence and have a sense of control. something he probably never experienced.
"i'm not listening to you. now you listen to me. you... you listen to me y/n. we are both the same person. we deserve absolutely nothing. we deserve everything our fathers did to us-"
" you know that's not true scott." someone speaks up from behind scott. their voice is strong and stern. it brings you comfort. never would you have thought, laying on the floor with blood dripping down your chin that the sound of someone's voice would bring you comfort. your heart feels warm. you can feel the familiarity of having control over your body come back. you smile. how could you be smiling at a time like this? your smiling. really hard while looking down at the floor. you refused to look up at scott. you refuse to do so.
because deep down you know you would be staring at the version of yourself that's buried deep inside you. that part inside you that keeps you wondering everyday, if you didn't take the path you took would you be like that. would you have done the same thing he had done? what makes him so different from you. just because you carry an id that gives you power over any normal civilian and a gun that's supposed to protect you and others. that doesn't make you any different though. because even though you have those things, you still think like scott. what if you truly don't deserve anyone in this world that would treat you with respect? what if you truly deserve someone as messed up as fucked up ad you are? because then they wouldn't understand right? they wouldn't understand how your mind works. but..like scott said. you probably deserve someone like scott, someone so sick and twisted-
why are you like this. why are you taking his words to heart. are you really that desperate and pathetic that you start taking an unsubs words to heart just because he shared an intimate moment with you. why? is it because you never in your life had experienced something like that and now you yearn for it? you start to believe every word he's said. your so naive. and your so vain. how can you be so gullible. why are you the way that you are. none of what scott said is true. none of it, absolutely none of it.
your too preoccupied with your brain breaking you down too notice two people coming over to you. your zoning out. your thinking hard. really hard. something like this requires a lot of thinking. but it shouldn't though. your supposed to just shrug off his words. not pay any mind to them. he's a mentally ill unsub who's murdered 5 women. nothing he says should make you reason with his thinking. there's nothing to reason with. he's insane. your not insane. your not insane. your just a girl who's seen some insane things.
" hey. your okay. i got you." morgan says gently grabbing you by the arms. "i got you y/n." he whispers picking you up gently. you stand up looking at the wall infront of you still zoned out. " hey y/n." emily pats your shoulder gently tilting her head to the side looking at you with such pain. you shake your head and look at both of them. " hi emily." you respond looking at emily blinking repeatedly. " hey you." she says smiling. " we've gotta get you to the ambulance come on y/n." morgan says wrapping his arms around you, pushing you into him.
" j-i don't need medical care morgan." you say trying to push your heavy head away but finding it way too hard. he feels too comfortable. too comforting. he feels too nice. his cologne smells masculine. really masculine. why is it comforting? why does it bring you comfort? you close your tired eyes for a second. " hey hey don't close your eyes on me I/n." morgan says tilting his head around to take a look at you, you shake your head softly. " i'm not dying morgan." you groan.
emily chuckles. " morgan's probably enjoying this." emily says wrapping up arm around her shoulder helping you walk, " cant have derek enjoying himself too much we all know how cocky he'll get and how high his ego will sky rocket." emily adds on looking at you smiling. her words make you chuckle. a painful chuckle. when your lips curve to let out a laugh a wave of pain washes over your face. "ow ow." you chuckle closing your eyes. morgan shakes his head,
"yeah you wish you can have a bit of this ego." morgan replies.
rossi opens the house door. his eyes immediately look to you. " it's alright i've got her." he says running to you. " derek go take care of reid he's in the ambulance." rossi says putting his gun away. morgan slowly and gently lets you go. rossi quickly replaces morgan. your head immediately shoots up. that hurt. you didn't even know you could do that. why did your head shoot up so quickly? just a second ago you were leaning into morgan for support because you couldn't bare to hold your head up and now suddenly you have all the energy in the world to shoot your head up.
"w-wait whys reid in the ambulance?" you ask your eyes wide, your pretty sure your eyes are half closed though. you can't bare to hold them open. you can already feel your left eye bruising. you can taste blood in your mouth. and you know there's blood dripping down from your eyebrows, from the healed over stitch. rossi and emily push you forward helping you walk. why aren't they answering you? what happened to reid? whys he in an ambulance? is he injured? what's wrong with spencer? what happened to spence? " i think that's a question he should answer." rossi says. what does that mean?
your quickly brought out of the house, thank god. you feel like if you spent another second in there you would go ballistic and break down crying. your heads down, your too tired. you see a pair of shoes infront of you. who's shoes are those? who is that? and why did they stop right infront of you? it's not spencer. spence would never wear those shoes. he was wearing converse earlier. dark blue converse. why do you remember all of this? don't you have some sort of concussion? how do you remember what pair of shoes spencer wore? god...
you feel emily and rossi's grip weaken around you. the unfamiliar person infront of you reaches forward and takes you. they lead you away from rossi and emily. your too tired to even care. they lean you against them. " where's...what's wrong with dr spencer reid?" you mumble stumbling in their hood barely having the energy to hold yourself up. " it's alright i°ve got you. here." they sit you down on something. there's bright red lights flashing around you. an ambulance.
