#soft!hotch

[jaspxr]

when my little heart gets sad, I remember that at one point in time Hotch had a folder on his phone full of Michael LaMontagne baby pictures...

x

#he is adorable and caring and wonderful #and silly and just the best boss you could imagine #prove me wrong #I dare you #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #jotch #soft!hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner head canons #hotch headcanons #aaron hotchner hcs #their friendship is SO precious to me you have no idea

[em-prentiss]

I’ve got my eye on you

----

You’re really in no shape to be at work. Aaron coaxes you home.

Cw: fem!bau!reader, reader is on her period, newly established relationship, fluff, use of pet names, no use of yn

Wc: 1.9k

if you have any Aaron requests, lmk <3

----

Your stomach cramps again as you walk out of the elevator. Wincing, you hurry into the bullpen, desperate to sit down and ease the ache in your lower body. 

Morgan looks up at you as you dump your things on your desk and sit down with a sigh. 

“Twenty minutes late, princess,” he grins. “Late night?”

“Not today, Derek.” You stuff your face in your hands, the pounding in your head intensifying. Your voice is low, strained, nothing like the usual teasing tone you take up with him. 

Morgan immediately frowns in concern. “Hey, are you okay?” He leans over the divider between your desks and takes a closer look at you.

“Fine,” you mumble, your voice muffled. You lift your head and give him a weary smile. “Just tired from last night’s case.”

He nods and leaves you alone as you turn on your computer and sigh at the stack of paperwork ahead of you. Looking up out of habit, you smile at the sight of Aaron in his office, his head bent as he works on something. 

The two of you had your first date just before this previous case. He got you flowers, specifically ones that wouldn’t trigger your allergies, and when he told you that with a flustered smile you felt yourself fall impossibly deeper. You had kissed him to stop his rambling, threaded your fingers through his as he walked you to his car and opened the door for you. Like a gentleman, you’d thought giddily, your heart bursting at the image of him in your head perfectly meeting reality.

He got you ice cream after dinner, intimately aware of your sweet tooth, and you were left wondering if it was too soon to think about marriage.

It had been a perfect night, one that left you wanting for more of him just like this; funny and relaxed and soft. You’d wanted so badly to push him into your apartment, have him take off your dress and press his lips to your skin. But you forced yourself to say goodbye at the door, his chaste kiss sweet against your lips. You wanted to take it slow, to do it right. He wasn’t going to be a quick fuck for you and you wanted him to know that. 

Because you’re in love with him, have been for years. And you’re pretty damn sure he’s in love with you too.

You’re broken from your reverie when you hear Emily approaching, a steaming mug in her hands. You give her a questioning look when she sets down the mug on your desk, the light color of the liquid telling you it’s some kind of herbal tea instead of coffee.

“You’ve got that first day period look about you,” she whispers before you can ask. You smile and pick up the tea, taking a sip and feeling the scalding liquid burn all the way down.

“That bad, huh?” You close your eyes when Emily brushes your hair away from your forehead. Her short nails scratch soothingly against your scalp and you hum, resting your head lightly against her stomach. 

“You’re a little pale,” she murmurs. “Did you eat?”

You say nothing and bring the tea to your lips again, avoiding your friend’s gaze. 

“Typical,” Emily sighs—quite boldly of her, knowing she’s no different. “Hotch won’t be happy about that,” she teases softly, her lips turning up in a gentle smile. She may or may not have given you and Aaron the final push you both needed.

You shrug as your cheeks tint pink. “I’ll eat in a bit,” you say, in no hurry to do so with the way your stomach churns. “The pain really blocks my appetite.” You scrunch your nose. 

Emily hums, all too familiar with the feeling. “I’d tell you to take some meds, but you need to eat for that.” She strokes your hair soothingly, making you lean into her touch.

“I will, Em,” you smile up at her. “When my stomach settles. This is helping by the way, thanks.” You tilt your head to the mug you’re now holding against your stomach, the heat of it seeping through your shirt.

“You’re welcome,” Emily squeezes your shoulder and heads to her own desk. 

Sighing, you tip your head back and adjust your grip on the mug in your hands, wishing you had something for your thighs too. And your head. And your lower back. 

