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#hotch x you
ssa-steverogers · 18 hours ago
𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨
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pairing ╏ aaron hotchner x female!reader
word count ╏ 2.4k
summary ╏ a couple years have passed, and aaron and reader begin to question their status
warnings ╏ none (?) please tell me if i missed anything x
note ╏ guys. i haven't written fanfics for like three years!1!!1!1! so i apologize in advance for any mistakes and grammar errors! i do hope you enjoy though! and also for the sake of the fic, jack and haley don't exist sorry guys lol and the ending is kind of bonk bonk but leave a like, comment, or reblog if you want! <3
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I couldn’t pick up the phone. I sat back on the chair in the apartment we bought a couple years ago. But it tasted bittersweet just thinking about it; something I was supposed to cherish but couldn’t. The two plates of food on the table were now dull. What was once smoking and bled with heat was now encrusted in a dry film; unappetizing.
The phone continued to ring. Once. Twice. A pause. Once. Twice. Three times. But after the eleventh call, I figured he stopped. Aaron had forgotten his key that morning. It's almost humorous how he could tell the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath in his sleep but forgot the simplest things like our house key. And our fifth anniversary.
Earlier today, I had asked Aaron to go home early. But even after five years of marriage, eight of living together, and ten of dating, he couldn’t seem to care less of my whereabouts lately. Distracted, distant, and rigid.
“Hotch,” I swung into his dimly lit office earlier that day, “I'm going to be headed home early tonight. I-“
“Alright, see you at home,” Aaron continued writing his paperwork and took half a second to glance up at me. It’s unclear if he meant to cut me off or not but it didn’t matter because it would’ve hurt either way. Distant, I thought. A quick look at his office and nothing would’ve seemed different but I thought I saw more clutter than usual.
“Okay, well... I’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late!” I tried to look past it, for now. I blew a kiss his way and he looked up to smile at me briefly. The smile reached his eyes but I couldn't tell if it was genuine. His pen didn’t stop writing. Distracted, I thought. “Bye, I love you,” I breathed out and quickly shut the door, walking out to gather my stuff. I didn’t wait for his reply; unsure if he even had one. I wondered what he’d say. And if it’d hurt more than what his words didn’t say.
Looking at my watch on the way to my desk, it was half past four and it was clear to say that no one was done with paperwork yet.
“Where are you going?” Spencer questions, catching Emily’s attention. She looks up from her pile of work as well.
“Well, things to do and places to be,” I smiled at the two, putting my tablet into my bag. I grabbed my gun from my drawer and put it to my holster. Emily smiled knowingly. She knew it was me and Aaron’s fifth anniversary. Emily even helped pick out the perfect outfit for tonight’s homemade dinner. She also knew about Aaron’s behavior lately. We both thought of it and we discussed every scenario except the worst one yet. He wouldn’t do that to me, I would think to myself, not after what Haley did to him. It was the unspoken what if that I wasn't ready to swallow yet.
Emily and Spencer waved me goodbye and she wished me good luck, along with a smile that was poisoned in pity. I was almost entirely sure it wasn’t on purpose but I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. I walked out the door, into the elevator, and it felt so repetitive. The same elevator every day, the same building every day, living the same life every single day. I’d casually mention to Aaron how the repetition felt like a lot sometimes over paperwork in our office at home and he’d hum quietly. Maybe in agreement. We both loved our job. The same thing every time; but we were saving lives. Maybe it was the effect of his changed behavior. Maybe he felt it because he thought my behavior changed as well.
The same thing every time; coming home separately, even though we used to come back together. We were drifting and although it wasn’t the first time, we always resolved it. Things happen and we’d come out stronger and I had never had a doubt. Sometimes the job was hard and I was there for him, and he was there for me but it was different this time. He'd come home late and I'd be asleep by the time he got back. Then, I started to do paperwork at the local coffee shop and he’d be sitting in our office, waiting for me to get back.
No words would be exchanged once we were together for the night. Maybe a ‘hey’ or ‘how was your day?’ and then a simple ‘good.’ We’d both change our clothes and get into the bed. We were getting further and further away every night in bed. Too exhausted to think of words for this odd place we were in. Sometimes he'd hug me and take a deep breath and I'd release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Something was just not working this time. Trust your gut, Aaron used to say to me when I first joined the BAU. My gut told me that this couldn’t keep on going at the rate this seemed to be deteriorating.
All these moments led to right now. The phone rings beside me as Aaron waits outside in the drizzling rain at eight o’clock, without the key that he forgot this morning. I unlocked my phone to read the messages exchanged earlier tonight.
today 7:40
y/n: hey aaron are you still at the office?
love: Yes, is there something going on?
y/n: aaron
love: Yes?
y/n: oh you forgot, didn’t you?
love: Forgot?
y/n: aaron, it’s our anniversary?
read 7:46
I purse my lips and wonder if he still loves me. Of course, he does, my mind wanders, would he have been with you for ten years if he didn’t? I chuckle sadly. The food on the table now cold, the outfit Emily and I chose doesn’t seem so perfect anymore. The candles on the tables nearly half melted. The dining room looked eerie now, sitting by myself on a Thursday night with two uneaten plates of food with candles nearly burnt out.
That’s when I hear him knocking on the door gently.
“Y/N? Please let me in. I didn't forget, I just,” Aaron’s sigh is muffled by the door but I hear it clear as day when I get out of my seat and walk up to the door. I think he hears me walking to the front and continues. “I was distracted. Something isn’t right between us right now and we should talk about it. I’m sorry, Y/N, please let me in so we can talk.” I sigh in defeat and unlock the door, slowly. The door opens and his hair is flat from the rain, briefcase tucked under his arm with his phone in the other hand. But his posture isn’t as upright as it usually is – he probably knows he fucked up. I wonder if he’s been profiling me from my texts, or my current body language even though we promised we wouldn’t do that to each other.
He walks through the threshold of this house but his eyes don’t waver from mine as he sets his stuff down and puts his gun away in the drawer. A glimmer of his keys reflects the light in the drawer. It’s almost funny, how he remembers his gun but not his keys even though they were in the exact same place. It makes me wonder about the integrity of our situation and if he had left the keys on purpose.
I walk to the dining table with the food I made and turn away from Aaron. I’m not sure about what to say. I've obviously been avoiding this conversation for quite some time and even after all this procrastination; I still don’t even know what to say. I hear Aaron's footsteps from behind me and I wait to see if he has anything to say. After I'm sure that he doesn’t, I begin.
“Aaron,” I turn around to face him. I smile grimly, feeling tears prickle at the back of my eyes and it hurts to swallow, “What the hell happened to us?” Aaron stands there, arms crossed and a hand on his chin. Crossing arms suggests closing yourself off and is a gesture of defensiveness. “What happened to our Thursday night dates? Aaron- I don’t- I mean,” I struggle to complete a sentence when millions of thoughts are racing through my head, “I know you’re not happy. Sure, maybe everyone thinks that you don’t show a lot of emotion but I know you and you have a tell for specific things. When was the last time we really talked about how we felt about us? C’mon, Aaron, who are we bullshitting? We weren’t communicating and you know that it’s one of the most important parts of a healthy relationship.”
“Why are you using past tense?” Aaron asks and he’s doing the face he only gives to people he thinks are suspicious.
“What are you talking about? And why are you giving me that face?” I pause and Aaron tries to cut in but I get to it first. I make a face and pull my eyebrows together. “Are you profiling me right now?”
Aaron looks taken aback at my comment. “Are you?” Oh. When I don’t say anything he continues, “You’re using past tense when you mention our… marriage and relationship. If you have anything you want to say you should say it now. There really isn’t a better time,” His voice grows cold on me, the same way he does to unsubs we interrogate. I don’t think the ice in his tone is intentional but he probably can’t help it. He’s right though, should I confirm my suspicions? I don’t want to hear his answer to my question in fear that it might be the wrong one. But he is right, this conversation is long overdue.
“Are you cheating on me?” I breathe out at once. “Are you?” The tears are getting harder and harder to hold back and time seems to move slower by the second.
“Y/N, what? No, I'm not! Why would you think that? I could never do that to you. You know about Haley and how she cheated! And you think I'd do that to you?”
“You were just distant lately and-“
“Distant?” He pauses, I know he wouldn’t interrupt me if not necessary so I let him go on, “Y/N, so are you. I didn't think you were cheating. I thought you needed time and that I needed mine. I had thought about what you had said a couple weeks ago about how repetitive life felt.” I nodded at his words. “You’re not the only one who thinks that.” A pang of guilt radiates in my chest, because I think we both know how this was going to end.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay.” I walk a little closer to him and cradle his face in my hands. He rubs circles on my wrists, caressing me and I do the same to his face. Tears are spilling from my eyes, down my cheeks, “Aaron Hotchner, I love you more than anything in this whole entire fucking world. I know you love me and that I love you but you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life and we both know what’s coming. It’s been unspoken for too long, I know that. But whatever happens, you have to know that I love you. We had our good days,” I look around to see picture frames on the walls of our relationship in earlier stages. Smiling, dancing, laughing. I remember each and every one of the pictures and thinking that this would be the man I would love for the rest of my days. “And we had bad days. There will never come a day that I forget all the wonderful things that we had. I’m using past tense now because I think-“
“I think you’re right,” Aaron quietly cuts me off. “We’re not the people we used to be. We’ve changed but we can’t grow like this. I love you too, more than words will ever be able to encompass but maybe we’re feeling stuck, not bored or repetitive.” I want to say something for the hell of being a couple for probably the last moments but I don’t want to stray far from the truth. Aaron’s eyebrows turn downwards a bit and his eyes are glimmering with tears. He envelopes my body in his and leaves a quiet kiss on my hairline.
I take a deep breath of air, trying to savor this moment for the rest of my life. My face is wet from tears and they won’t stop falling. I hiccup from the crying in his grasp so he plays with my hair fondly and almost inaudibly hums to me.
“Will we be okay? I mean,” A hiccup, or three. “I don’t want either of us to leave the BAU because of this but also will we be okay? In terms of feelings and… well, more feelings.”
“Of course,” Aaron begins. “I don’t love you any less but we both agree that things will be better this way. We just... go back to how it used to be before you asked me to a drink for the first time,” I can feel his small grin as he leans against my head. Being reminded of that day hurts now, but it has for a while anyway. I wonder if I hadn’t asked him to that drink one night after a local case, if we’d be where we are now. But I know everything here was nothing less than fate itself and that I probably shouldn’t dwell on what if’s.
And so after some moments of silence for something that would soon be gone, we stand underneath the dim lights of the dining room. Aaron holds me against his chest as we look at the candles on the table. They’re both burnt out. There’s no light there anymore. The candle has melted onto the chamberstick, leaving long trails of wax.
I hold him a little tighter and he does the same to me. I don’t know what the future holds but our two halves have drifted too far to come back together and that’s okay. I know things will be weird for a while but it’ll be okay.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper under my breath. For the sake of us, we'd leave it here. Once upon a time, we were younger and more naive, better for each other then. But we're older now but we're stuck. Just two ghosts standing in the place of him and me.
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uncpanda · a day ago
Hug #34 with Aaron 👀🍑😘
This one made me laugh, I don’t know why. But despite being so stoic, I can totally see Hotch doing this. 
Warnings: A little suggestive but nothing explicit, making out. 
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader 
Prompt 34: hugging while grabbing butt
FBI functions aren’t your favorite thing in the world, but you go because you love and support your husband. And Aaron is always thankful for your hand in his, and the way you have a knack for running interference, or stealing him away from politicians.  
The one thing you do like about the functions are the drinks. It’s as though the bureau knows they only way they’re going to get people through the door is with quality booze. You typically indulge in two glasses of wine, but tonight you go for three. The speech of the night was over forty minutes long and a monotone voice. It’s enough to drive Aaron to order a second scotch. 
So you suppose it’s entirely predictable that you end up in your current situation; making out in Aaron’s office like a couple of teenagers. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, and his arms are tight around your waist, while his mouth lavishes that one spot on your neck.
You giggle a little and say, “This is how you became a dad for the third time.” 
You feel him grin against your skin, and his hands trail down your sides before they settle on your butt. You laugh when he squeezes once and asks, “Want to go for number four?”  
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uncpanda · a day ago
35 “cuddle pile” with Hotch and Jack and maybe a few other little munchkins Hotch and reader added to their family? 😊
Ummmmm little Hotchners? Sign me up!!!!! 
Prompt 35: Cuddle pile! 
Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader 
You’re completely immobilized. Your youngest child, who is two years old, is sprawled across your chest. Your second youngest has his head laid on your chest right next to the baby’s. Jack’s head is cushioned in your lap, and he’s fast asleep. And the cat, is curled up on your protruding belly. 
You let out a small grunt as a new series of kicks start up. You smooth a hand over your belly, in an effort to get your daughter to stop, but she’s stubborn . . . .like her father. 
You hear a throat clear, and turn your head to see your husband standing in the doorway of your bedroom. His go bag is in his hand, his jacket is thrown over his arm, and while he looks exhausted he also looks extremely happy to be home. 
He gently places his bag and jacket to the side, before toeing off his shoes. He swoops down to kiss you, and move a strand of hair out of your face. In a whisper he asks, “What’s going on here?” 
“There was a thunder storm last night. They all piled in here, and it became a partial family cuddle.” 
Aaron raises an eyebrow, “Partial?” 
“You weren’t here.” 
He looks over the bed and asks, “You sure you have room?” 
You gesture to your right side, where there’s still an empty space, “Always.” 
The bed dips a second later, and he curls around you too, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You  thread your fingers through his hair, and absentmindedly play with it until his breathing evens out and he joins the rest of your boys in sleep. Your daughter, like you, is still stubbornly awake and stretching. And while it may be uncomfortable, you wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. 
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uncpanda · a day ago
Can you please do prompt 10 with Hotch? <3
Why, I would be delighted! 
Hotch X Fem!Reader 
Warnings: Mentions of throwing up/ morning sickness 
Prompt 10: hiding their face in the other’s neck
Morning sickness, to be quite honest, is a bitch. Mainly because the little human growing inside of you seems to cause it quite a bit. It should be called all day sickness. 
“You think you’re done?” 
You look up at Aaron, who’s sitting on the edge of the tub. He has a concerned and guilty look on his face. You scooch your body so that you can lean against his legs, and then tilt your head back, “I’m okay Aaron. I’ve done this before.” 
You watch as he runs a hand through his hair, “Yes, but you’ve never gotten sick this much before either.” 
“Also true.” 
His fingers play with the end of your hair for a second before he lifts himself off the tub and down. His legs settle on either side of your body, and you lean back against his chest as his arms wrap around you. 
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, hiding away from the less than pleasant moments that just happened, and inhale. His aftershave is the one scent that doesn’t seem to make you ill. “You smell good.” 
Your lips move against his skin with the words and they come out a little garbled but he seems to get it. “Thank you.” 
His hand settles against your still flat belly, “Thank you for making me a daddy again.” 
“You’re welcome.” Those words are all you can muster before you fall asleep in his arms. 
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uncpanda · a day ago
For the hug prompts, 33 with Aaron Hotchner?💙💙
I started and stopped this one several times mainly because I had different ideas: Like reader finding out she’s pregnant, or reader coming home after a business trip. Finally I decided on some angst ;) 
Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader 
Prompt 33: ‘picking them up’ hugs
Warnings: Mentions of being shot, broken ribs. 
Your entire body hurts. It’s a regrettable side effect of having been shot at close range, and the only reason it isn’t worse is because of the Kevlar protecting your most vital organs. And all you want to do is go back to the hotel, curl up in Aaron’s arms, and sleep until the pain goes away. 
But the unsub, thrashing under you, as you try to cuff him, isn’t making that possible. You hear footsteps, and then there are more hands helping, and you feel someone lift you up from under your arms. You look up at Emily and give her a grateful smile. 
“You okay?” 
“Three shots to the vest. Close range. I probably have a cracked rib. Other than that, I’m okay.” 
She smiles, “Good. Can you go inform your man of that? Strauss held him back and he’s been pacing like a cornered lion ever since.” 
You nod, and start walking that way. With every step a new blurb of pain shoots through you, and then you see him. He’s wearing his vest, and his arms are crossed as he paces. 
You say his name, and his head whips around. He reaches you in a matter of seconds, sweeping you off your feet and up into his arms. Despite the fresh wave of pain it brings, you hug him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as he whispers, “I love you.” Again and again and again.  
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klinenovakwinchester · 2 days ago
Version of You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot
Call 1-800-799-7233 if you think you are in danger/a victim of domestic violence, or visit this website for resources, live chat, and more (for the USA). This is a link to the wikipedia page that has international resources. 
(I wanted to put that first because this fic deals with an abusive relationship and some scenes show the abuse. If you relate to any this, please seek help via the resources above. I want desperately to say my DMs are open, but for my own mental wellbeing, I have to let you know that the resources that I give above are about all I can do to help. You’re welcome to DM me if needed, but please know that it might take me a minute to reply, and I still will point you in the direction of resources that can better help you. I love and support and am with every single one of you, but I can only do so much through a screen xx.)
This is 100% a comfort fic, but I am safe and okay, I promise 💛 (Truthfully, this was really therapeutic to write.)
Small note: mental and verbal abuse is depicted here, not physical (though it does come close), but I wanted to remind you that just because abuse isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not harmful or real. Mental and verbal abuse is still abuse.
Summary: Hotch helps you find the courage within you to end your abusive relationship for good.
Warnings: depiction of an abusive relationship, verbal/mental abuse, violence (domestic and otherwise), angst, happy ending
Hotch Masterlist
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Aaron is stunned and disappointed to find you’re still at your desk when he walks out of his office at the grand hour of 8 p.m.