" ma'am i'm gonna get an IV bag started is that alright with you?" the medic asks opening a cabinet. you nod your head hazily. you lean your head against the walls of the ambulance. he takes your arm rolling your sleeve up. you feel the soft pinch. your thankful for it though. it's stopping you from dissociating and falling asleep. you don't wanna fall asleep until someone tells you why spencer is in an ambulance. why do you care for him? why do you care for him after everything's he said- oh right. after what he's said. why do you care for him after he just publicly embarrassed you? that's so stupid. why are you so pathetic and desperate. did he publicly embarrass you? half of the team probably already knew. it's not that hard to figure out. it’s probably why you are the way that you are. they’re profilers. of course they would figure that out. what he said was true. they all probably agree. oh god..
" let me go! let me go! i don't need medical attention she needs it more than me! let me see her!" you hear a voice shout from the distance, you recognise it. your heartbeat quickens. not like earlier though. not in the way your heartbeat quickened earlier. that was in fear. no. this. this is in relief. your stomach starts to stir. in nervousness. your still leaning your head against the wall, but your looking down. your hair covering your face. you stop hearing his voice.
" ma'am i need you to lift your head up." the medic says gently placing a tray next to you, a tray your guessing is full of medical supplies and alcohol. you softly nod your head sitting up. the medic grabs one of the medical instrument opening the wrapping. he moves to the side to quickly put on gloves.
“ oh my god y/n..” you hear him say your name, in so so much pain. he sounds so upset. is he in pain? why does he sound so upset. what happened to him. is he okay. you look up. you see him. you look into his eyes. and suddenly all the words he’s said earlier rush buck into your clouded messy mind. but they don’t hurt as much. your so used to men blurting out hurtful words to you and you having to get over them, what else do you do? ask them to apologise? expect them to apologise?
no. they don’t do that. they’ve never done that. best thing to do is just get over it, because you probably deserve it right? that’s what you were taught.
he looks tired. his eye bags look darker than what they usually would look like. his hair is messier then usual. the two buttons on his dark blue vest are unbuttoned. he’s wearing his fbi vest. his dark blue pants have wet stains on the side of them. your guessing because he would repeatedly wipe his sweaty hands on them. a habit he has when he’s nervous.
he looks into your eyes. he sees the bruise that's already forming in your eye. the trail of blood rolling down your eyebrow from what he can see, that scar you have. you have blood rolling down the side of your face. your neck is red. an imprint of a hand already appearing. his heart hurts. it hurts so much. seeing you like this. but how dare he right?
how dare he feel pain in his heart? the pain your feeling physically and mentally is probably 10x worse than what he’s feeling. he wishes he was feeling it though, he wishes that right in this second all your pain would be transferred to him. add it on to his pain. he feels so guilty. you don’t deserve this. this is his fault. this is his fault. this is all his fault. your never gonna look him in the eye again. whenever you do your gonna remember this day. and how much pain he put you through. he hates it. he hates it so much. he hates himself so much.
"y-y/n." he's out of breath. he doesn't know where to start. he didn't have time to think of an apology, spending the entire car ride panicking nervous about you and wether you were safe or not. but now he can't think of anything.
he can't think of anything when looking into your eyes, the only thing he's thinking of is how badly he wishes he can go back in time and prevent all of this from happening. or make all of this happen but only put himself in your shoes. make him go through all this pain instead of you. You don't deserve this. you don't deserve him. you don't deserve his stupid apology that's about to come, that is if he can even muster up an apology right now. you deserve so much better than him.
"y/n i'm so sorry." spencer starts shaking his head his eyes wide. he can't think of anything. his iq of 187 has suddenly dropped down to 20. spencer who seemed to never stop his rambling suddenly can't think of a single thing to ramble on. you just made him stupid. and not in the way it's supposed to be. you make him stupid when you smile at him. not like this. he can't think of anything. he doesn't know where to start. he shakes his head.