You give yourself a few seconds before you rub your eyes and sit up straight, trying to start on your report. 

The words blur on the page in front of you and you blink, trying to bring them back into focus. You sip your tea, hoping it’ll kick start your brain into writing something, but your head pounds incessantly, jumbling up the words in your head.

The next sip of tea brings a sudden nausea with it, the liquid sloshing around in your empty stomach with nothing else. You set it down with a grimace. 

Fucking great.

Morgan and Reid are bickering incessantly behind you, Emily clacks away at her computer and Anderson is talking louder than usual, his voice piercing your head. You blow out a breath and grab your pen, forcing yourself to ignore them and look at your paperwork. You squint at the paper, the bright fluorescent lights of the bullpen like needles in your eyes.

You give up and slump on your desk with a groan, welcoming the darkness and the cool wood against your forehead. You cross your arms tightly over your aching stomach, feeling the frustrating press of tears against your closed eyelids.

Aaron leaves his office in search of coffee and catches sight of you with your head on your desk, your hair shielding your face. Your back shudders as you inhale, the ragged rise and fall of it visible even from a distance.

He hurries down to you and gently touches your shoulder, your name falling softly from his mouth. You tilt your head up to look at him, too tired to lift it from the desk. “Aaron, hey.” You give him a worn out smile. 

Your hair falls into your face. Aaron gently brushes it away and notes your crossed arms held tightly against your stomach, your nails digging into your biceps.

“Are you okay?” He asks worriedly, eyeing your tired face and the bags under your eyes. “You look pale. Are you sick?” He presses the back of his hand against your forehead, but your skin is cool.

If the cramps weren’t currently tearing your body to shreds, you might have felt the butterflies at his obvious concern. “I’m not,” you say slowly, wetting your dry lips. “I’ll be fine, my head just hurts a bit.”

A bit is a gross oversimplification, and from the look on Aaron’s face, he knows it too. “Just your head?” He raises his brows, his eyes pointedly drifting down to your stomach.

A strange heat rises to your cheeks. “I’ll be fine, Aaron.” You insist as you lift yourself up against the chair. The light shines directly into your eyes and you wince, pressing your palm against your lids.

“Clearly,” he mutters, looking at your desk and the still empty paperwork and reports you have yet to fill out. “Go home. You can finish this tomorrow.”

“No,” you shake your head adamantly despite the roiling in your stomach. “I’m fine, I just—” You shut your eyes and blow out a shaky breath when you feel a sudden cramp in your abdomen, “I just need a minute.” You rasp.

Aaron eyes your dull skin and the way you tightly grip your seat, your knuckles sharp as you take in ragged breaths. He sighs and crouches down in front of you, the gentle way he says your name forcing your eyes open. 

“Please. Go home or I’ll drive you myself.” His brown eyes are soft with concern, his brows furrowed and lips tipped downward.

You want to shake your head, but a sharp pain in your stomach almost makes you gasp. You bite your lip and look down at your watch. “It’s only 11.” You protest weakly. 

Aaron shakes his head at your stubbornness, your pain clear in the way your face twists. “You’re in pain, sweetheart,” he whispers, unable to stop himself from saying it. Your eyes widen slightly at the nickname, but he continues, undeterred.

“Please. Go home, take care of yourself. You can be here first thing tomorrow, I promise, but you’re not well now.” He’s using the same soft, soothing tone he uses whenever Jack is sick and refusing his medication, and it seems to have the same effect on you.

You wilt against the seat and nod. “Okay,” you finally relent, the relief obvious in your voice. 

Aaron smiles slightly, dimples poking out in victory as he stands up. You don’t even have to pack anything, your purse still closed on your desk. You pocket your phone and stand, your hand reaching for Aaron’s elbow when you stumble slightly. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he steadies you with a hand on your back. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

You don’t protest and allow him to walk you to the elevator. A part of you is surprised that he’s showing this side of him at work, uncaring of the team’s piercing gazes that you can feel following you all the way out of the bullpen. 

You lean into his side a little when you’re out of sight, the warmth of his hand on your back seeping into your skin as you wait for the elevator. 