You don’t even hear his office door open or close, but you do hear his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches your desk to say goodnight, you’re already attempting to cover up any traces of emotion on your cheeks.
But Aaron is a profiler. On top of that, though, he’s one of your best friends. He’s known you for six years now, and given how much time the BAU members spend together on cases, he’d argue he knows every single person here better than they know themselves.
You’d agree. You hardly know who you are anymore. But somehow, Aaron knows. Aaron can see.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, already setting his bag down, already pulling a chair over, already sitting next to you.
You’re ready to tell him it’s nothing, to tell him to get home to Jack, that it isn’t important — but it is.
You’ve been with your current partner for almost eight years. Anyone would hear that and ask if marriage is on the horizon, or children, or something of the sort. But not Aaron. Because Aaron can see the pain in your eyes.
Truthfully, he’s seen that pain in your eyes for the past two years. Maybe more.
But recently, it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.
You’re on a “break” with your partner. Whatever a “break” even means, because you still receive phone calls and texts from them all day. You send the calls to voicemail unless you absolutely aren’t doing anything, and the texts you reply to with one word.
Going home is fine because your partner is gone — for now. Work called them away, so you’re home alone for at least another three days, but you expect they’ll want you to pick them up from the airport.
You’ve never longed for a case the way you’re longing for one right now.
This “break” has been easiest because your partner has been gone. You know if they were here, it wouldn’t have been a break at all.
“It’s made me realize that I...I want a break. A real break.”
“You want to break up,” Aaron says it for you, knowing you’re too afraid.
Your hesitant nod confirms this for him. “I do. I think I really do.”
Aaron has known the relationship hasn’t been the healthiest. You don’t open up about your personal life that much at work — you never have — but it has always been telling that you never go out for drinks with the team. And when you did, you’d have to answer texts every ten minutes. Your partner never accepted an invite to join the team for drinks or dinner, but would often get angry at you for being out, as if you hadn’t tried to invite them.
Raised voices, broken glass. Not a single hand was ever laid on you. No, instead, it was a wine glass your mom gifted to you when you graduated college when your partner was angry that you had gone out for drinks with the team after a difficult case. A coffee mug you gifted your partner for their birthday faced the brunt of their anger when you didn’t reply to a text message fast enough — because you were parking your car in the garage. Plates, picture frames. A coffee table once, three years ago. It had been a house warming present.
But they’ve never hurt me, you always argue — only with yourself. No one knows the truth, that you clean up after their outbursts, that you’re grateful to have some knowledge of first aid so you can tend to your cuts from the broken glass, or so that you could stitch up your partner’s hand with ease, because hospitals are expensive and the excuses you’d have to fabricate even more so.
They always apologize. Which is true. Apologies are frequent in your house. Sometimes verbal, sometimes in the form of flowers either on your desk at the BAU (that only Hotch seems to notice with a sad smile) or left on the counter at home. Sometimes, rarely, a fancy dinner and some gift, usually a necklace.
“If you need any help at all,” Aaron says, looking you in your eyes, carefully, intently. “I’m here. For anything.”
“Thanks,” you murmur. Your stomach rumbles loudly in the silence, making you chuckle awkwardly.
“Hungry?” He jokes, but is half serious. “I was planning to get something on the way home, if you’d like to join.”
You think it over for a moment. Your mind immediately jumps to say no because you think your partner is home...but they aren’t.
“Sure,” you say. “Why not. What’s on the menu?”
You gather your things and Hotch waits patiently, rattling off some ideas for food to eat until one grabs your attention.
Your phone buzzes with a text. Where are you?
Aaron notices your change in posture with a sigh. “Is that them?”
You nod slowly. “Asking where I am.” You quickly type back, Still at the BAU.
The reply is almost immediate, as always. Just checking. Love you.
Relief washes over you as you type back, Love you too.
Aaron doesn’t like what he sees. The panic that surges through you just from a text message, making you stand up straight, hold your breath, clench your jaw. Then the relief that relinquishes you when a reply comes and it isn’t negative for once. The sudden changes, the way your emotions are yanked back and forth. He hates it.
But he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “Ready?” And waits for you to smile.
Hotch really doesn’t mean for dinner with you to turn into somewhat of a routine. But it does.
It’s brought more smiles to your face than Hotch thinks he has ever seen in the past six years. And for that, he doesn’t regret the dinners.
Neither do you, until the worst thing that could possibly happen ends up happening one night, three weeks since the first dinner.
Your partner is going out with friends, so you think you’re in the clear to get dinner with Aaron. And when your partner asks where you are again, you say you’re still at the BAU. You were, but you and Aaron were in the elevator to leave when you sent that message.
The two of you grab dinner at one of your favorite spots, at a table outside because the weather is perfect, the sky is clear, and stars are beginning to show. It’s magical. Until it’s a nightmare.
“Well, well, well.”
The voice sends shivers down your spine. They’re supposed to be out with friends.
Aaron automatically stands, shoulders squared and face set. He’s wearing his gun, and you are, too, but you’d never use it on your partner. You can’t say the same about Hotch, though, and that terrifies you.
“Babe,” you say with a smile, and Hotch tenses, hearing the pet name fall so easily form your lips. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with your friends?”
Your partner crosses their arms over their chest. “And I thought you were still at work.”
“We are,” Hotch speaks up, startling you. “We’re discussing a case.”
Your partner looks around, raising their eyebrows. “I don’t see any papers.”
“Because we went digital five years ago,” Hotch replies coolly. “But aside from that, a federal investigation is none of your business.”
You swallow thickly, waiting for your partner’s reply.
But to your surprise, they only nod. “I understand, sir. I was only checking.”
Hotch holds back a scoff, but instead returns the nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Your partner holds their hands up in surrender. “Of course.”
“I’ll see you at home,” you say quickly. “Love you.”
“See you at home,” they reply, making you frown as they turn and walk away.
When you look back at Hotch, you nearly scream. It takes everything in you not to make the hugest scene right there, outside this nice restaurant, underneath these stars.
Your phone buzzes. One hour. Do not be late.
“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Just. Don’t, Hotch.”
The next day, you knock on Hotch’s office door, twenty dollar bill in hand to pay him back for your dinner last night. You left in a hurry and didn’t get to pay. Thankfully, at least, arriving home with forty minutes to spare saved you from an even worse reaction from your partner.
“For dinner last night,” you mumble, sliding the twenty across Hotch’s desk. “Thank you.”
As you turn on your heel to leave, Hotch calls out to you. “I’m sorry.”
You sigh. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Aaron says, making you turn back around. “I hope you’re...alright.”
You’re so very far from being “alright” that you almost laugh. Instead, you shrug. “It’s been worse.”
“Did they hit you?”
You’re too shocked to move. “What? No! Why the hell would you even say that?”
“Because I’ve been worried about you.”
“They have never laid a hand on me,” you snap. “Ever.”
“But they’ve come close,” Aaron says gently. “You know they have.”
You only scoff. You feel hurt. Insulted, even, that he would assume something like that. Your relationship with your partner is rocky, of course, but never physical abuse rocky. Never that bad.
But has it come close?
Sure, maybe you’ve felt the wind off a beer bottle when it grazed by your head on its way to the wall. Maybe you have had to duck to avoid getting glass to the face. Maybe.
Maybe they have come close. Closer than you want to admit.
But they’ve also loved you. Held you while you cried. Rewarded you after you cleaned up the broken glass. Left you flowers and jewelry and love notes.
They love you. Don’t they?
“It’s fine,” you whisper, blinking back the stubborn tears that have jumped to the front of your eyes. “They love me.”
“Love isn’t violent,” Aaron replies gently. “Love shouldn’t make you as terrified as I saw you when you left last night.”
“I know,” you choke out. “But I don’t know what to do.”
Hotch is rounding his desk and gathering you in his arms before the first tear slips down your cheeks. He holds you while you cry, letting you get it all out.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, resting his chin on top of your head. “Don’t worry.”
It all comes to a head a few nights later when your partner springs a question on you. The question.
There, standing in the bathroom, you’re too stunned to speak.
“What d’you say, baby? Let’s get married, you and me.”
You don’t reply. You toss the makeup wipe in your trash can, flick the light in the bathroom off, and walk out into the bedroom.
“Baby?” They ask.
You’re facing the dresser, halfway to setting out a pair of pants for work tomorrow. “I...I can’t.”
“What?” Their reply is immediate and angry. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t,” you repeat, refusing to change your answer. “No.”
By the time you turn around, they’re standing up from the bed, arms crossed over their chest. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said no,” you say firmly. “I’m not marrying you.”
“And why not?”
“Are you seeing someone else?”
“Your boss? Are you fuckin’ him?”
“Then why won’t you marry me?”
“Because I don’t want to!”
You’ve never raised your voice back at your partner. They’ve always been the one to raise their voice, and you stayed silent, tried to talk them down, be the quiet voice of reason.
But not anymore. You’ve had enough.
“You don’t want to?” They scream. “It’s been eight years and now you don’t want to. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” you say through gritted teeth. “But I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
“Baby…” They sigh, stepping closer, lowering their arms. “Why not?”
“Because,” you reply slowly, backing up. “Just because.”
“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”
“It’s good enough for me,” you say. You step to the side and keep backing out into the hallway, getting ready to run if need be.
“Where are you going?” They all but growl. “What’s wrong with you?”
You’re scaring me, you want to scream, but you don’t. “I’m fine.”
“You’re fine? Well I’m for damn sure not fine, I’m heartbroken,” they seethe. You see the tell-tale signs that they’re about to get angry — angry enough to start throwing things. You realize in a moment of horror that a paperweight is within their reach.
And they reach for it.
“Don’t,” you murmur, freezing when their fingers wrap around the glass. “Put it down.”
“Why?” They ask, calm as ever. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve just done to my heart?”
You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, no!” Your reflexes have gotten better since being at the FBI, and you duck right in time. The paperweight crashes against the wall behind you, shattering, denting the wall, and covering the couch in fine pieces of broken glass.
“See what you’ve done!” Your partner screams. “This could’ve been easy! You could’ve said yes!”
You spot your car keys on the counter next to you, and when they turn their back to you to grip at their hair, you slide the keys off and into your pocket.
I have to get out of here. It’s a thought that you never have. Normally by now you’d be vacuuming up the glass on the couch, apologizing every five seconds, pouring them a glass of whiskey or a beer or something. But not now. Not anymore.
You’re a few steps from the door when your partner notices. “Where the fuck are you going?”
“Nowhere,” you freeze. “Go take a shower. Cool off. I’ll clean up this mess and then we can talk about this again, okay?”
They almost don’t accept your offer, but after a second, they nod. “There better be a beer waiting on me when I get out.”
“Of course,” you smile.
Your smile makes them suspicious, but they turn and head into the bedroom without another word.
Shaking, you turn to the closet to grab the vacuum, turning it on and beginning to suck up the glass off the couch.
But when you hear the shower curtain pull closed, you escape, leaving the vacuum running.
It’s pouring down rain, you aren’t wearing any shoes, and you’re knocking on your boss’s front door. Can your life get any more pathetic?
When Aaron opens the door, he’s practically hauling you inside and out of the rain.
“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, already leading you down the hall toward the bathroom. “You’re shivering, we need to get you out of these clothes — you aren’t wearing shoes, fuck, Y/N, what happened?”
“They asked me to marry them,” you choke out. You aren’t even crying. You haven’t cried yet at all. “I said no. They almost hit me.”
Aaron feels a dangerous surge of anger course through his body. “Did they hit you?”
You shake your head, and it turns into a full-body shiver.
“Okay,” Aaron says, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Okay, let me get some clothes for you. Do you want to take a shower?”
You shake your head again.
“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
You sit, shivering, on your boss’s toilet for a few minutes before he returns with clothes. A t-shirt and pair of sweatpants of his. Old ones, he says, they don’t fit him anymore. You smile slightly when you realize the shirt is from his college, the sweatpants from his law school. No wonder they don’t fit him anymore.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you say. “I—I think I left my phone there.”
“It’s okay,” Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get changed and get warm. Do you want some tea? Anything?”
“Just some water, please,” you murmur. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he smiles.
After he leaves, you change out of your wet clothes and into his shirt and sweatpants. You carefully hang your wet shirt and shorts over the edge of the bathtub, hoping that’s okay.
You venture out of the bathroom and follow the noise into the kitchen where you find Aaron putting up dishes.
“Hey,” he murmurs, straightening up. “Do you want ice with your water?”
“Um, sure.”
The sound of ice clinking into the glass makes you flinch, and you’re grateful Aaron’s back is turned away from you.
“There you go,” he hands you the glass.
“Thank you.”
You sip it quietly while he goes back to putting up the rest of the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Once he finishes, your heart is still racing, now with guilt from coming here unannounced. What if he was on a date? What if Jack was here?
“The guest room is all yours,” Aaron says softly. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
You nod slowly. “I don’t know what to do.” You pause, rubbing your thumb over the condensation on the glass. “But I told them I’m not marrying them. But I...I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Or where I was going.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not. They’re gonna be mad. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t go back. Not alone, they’ll—”
“Hey,” Aaron shushes you, walking around the counter to get to you. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go with you. You won’t be alone.”
“Thank you.”
The next morning, you and Aaron head into the office early so you have time to grab your go-bag and change into your work clothes that you left in there.
Thank God for having a job like this where it’s normal to have a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and anything else you need in a duffle bag under your desk.
You and Aaron are the first people in the BAU, so you’re able to grab your bag and head to the bathroom to change without any questions. Once you return, you stuff the bag back under your desk and sit down, ready to bury yourself in reports for the day.
But before you can, Hotch calls you into his office.
“What’s up?” You ask when you step into the doorway.
“We didn’t eat breakfast,” he says, and that’s when you notice the two coffees and muffins sitting on his desk.
“Oh,” you chuckle. “I completely forgot.”
“Me too,” he smiles. “Here, sit.”
The two of you eat the breakfast in silence, but somehow you don’t mind it. You’re not in much of a talking mood, anyway.
Rossi arrives next and stops by Hotch’s office, not at all surprised to find the two of you eating together, though he does join with his coffee a few minutes later. The silence vanishes with Rossi, leaving laughter in its wake as he tells old stories about Hotch.
When the rest of the team arrives, they follow the noise to Hotch’s office, and soon you’re surrounded by your family. Your real family.
Once eight-thirty rolls around, you all begin to disperse, back to your respective spaces to start working for the day, and everything feels normal.
And then, in a matter of seconds, it isn’t.
The second your eyes land on your partner standing down in the bullpen, you fall to your knees, scaring the shit out of Hotch.
“What happened?” He blurts, kneeling down to you. “Are you okay?”
“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no...No, Hotch, they’re out there.”
Hotch doesn’t need their name. The fear on your face is enough.
About this time, you hear Derek’s voice growing in volume. The most you can make out is, “Put...down…!” And that’s when your blood runs ice cold.
You pat your right hip, hoping, praying, your weapon is magically there, even though you know it’s not. You put it in the safe when you got home last night. You didn’t have time to grab it before you ran out and drove to Hotch’s place. You left it there, in the safe, because you never think twice about it since it’s locked away.
But now…
“Don’t do this, man,” Derek yells. “Put. It. Down.”
“Where is she?” Your partner yells. “Tell me where she is!”
“I’m not telling you shit until you put the gun down,” Derek says, firmly. You’re frozen in place, on the floor next to Hotch’s desk as you listen.
“They have my gun,” you whisper to Hotch. “I didn’t think they— I don’t know how they knew the code, I change it every week, I thought—”
“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Hotch shushes you. “You stay here. Do not move. Try to get under my desk if you can.” He pauses. “There’s an extra pistol underneath. I want you to grab it just in case.”
You nod, but then a memory of last night grips you. “No! You can’t go out there!” You hiss, gripping Hotch’s arm.
Outside, you hear Emily’s voice adding to Derek’s, trying to talk your partner down. It’s a scene out of a horror movie. Straight from your worst nightmare.
“They already feel threatened by you, they’ll just shoot you the second they see you.”
“Not when they already have five guns on them.”
“Let me come with you,” you offer.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Aaron, I have eight years of experience talking them down. I know what I’m doing.”
Hotch doesn’t like that you’re right.
“Are you sure?” He asks.
You nod. You’re shaking all over, but you still nod.
“Okay. Crawl over and grab the pistol from my desk. Tuck it in your waistband, on your back. Go now.”
You stay low as you crawl over, finding the pistol strapped underneath his desk on the right side. Once it’s tucked in your waistband, you stand, facing the window. Hotch stands too, with his back to the blinds, and thank God they’re closed.
“Is she in there?” You hear your partner scream. “Is she with him?”
“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re gonna fucking kill me.” You hate that the possibility is very real. They have your gun. They could shoot you the second they see you. You’re not wearing any protective gear.
“No,” Hotch replies. “I’m not letting that happen.”
“Come out here, you lying bitch!”
Hotch looks ready to kill your partner himself.
“Babe?” You call out, putting on a false tone, the same one you always use when talking them down. “Babe, what are you doing here?”
You step into the doorway, feeling another frozen chill of fear shoot straight down your spine. They look crazed. Insane, even. Worse than you’ve ever seen, worse than last night, worse than the last eight years.
“Don’t babe me,” your partner seethes, but the gun is still trained on Derek.
You know it makes no sense, but you want them to turn the gun on you. Not Derek. Derek can’t be hurt because of you, not like this.
“Put the gun down,” you say, trying to stay calm and sweet, the way you usually have to be at home.