" god can't you do your job!" spencer snaps grabbing a medical wipe and pouring saline solution on it. he stands infront of you. his angry demeanour quickly vanishes once his infront of you. something just hit him. he freezes infront of you. it's like all the color, the little color he already had in his face has drained.
you look at him in confusion. all though your upset at him it doesn't stop you from caring and growing concerned. " w-what?" you say blinking repeatedly looking at him. hes still looking at you. his lips part. he blinks repeatedly. he shakes his head.
"i-i'm just..i got scared." he stutters his voice cracking. " why?" you ask tilting your head to the side. " i'm scared your gonna flinch once i touch you." he replies quickly. really quickly. any normal person wouldn't catch it. but you did. vou've learnt to keep up with spencer's quick rambling. oh. oh. whys he so considerate? y/n stop. you can think that. you look down at your thighs. unable to think of anything to say. if he did touch you. would you have flinched? would you have reacted? you don't know. but spencer's not him. right?
" i'm not gonna flinch spencer." you say looking up at him. he nods his head gulping, "a-alright." he says. he lifts his shaky hand up. he gently dabs the medical wipe on your cut. disinfecting it. ouch it burns. your nails dig into the palm of your hand. his eyes are stuck on the cut. the scar. he knows where it's from. he might've been with garcia when she did her usual background snooping on new members of the team 2 years ago. he remembers how guilty he felt after it. finding out about such a dark part of your life without your knowledge or permission.
but that guilt doesn't compare to the guilt he's feeling right now. he feels tremendously guilty, he caused the scar to re open. all because of his foolishness. if he just shut his mouth earlier and wasn't such a smart ass. if he maybe was the one to go with you to scott anderson's house and not jj he would've been able to protect you. he probably would've shot scott anderson the second he would've laid his hands on vou.
he doesn't trust himself aorund vou. atleast not from the harm of unsubs and has the need to shoot any of them if they ever did you harm. he would probably lose his job. if he was there he probably would've lost his job. but he doesn't care. for your safety. he doesn't care.
" i'm so sorry y/n-" you can feel the medical wipe shake on your eyebrow, from spencer's shaky hands.
" it's fine spencer." you mumble looking into his eyes. is it fine though? is it really fine? whys he apologising? he's not supposed to be apologising right? this is new. this is so very new. they never apologise after hurting you. this is so unfamiliar? how are you supposed to react? do you tell them how you really feel? do you immediately accept their apology? they never apologised to you when they hurt you. whys spencers apologising? what do you say?
" it's not fine y/n. i-i hurt you. i c-caused this." he says spitting his words out in a shaky manner. what do you say or do? you've never made it this far whenever something similar to this happened in the past.
" spencer it's fine. i shouldn't have egged you on earlier anyways-" why are you taking the blame. y/ n stop. it's not your fault. it never is your fault when something like this happens. y/n please. it's not your fault. stop taking the blame. his heart aches even more. his throat feels heavy. who hurt you like this? who broke your heart like this? who messed up your image of love like this? who hurt you this bad. he hates them. he hates them for making you like this.
" y/n i know you have the personal need to justify everything i've said but y/n stop, just stop. i hurt you okay. and even though saying that out loud and accepting the fact that i said that it thr worst thing i've ever done in my entire life it's nothing compared to what you felt when i said that. i don't wanna be like him y/n. i don't wanna be him. i don't want you to think i can be him. i don't want you to see him everytime you see me y/n. because that would kill me even more. y-you don't have to talk to me anymore y/n i just don't want you to flinch or have this horrible feeling of rememberence whenever you see me. please just.. just don't take the blame for this because it's my fault. this entire thing was my fault and i put you through this y/n. you don't deserve this. i'm really sorry.”
spencer rambles. trying to push the heavy feeling in his throat away. he can't cry. he doesn't deserve to cry right now. he's nervous though. he's nervous about what your gonna say. he doesn’t have the right to feel nervous though. he should accept whatever it is. he did this to himself. whatever the outcome is. he just hopes you don’t have a sense of fear wash over you whenever you look at him and get memories of this day. that is if you ever look at him after this day.
no one's ever said that to you. you feel your tired eyes tear up. your about to cry. oh no. spencer panics. does he comfort you? do you even want his comfort? he doesn't deserve to touch you, he thinks. he drops the medical wipe.