You’re almost disappointed when it dings.

The doors open and you walk in with a quiet sigh. Aaron walks in with you too, ignoring your surprised look. You open your mouth to protest, but he speaks first.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay driving? I can take you,” he offers.

You smile. The thought does sound nice. But you shake your head, despite your aching body and the long drive ahead of you. And the crushing need to let him take care of you. “I’ll be fine.” You force yourself to say. “Thank you, though.”

Aaron nods. “Drive safe.” He smiles at you gently. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Your fingers magically find their way into his hair. You push the soft strands away from his forehead, biting back a smile when he involuntarily leans into your touch.

His hand finds the curve of your waist. “Maybe I can come by later?” He whispers. 

You feel your body grow warm, a comforting glow that he always brings out in you. You smile, momentarily distracted from the pain in your body.

“I’d like that. But I won’t be much fun,” you gesture to yourself with a shrug. The elevator stops and the doors slide open into the parking lot. 

“That’s just nonsense,” Aaron tilts your face down to kiss your forehead, his palms warm on your cheeks. “Be careful, honey.” 

“I will.” You stamp a quick kiss on his lips, your cheeks warm, and head to your car. Aaron holds the elevator doors open and waits until you get in before heading again to the sixth floor.

He walks back into the bullpen, past his team gathered at Emily’s desk, including Garcia. They smirk at him and he glares back.

“Not a word.” 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #soft aaron hotchner

[spencerreidtv]

10x10

#soft!hotch for the soul #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #.gif #cmedit #criminalmindsedit #s10

[emilylprentiss]

Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner & Penelope Garcia – Criminal Minds 3.17 & 6.17

#the way emily says 'im sorry im late' lfdjskfs its more like 'i actually dont want to be here IM LITERALLY BEING HUNTED FOR FUCKING SPORT' #criminal minds #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #hotchniss #criminalmindsedit #cm gifs #ANYWAY hotch has a soft spot for garcia but an even bigger one for emily 🤭 #*mine

[hotchnisslvr]

for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #bau reader #the bau team #emily prentiss x female reader #fem!reader #emily prentiss angst #emily prentiss hurt/comfort #emily prentiss drabble #soft!aaron hotchner #soft!emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotch fanfiction #derek morgan #penelope garcia #bau!reader #female reader #criminal minds angst #criminal minds hurt/comfort #emily prentiss headcannons #bau team #bau family

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Drive My Car (1/2)

GIF by rqgnarok Part 2

WARNINGS: None. Just two idiots in love. And maybe Hotch is a little too soft.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

“Fuck.”

The voice is low enough that you think you’ve imagined him at first, but there he is, standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to his office with one hand pressed to his forehead and staring at the phone in his other like it’s burned him.

“Hotch? Are you alright?”

He turns to look at you, appearing about as startled as you imagine he ever can. “I’m fine,” he says. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

In his defense, you didn’t expect to be here this late either. The others had left the bullpen over an hour ago, having finished their paperwork much before you.

You hold up the culprit for your staying behind, a Use of Force report that had ended up taking a lot longer than planned. “Just finishing up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The hand on his forehead moves to his hip, and he studies you for a few seconds. Then he sighs. “My car’s in the shop. Jessica was going to bring me home, but Jack’s gotten sick and she doesn’t want to move him from his bed. I’m going to call a cab.”

That explains why he’s leaving so early. You’ve never heard of him leaving before eight or nine.

“Poor kid. That’s never fun,” you say with a wince. “But you’d be lucky, Hotch. It’s seven on a Friday night. Everyone and their mother is calling a cab.”

“It’s quicker than the subway.”

His voice is flat, worried. You make the decision in a second. “Not quick enough. Let me drive you.”

Hotch’s brow furrows as he considers your offer, mentally calculating the distance from your apartment to his. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I’m miles out of your way.”

He’s right. He is miles away, but that doesn’t deter you. As wonderful as Jessica is, from what you’ve heard, you know Jack idolizes Hotch. He’ll want to be with him now.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you say with a smile, knowing you’re about to play your ace. “I’m doing it for Jack, who is sick and should see his father.”