“I’m not listening to a damn thing you say,” your partner yells, and then the gun turns on you. “There he is.” The gun isn’t aimed at you. It’s on Aaron.
“Put it down,” Aaron’s level voice floats through the terror roaring in your ears. “I won’t ask again.” He shifts and you realize then that he has his own weapon trained on your partner.
“You won’t need to. Come out from behind my fiancé you coward.”
“She’s not your fiancé,” Hotch says. “And you won’t shoot her.”
“Want to bet on it?” Your partner lowers the gun slightly, now pointing it straight at your chest. Strangely, you don’t feel any panic surge through you. It’s telling. That even now, your head is telling you, they won’t hurt me, they never hurt me before.
“Don’t do it,” Derek yells. “I will shoot you, man. Don’t do it. You have six guns pointed at you right now. Do you really want to do this?”
The metal of Aaron’s pistol bites into your lower back when you shift on your heels. Your arms are frozen by your side, too afraid to reach for the gun.
“Put it down,” Rossi yells.
“You’ve got five seconds,” Derek adds. “Don’t make me get to one. Five. Four.”
Your partner’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Aaron catches the movement. Nods once when Derek says three. And on two, Derek pulls the trigger before your partner can do it first.
A broken scream rips from your chest when the bullet lodges itself in your partner’s side, your gun clattering to the ground. Derek steps forward and kicks the gun further away, out of reach.
Hotch lifts you around your waist and pulls you back into his office, kicking the door closed with his foot.
You’re numb to everything as he sits you down on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you finally sob, letting out every scream that you’ve been holding in.
Your partner is taken to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound.
Hotch tells you they won’t stand a chance at being acquitted, too many charges looming over their head already without the addition of domestic violence. You hardly hear his words, but you nod like you do.
He takes care of you while the commotion outside struggles to calm down. A blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, you hug a pillow to your chest, sniffling every few minutes as fresh tears cascade down your cheeks. Spencer brings you a mug of steaming tea that you barely manage to thank him for. Hotch thanks him properly for you before softly shutting his office door.
For months, you’ve been thinking about leaving them. For so long, you’ve wondered what life might be like without them. Now, you don’t know a thing.
You don’t know what to do. Where to go. Will you have to testify in court? If you do, will you have to talk about the...abuse? The abuse that you can barely bring yourself to label blatantly as abuse even though Aaron, your brain, everyone screams at you that that’s what it is — abusive behavior.
When you were a teenager, and even in your early twenties, learning about signs of abusive, unhealthy relationships, you never thought you’d end up in one. You thought surely you’d recognize the first signs and get out of there.
But instead, you did exactly what they said most people do. You brushed them off. You thought, oh, they just love me deeply, that’s all. They want what’s best for me, that’s all. They want me to be safe and protected, that’s all.
And that’s lovely, but there’s a difference. Between caring and controlling.
You never thought the difference would be so hard to see.
“Come on,” Aaron’s soft voice pierces through your thoughts. “Let’s get you out of here.”
You blink. “Where?”
“Wherever you want to go,” he replies gently. “Your apartment?”
Immediately, you shake your head. But then you pause. Because aside from your apartment and the BAU, you have nowhere else to go.
“Would you be comfortable going back to my apartment?” He asks. “I understand if it’s uncomfortable. I’m sure Garcia or Prentiss would be happy to let you stay with them, and I’ll gladly send them home with you.”
As much as you love Garcia and Prentiss, you strangely feel more comfortable with Aaron. After all, Pen and Emily don’t— or didn’t know about your partner’s behavior. Only Hotch knew.
“If you don’t mind, I’m...I’m okay with your place.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he smiles. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need.”
That makes you smile, though the expression feels foreign on your lips. “Don’t you have to stay?”
“It can be dealt with tomorrow,” he replies. “The paperwork will still exist tomorrow at eight a.m.”
“Okay,” you accept defeat. “Can I take this blanket?” You don’t like the idea of this weight leaving your shoulders.
“Of course,” he says.
You fall asleep in the car.
You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted. And by the time you woke, Aaron had already carried you into his apartment. Startled, you gripped his arm a little too tight, but he shushed you carefully, letting you know you’re safe, he just didn’t want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.
He set you down on the guest bed where you tried and failed to get some rest last night, but now, you sleep like a baby.
Months after the incident, the guest room at Aaron’s apartment has become your temporary home.
You still haven’t been back to the apartment you owned with your partner — even though their name is on the lease, not yours. You went once with Aaron to pick up your clothes and anything else important, but it was a quick trip. You were desperate to get out of there.
Aaron didn’t like what he saw. The broken glass, the dents in the walls. The way your body language changed immediately. Your unwillingness to return there is fine by him.
It’s a slow, uphill battle as you begin to heal. Your partner still sits in jail, awaiting their trial date. You know you might have to testify, but you know your team might have to be there as well, so that makes you feel better.
Aaron has been incredibly respectful of your space. You were the one who brought up the idea of carpooling to work, one of you driving every other day, to save on gas for the both of you. He had assumed you wanted to drive on your own and always have your car — which is true, but you didn’t mind riding with him.
He’s the only one your terrified brain doesn’t seem to be scared of.
And you’re not complaining. You’re grateful to feel a small ounce of safety after feeling every sense of unsafe for the past eight years.
Your ex-partner’s trial comes and goes in the following three months. You did testify, along with the rest of your team, the verdict is guilty. Life in prison.
You wept on the steps of the courthouse from the sheer relief of it all.
“They’ll never hurt you again,” Aaron had told you and you didn’t believe him for one second.
Still now, as you know for a fact they are sitting in a prison cell, you have a small fear. But you think you always will.
You continue “rooming” with Aaron — that’s the best way you can think to put it — and you’ve come to really enjoy the weekends when Jack comes over. At the start, Aaron would try to take Jack out to the park to give you time alone, or you’d go spend some time with Penelope, but after a while, you started staying. And after a little while longer, Jack started warming up to you, and expecting your presence.
One weekend, you hear Jack and Aaron playing in the living room while you’re in Aaron’s office, trying to get some work done. And halfway through signing your name on a piece of paperwork, you hear Jack “whispering” to Aaron about you.
“Do you like her?” Jack whispers, but it definitely comes across as more of a soft shout.
Aaron’s eyes widen, and he presses his index finger to his lips. “A lot,” he says, but you don’t hear him — though you were straining pretty hard.
“Me too,” Jack giggles. “Is she your girlfriend?” He teases, poking his dad with his Lego sculpture.
Aaron pokes his son back with his own design. “No, buddy, she isn’t.” Again, you can’t hear him, but Jack’s question made your heart hammer in your chest.
You know you’ve had some feelings begin to develop because truthfully, they were blooming months ago, back when you began having dinner with Aaron. But then everything happened, and you still loved your ex, and things got too complicated.
Now, though, seven months out from the start of it all, the feelings are still there.
Aaron hasn’t made any moves, so you’ve kept silent. You don’t know how much of his good deeds are simply out of his own kindness. And you certainly don’t want to mistake it for something it’s not.
But kids pick up on things adults try hardest to hide.
You continue with your paperwork, listening to them continue to play.
It’s not until after Jack goes home to Hailey that his question is brought up, and it’s only because Aaron asked what was bothering you.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But I’m here if you do.”
He’s always here. That’s what made you have a crush on him in the first place, years ago. He’s always there for anyone who needs him.
“I heard you and Jack earlier,” you start. “When he asked if I’m your girlfriend.”
Aaron sighs. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just confusing for him because to him, living together equals relationship since all he’s known is me and Hailey—”
“I’d like to be,” you interrupt his nervous rambling. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”
He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You…” He pauses. “Are you sure?”
“Aaron, I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything—”
“I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything,” he counters. “You’re serious?”
“Very,” you whisper.
When he kisses you, it’s what you’ve longed for all this time. It’s exactly what you’ve been yearning for. It’s exactly the kind of love you know now that you deserve.
Recovery has been messy, and will continue to be messy for some time, but you’ll have Aaron next to you every step of the way. Always.
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uncpanda · 3 days ago
Back to the Navy Yard: Part 5
Sypnopsis: Being the daughter of Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn’t easy, but you made it work . . .right up until you decide to break away from the “safe” life plan and join the FBI. When your father and the family you’ve made stops talking to you, you find a new one with the BAU. But years later, when murders connected to you and your father start popping up, you’re forced to examine the past along side your fiance and unit-chief Aaron Hotchner, and soon to be step son Jack. Really, your whole world is up in the air. 
Notes: Eli David and Jackie Vance are both alive, also the timeline between Ziva and Tony was sped up, because slow burn is only good for so long.
Master List
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You and Ziva had always had a unique bond. She’d seen you for the first time the night she had killed Ari. She’d been slumped down on the ground in front of the door to the basement, when you had wandered into the house. You’d been in your freshman year of college, and commuted to school while living at home. Your dad’s GI bill was paying your tuition and you weren’t going into debt just to live on campus. 
There was something in your eyes, red and puffy, that made her think of Tali. That, perhaps, Tali would have grown up like you; happy and in love with life. You had gone to her, looked at her for a moment, and then down the stairs. Gibbs had still been staring at Ari’s body. 
Your voice had been hesitant, “I’m sorry.” 
Those two words had softened something in Ziva, because you had meant them. You had hated Ari for what he had done to Kate. You had considered the woman an older sister in a way, but you also knew the pain of losing a sibling. You had watched Kelly die in that car. And no matter how bad Ari had turned, he had still been her brother, and she had still loved him. 
You had not shunned her, like the rest did. Instead, you often spent evenings by her desk doing homework, and talking about things that would have had your father stuttering: mainly more revealing clothes, boys, and sex. And Ziva had been so grateful for that connection; grateful to have you in her life. To her, you were pure, unworried by the world, and not exposed to its horrors. And that was why she had gone along with Gibbs’ plans; she didn’t want to worry about losing you or have that innocence erased from your eyes. She should have known better; you were more stubborn than Gibbs. So, having you come back into her life, engaged and with a step-son, that was a lot to swallow. 
She kept her eyes moving as she entered the bull pen, at the first sight of Agent Hotchner, she planned to pounce, to interrogate him, and find out his every secret. You had good judgement, but she needed to be sure. She settled her bag at her desk, and it takes Tony three tries to get her attention, “What?” 
Tony’s eyes go wide, “I just asked if you were okay?” 
“No. Y/N is engaged. To Agent Hotchenr. She has a step son.” 
There’s a lot of blinking from both him and McGee, before Tony smiles, “You’re messing with me, right? I spent all day with those BAU people, and I swear Hotchner never smiles. He’s all business. He’s . . . you’re not joking.” 
“McGee! Start digging.” 
Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the meeting currently taking place. It’s one pm and you’re already on your second glass of wine. Dave had wisely chosen to go check the perimeter. Uncle Dwayne’s voice is a little high pitched,  “Engaged! You’re not old enough to be engaged.” Your eyes flicker to your father; he hasn’t said anything in the hour and a half Leon and Dwayne have been ranting. It had started when they noticed your ring, and had only increased since they found out who it was.
“I’m twenty-nine and a federal agent. I’ve killed people. I think I’m allowed to get married.” 
Your dad straightens at that, “Who the hell did you kill?” 
“A serial killer.” He doesn’t need more information than that. 
Uncle Leon nods, “That’s another thing, how are you going to raise a family with this man when you’re both away from home so much? You both travel all the time. That’s not good for kids! 
You jump to your feet at that, and you stop a foot away, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t been there. You don’t know how we run our lives/” 
He stares at you for a second before nodding, “You’re right. I crossed a line.” 
“Everyone is crossing them.” You turn to face your dad, “You can’t cut contact for years and then expect to get a say in my life choices. Especially not through your friends.” 
Your dad’s lips twitch, “How’d you know?” 
“The first thing they did was search my hand for a ring, and from there they waited. It’s not hard to spot when you spend your days doing it to catch killers. Plus, you were too calm when you found out about Aaron.” Your phone buzzes and you answer without looking, “Shannon.” 
“Ohhh that is not the sound of a happy kitty.” 
“What’s wrong Garcia.” 
There’s a moment of silence, and you know she can hear how stressed you are, “I found the picture. You were an adorable child, not that I had any doubt. I’m running traces on those who have viewed the article within the last five years. There’s a few from private IP addresses which check out for like ancestry trees, and it looks like her father looks at it a lot too, but I doubt he’s our guy. No sign of traveling or expenses. He teaches now.” 
There’s a hint of a smile in her voice, “And what?” 
“You have something, I know you Pen.” 
“Yes you do. There’s one from an internet cafe in California, right down the road from the murder that happened there. I’m trying to get a list of users now, as well as footage from their security cameras, and the cameras on the surrounding streets. With any luck . . ?” 
“You already told Aaron?” 
“Via Chocolate Thunder. I did not, however, tell him that someone from NCIS is trying to hack his file.” 
You spin to look at your father, “Someone at NCIS is trying to hack Aaron’s file?” 
Your dad shakes his head, “Not me.” 
You smirk, “Shut them down Pen. Crash their system. Show them why you’re the best.” 
Vance actually groans, but Garcia is all smiles, “Ahhh and so the claws come out. Done and done hellcat.” 
You grin and hang up, “Someone accessed the picture from an internet cafe a few miles from the crime scene in California. Garcia is trying to track them down.” You turn to face your dad, “Call Ziva and tell her I’m disappointed in her. Then tell McGee, that if he tries anything like that again, I'll unleash Garcia’s full wrath on him, and he’ll never be able to get near another computer again.” 
You stomp outside, and find Dave smoking a cigar, “Seriously?” 
“This from the woman who’s had two glasses of wine?” 
You shrug, and turn to look at the trees, you can feel Dave studying you, “They’re concerned.” 
“They lost the right to be concerned.” 
“Nahh. From the way I hear it, that’s how parenthood works. You’re concerned for your kids until the day you die. Aren’t you that way with Jack?” 
“I’d never stop talking to Jack, no matter what life choices he might make. I’m his Marmee.” 
Dave pulls you in for a side hug and whispers, “You’re a good Marmee.” 
You lean into him for a moment before saying, “It’s only been two days and I already miss them so much.” 
He doesn’t say anything, there's nothing he can say.
Aaron is grumpy, and the thing is, he knows it. Throughout the day word had gotten out that the two of you were together. He’d been stopped no less than six times, and Gibbs’ team had taken to staring at him. Normally, that wouldn’t have meant a thing to him, but he was missing you and so was Jack. He’d been heartbroken when he realized you wouldn’t be home tonight, either. And at this point it would be a surprise if he was able to get home to see Jack himself. Still, he was doing a good job hiding it. Or, at least, no one on the team has said anything. 
He’s sifting through evidence and files when Jess calls, the first thing he notes is the amount of terror in her voice, “Aaron.” 
His back goes ramrod straight, “Jessica.” 
“We’re okay, but when we got home the door was kicked in. I got us out of there, but . . .” 
“Where are you?” 
“The cafe down the street. Someplace public I thought. . .” 
“Stay there and stay on the phone.” 
He’s moving out of the conference room a second later, and barking out orders with Morgan on his six. He knows what this means, whoever this person is, they’re making you a target. 
He’s the one to drive, he needs that control. By the time he pulls up, Metro PD is already there. He lets out a breath of relief before going to get Jack. The moment his son is in his arms, he knows what he needs to do. 
He takes Jess to the side, “Jack and I are going to the safe house. My mistake last time was not being there, I’m not making it again. You’re welcome to come or I can station an agent with you.” 
She reassures him, she’ll be fine. He sends the agents anyway, and goes to wait in the car with Jack. Once he’s distracted by the phone, and Aaron is certain his son is okay, he slips out of the car to find Derek there with bags of clothes and toys. “Haley’s name was written on the wall in paint. No bodies.” 
Aaron swallows the lump in his throat, “The unsub wants us to know that he knows things about us. They want us to know that they’re in town.” 
“You heading out?” 
“Yeah. I need to be with my family. I’ll have my phone and a secure internet connection. 
Y/N and I will consult from there. Also, check agent Gibbs house. There’s a chance the unsub went there. You won’t need a key or anything, Y/N said he always keeps it unlocked.” 
“You got it. You want me to drive you guys?” 
“I can do it.” 
They leave with a handshake. 
You know something is going on. Dave was on the phone, and Leon, Dwayne and your dad had been whispering to each other ever since. You corner him the moment he hangs up, making him jump. 
“I’m going to get you a freaking bell if you keep doing that! Make noise when you walk.”
“What happened?” 
Your stomach drops when he tells you. 
“This isn’t your fault.” 
“He’s targeting me Dave.” 
“No, he left a name at your house, in paint, and turned things over.” 
“You said the alarm didn’t go off.” 
He nods, “We’re looking into it, but why you’re here, maybe look for a new place? This one might be jinxed. Two serial killers?”
You slap at his chest, before running your hand through your hair, “The unsub went after my family Dave.” 
“Yeah. It’s happened to us all at some point, and it’s not our fault. They’re sick, and look at it this way. Soon, you’ll have your boys.”  
 You cling to that thought, and spend the time waiting on the front porch. When the headlights flash, you let out a sigh of relief. And you make a mad dash towards the car. Jack is quick to jump out of his seat and into your arms, “Marmee!” 
You hug him close, and you can’t help but think, you won’t be able to do this too much longer, he’s getting too big. Aaron’s arms wrap around the both of you a second later, and you take comfort in his scent. You tilt your head up and place a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“I’m so sorry.”
He kisses the top of your head, “It’s not your fault. We’ll catch him, and we’re together. That’s what matters.” 