" n-no please don't cry. ill go call
over emily or jj or morgan or hotch just p-please dont cry. i'll go-" it physically aches him to leave you like this. but he has to. he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable. he just made you cry. you must really hate him. he understands though. he just wishes you understand how sorry he is. but you probably will never know. because you probably don't expect him to feel sorry, you probably think he's faking it. he just needs you to understand that he's not him. he's not your dad. spencer actually feels sorry. he feels so so sorry for everything he's done and said. but you had to put up with years of your dad taking apologises you probably don't believe his. he hates himself.
you stand up. you barely have room to think clearly before a tear rolls down your cheek. spencer immediately removes his fbi vest, you bury your head against spencer's chest. you wrap your hands against his chest. he doesn't wrap his hands around you though. he's scared to touch you. your not sobbing. your too tired to sob. you just let tears slowly roll down your cheeks. " your not him spencer." you say out loud. spencer's heart skips a beat. he slowly wraps his hands around you. " i'm still mad at you. you shouldn't have said that earlier. b-but i forgive you spence." you mumble against his chest. he shakes his head, " you shouldn't forgive me y/n. your supposed to be mad at me. your supposed to be yelling at me. or-or hitting me." he says.
" i am mad at you spencer." you say pulling your head away wiping the tears.
"alright. good." he says
looking down at you. " oh god- im sorry that was stupid i shouldn't have hugged you-" you immediately start apologising shaking your head. you immediately sit back down. oh god your so stupid. why did you just hug him? your so embarrasing oh god. did you feel the need to hug spencer because you just needed to make sure that spencer wasn't him.
not that you would know what your dads embrace would feel like. but you just needed to make sure.
" no please don't apologise. d-do you mind if i sit next to you?" spencer asks pointing at the space next to you. you look at him and slowly nod your heart. he sits next to you. " once ive healed i'm yelling at you spencer." you say looking down at your legs, your tired eyes aching. " alright." spencer says nodding. you should yell at him. and you will. he had no right. but your too tired right now. you just hope. you really really hope that spencer doesn't spiral once your back in quantico and probably will forcefully be taken into the hospital by emily and jj. you really hope he doesn't drown himself in guilt and spiral. why are you so caring? does spencer care about you the way you care about him? that's foolish right? he wouldn't right? does he feel his heart quicken when he sees you? does he care the way you care? that's stupid god y/n you probably have a concussion just shut up.
yeah how stupid y/n. because if you knew the way spencer cared about you or the way his heart quickens when he sees you. you wouldn't believe it. it will take time though. it will take time for you to believe it. he's willing to work hard during that time. he just hopes you know even the slightest bit. but he wont say anything right now. you've already been through enough. he wont say anything for a while. though when the time is right. maybe you'll finally know how much he cares about you. for now, he'll settle for this just for now. until he can gain your trust back and make his feelings known. he'll settle for this. because just being next to you makes him happy.
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luveline · 8 months
Text
𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k
cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 
"Who is this?" 
Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 
"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 
"There's someone in my apartment." 
"You're sure?" 
You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 
"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."
It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 
The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 
You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 
You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 
The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 
You hang up the phone. 
"I know you're here." 
Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 
You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.
"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.
You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 
They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me
Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 
Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 
That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 
You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 
In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 
What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 
You could be dead in the next two minutes. 
thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 
If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything
After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 
Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 
"Found you." 
You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 
He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 
You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 
He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 
You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 
"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 
You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 
"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."
"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 
You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 
"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 
You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.
You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 
"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 
You won't negotiate. You don't answer.
Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 
"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 
"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 
"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 
"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 
"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 
You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.
"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 
You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 
Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 
"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 
"Aw. To begin with, sure." 
You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 
"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.
"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 
"We both know you don't like nice." 
"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 
The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 
There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.
You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 
"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 
"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 
You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 
Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 
"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 
You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 
Hotch moves in. 
"Drop the weapon." 
Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 
You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 
"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 
You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 
"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 
"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.
"You were talking him down." 
"No, I was surrendering." 
"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 
"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.
"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 
You hang your head. 
— 
Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.
He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.
"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 
The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 
"That doesn't need a cast?" 
Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 
You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.
JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 
What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 
You'll be gentle? 
No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?
He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 
Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 
"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 
"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 
"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 
You don't answer. 
"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 
"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 
"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 
"Don't think so." 
"It's shock," says the paramedic. 
"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 
"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 
"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?" 
You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.
"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 
"Her boss." 
"Not her partner?" 
"He's my closest friend," you say. 
He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 
"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 
You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  
He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 
"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.
Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 
"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 
"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 
"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 
"No. No, I want you to." 
It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.
He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 
You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.
"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 
"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 
"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 
"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 
"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 
He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.
"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 
"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 
You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 
"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 
"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 
You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 
"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 
"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 
Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 
"I knew you'd come," you finish.
He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 
That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 
You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 
Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 
He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o
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