141 notes · View notes
doctorstethoscope · 3 days ago
The Shirt || A. Hotchner x Fem Reader
Hi besties, here is some smut for your Tuesday evening! No real reason I just had a rough day at work and wanted to write something self-indulgent. 
contains: sir/daddy kink, thigh riding, dom aaron, spanking, degradation, oral (f receiving) penetrative sex
wordcount: 2.7k
Aaron was beginning to wonder if he needed to brush up and take a profiling course. You’d been sitting across from him in his office, stabbing and picking at your salad for the better part of the last twenty minutes, and he still couldn’t figure out what was wrong. 
You couldn’t be mad at him, he figured, or else you wouldn’t have joined him for lunch. You’d been joking around with everyone in the bullpen all morning, so no problems there. Maybe it was something with your parents? He knew your mother had called a couple weeks ago and gotten on your nerves, but you’d seemed to have moved past that. He was at a total loss. 
“Did you sleep okay?” He tried, knowing full well that you had. He practically had to pull you out of bed this morning. 
“Yeah, I did,” you looked up from your salad and smiled at him. 
So she’s definitely not mad at me, Aaron thought to himself. “You feeling okay?” He asked. 
“Yeah, baby. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”  You shook your head, looking back down at the lettuce you were meticulously poking. 
“Whatever it is, it’s clearly not nothing,” he chuckled. “You’ve hardly touched your lunch and you can barely look me in the eye.” 
“We can talk about it later, Aaron.” You told him. 
“Oh, so now there is something to talk about!” He said, victorious. “Spill.” 
“You really don’t want to know.” You warned, and he reached across the table to take your hand in his. 
“Of course I do.” He tells you, looking you in the eye and trading his previous mirth for a look of concern. 
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks before you even spoke. “You look really, really good today.” You confessed lowly. 
“Oh?” Aaron asked, confused. 
“And I can’t focus, because all I can think about is crawling under that desk and pulling down your fly and--”
“Naughty girl,” Aaron cooed, and you laughed. 
“I tried to warn you.” you said, looking down at your food again, embarrassed. 
“That you did.” He agreed with a smirk on his face. 
“You don’t have to look so pleased about it, you know.” You rolled your eyes at him, and he stepped out of his chair, moving to the other side of the desk to tilt your chin up and kiss you. 
“I’m smiling,” he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, “because I’m thinking of everything I’m going to do to you the minute we cross the threshold tonight.” He leaves your lips to plant a kiss on your jawline and you’re standing up and throwing your arms around him in an instant, grateful for his closed blinds. He indulges you for another moment, although you're certain it’s only to get you more hot and bothered, before separating his mouth from you and giving your ass a quick slap. 
“Now, go back to your desk and try to behave, and we’ll see what kind of fun you’ve earned when we get home.” He whispered in your ear and you shuttered. 
“Yes sir,” you whispered back, not daring to look him in the eye for fear that your knees would buckle. 
The anticipation for the rest of the day was torture, for both you and Aaron. But he could at least have the good grace not to hide it so well. You tried not to look like you were rushing out of the office, but in truth you didn’t know how much longer you could be patient for. You silently thanked whatever God was out there that Jack had taken the bus home with a friend for a sleepover this afternoon as you slipped into the passenger’s seat of Aaron’s SUV for the ride home, anticipation building even further in your stomach. Aaron wrapped an arm behind your seat to pull out of the parking lot, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. He caught you, and smirked, moving his hand to land on your thigh, pulling you towards him and lighting your skin on fire, even through the material of your dress pants. 
“Aaron,” you mumbled, but he cut you off. 
“Ah, ah. You’ve been such a good girl all afternoon. Don’t spoil it now.” 
You let out an almost imperceptible whimper at his words, but willed yourself to be quiet, worrying your bottom lip against your teeth as Aaron traced patterns into your thigh with his long fingers. Goddamn tease.
He’s silent for the whole drive, letting the consistent motion of his index finger against your thigh do all the talking. You’re breathing so heavily you’re sure he can hear you, but you don’t dare make a sound. By the time Aaron parks the car at home you’re practically buzzing with excitement. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans across you to undo yours. 
“We are going to have so much fun this evening,” He whispered before kissing you breathless. You brought your hands to either side of his face, letting him trace his tongue over your teeth before he pulled away. You saw your lipstick smudged on the corner of his mouth and smiled. 
 “For the sake of public decency, we should probably take this inside.” Aaron says, and you open your car door, leaving your purse and his briefcase in the car. He follows you, snaking an arm around you to open the front door for you and let you in first. The door is shut by the weight of your body slamming against it once you are both inside, Aaron not even bothering to flick a light switch before he attached his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that made your toes curl. 
“I’ve been thinking about taking you all afternoon,” Aaron confessed into your collarbone, moving his hand to unbutton your trousers. “Thinking about how pretty you are going to sound screaming my name when I make you cum.” 
You threw your head back against the door. “Aaron,” you moaned out, working with him to shove your pants down your legs as you kicked your heels off and across the room. 
“Exactly. It’ll be just like that, but louder.” He teased you, pressing a quick peck to your cheek. He slotted his knee in between your legs once your pants were discarded, already able to feel how wet you were against him. 
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned out, pushing his suit off his shoulders and digging your nails into his back through his shirt. 
“Darling, you’re practically ready for me and I’ve barely even touched you. What did it for you? What was it that made you so needy that you were ready to crawl underneath my desk and take my cock into your mouth, feet away from all of our coworkers?” 
You bucked against his thigh as he talked, and he smirked, bringing a hand to rest against your cheek. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you loved and hated him for it in equal measure. “Y-your shirt.” you gasped out.
“My shirt?” He asked, genuinely confused. It was a regular button up shirt, the same type he always wore under his suits. 
“It’s tight.” You stammered out. “And you’re not wearing an undershirt.” 
“Neither are you,” he countered, pulling your own shirt over your head and leaving you in your bra and panties. 
Despite the fact that you were already panting, practically naked, and all but riding his thigh in the doorway of your apartment, you felt a twinge of embarrassment admitting the next part. “I could see your pecs through your shirt. I was thinking about kissing my way down your chest and then sucking you off.” You admitted.
“Such a dirty little whore,” He smirked, and you let the ghost of a smile pass through your face. He reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, and then begins to kiss down your chest, along your ribcage, and in between your breast. You’re sure he’s going to give you mind blowing orgasms that make you forget about all this teasing, but you will yourself to remember if only so you can pay him back. He’s kissed all the way down to your belly button before he picks you up by the thighs and carries you to the bedroom. You wrap your arms around him and take the opportunity to kiss up the column of his neck, pulling his earlobe between your teeth gently before he lays you against the mattress.
He undresses quickly and takes a moment to look at you, cheeks flushed and hair spread over the pillows, chest heaving up and down with the weight of your arousal, and you’re tempted to whine, but you look into his eyes and know that he’s not doing it to tease you-- he’s adoring you. He’s committing every goosebump and every dimple and every beauty mark to memory, because he loves you. You smile. 
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he whispers against the skin of your breast, “That you can’t walk. You can’t talk. You’ll just be stuck here, blissed out and recovering all weekend. Does that sound good?”
“Yes sir,” you breathe out, and he gets to work. 
He sucks your nipple in between his teeth and immediately your hips buck up off of the mattress. Without abandoning his task, he moves a hand to pin your hips down, but that doesn’t stop you from blindly searching for friction. You were getting desperate, at this point. The hours between lunch and leaving the office had been foreplay all their own, and everything that had happened since you left the office had only intensified your need. He laved your other nipple against his teeth and moved his hand toward your slit, just barely tracing his way up to your clit. 
“You’re so needy. All for me.” He whispered. 
“All for you,” you confirmed breathlessly. 
“What am I going to have to do to keep you satisfied at work all day?” he asked, rubbing against your clit slowly, enjoying the pinch of your brow as you attempted to grind down on his hand. “Should I buy a special vibrator I can leave inside you while we work?” He asked, plunging a finger into you and you cry out. “Should I give you an orgasm right there at your desk, in front of the whole team, while I watch you from my office? Would that keep my little slut satisfied?” He asked, but true to his word you can barely speak. “Should we get you a little plug, angel?” He inquires as he sticks another finger in you. “Keep you good and stretched all day so you’re ready for me when we get home?” He teased you further, pumping his fingers in and out of you. “No, I’m not going to do that. You know why?” He asked, and you knew that this question wasn’t rhetorical. 
“Why?” You gasped out.
“Because,” he starts, inching his way down the mattress to plant a kiss on your hip bone, “I’m possessive, and I like that I’m the only person who can make you feel this good. No one knows your body like I do. No one can bring you to the edge like I do. Isn’t that right?” He asked, now face to face with your pussy and licking his lips in anticipation 
“Yes, sir.” 
“Good girl,” he whispers, and replaces his fingers with his tongue in an instant. 
“Fuck!” you scream in pleasure as he drinks from you like a man lost in the desert. You’re certain your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you’re reduced to one continuous drawn out moan as Aaron laps at you greedily for what could have been seconds or hours. Your thighs are shaking, and you feel so good you’re practically drooling. 
“Aar-- fuck, Aaron. If you keep this up I’m going to cum without you.” You warn him urgently. 
You feel his smirk against you before he responds. “I want you to cum, angel. Cum for daddy.” 
The new name does you in-- the rubber band snaps inside of you and you're bucking wildly against him as pleasure courses through you over and over and over again. “Fuck, thank you daddy. Thank you, thank you thank you,” you become a litany of gratitude, unable to form any other thought until you collapse against the mattress, chest heaving. Aaron sidles up against you, kissing you delicately and allowing you a moment to catch your breath.
“Did it live up to the fantasy?” Aaron asked once your breathing evened out. 
“Baby, in my fantasy, you were the one getting off.” You reminded him.
“Details,” he shrugged, kissing your shoulder. You smiled over at him. He was fully prepared to call it here, after giving you one of the best orgasms of your life and getting nothing in return, but you wouldn’t have it. You rolled over, straddling his thighs. “That particular detail is very important to me,” you countered, leaning down across his chest to suck at the base of his neck. He’d be able to cover the purple mark with the collar of his shirt, but you’d know, and that was enough. You start rolling your hips against him, and you feel the groan reverberate in his chest before you hear it. 
“Use me, sir. I’m ready. Use me,” you whisper in his ear, and he deftly maneuvers to enter you. You gasp, still sensitive from your first orgasm but overwhelmed with pleasure. He starts canting his hips up into you, and you get into a comfortable position, satisfied to meet him gently thrust for thrust. 
“You know, you’re lucky I didn’t tease you more after everything you put me through tonight,” you tell him, and he lets out a growl before flipping the two of you over. 
“Mouthy little brat,” he chastises you before lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder so he can drill even further into you. The change in angle is incredible and you’re crying out in moments. 
“I’m gonna cum again. Are you close?” You gasp out, and he turns his head to press a kiss against your leg. 
“Go ahead, doll. I’m right behind you,” he whispers tenderly, and you come undone, your second orgasm somehow even more powerful than the first. True to his word, Aaron comes just after you do, and you both collapse against the mattress and take a moment to catch your breath.
“You did so good, sweetheart. Was that good for you?’ Aaron asked, propping himself up on an elbow and brushing a piece of hair off of your forehead with his free hand. 
“Do you really have to ask?” 
“Of course I do,” he said, looking you in the eye so you knew you weren’t getting out of giving him an answer. 
“It was amazing, hon. You know I would tell you if you pushed too far.” You answer the question you knew he was really asking.
He smiled and leaned in to give you a quick kiss before rolling off of the mattress and padding into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. 
“Alright, sweet girl. Time to clean you up.” He said, climbing back up on the mattress and in between your legs to clean you reverently. “Are you sore? Does anything hurt?” 
You gave him a tired smile. “No more than usual. A good night’s sleep and a fresh bagel from the place down the street in the morning will make everything all better, I think.” 
“For you, anything. Every bagel in Virginia.” He smirked, getting up to dispose of the washcloth. 
You followed him, going into the bathroom to brush your teeth and pee. After a few moments, you’re both back in bed with all the lights off, wrapped up in each other like nothing exists outside of the bed you both shared. True to his promise, Aaron went out and got you both bagels the next morning, and you relaxed the morning away, watching TV and snuggling in bed until it was time to pick up Jack. 
And if Aaron forgot his undershirt more frequently, he’d pretend it was an accident.
161 notes · View notes
ohshcbabe · 3 days ago
A Unexpected Outcome
derek morgan x reader
fluff and angst
TW: mention of murders, shooting, blood, stuff you would see in a criminal minds episode
Summary: you and the team travel to Illinois for a case, it’s a very difficult one and has a unexpected outcome
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It was a long week, saying long was nicely putting the horrible feeling. When you and the team arrived to Illinois, knowing that their was a serial killer, you weren’t ready for the ending product.
The first body was found in a field in Woodford, the poor girl was tied up, a bullet went through her neck, cutting off her air and therefore killing her. That was the cause of death.
She was younger, early twenties, and had only been missing for two days. Two weeks earlier they found a woman named Louis Garner who was in the same position and died the same way.
The real eerie thing was the position, both woman had their knees to their chest, wrists tied up in front of their knees. Feet both bided together, head down. Like the unsub felt he had power with the position he murdered them in.
That’s what you profiled, he felt more dominance with killing these woman in a position they would go into when vulnerable and petrified. They weren’t binded into this position till afterwards, but the way they had scratches on their legs from tripping or scratching something, it made you and your team wonder what they were doing to get those.
“What if he’s playing hide and seek?” Emily wondered. You, Reid, Morgan, Emily, and Hotch were all currently at the police station in Woodford. In a conference room with all of your photos and files scattered around.
“Hide and a seek, it’s a game children play. It can be used for scarier purposes, you are supposed to hide from the person and would hate to be found. Most of the time when you hide, you’ll curl yourself up,” Reid went on, explaining the game even though you all had a idea on what it was.
“That’s where they get these little scratches the coroner was mentioning, she said they could be from scraping a leg on the side of a chair,” Morgan pointed out.
“He’s letting them hide, they put themselves into a position like that and he kills them. Maybe drags them out afterwards. What if he had to hide and almost died when he was a child. Possibly abusive parent,” You wondered, spitting out some ideas.
“Garcia, look up men who live in the area. They would be white, in mid thirties to forties, maybe got out into the foster care system because of abusive parents,” Hotch commanded the girl after he dialed the number.
“Right, o, mundo. Isn’t lowering it too much, still around 1,000 names left on the list,” She told them, they could hear the clacking of the keys.
“Rossi and JJ are currently with some officers looking at the recent body they found this afternoon, maybe we can get a better idea on who this guy is,” Morgan hoped.
The two agents looked at the third body, it was clear he was devolving a bit and would go after his real target soon, but who knew what would happened after that.
“Hey Hotch,” JJ greeted the man, her and Rossi inside the car and on the way to the station.
“What did you see?”
“He’s devolving,” Rossi piped up, driving. “This time her eyes were glued shut, she died the same way, and was only sixteen,”
“Okay, we’ll see you when you get back,” Hotch mentioned, soon ending the call.
The recent, third, victims name was Lilly Fulborne and she was Marshall, not far from Woodford. Her family just thought she was sleeping at a friends house but when this teenager didn’t arrive home they realized it was something worse.
“So, age doesn’t matter to him, well younger but still mature,” Emily commented.
“Gender is important to him,” Morgan reminded them.
“What if he had a abusive sister?” You wondered. “These woman all had younger siblings. Maybe the unsub grew up with a sister who had anger issues,”
“The sister fights with parents, younger brother looks up to her and asks to play, she takes it out on him,” Morgan spoke.
“What if she played Hide-and-seek with him, and this was how she indulged in her problems. She gave into him wanting to play and it ended like this, he now wants revenge,” Emily added.
“Garcia, look for those men with older sisters, ones who were sent away when they were in childhood to a type of mental facility,” Hotch commanded the woman.
“Okay, got it! We have a Brandon Lunar, thirty four and has a older sister. Her name is Francis Lunar and was sent away when she was fourteen to a mental facility nearby their childhood home in Peoria. Parents said she would fight with them often and took out anger on younger brother,” Garcia revealed, reading the sheet on her computer.
“Home and work address,”
“Sending them to your phones right now,”
“Where is the sister currently living?” Reid asked.
“She still lives at their... childhood home,” Garcia told them.
“Send that address too,” Hotch said, then hanging up. “Okay, JJ and Rossi are near the work place, Morgan, Prentiss and I will go to the home, Reid and L/n you head to the childhood home,” Hotch commanded, soon all of them running to their vehicles.
JJ and Rossi had neared the work place, him working at a car garage which gave him access to the material he was using to tie the woman up.
“Brandon Lunar?” Rossi and JJ walked carefully into the garage, a man putting his hands up. “Where’s Brandon Lunar?” Rossi asked the man who was just cleaning a wrench.
“He didn’t show up today, called to take a sick day,” He told them.
“Hotch, he’s not here,” JJ called Hotch who was now nearing his home.
“Got it,” The three agents at his home quickly made it to the front door. “Brandon Lunar? FBI,”
Derek kicked down the front door of the one leveled home and they split up. Hotch checked the kitchen, finding it to be empty. Prentiss headed into the bedroom and was appalled with the photos she found of his sister scattered around.
“Come and take a look at this!” She called out to the other two who cleared the home. “He definitely has been thinking about his sister these years,” She pointed to the photos printed with ‘x’s and other cruel drawings on them, some of them having a knife through it.
You and Reid had just made it to the old family home. It looked pretty normal on the outside, but why wouldn’t it? People do love their images.
One thing you spotted before going inside was one of those toy cars kids would drive around in. Maybe something Francis never got rid of from her childhood? But it seemed newer.
“Francis Lunar? FBI,” Reid had his hand on his gun, and slowly made his way into the home. You were right behind him, gun cocked and loaded, looking around for Francis and hearing faint sniffles.
Reid slowly opened the closet and pointed his gun on both sides, coming across the woman who was huddled inside, tears streaming down her face.
“My-my daughter, Kate, she’s-she’s hiding,” The woman sniffled while Reid bent down to try and help her out of the closet.
You moved further, walking into the back hallway where bedrooms were. You took a glance in the master bedroom, seeing nothing too suspicious in there. You were able to hear louder crying from a bedroom two doors down, decorated in a more boyish way, you assumed it was originally Brandon’s.
“Brandon Lunar?” You slowly walked into the room to see him with a gun pressed to the head of the teenage girl. “Let her go,” You told him, watching the girl shake in fear.
Her eyes were wide, tears flooding down her eyes and feet on their tip toes. It looked like she was almost hanging off the ground. He had a tight grip over her neck and a tighter grip on the gun that was pressed to the side of her head. You caught Brandon’s eyes that were becoming glossed over.
“You don’t want to do this Brandon. It’s your sisters fault you had such a bad childhood, not hers,” You stepped a little closer, the man still, his eyes not leaving yours. “Francis should’ve never hurt you, you deserve better,”
“She-she had a child! A child! She got to move on and have a happy life, I was stuck with it! Stuck with her yelling and beating and my parents just covering it up,” He yelled, moving the gun around a bit. Spencer soon came into the room and kept eyes on the little girl, his gun also aimed at Brandon.
“Brandon, you still have time to have a different life, but you have to let her go,” Reid mentioned, slowly stepping into the room.
“Stay back!” He yelled, his finger pressing dangerously close to the part of the gun that would fire it. “I’ll- I’ll only talk to her!” He yelled, Spencer steeping out of the room.
“Okay, Brandon, it’s just us,” You smiled softly at him, slowly moving your gun away. “Just look at me,” You caught his attention. “She is so scared, like you were, you don’t want her to feel that way, right?”
“N-no,” He muttered, taking a quick glance at the girl. “But if Francis lives, she’ll feel what I feel,”
“How dare you say that!” Francis screamed, outside of the door by Spencer, who was now trying to tell her to stay back.
That’s when you noticed something click in his brain, the tears stop, the subtle trembling of his mouth from voicing and remembering these bad memories of his childhood, return back to normal. It was noticeable that Brandon now didn’t have the same remorse for the little girl and you knew you needed to think fast.
“Let her come in, I want to tell her something before you let me go,” Brandon spoke, voice even, you all could hear the sirens getting closer to the house. He kept his grip of the girl and Spencer reluctantly let the woman in. “I want her to see,” You didn’t really register what happened at first, shooting your gun at his chest, a few shots rung out.
Your fellow FBI agents made it to the house, rushing in with their guns aimed and eyes wide at the scene before them in the old bedroom. You dropped to your knees, and watched the man let go of the little girl, both falling to the ground. Three guns dropped to the floor.
Spencer rushed by Francis and kicked the gun away, pulling out his handcuffs and cuffing the young woman. JJ and Rossi rushed over to Brandon and the young girl, feeling their pulse.
More police rushed in, and one of them helped you up onto your feet, guiding you out the door and to the ambulance before Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss showed up, rushing towards the house and not even noticing you getting out into the ambulance.
You didn’t really notice them, you didn’t even notice your gun wound at first. You moved your hands to your left shoulder, clutching it. The policeman soon noticed it, his eyes widening and calling out to some medics to help get you into the vehicle.
Francis was getting escorted out by Spencer and put into the back of a cop car. Spencer then noticed you and rushed over. It seemed like he was yelling your name, telling them to wait, but the ambulance left without him and you were soon hooked up to IVs and different types of medicines.
“What happened?” Hotch asked, people coming into the room and taking the body of Brandon and a officer helped the young girl out, whose name was Lauren.
“Where’s Y/n?” Emily questioned, looking around.
“She got shot, I tried to go with her in the ambulance but I was too late. I didn’t even realize-“ Spencer started to ramble a bit.
“She was shot?” Derek questioned, eyes widening. “Was it bad, we need to go, which hospital are they taking her too?”
“Wait,” Hotch put a hand on his shoulder.
“Brandon seemed like he was going to let the girl go. He said something how Francis would do the same to her daughter and she came by me yelling she wouldn’t. I tried to keep her back but Brandon asked for her to come in, saying he would then let the girl go. He said another thing I couldn’t make out and the shots rang,”
“It looks like Francis tried shot Brandon and he quickly let go of the girl and tried to shoot what he thought was Francis,” JJ commented.
“But it was actually Y/n and Y/n must have seen how he was going to shoot the girl and also shot at him,”Rossi put together.
‘I’m going to the hospital,” Derek interrupted, shaken up by the fact he couldn’t be with his girlfriend till now. “I need to go,”
“I’ll go with,” Emily mentioned, following the rushing Derek out the door and into his car. The were able to figure out, thanks to Garcia, which hospital you were being taken to.
By the time they got there, the doctor told them it wasn’t anything too severe and that you were in one of the rooms, guiding the two agents to you.
“Y/n,” Derek breathed out, pulling up a chair right next to your side and taking a hold of your hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay,”
“Just sore,” You whisper, staring at your hands that were resting in your lap.
“I’ll go tell everyone it’s not a bad injury,” Emily excused herself, sending you a small smile.
It was a hard case, the woman reminded you of a younger you. It already hit a bit harder because you had a younger brother at home. A part of you felt bad for Brandon, he deserved a sibling that would take on that true older sibling role and look after their younger one.
“How is the little girl doing?”
“She’s alright, her name is Lauren and she’s going back to the station to see if a grandma can get her,” Derek mentioned, he slide onto the bed and laid down beside you, lightly pulling you into his side so you could rest your head on his chest.
“Ah, right,” You were quiet for a minute, your hand instinctively moving to rub your stomach a little bit.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” You shook you head, rubbing your eyes a bit with the uninsured arm. “A bit tired,”
“Why are you rubbing your stomach?”
“Um,” You didn’t know what to say, your eyes widened.
“Der, I didn’t want to tell you right after a case, I wanted to make a cake and tell you that easy way,”
“You’re pregnant,” He gasped, eyes watering a bit. “I’m going to be a dad,”
“Yeah,” You chuckled, feeling something wet drip down your cheek.
“Now i’ve got a baby mama, and a hot one at that. Y/n, this is great! I’m going to be a dad!” He exclaimed, hands moving to rub your stomach.
“You better not be leaving me now,” You joked.
“Never, I love you too much,” He kissed your lips, deepening it. Derek felt so overjoyed that he was going to have a new addition to his family and felt determined to do a great job at his new title. “You know, Garcia is going to want to be a big part of this,”
“Let’s not tell the team, just yet, wait till i’m showing,”
“You have to be more careful on the field now, only paperwork,” Derek put a little finger in your face, acting stern, but then removing it and placing a kiss on your forehead.
“Yeah, whatever,” You rolled your eyes, and he cupped your cheeks in his hand.
“I can’t wait to do this with you, my sexy baby mamma,”
“This just means I’m gonna want a ring soon,” You smiled up at him and he winked at you.
“Oh don’t you worry about that one,”
This case was hard, and the outcome was defiantly unexpected, on both ends.
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the-bau-quinjet · 4 days ago
hiii! i don’t know if you have done this but can you do a hotch x reader where they get kidnapped by tobias instead of reid? xx
4 Months
Warning: Criminal Minds level violence, drugs, torture, rabid dogs
Word Count: 3562
a/n: I decided to switch up some of the specifics, just to make it a bit more fun to read. I hope you like it :) Also, we're pretending Rossi was there bc he is really the father of the group and it fit better than having Gideon 🤷‍♀️
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"JJ, we have to split up." You barely looked back at her, missing the nervous expression on her face as you ran toward the cornfield. "I'll take the field, you take the barn."
You slowed to a brisk walk as you neared the cornfield, raising your gun in front of you. You couldn't help but think about how pissed Hotch would be if he knew what you were doing.
You shook off the thought, knowing he would do the same if the roles were reversed.
Spotting movement, you moved farther into the corn, trying to spot any signs indicating which way Tobias went. A bent corn husk was the last thing you saw before the world went black.
"He's not a witness. He's the unsub." Hotch's eyes went wide as he realized you and JJ were there without backup. "Call JJ, now." He instructed Morgan, taking out his own phone to call you.
Hotch's eyes met Morgan's as both calls went unanswered. No words were exchanged as everyone ran out to the SUVS, putting on bulletproof vests as they went.
Hotch was nervously tapping the steering wheel the entire drive to Hankel's house. He couldn't stop replaying your last conversation.
"Y/N, you and JJ go talk to Hankel. Find out if he saw anything." Despite his stern expression, you could tell his eyes were smiling at you.
"Sure thing." You nodded, mouthing 'I love you' before turning to JJ.
That's it. He didn't even have the chance to mouth it back. JJ would've seen, and even though the team has theories about your relationship, you haven't confirmed anything yet.
He pulled into the driveway, running up to the house, gun out before anyone could stop him.
Prentiss followed Hotch, Morgan and Reid took the left, Rossi and a local cop took the right.
They tore through the house, clearing it with fierce determination, but came up empty.
"It's clear." Rossi called, joining Hotch and Prentiss in the living room. "Where are Morgan and Reid?"
Hotch spared a glance out the window, discovering the barn likely being cleared by the missing agents.
Everyone ran out of the house, arriving outside the barn just as Morgan and Reid lead a distressed JJ outside.
"What happened?" Hotch questioned, glancing over JJ's shoulder into the barn. Clearly you weren't there, but he needed to hope.
"We split up. Y/N went into the cornfield... I had- I had to shoot them." Her voice was detached, eyes glazed over.
"The dogs." Morgan clarified, leading JJ to a paramedic.
"Dammit. The house is clear. No sign of Y/N or Hankel." Hotch ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind. The worry was nearly overpowering, but it wouldn't help find you.
The sheriff approached, removing his hat. "A deputy two towns over gave directions to a man matching Hankel's description. He's headed for a hunting lodge."
Morgan nodded to Prentiss. "We'll check it out."
Your head was pounding. A vile scent reached your nose, causing your eyes to flicker open. You flinched at the closeness of the man in front of you.
"Tobias..." The name slipped out in a whisper.
"They're not here. It's just me now." He stated, calmer than you would've expected.
"Who are you?" You asked, trying to portray a fake sense of calm.
"I'm Rafael." He pulled out a revolver, adding a single bullet to the six chambers.
"No. You don't have to do this." Your heart ached, fear gripping your body as he aimed the gun at you.
"It is my duty to enact God's will." He said, right before pulling the trigger.
Hotch pulled back into the driveway, leading Garcia into the house.
"His computer setup is in there. If there's even a hint of where they might've gone, I need you to find it." Hotch gestured to the back room.
Penelope nodded. Carrying her own computer bags, she followed Derek into the depths of the house.
"What've we got?" Hotch questioned those remaining around the table.
"He knew he could throw us off, pretend to be looking for a hunting lodge." Emily spoke quickly.
"We've got piles of information, journals, notebooks. We're still sifting through it all." JJ added, shirt still bloody from yesterday.
Just then, Reid rushed in from another room. "The walls in the bedroom, they are covered in the latin phrase 'honora patrem tuum', honor thy father."
"Garcia, look for anything you can find about his father." Hotch gave out orders, but his focus was elsewhere. What was happening to you?
"Over here!" Morgan called from outside.
The team ran around the house to see Morgan opening a cellar door. Nodding slightly, Hotch and Morgan made there way inside.
"Tobias Hankel, FBI." Morgan shouted, receiving no answer.
They quickly found the dead body of none other than Hankel's father. Even the new information did little to calm the worry brewing inside of Hotch.
"Confess your sins." He ordered.
"My sins? I don't have any sins." You did your best to hold back the tears, trying to figure out who you were talking to.
"Everyone has sins. Confess, and you will be forgiven." He stared you down, waiting for a response.
You simply shook your head, mouth slightly agape. The smell was getting to you. You couldn't think straight with the pain in your head.
"I- I don't know what-"
"YES YOU DO. CONFESS." He hit you, whipping your head to the left.
"Hotch, he took drugs to escape. Dilaudid cut with a psychedelic." Emily relayed the information her and JJ got from Tobias's sponsor.
"We've got something too. The dates in his journals don't add up. He was talking about his father as if he was alive months after he killed him."
"His father beat him, preached about sin." Emily replied, putting the pieces together alongside Hotch.
"Split personality. Profile the father. He could be the key to finding Y/N." Even just saying your name he felt his heart clench.
"Who are you?" You questioned him as soon as he walked through the door, trying to figure out who you were dealing with this time.
"Tobias." He moved about the cabin almost nervously.
"Who was here before?" You knew Rafael, but the other personality was a mystery.
"My father." Definitely the most violent. He was who you had to look out for. "I'm sorry if he hurt you."
Tobias looked over you newly forming bruises before pulling off his belt.
"No. No what are you doing?" You felt your heart rate increase as he wrapped the belt around your arm. You could barely register the words he was saying, something about escaping from the pain.
"Please. I don't want it. I'm fine." You begged, tears brimming your eyes. He ignored your pleas, injecting the drug into your bloodstream.
Despite how much you hated it, you felt the relief he was talking about. The pain was gone, even if just briefly. You thought about your time spent with Hotch. It didn't feel like long enough. You wanted more. You had so much you wanted to do with him.
"Aaron..." You mumbled his name between kisses. "They could see us." You did little to stop him, despite your words.
"We should tell them." He whispered against your mouth, holding you close. "They would be happy for us."
You sighed blissfully, forehead pressed against his. "Really? You know they've got a pool going to see when we'd finally get together. Who do you think had money on 4 months ago?" You laughed into his neck, pulling him closer.
"My bet's on Rossi. He knows us both too well." Aaron smiled, a full genuine smile.
"You're probably right, but just to make it interesting, I'm betting Reid. He's too observant not to have noticed." You squinted at the window, knowing Reid was staring at the closed blinds on the other side.
That earned a laugh, one you could feel in his chest pressed tightly to your own.
"I love you." He kissed your head, content to hold you for a little while longer.
"I love you too." You leaned ever farther into him. "We can tell them when we get back from this next case."
"Get in here!" Reid called from the computer room, pointing to a screen where you were being broadcast. You were handcuffed and tied to a chair, clearly beaten.
"Pick one to die." The voice of Tobias could be heard, despite him not being visible on the screen.
You shook your head, staring into the camera. You wanted to plead for Hotch to save you, but you knew it wouldn't be fair. He didn't need that on his conscience.
"Choose one, and I will free another."
You shook your head again, trying to think of a clue you could give the team. "I won't let you hunt them like a poacher."
"Now. Or I will kill them all." He threatened, lifting you from the ground.
"I'll pick who lives." You stuttered, breaths coming fast and short. "The right screen."
You were forced to watch as he turned off the camera, leaving the screens to show the heinous murders he was about to commit.
Suddenly, Rossi was talking to you through the screen. The sight of him nearly brought you to tears.
"Y/N. This isn't your fault. None of it. You can't blame yourself. We will find you, but I need you to be there when we do."
You knew exactly what he meant. You were already blaming yourself, despite Rossi's father like relationship with you, it was hard to believe him.
It did give you the strength to remember the team though. You needed to see them, all of them, again.
"He's back!" Morgan called everyone in to view the screens again.
"Confess your sins." They watched as he beat you.
You cried. You begged him to stop. You begged Tobias for help, but nothing worked.
Hotch felt his heart break even more with every word.
Suddenly, you were on the ground, still tied to the chair. You were seizing, Charles Hankel watching as it happened.
The screen went dark, causing Hotch to punch the desk.
"Dammit." He shouted. He didn't care if his worry was beginning to poke through the surface. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now.
"The timestamp." Emily's voice drew him out of his head. "There's only a few minutes between the time of death and when it was posted. He's got to be close to the crime scene."
Finally. Something that felt like progress.
They watched the screen as you appeared again.
"Choose one to die." It was Rafael this time.
"I can't. I can't do it." Your face betrayed every emotion you were feeling inside.
"Pick one." He stated again.
"Me. Kill me." You nearly begged.
"You said you weren't one of them. Your team has 7 other members. Choose one of them to die."
You shook your head, fear gripping you once again as he pulled out the revolver.
"Choose." He connected the gone to your forehead, resting it there.
"No." He pulled the trigger, watching as you flinched.
"Choose." You shook your head, tensing as he pulled the trigger again.
Hotch felt his heart in his stomach, internally begging you to just say a name. He couldn't watch you die, not like this.
"Choose." He pulled the trigger yet again at your silence.
"I won't do it." You held firm, knowing you had limited chances.
"Choose one to die."
You opened your mouth, panting as an idea came to you.
"I choose... Aaron Hotchner." Your heart ached even saying it, but you needed to give him a clue. "He's a classic narcissist. Thinks he's better than everyone. He'd go to his grave knowing he was wrong." You winced internally, trying not to give away your plan.
Hotch left the room, trying to understand your words. The two of you had just argued about the definition of classic narcissism.
"I think you're wrong." You laughed at his amused expression.
"Yeah? Or do you just like making me exasperated?" He questioned your motives, pulling you closer as you laid in bed together.
"Maybe a little bit of both." You shrugged, leaning up to kiss him. "Promise me something?" You asked, a nervous expression on your face.
"What?" He looked at you with so much concern, you felt your heart beat a little faster.
"If... If I die, you can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to protest, but you kept going. "I know you Aaron. You'd take it to grave thinking it was your fault. I can't let you do that. Not when I know you blame yourself for Haley's death." You felt your heart break for him and the pain he had been through. "Promise me." You were nearly begging.
"I promise." He whispered, his throat tight at the idea of losing you.
He was brought back to the present by the sound of Rossi's voice.
"Hotch, you know Y/N didn't mean any of that." Rossi tried gently, unsure of how Hotch was coping with your situation.
"I'm not a narcissist. What's my worst quality?" He looked at the apprehensive looks everyone was giving him. "I'll start, I have no sense of humor."
He nodded along as his team listed his faults.
"None of you said I ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Y/N and I just argued about the definition of classic narcissism." He paced, trying to put it together. "I'd take it to my grave... Grave was a hint."
"What? How do you know?" Reid shook his head, trying to understand the logic.
"I made a promise. It's a long story." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory so he could focus. "Y/N knew I would remember it."
"A cemetary. It's got to be a cemetary." Morgan added.
"No cemeteries on the map." Garcia was typing away on the computer.
"Like a poacher." Reid whispered, staring at the screen.
"Reid?" Hotch looked at him, eyes pleading for an answer.
"That's what Y/N said in the first video. 'I won't let you hunt them like a poacher.'" He said it louder, more excited than before.
"Garcia, any reports of poaching in the area?" Hotch asked, the idea of finding you causing hope to erupt in his chest.
"Yes, at Marshall Parrish... and there's a cemetery on the grounds." She gave them the address, watching as they ran out to the SUVs.
"I'm sorry." Tobias said it so softly, you were almost certain you didn't hear it at all.
"Wh- why?" Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, trying to make sense of it.
"He'll win. In the end, he always does." He rose from the crouched position, slowly injecting you with more drugs.
"Hotch!" You screamed, feeling arms restraining you from behind.
You watched as he went into the hostage situation, unarmed and without a vest.
"Derek. Let me go!" You struggled in his grasp, straining to get free.
"There's nothing you can do, he's already inside." He stated the truth, although it did little to calm your nerves.
You settled down, throat tight with worry. You bit your lip, eyes flitting between the door and windows. You just needed a sign, anything to say he was alright.
The sound of a gun firing stunned you. You were frozen in place, fear consuming you. You had just told him you loved him for the first time this morning. What if you never get to say it again? What if that's all the time you got.
You stared in horror as everyone ran toward the house, only to freeze when a voice shouted everything was fine.
"It's fine." He huffed, carrying the small child out of the house toward a waiting EMT. "Baxter is dead."
"Aaron..." You whispered the name, realizing how powerless you felt when he was in danger. The two of you made eye contact across the yard, a reassuring look in his eye.
"Aaron..." You whispered, blinking rapidly as you slowly came to.
"What about Aaron." Charles. Tobias's dad was back.
"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't keep him safe." You muttered to yourself, not fully understanding the situation.
"Is that a confession?" He asked, voice hard.
"Yes." It was more of a breath of air than a word, but it was all he needed to condemn you.
He unlocked your handcuffs, forcing a shovel into your newly freed arms before dragging you outside.
"Dig." he instructed plainly, watching over you as stray tears wet the ground beneath you.
"Clear." Morgan called from one side of the shed.
"Clear" Hotch replied from the other. With the whole team in the small space, it wasn't exactly necessary but it was habit.
Hotch could feel his nerves picking up again as he realized this meant you were still with Tobias. He paced back and forth, feeling powerless.
"Spread out. They have to be on foot." He left without waiting for a response, turning left with JJ to look for you.
You did your best to stall, but Charles wasn't the most patient.
"Dig faster."
"I'm trying. I'm trying." You whimpered, movements speeding up ever so slightly. The massive knife in his hands causing your own to shake.
"You're weak. Move." He huffed, throwing his jacket to the ground before ripping the shovel from your hands.
A flash of light in the trees caught your eye. Flashlights. Your team. Aaron.
Your eyes flickered between the man in front of you and the trees, causing him to turn.
You took the split second he wasn't looking to grab the gun from his jacket, swiftly aiming it as he turned back to you knife raised.
"Only one bullet in that gun." He lunged for you, falling backwards after you pulled the trigger.
You dropped the gun, quickly tossing the knife away.
"Tobias?" You cried, moving back toward him.
"You killed me." He seemed surprised, but grateful at the same time.
You felt the tears pouring down your face as you apologized.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." You grabbed his hand, watching the light fade from his eyes as he asked one final question.
"You think I'll get to see my mom again?"
You barely registered the arms around you, pulling you to your feet. You couldn't take your eyes off of Tobias. He wasn't the one who hurt you. He helped you, or at least tried.
"I killed him." Your breathing picked up, vision blurring.
"Y/N, look at me." You turned to the voice, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.
"Aaron?" You took a stuttering breath, trying to make sure this was real.
"I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now." His words were just as reassuring to himself as they were to you. You caught JJ's eye over Hotch's shoulder, quickly moving to hug her.
"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never should've-" You cut her off.
"None of this was your fault. It was my idea to split up. I'm so sorry." You cried into her shoulder, knowing how guilty she must've felt.
She hugged you back, tears brimming her own eyes at seeing you alive again.
She lead you to the EMT, not commenting on the look you threw over your shoulder at Aaron. He quickly followed you to the ambulance. JJ left you to talk to Hotch, who stayed beside you the entire time the medics looked you over.
"I didn't mean it." You said when you were finally alone, sitting between the open doors of the ambulance.
"What?" Aaron questioned, his mind not following your own train of thought.
"When... When I had to choose. I didn't mean any of it." You could feel the tears coming, but this time you did nothing to hold them back.
"I know. I knew the whole time." You brushed your tears away, looking you in the eye. "I love you so much." He whispered, his own eyes feeling watery.
"I love you too." You leaned into him, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. You couldn't help but look over at the team, all of whom quickly pretended not to be watching. You huffed a laugh.
"Yeah, I think they're going to have some questions." Hotch smiled, glad to see you happy even if just for a second.
"After this case, right?" You looked back at him, confirming you still wanted to share your relationship with the team.
"Deal." He smiled, arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer.
You couldn't help but bring it up on the jet ride home.
"So, who had money on four months ago?" You questioned, tucked into Aaron's side on the couch.
"What?" Emily raised a brow at your sudden statement.
"That's when we started dating." You grinned at her shocked expression.
"Dammit Reid." Morgan huffed, handing over the money.
"Don't forget Rossi!" Reid high fived the older man, the two grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"Looks like we were both right." Hotch smiled into your hair, trying to hide his laugh.
"Yeah. We make a pretty good team." You smiled, leaning into his touch.
"I love you." He murmured, face still in your hair. You turned your face into his chest before responding.
"I love you too."
Permanent taglist:
@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan
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klinenovakwinchester · 4 days ago
50 Shades of Aaron Hotchner — part one
The time has finally come 😈
This is just the first chapter, so it is slow (apologies) but I promise from here on out it picks right up xx
Warnings: none for this chapter! (one sexy thought, but it’s nothing)
FSOAH Masterlist || Hotch Masterlist
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(picture from Unsplash)
Your AirPods vibrate gently in your ears from the bass in your favorite song. You shouldn’t have to psych yourself up this much to walk in here, but you do anyway.
“Here” meaning the office of the university’s newspaper. Your roommate, Megan, works here. For a senior staff writer, she sure does leave her notebook at home a lot.
You think it’s her last few attempts at recruiting you to the newspaper. But you’ve told her time and time before, you write fiction. Not about real people.
Still, because you love her, and because you’re passing the building on your way to the library, you stop by and bring her the notebook.
“You’re an angel,” Megan gushes when she sees you enter the glass doors. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“Only a thousand times on the phone earlier,” you joke, handing off her notebook. She repeated it way too much, no doubt trying to kiss your ass so you’d bring the notebook to her. “I swear you leave it on the counter on purpose sometimes.”
“Once or twice,” she admits shyly. “But this time was a complete accident. I got carried away with something else.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Please tell me ‘something else’ doesn’t mean what I think it means.”
“What do you think it means?”
“A boy,” you deadpan. “Or is it a girl this time?”
Playfully, she smacks your arm with her notebook. “It wasn’t a boy, or a girl, for that matter! I just got an email that I wasn’t expecting.” She pauses, beginning to grin. “Aaron Hotchner emailed me back.”
Your raised eyebrows morph into confusion. “Who?”
Megan continues, not noticing your confused expression. “Well, he didn’t email me back. His secretary did. She said he’s free at eleven tomorrow for an interview, but that he’s booked up after. I already emailed my professor and she said she can meet with me during office hours so I can skip class to go to the interview. Isn’t that awesome?!”
You nod slowly, listening but not really processing any of it. You have no idea who this Aaron Hotchner is, but he must be important if he has a secretary sending emails and making meetings for him. And if Megan seems this excited.
“This is it,” she goes on. “My editor said I needed a big story for my senior year. This is my big story.”
“That’s great,” you grin, trying to mirror her excitement, but you don’t think you could match her expression if you tried extra hard. You’d have to...get a book deal. No, a book contract. Multiple books. Yeah, that would do it.
“Aye, look who it is,” a voice calls from the back, flowing to the front as staff writer Derek Morgan emerges. “Did you finally recruit her?” He asks, addressing your roommate.
You answer him. “No, she didn’t.”
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “It’s a shame. You could be my fifth date this week.”
“Fifth?” Megan gasps, smacking him with her notebook this time. “Derek Morgan, you player.”
“You know it, babygirl,” he winks.
“Ew,” you laugh.
“Yeah, save that for Penelope,” Megan teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.
But this is the first you’re ever hearing of a Penelope. “Who? A woman? Derek Morgan knows a woman?”
“Funny,” Derek scoffs. “Penelope and I are just friends, you know that.”
“Hm, have you told her you’re going on all these dates?” Megan asks.
Derek goes quiet. And then walks off, claiming to have an interview to get to.
“Got him,” Megan snickers. “They swear they’re just best friends, but I think it’s only a matter of time.”
“I dunno,” you chuckle. “I don’t see him ever settling down.”
“Me either,” Megan sighs. “Anyway, thanks for bringing this. What are you up to today?”
“Heading to the library,” you reply, hearing her response from a mile away.
“Of course,” Megan rolls her eyes jokingly. “Well, have fun. Want me to text you to figure out dinner?”
“Sure,” you nod. “That’ll remind me to eat.”
“I know,” Megan chuckles. “Get outta here. I’ve got an interview to prepare for.”
“Right,” you pretend once again to understand the importance of it. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” she groans, heading back to her desk.
You place your AirPods back in your ears, relaxing as your favorite song automatically begins to play.
The smell of old and new books mixed with freshly brewed coffee greets you as you enter the university library. Over at the desk, a familiar face looks up from his book, which is a feat considering he once recounted an experience to you of the time he read a novel straight through a fire drill.
“Hey Spence,” you smile, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “What’re you reading today?”
“War and Peace,” he replies with a small smile.
Your eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t you read that last week?”
“I did,” he nods, turning the book around for you to see. “This is in the original Russian.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Of course. Is it just as good?”
“Better, actually.” He pauses then, putting the book down. “Do you need your usual room reserved?”
“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I think I’m gonna get a coffee and sit under the stairs again.”
“Okay,” he smiles. “I hope you make some progress today.”
“You and me both, buddy,” you chuckle, waving as you walk away, heading for the coffee shop that’s inside the library.
It’s called Roastin’ which you think was the university’s failed attempt at making it hip and cool. Regardless, the coffee here is amazing. If you come to the library, you get coffee here. It’s a given.
After grabbing your favorite coffee and pastry, you make your way over to the small table that sits underneath the stairs. It only has two chairs, but once you get your laptop and journal spread out, the entire table is covered.
Not that you mind, though. Not many people like sitting here because the table is so small and because the vibrations from footsteps on the staircase can be annoying. But once you put your music in, you’re zoned out.
You’re a senior Creative Writing major and part of your final portfolio is a finished draft of a novel. The plus side to this is that if it’s good enough, some professors might give you agents to send it off to or make other connections for you.
But that can only happen if you finish this damn thing.
You’ve written a few novels, but they’ve been science-fiction. And even then, only one of them is what you’d consider publishing worthy. Your professor for Advanced Fiction Writing has challenged you to write outside your comfort zone.
Only, she didn’t tell you she was doing that until after you told her what genres you’d written before.
Which means now you’re stuck writing a romance novel -- young adult or adult, she doesn’t care, just not full-blown erotica -- and you don’t know the first thing about romance.
Well, that’s not true. You had one boyfriend in high school that lasted for a few months, but it was high school. The most the two of you did was make out during a movie. And that was his idea of a date. A movie.
Granted, it is a cute date idea. Here and there. With him, it was all he wanted to do. And half the time, he wouldn’t be able to pay. So there you were, stuck sitting through shitty movies with shitty, overpriced popcorn that you had to pay for, too.
He wasn’t even that great of a kisser. Or conversationalist.
It was all around bad.
And it’s the only experience you’ve ever had with romance and dating.
So trying to take that, and take what you’ve seen in movies and read in books, and apply it to writing a novel of your own is...difficult.
Difficult meaning you haven’t started.
You don’t even have a title. And it’s due at the end of the semester. Because you’re graduating at the end of the semester.
The word count isn’t an issue. The minimum is 60,000 words, but you’ve written more than that in the span of a month. It’s a matter of having a good idea that you can run away with. That’s the issue.
And as you stare at the blinking cursor, you don’t think you’re going to have any luck today, either.
When Megan texts you later to figure out dinner plans, she’s surprised to find you’re already back at the apartment. And that you’ve ordered pizza that should arrive soon.
“You doing okay?” She asks when she returns from work. She turns to hang her jacket by the door. “You’re usually nose-deep in your laptop still.”
“Yeah,” you shrug, setting down the random novel you grabbed from the library. It’s not even a romance novel. It’s science-fiction again.
Megan plops down next to you on the couch. “How’s the book coming?”
“It’s not,” you chuckle, propping your head in your hand. “I can’t think of where to start.”
“We should find you a date,” she replies seriously, prompting you to start laughing. “I’m serious!” She cries. “Not settle down, just a date. It might help.”
“I don’t have the energy to go on a date.”
“It doesn’t take energy.”
“Trust me, it does.”
“Okay, well, not with the right person,” she argues. “What about that boy at the library? Spencer, right?”
You scrunch up your nose. “Nope.” It’s not that he’s unattractive (because he isn’t; he’s very cute), he’s just not your...type.
But you don’t know how to explain your type to Megan without being embarrassed or teased for it.
“Why not?” Megan presses on. “He’s cute, he seems like he’d be into you.”
“He’s into books.”
“Perfect. So are you.”
You give her a look.
“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “What about Derek? He’d do all the flirting. It wouldn’t even be serious.”
“Absolutely not,” you laugh loudly. The day you go on a date with Derek Morgan will be a day that the sun blows up and kills everyone -- or starts the real life Maze Runner.
See? Science-fiction is where you love to be.
“Fine,” Megan breathes. “Since you obviously don’t want to talk about it, look at these pictures.”
She pulls her laptop out of her bag and opens it up, going right to the last page she visited. It’s this Aaron Hotchner’s website, but then she goes to a new tab and Googles his name, clicking on images.
“What are we looking at?” You inquire, leaning a little closer, but trying not to be too obvious.
“This is the guy I’m interviewing tomorrow,” Megan explains, then pauses. “Seriously, how do you just not know who he is?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’ve ever needed a lawyer?”
Ignoring your question, she goes back to the images. “He’s this crazy successful attorney. Rumor has it, he hasn’t lost a single case in his entire career. Not even when he first started. How insane is that?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty insane,” you nod. Insanely attractive. How old is this guy?
“It’s a shame he’s so old, though,” Megan continues, answering your mental question. “He’s like 43 or something.”
“Oh, yeah,” you say noncommittally, knowing that if she hears your tone, she’ll think you’re disinterested. When, in fact, you’re very interested.
That’s only a twenty year age difference, which isn’t bad at all. Especially if he looks like that.
He’s exactly your type. Tall -- 6’2” which is tall enough that even in your heels, you’d still be able to rest your head on his shoulder. Dark eyes and dark hair, styled neatly in a way that has you dying to run your fingers through it, mess it up, tug on the strands. He’s muscular, that much you can tell even though he’s wearing a suit and tie. The tie is the best part. What you wouldn’t give to have that wrapped about your wrists, knotted to the headboard--
A loud knock on the door has you nearly jumping out of your skin.
“Pizza must be here,” Megan says idly, placing her laptop down on the coffee table. “Did you pay online?”
“Yeah,” you nod, gluing your eyes to the images of Aaron Hotchner on her screen while she grabs the pizza. There’s a picture of him back when he graduated from the university. No wonder this is a big story. He was attractive then, too, but something tells you that you still wouldn’t have gone for him.
You like older men. There’s a reason you haven’t dated Spencer or Derek, or any other boy that has shown any ounce of interest in you since you’ve been here. They’ve all been your age, younger, or not old enough.
You’re well aware that it’s taboo. Age gaps are cute and all when it’s a 23 year old dating a 27 year old. But being seven years away from 30 and your partner being seven years away from 50 would definitely cause some societal side-eye.
You roll your eyes at yourself as you head into the kitchen area for drinks. You’re thinking about all of this as if you know Aaron, as if he knows you, as if there is even a chance. Hilarious. You should be a comedian if this writing thing doesn’t work out.
Megan takes the pizza to the couch while you fix drinks, but a loud sneeze has you turning around slowly, both drinks in hand.
Another sneeze. Megan groans.
Tentatively, you hand her the glass of water. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”
“Don’t say that to me,” she mutters. “I’ve been sneezing all day. I think I just forgot my allergy medicine last night.”
“Oh, yeah, probably.”
Brushing right over the issue, Megan grabs the remote and queues up Netflix on the TV.
You settle back against the couch cushions, stealing one last glance at her computer screen, Aaron Hotchner’s eyes boring into your own before the screen goes black as the computer falls asleep.
There’s a new face for you to fantasize about at night, at least.
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alvfr · 4 days ago
🌹 for CM if you have anything for it rn
Yes, I do! I have several for CM right now in fact, but here is a snippet from Bittersweet (”Accidents” Part 5):
“Well, well, well,” Morgan said with a large grin when you and Hotch came into the conference room a minute and a half before the briefing would start. Everyone else already sat in their respective seats and you tried to avoid looking at any of them or their knowing smiles. “Look who it is? Right on time, huh? It’s nice to see you two are human after all. Good morning.”
Thank you for playing 🥰
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For every “🌹” received in my inbox I’ll post one random sentence/snippet of a random WIP I’m currently writing (specify fandom if you want)
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uncpanda · 5 days ago
20 from the prompt list “bandaging/stitching up an injury” with Hotch? But maybe something along the lines of its his kids and he doesn’t do it as special as mom? Vice versa, up to you! Just desperately soft for Dad/Family Hotch! Thank you so much!! These have been so fun to read!!
AN: So this is based on real life events. My dad is extremely squeamish, he never handled any of the injuries except for in one area: the mouth. He was the one who helped us when we had loose teeth, and in this scenario it’s reader who is squeamish but handles the teeth. 
Drabble Requests are closed, I’m just finishing up what’s in my inbox ;)
Prompt 20: bandaging/stitching up an injury
“It’s loose!” 
You grin from where you’re stealing bits and pieces from the dinner Aaron’s cooking. 
“I can see that bud! Good for you!” 
Your eyes flicker to Aaron who is steadily not looking at Jack’s mouth. You nudge him, and without looking up, he says, “That mean’s a visit from the tooth fairy bud.” 
Jack’s grin widens before he returns to the couch. You watch as he wiggles the tooth with his tongue, and turn to Aaron. “What is up with you? You’re acting like a loose tooth is a critical wound.” 
“I can’t handle . . . that.” 
Your mouth drops, “You see some of the more horrific things ever presented. You chase serial killers for a living. You have killed people.” 
“And I hate dealing with the mouth. There’s a reason Reid is always the one to reach in and victim’s there and pull stuff out. I can do blood, and dead bodies, and all of that. I can not do . . .this.” His voice is a hushed whisper, and it takes everything in you not interrogate him. 
“Daddy, will you pull my tooth?” 
Before Aaron can turn green you say, “Do you mind if I help Jack? Dad is still in the middle of dinner.” 
The tooth is barely hanging on and the moment it’s out Jack is staring at in awe. You wash your hands as he shows Aaron the tooth, and then you grab your phone to take a picture, “All right Jack, big smile!” 
He does so and you can’t help but smile at the gap in his teeth and the relieved look on Aaron’s face. 
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alvfr · 5 days ago
I would love O, P, Q for Hotch 😏
Hello, my 😏-friend 💕 You will have all the letters you desire for our man, the one and only, SSA Aaron Hotchner.
O for Obvious What things do either do in public to show they’re together?
Hotch will, almost without fail, put his hand on the small of your back when you’re walking somewhere together. It’s almost a reflex. It’s not to steer you, but just this quiet confirmation that he’s nearby. When you have time and walking more leisurely, he’ll hold your hand. He’s a little possessive in his behavior, just little though, and there’s something about his demeanor that doesn’t leave any doubts that you’re together. His arm on the back of your chair, his body leaning just a little towards you when you sit next to each other, or his hand drifting down to rub your knee occasionally. Not really exaggerated with the PDA, but still something.
P for Peace When are they most relaxed together?
Saturday evenings. It’s a cliche, but it’s given Hotch time to de-stress from work by spending the day with you and Jack and there’s still a whole day left of the weekend before he has to go back. Your party days are over, so most Saturdays are spent at home, but it’s those hours after Jack’s bedtime where you don’t really do anything but exist together that he’s the most relaxed. Maybe you’re reading a book or knitting or engaging in some other kind of hobby, and he’s watching some old Westerns that don’t require a whole lot of brainpower, and it’s just comfortable and domestic and peaceful.
Q for Quiet What can they do together without talking?
Already answered here.
Another thing is showering, but it’s mostly out of necessity than anything else. You both have to get up early in the mornings and sometimes your routines require you to shower together. It’s nothing enticing about it, but there’s a comfortable routine in just being naked together in an enclosed space, silently handing each other the right bottle without needing to be asked, and exchanging positions to rinse off under the showerhead. Sometimes it’s not before you’re both fully dressed that you’ll say the first word of the day to each other, but there’s been soft smiles and kisses since you woke up, so who needs words anyway?
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A-Z fluffy headcanon prompt asks (SFW) 🌸
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alvfr · 5 days ago
S, V W for hotchner <3
Good morning, anon! Thank you for the prompts 💕
S for Sleep What position do they sleep in if/when they sleep together?
Already answered here.
For those soft-hearted, I can add that whenever Hotch gets home late from a case, he’ll try to slip into bed without disturbing you too much. He just can’t help himself from carefully caressing your cheek and giving you a soft kiss though, and you’ll instinctively curl yourself close to him without really waking up.
V for Vibrant What do they do or say that will make the other one smile without fail?
You smile when Hotch smiles. You can’t help it. Whenever his face cracks into one of those rare, full-on grins, you beam back before you even notice. That’s not what he does on purpose to make you smile. He has other tactics. Like coming home from a run, drenched in sweat, and finding you before he hits the shower to give you a cold and wet hug that makes you squirm and try to get away. He’ll put his clammy cheek to yours and you’ll grimace before succumbing to the need to laugh because it’s just so silly and juvenile and not what you should expect from a stern-faced FBI agent.
Your trick to making him smile is equally silly though. Whenever his face has been locked in a frown for too long, his voice and demeanor serious beyond reason, you'll put on your best act and mimic both his posture, tone of voice, and expressions. If he’s hunched over his desk at his home office, ignoring your and Jack’s calls for “Dinner!” or “We’re starting the movie!”, you will saunter into his office, face in a polite frown, and give him a serious look before saying: “It’s time to deliver the profile.” No matter how hard he tries, he can’t keep from smiling at that.
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W for Whisper What nicknames or compliments do they use the most? 
Already answered here.
In addition to compliments about your appearance, he will occasionally wrap his arms around you, let out a quiet sigh, and murmur something like: “I’m so happy you’re in my life.” He doesn’t even intend it as a compliment, rather than a quiet confirmation that he appreciates you, but they always make your heart feel ten times bigger in your chest. Truly, hearing him say that he’s happy and happy because of you, is the greatest praise you can ever hear.
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A-Z fluffy headcanon prompt asks (SFW) 🌸
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alvfr · 5 days ago
d, f, k for hotch plz!!!
Hii, anon, thank you for the prompts! Here is your Soft!Hotch for this Monday morning (at least in my time zone):
D for Devoted How do they show each other they’re serious about the relationship?
I know I’ve said this before, but Hotch is old-school. If he’s serious about the relationship, you won’t have any doubts. The first thing he’ll do is introduce you to Jack. If he’s serious about you, that he sees this can become more, Jack will be part of that “more”. Then he’ll introduce you to his team in a casual setting, bringing you along as his date to one of Rossi’s dinner parties or to their favorite bar. It feels a lot like meeting his family, and you realize that's exactly what you're doing.
And, because Hotch is old-school, if he’s really serious about the relationship, he’ll pop the question. Probably sooner than you might think, but despite the many regrets he has concerning Haley, marrying her was not one of them. He wants to show that he’s committed and, maybe, he needs that same confirmation from you.
F for Flirty How do/did they flirt with each other?
This might come as a surprise to many who only know Hotch from the FBI, but he’s a good flirter. He scored Haley Brooks back in the day after all, and although he’s rusty and awkward in the beginning, he eventually loosens up and allows himself to just go for it. His quick-witted dry humor makes you laugh and that spurs on his youthful smiles, dimples appearing on both sides of his face, and he stops over-analyzing his every move and just lets his body do what’s natural. He doesn’t think about how he mimics your posture, or angle his feet toward you even when you're not the one talking, or looks at you when someone else says something funny to see your reaction first. 
Always polite, he’ll do small things for you. Open the door, pull out your chair, offer to help you carry something you could probably have managed on your own. He does this for everyone, but he smiles when he does this for you, so it feels different.
K for Karma How do they apologize to each other?
Hotch is constantly evaluating his own behavior and how his actions are perceived by others. This results in that sometimes he’ll apologize before you even realize he’s done something wrong. More often than not, he’s apologizing for something that he’s not done as opposed to something he’s done. Not giving you enough attention, not calling you to let you know he’d be late, not buying the right brand of something or another that you asked him to.
His apologies are always sincere and carefully laid out with explanations for his actions. It can be infuriating, especially those times where you are angry or hurt and he’s making it hard because he always knows why he’s acted the way he did. And he always knows that it’s not an excuse, and he encourages your anger with him and that makes it impossible to stay angry because it’s so obvious that he genuinely cares and he’s never intentionally tried to hurt you.
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Gif by @dudeitiskarev​ (Sorry, couldn’t find it in the gif-search thingy)
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A-Z fluffy headcanon prompt asks (SFW) 🌸
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jetaime-jespere · 5 days ago
Right Where You Left Me, Part 4
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Rated M - TW applies for depiction of major character death and implied sexual assault.
“What are you thinking?” He asks softly.
“What are you thinking?” She challenges, motionless beside him. In the quiet stillness he can hear her breathe, even and calm. It’s possibly the first time she’s relaxed completely the entire evening, her mind slipping into a rare state of peace. She knows why, but if she admits it to herself, it’ll make it that much harder to leave when the morning comes.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, gently squeezing her fingers under the covers. “ We don’t have to do this.”
“We were never not going to do this, and you know it.” Emily shifts beside him, the weight of her body creaking the mattress as she moves closer.
April | Fourteen Months Ago
The return to Virginia brings a strange limbo of unease, a series of days that blend together. They’re all seemingly frozen with grief, caught between the need to mourn together and simultaneously separate to heal. JJ is stretched thin between Penelope and Reid, both despondent in their loss and entrenched in their sorrow, their pain visceral and real. Emily keeps her distance from them both despite their attempts to keep her close. She says all the right things, tells them she’s fine even when it’s clear she isn’t, and she withdraws as the funeral approaches, quietly wishing it would all just end . Aaron is caught between the worst of it all, desperate in his attempts to reach Emily and all of them too, torn between two tragedies they never anticipated. Dave watches the whole mess with tightly knit brows and an uncharacteristic lack of words, the usual sparkle snuffed right out of his eyes.
In the days that follow, things seem to crumble apart even further in between funeral arrangements and the aftermath of the case. The BAU is placed on mandatory two week leave pending an investigation, something they all saw coming. They’re told even before they leave Newark. They’ll be questioned relentlessly, their accounts of what happened that day analyzed, and Emily is physically ill at the thought of recounting what happened out loud, let alone to a room of suits with recording software. Of course she says nothing, only clutches a cup of coffee in her hands on the entire flight back, wondering if she’ll make it off the plane without vomiting.
She spends almost thirty minutes in the tiny jet bathroom on her knees doing just that.
Aaron takes her home after they deplane in Quantico. Not because she asked him to, but because he gets her into his car before she has the energy to put up any kind of fight, and because her bag is already in his backseat. The trip home is silent; Emily tears at her fingernails and keeps her eyes on her knees as the rain pelts relentlessly pelts the windows.
“Emily,” Aaron says heavily as he exits off the highway, inching closer to her apartment. “I have to finish the report before I talk to Strauss.”
She stiffens. Whether it’s the usage of her nickname or what he’s hinting at he isn’t sure, but she visibly withdraws into herself and folds her arms over her chest. She says nothing, yet he hears her thick swallow, sees the pained expression on her face.
“What do you … what do you want me to include?” His voice is low, choked with tension. He hates being the one to ask this of her; it seems cruelly unfair he has to be the one to do it.
“Say whatever you want,” Emily says with defeat. It’s clear she hasn’t slept at all, her eyes haunted and hollow, ringed with dark circles. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She faces the window, pointedly turning away from him, her face flushing with traces of carefully hidden shame.
“What does that mean? Please talk to me.” He tightens a hand around the steering wheel, applies a little too much pressure on the brake when the car ahead comes to a stop. It sends the car jolting forward, taking her by sudden surprise. Aaron chastises himself inwardly when she flinches and swears softly under her breath, her face going pale. He briefly contemplates pulling over; she looks like she’s about to be sick again. But there’s traffic on both sides of them, and absolutely nowhere to go.
“I don’t care what you put in there,” she says through tightly clenched teeth, her fingers digging into the center console.  In time, it won’t matter what he says or writes. “Say whatever you want.”
Her apathy scares him. “Have you considered talking to anyone, Emily? Making an appointment?” He knows it's a long shot at best, but adds quietly, “I can go with you if you want.”
“Aaron,” she says quietly, ignoring the pain in her chest, after a very long pause. “I’m not discussing this. Write whatever you want. But please, I just want to stop talking about it. We have enough to deal with right now.” She takes a ragged breath, swiping at her eyes with her thumbs.
She’s right. The days ahead will be tough, some of the toughest they’ve ever faced. It doesn’t seem fair to put her through more, continuing to relive the past one more time.
Read the rest on ao3
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alvfr · 5 days ago
Hiiiiii, Hotch for the fluffy headcanon promt ask!!! E, G, M and Q (and yes, you should totally do the NSFW version 👀) ❤️
Yesss, some Hotch-stuff! Thank you for asking 💕 Warning: This is some sentimental stuff 😅
E for Enchanted What was the first thing about the other that caught their eye?
The first thing that caught your eye about Hotch was his posture. How proudly he held himself, with a straight back and sharp gaze assessing the room, obviously not speaking until he had found the right words. (The second thing was his hands, but we should leave that for the NSFW version...)
The first thing Hotch noticed about you was your enthusiasm. How alive you seemed in conversations, how you gave him your full attention, and how genuine your smile was. You smiled with your whole face, so blatantly honest, and it made him feel special to have your interest.
G for Gentle How do they comfort each other if one has had a bad day?
Hotch will first determine if you need advice, to vent, or just some peace. He’ll make sure your needs are met either way, giving you space or smothering you with validation depending on how you feel. He’ll quietly make you your favorite tea, touch you a little bit extra every time you're within reach, and eventually drag you to the couch to watch something you like with him to take your mind off things. He’ll run his fingers over your back, making sure you know he's nearby, and kiss your forehead softly when you lay your head down on his chest.
When Hotch has a bad day, you know he needs time before he’s ready to talk about it. You’ll make sure he gets something to eat first, and then pull him to the shower to wash off the day. Lots of kisses, lots of innocent touching and hugging, keeping him grounded, and reminding him that whatever happened at his job doesn’t affect your love for him.
M for Memory What is their favorite memory together?
Hotch’s favorite memory is this random Sunday morning where he, jetlagged and exhausted from coming home late the night before, woke up closer to noon and finds himself alone in bed. Following the sounds, he shuffled into the kitchen where you and Jack are in the middle of making brunch. Jack was practically covered in flour and with revealing chocolate stains on his lips from “testing” the chocolate chips for the pancakes, and you were wearing one of Hotch’s random t-shirts and some sweatpants and looked absolutely stunning.
It’s your favorite memory too, seeing a sleepy Hotch still in his sleepwear with his hair sticking up at odd places and his face breaking into a youthful smile at the sight of you and Jack.
Q for Quiet What can they do together without talking?
Walking. It’s not often you go for walks together, because Hotch prefers his strict running schedules and you have your own exercise regime, but whenever you walk to the car from the movies, restaurant, or wherever you have been, you walk hand-in-hand without needing to say anything. It’s quiet, comfortable, and occasionally he’ll squeeze your hand a bit and it makes you wonder what he’s thinking about, but you appreciate the silence too much to ask.
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A-Z fluffy headcanon prompt asks (SFW)
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celebrities-imagines · 5 days ago
Hiya! New to the blog here so, um, do you happen to have a Masterlist of some sort? 😬
Hey! Yes I do have a Masterlist which I will add below. It does not have all my imagines/preferences because I haven’t updated it in a little, but it has most of them. Have a great day!
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thewhitejournal · 6 days ago
“The Intern” Part Six
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Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series
(not my gif)
hey guys! i know i haven’t been active in awhile and i apologize, but i hope this final chapter (unless y’all want like an epilogue or something of that nature) of ‘the intern’ makes up for it. i’m so sad to see this series go because it was one of my favorites to write but we got more series, one shots, and all that good stuff on the way!
please enjoy my loves :) <3
content warnings: cursing, super fluffy and sappy towards the end
thewhitejournal’s masterlist
“the intern” masterlist
The past four weeks have flown by quickly. You were out of the cast and back on your feet in the bullpen. You were helping out everywhere; between running errands for Garcia and helping out with the rest of the team, you were dead tired by the end of the day. But it didn’t matter to you. You were finally getting a taste of what you loved, even with school and classes still a part of your daily routine. You were eternally grateful for the geniuses you had on hand when you were doing homework in between tasks. Everything be damned if you didn’t take advantage of it.
A groan slipped from your lips, filling every nook and cranny in Garcia’s office. It broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, other than the sound of her fingernails clicking away on the keys at record speed.
“What’s a matter, babe?”, she asked, gaze never wavering from the work in front of her. Your head now rested on your arms on the table in front of you. You let out an exasperated sigh.
“I hate math.”, you stated simply, earning a chuckle from her. She rolled her chair over next to yours, placing a gentle hand on your back.
“Let me see it.” You sat up so she could look over your work. The page was littered with dozens of scratch work equations that were slightly visible from having been erased. Most of the questions had half-completed answers or none at all. She shook her head.
“You should ask Reid. Why do they change the way people do math every year?” You sighed again as she rolled back to her desk. You gathered your book and assignments up in your arms and carried them out into the bullpen, eyes falling on Dr. Reid scribbling away on a file.
“I’m glad I caught you here, I need the help of a genius.”, you explained, pulling an empty chair up to his desk after having sat your things down on it. He looked taken aback by your sudden approach. He didn’t say anything at first, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re too busy right now, then don’t worry-“, you started, but were cut off by his stammering.
“N-no, I’m not too busy for you, (Y/N).” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say a slight blush crept upon his cheeks. “What’s the w-work?”, he asked you, clearing his throat and meeting your eyes for only split seconds at a time. You smiled and shook your head at the awkward doctor, letting him take a look at the papers. He quickly realized what you were working on, then tried helping you, going on ramblings about the equations and variables you didn’t understand. Eventually, you could form answers to your questions on the pages.
“You’re a lifesaver, Spencer. Thanks.”, you said, flashing him a bright smile. He offered you a small smile and minimal eye contact. You just turned and left, satisfied with the completed worksheet. You returned to Garcia’s office to see Hotch there, standing over her. They were talking about something; pictures of criminals and crime scenes flashed the screens on the walls as she clicked around and typed. You froze in the doorway.
Aaron Hotchner was a wonderful boss and an amazing man; he thought of you as an outstanding addition to the team, so you had no reason to be so intimidated by him. But you couldn’t help it. Maybe it had something to do with the way you’d seen him interrogate suspects so intensely, or maybe with the fact that you had a bit of a crush on him. You’d never admit to the latter though. It was unprofessional and wrong, but it felt so right all at the same time.
Almost as if he could sense your presence, he called you in the room without ever turning to face you. You moved towards him, setting your things down on your desk. You stood next to him in the already small, getting smaller space. His body heat radiated onto your skin, cologne filling your senses. You swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t hear it.
“(Y/L/N), see if you can help Garcia find a connection between some of these victims. If you find anything, just drop by my office and let me know.”, he stated, turning to face you. There were only inches between your bodies; you couldn’t meet his eyes. You could feel his gaze looking down on you, so you looked up, ready to maintain composure.
His brown eyes looked black in the minimal light of the room. “Yes, sir.” You could hear your voice waver slightly and you kicked yourself internally for it. You couldn’t help but think that if Garcia weren’t here, this would be a very different story. He looked in your eyes a little longer than might’ve been necessary, then gave you a smirk before leaving. He shut the door behind him.
You exhaled immediately, nearly doubling over. You hadn’t realized you’d barely been breathing.
“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you right against that wall!”, she hissed under her breath, in case he was still in earshot. You gasped.
“Garcia!”, you exclaimed, lightly slapping her shoulder.
“You could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife!”, she retorted. The two of you made eye contact.
“Really? It’s not just me?”, you asked with full sincerity.
“Hell no! You need to get on that, (Y/N).”, she said with a knowing smile, sending you a wink. Your cheeks flushed hot red and you rolled your eyes.
“Garcia, I can’t do that. You know it’s wrong.” As much as you wanted to pursue anything with Hotch, you were telling her the truth. It was wrong. You walked over and sat in your seat, sighing and starting to work on your homework again.
“Honey, love is never wrong.”, she said in that soothing and comforting voice. You knew that, on some level, she was right. You dropped your pencil, unable to focus on your work. You swiveled to face her.
“Yeah, cause that argument would go over well with Strauss. Or whoever is above her.” She sighed. She knew you were right, too.
“Just don’t count him out yet. You two…deserve happiness. I think you could give each other that.” You knew she was serious. She placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it.
“Thanks, PG.” You gave her a half-smile. She shrugged.
“What’re friends for?” She flashed you a huge smile, and the two of you returned to your respective workloads.
Nearly four hours later, you’d long ago finished your homework, and now you were helping Garcia with the workload provided to the two of you by Hotch. The two of you agreed with each other that you’d need some eye bleach after this; the images flashing on the screen were those that most people could never stomach seeing.
You rubbed your eyes, blinking afterwards. Your eyes physically hurt from staring at the screens for hours. Suddenly, a pattern caught your attention. “Garcia, do you see that?” Your finger prodded the screen. She pulled her glasses so that they’d rest on top of her head, and leaned closer to the screen. She pulled a window from the top left corner so it would sit next to the one you two were looking at. Then, she pulled another picture from the fray of images and documents.
“A signature…”, the two of you muttered in unison. You locked eyes and shared a laugh.
“We finally found a pattern!”, you exclaimed, the life returning to your body as the joy flowed through you. Maybe it was because you were new, but making a connection like this and getting one step further to a solution felt so good. Garcia chuckled. You knitted your brows, looking over at her. “What?”
She gave you a sly smile. “You know you have to report to the boss, right?” Your heart sank in your chest. She was right. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall.
“It’s kinda late, do you think he’s even still-?”
“(Y/N), you know damn well he’s still in his office. If he could, he’d live here. Now go!” She ushered you out the door, almost by full force, but not before trying to undo a button on your top. You swatted her hand away and left the room, the sound of her laughter fading with every step you took forward.
Entering the bullpen, there were few agents left for the night. Dr. Reid still lingered, hunched over and lost in his paperwork. He looked up when you walked in, eyes following you as you walked and ascended the stairs to Hotch’s office. Not that you knew his gaze tracked you; you were too nervous about being alone with Aaron in his office to notice anything other than the floor beneath your feet.
Your knuckles rapped softly on the door and you heard him call you in from the other side. You exhaled, trying to get yourself together. It was ridiculous, the effect he had on you. You wondered if he knew.
You turned the knob, pushing the door open and shutting it behind you. The desk lamp illuminated a stack of papers, his pen scrawling what was likely his signature on the bottom of a sheet of paper. He looked up momentarily, then his gaze fell back on his desk. “(Y/L/N). Did you and Garcia find anything?” The sound of your heels echoed in the room as you carried yourself to his desk. You took a seat in the cushioned leather chair that sat spaced evenly from his desk and another chair that looked exactly like it.
You cleared your throat before saying, “We did find a pattern, a signature on all the victims.” He perked up, raising an eyebrow at you. You presented your findings to him, careful to keep your voice steady and not make eye contact with him for too long. It then occurred to you there was really no reason to try to hide your feelings around him; he was, after all, one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen. You were sure he already knew. Worth a shot to try and keep it hidden, though, you figured.
After your rant was over, he nodded approvingly, a small smile on his lips. “Great job, (Y/N).” Your heart pumped quicker in your chest at the sound of your first name on his voice. But his voice was different than usual, so was his tone. He was tired, resulting in his voice being barely an octave deeper. Which didn’t help your nerves settle.
“Thank you, sir.”, you said with a twinge of confidence in your tone. It made you happy to impress him; his validation made it feel like you were getting better at your job every day. He suddenly chuckled, and you weren’t sure why, until he spoke up.
“I told you, (Y/L/N), you can call me Hotch. Or Aaron, if you’d like.” He leaned forward in his chair more, dark amber eyes burning a hole through you. Did he ever offer anyone else to call him Aaron? You weren’t sure you’d ever heard anyone else call him that – not to his face, anyway. Other than Rossi, maybe. But they were close friends.
“Thanks, Hotch.”, you spoke softly, stifling a small yawn. You’d play it safe for now, but the gesture itself meant everything to you. He smiled, almost satisfyingly so, leaning back in his office chair. He raised his right wrist to look at his watch, noting the time, before meeting your eyes again.
“It’s late, (Y/L/N). You should head home. You’ve been a lot of help today, as usual, of course.” You would never get used to hearing him compliment you. Your eyes flickered between the stack of paperwork and him. You’ve spent enough time at the BAU to know that those files needed to be reviewed, signed, and done by the end of the weekend, which crept closer with every passing second. As amazing at his job as he was, there was no way humanly possible he’d finish it in time and get a wink of sleep at the same time.
“That’s a lot of paperwork.”, you noted aloud. He nodded, likely knowing where you were going with the words that would follow.
“It is.” His eyes narrowed at you, a small smirk playing on his face as he awaited your question.
“You can’t finish all of that and still have time to sleep.” He was silent. He knew you were right. “What can I do to help?”
Hotch just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll burn yourself out, you know.” Nevertheless, he passed you a black ink pen, your fingertips brushing each other’s hands in the process.
“I could say the same thing about you.” He chuckles deeply and shrugs. You smile to yourself, successful in making him smile, which is a rare accomplishment for most.
A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as hours pass and the pile dwindles to only three or four files. The two of you migrated to the leather couch in his office, a more comfortable place to work on a tedious assignment for hours. You’d lost count of the yawns you’d let slip from your lips. Even Hotch seemed to have trouble staying awake. You glanced at the time. You’d been in his office for almost four hours. Your mind wandered to what Garcia will have to say about ‘what really happened last night’. The time slowly crept into the early morning hours of the next day.
“(Y/N)”, Hotch begins, breaking the silence. You look up at him, waiting on him to continue. “I’ll drive you home if you’re too tired to drive. And a ride back to the office in the morning for your car. But you can’t oversleep.”, he jokes. You hit his arm lightly.
“I don’t oversleep!”, you exclaim, trailing off. “That often.” You stifle a yawn before answering, “Let’s just finish these last few and I’ll drive myself home. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”
His mind was filled with one thought: “How could you ever burden me, (Y/N)?”. But he didn’t answer you. He just handed you a file and took one for himself, the two of you finishing the workload quickly. On your last one, it took all your strength to focus on the words on the paper and your handwriting. It felt like the couch was pulling you in. The cushions wrapped you up, softer than how you’d imagine a cloud would feel. You didn’t mean to, but your eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way as you drifted to sleep.
Aaron didn’t even notice at first that you’d fallen asleep. He continued working, lost in the papers and his mind. He got so enveloped with the case, he hadn’t noticed the slow rise and fall of your chest and your body relaxed into his chest. Once he did notice though, that he wasn’t just being used as a cushion, it was all he could pay attention to.
It wasn’t that you always looked stressed, but it was a nice sight to see you so relaxed. He kept thinking about how you deserved it, what you might be dreaming about, even. Thinking about if it might’ve been him. A dread grew within him, knowing he’d have to wake you. He didn’t want to; you just looked so peaceful, angelic. Beautiful.
So he didn’t.
Instead, he draped a blanket – which he happened to have, thrown across the back of the couch, in case he had a late-night himself – over your resting form. He made sure to cover you fully, from below your neck to your toes, without waking you. Another thought soon crept into his head: he couldn’t just leave you here, overnight, alone.
He evaluated his options. He could try to sleep in his office chair, which he’d done before. It wasn’t the most comfortable. There was no room to lay down on the couch, for obvious reasons. He had a couple of chairs in the office, but…
His gaze fell upon you again. Was it risky, waging a war with fate in the chance that the two of you might be caught snuggling on the couch together? Absolutely, it was. But he was willing to take that chance. Besides, who could tell him, their boss, that he was wrong? Sure, the two of you may never quit hearing about it, but he wouldn’t mind. And something told him you wouldn’t either.
After doing a quick scan of the bullpen for remaining agents, and finding none, he shifted his weight ever so slowly, letting you fall gently onto the couch. He stepped quietly over to his desk to flick the lamp off, then closed the shades slowly, and shut the door, careful not to let the door handle click too loudly. He shrugged off his suit jacket and shoes, draping his jacket over your already-covered body.
He got as comfortable as possible on the cushion that he’d previously occupied, slowly, as to not shift the cushions and risk waking you. His eyes were trained on you; you never moved as he settled himself down. As cliché as it was, he seemed to fall asleep faster with you in the room.
The sun woke you up, in a disorienting way. The simple fact that the sun had woken you was strange in itself since the sun rises on the other side of your apartment complex. Suddenly, you remembered, you weren’t in your bed. The surface you were lying on was comfortable, but not your bed comfortable. The strangest thing was that your pillow was uneven. And warm. With a pulse.
Your eyes opened, and you instantly snapped them shut. Bad idea. The sun hurt your sensitive eyes, and a groan involuntarily slipped from your lips. You sat up, stretching out all your limbs. You looked over at your ‘pillow’, putting a heartbeat, chest and a smell to a face. The blanket and jacket you were covered with smelled of him, so you didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was.
“Aaron?”, you asked in a sleepy voice. Your eyes finally focused, the sun losing its effect on you. He was awake. How long had he been…?
“Good morning, (Y/N). If you want a ride home to change out of yesterday’s clothes, I can drop you off on my way home.” A small smirk danced on his pink, soft-looking lips, the sun sparkling in his eyes like rays of light through a glass of whiskey. You started panicking. What if the team caught you like this? Would they tell Strauss? What if you lost your job?
“(Y/N).” You’d broken eye contact with him. He knew you were freaking out. You met his gaze again. “Nobody’s here. It’s eight o’clock, on a Sunday morning. Calm down.” Regret started flooding his mind. Should he have just taken you home? You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. “Are you okay?”, he asked you.
“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You rubbed your eyes, realizing too late you were wearing makeup, smearing it over the rest of your face. “Oh, shit.” You looked down at your hands, laughing at yourself. “I probably look a mess.”
Hotch laughed. “No, you don’t.” The words slipped from Aaron’s tired lips, no thought behind them. But it was true, it was how he felt. A blush crept up your neck and to your cheeks. Suddenly it was harder to meet his eyes. You chuckled nervously.
“Thanks, Hotch.” You wrung your fingers through your hands. A truthful atmosphere fell over the room, it seemed. “That was the best sleep I’d had in a while.” Hotch was a little taken aback at your honesty but flattered. He blushed a bit himself. He cleared his throat, then laughed.
“Me too, honestly.”, he muttered in a deep morning voice. Your eyes met. There wasn’t much space between the two of you in the first place, but you could’ve sworn he leaned forward to close the distance. His huge hand gently caressed your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. You could feel the blood rushing to your heart; you wondered if he could feel it running through your veins against his fingers.
His lips brushed against yours when suddenly, the alarm on his phone went off. The two of you jumped back like you’d been shot, your heart rate climbing. “Jesus Christ, Aaron.”, you exclaim, laughing to try and hide how startled you were. You hear him curse under his breath, digging his phone out of his pocket and silencing it. He sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled at himself, you assumed.
“I’m sorry.”, he said lowly. The apology wasn’t very specific towards anything; if it was, it wasn’t clear to you. How many things was he apologizing for? What thoughts were running through his head? He was hard to read, but maybe he liked it that way.
“For what?”, you asked softly, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your hand, then relax. He looked up at you.
“For ruining that…”, he trailed off as his eyes met yours. He searched your face, trying to understand exactly what feelings you were experiencing. Hopefully, he knew you weren’t upset with him. Your hand snaked down his arm, taking his hand in yours. Now it was your turn to cup his face in your hand; you felt his five o’clock shadow prickling against your fingers, but his cheek was soft as you smoothed it under your thumb.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”, you whispered. His eyes were a dark brown, despite the sunlight coming in. The rays were softer now, an orange color. His dark eyelashes shone under the light. He was enthralling in every way. You felt yourself falling harder and harder for him every second, especially now, but you’d never change that.
Your thumb lightly brushed over his lips, taking him in. He watched your every move, just as entranced with you as you were with him. You felt his hand behind your neck, pulling you closer to him until your lips finally touched. His lips on yours were better than you could’ve ever anticipated. He was slow, soft, gentle, like rain in the spring. Then again, there was a need behind it. A longing; he’d been waiting for this as long as you have, maybe even longer.
You wanted to kiss him all day, be in his arms and wrap yourselves up in each other. You were falling, hard. Harder than hitting every branch on the way down, harder than the way the first boom of a firework echoes in your chest.
Both of you were breathless by now, but neither of you seemed to care about the lack of oxygen. The kiss was deeper now, hotter, needier, messier. You’d thrown a knee over his lap, your hands fisted in his white button-up. His hands rested on your sides, dangerously low past the waistband of your pants. His lips suddenly broke from yours, the sound of your heavy breathing filling the room. He never stopped for a breath; his lips were making up for lost time, trailing from your chin, down your neck. He took his time with you, as you’d always imagined he would.
You’d barely caught your breath when you whisper his name in his ear. He stopped, pulling back. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” His concerned eyes searched your face. You didn’t answer him with any words, just by kissing his lips again but only for a moment. The single kiss took a lot of your self-control, but you knew you were moving fast.
“I’ve never been better, Aaron. But…”, you said in a low voice, trailing a finger down his neck until you hit the first button on his shirt. “I want to take it slow with you, Hotch. I want to know all your little quirks and I want to be there for the stuff that you don’t do in front of anyone else because you trust me that much. I know how sappy it sounds…”, you paused, watching for his reaction through your spill so far. He watched you move and speak like you were the most important thing he’d ever had to pay attention to. And that’s exactly what you were to him. “Aaron,” you started again, running one of your hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you. And here you are, everything I’ve ever wanted, right in front of me.”
How did he feel? He answered you with a kiss, one more passionate than any from earlier – if you could believe it, that is. “(Y/N)’re everything I’ve been waiting on. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without you.” You chuckled, earning a small smile from him.
“Well, good luck getting rid of me now, Aaron Hotchner.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”
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