There’s no room to argue with you. Hotch picks up his briefcase and thanks you. With long strides, he leads the way out of the bullpen and towards the garage.

Ten minutes later, find yourself rushing to stack empty to-go-cups and loose papers, shoving them away as Hotch climbs into your car. “It’s no problem, really. Sorry about the mess.”

Hotch shakes his head. His lips are a little less downturned than usual, which in your mind almost constitutes a smile. “Consider it noted,” he says, “We’ll talk during your next performance review.”

Fighting a smile, you can’t help it. You hit his arm. “I take it back. I’m not sorry.”

“It really isn’t a mess,” he says. “And you really shouldn’t be sorry. You should see my car. You can’t move for Jack’s toys.”

You hum, hands gripping the wheel as your reverse out of the spot, “Be careful what you admit around me. You might be my boss, but I can always snitch on you to yours.”

An amused huff is the closest you get to making him laugh, but you take it. He shakes his head. “I’ve had too many uncomfortable conversations with Strauss to bother counting. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Not if I have a hand in it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long while after that, and neither mind. What the protocol is for driving your boss home outside of work, you aren’t sure. If there is something in the FBI manual about it, you’re quite sure Hotch knows it – but asking him feels a little on-the-nose, and so you keep quiet and put the radio on.

You’re also sure that there isn’t anything in the FBI manual about what music is appropriate to listen to with your boss in your passenger seat. If there were, you’re certain the songs on at the moment – half of which you vaguely remember Morgan and Garcia dancing to on one of the team’s nights at the bar, and the other of which might be their next choices – don’t make the cut.

Feeling your face heat up, you clear your throat. “I think I have a couple Beatles albums in the glove box if you wanna look for one,” It isn’t so much a suggestion as it is a request — maybe even an order – and you know he senses that. With a nod, he reaches over to open it.

“You’ve got eclectic taste,” Hotch says after a moment, raising an eyebrow at you as he pulls out one of the CDs buried somewhere in the pile. “I didn’t take you for a Mozart fan.”

The corner of his mouth pulls itself into a smirk. It’s the kind reserved for non-working occasions, or, alternatively, occasions that don’t require the wearing of a suit jacket. Like now. Not that you’ve noticed the broad lines of his shoulders in his dress shirt, or the movement of his Adam’s apple as he speaks, more easily seen with the top two buttons undone. And if you have, that’s nobody’s business.

You shrug. “I’m not one, really. Reid likes it.”

For a long second, he looks at you. “You keep a CD in your car for Reid?”

“He doesn’t like the radio. It’s distracting. I don’t particularly like it, either.”

Hotch doesn’t let up, “That’s…very thoughtful of you.”

Keeping your eyes on the road is more of a task than you’d like.

“They’re only a couple dollars. I just buy them when I see them.”

He takes another look in the glove box, grabbing a beaten-down copy of The White Album and pushing it into the player. But before the opening to ‘Back in the USSR’ is even over, he’s pressed pause and shifted in his seat to look at you head-on. Silence stretches between the two of you again. The dull hum of the engine and the rain battering the windows sound, of a sudden, much louder.

“What? You’re making me nervous.”

He is. If becoming skilled in the art of dangerous driving weren’t a side-effect of working with the BAU, you might’ve crashed the car by now.

You chance a look over at him. His expression is set in a frown. Over your short tenure with the team, you’ve fallen witness to enough of what Morgan deems his ‘Hotchner frowns’ (trademark implied) to know that this one is different. There’s something softer about it, more considerate than displeased.

“Those other albums…Sinatra, Radiohead, Stevie Wonder…you’ve barely touched them. Not compared to the others.”

Damn profiler. The stubborn part of you — which was a larger part than you’d like to admit — wanted to ignore him. Even so, you know it’d never work. Hotch is just as stubborn as you are, and worse than that, he is far more patient.

“They’re not my favorites, no, but—” you relent.

Gently, Hotch cuts you off. “No, they’re not. They’re Rossi’s, Prentiss', and Morgan’s. I’m sure you’ve got records in there for JJ and Garcia. And–”

You look down again at your hands where they rest on the wheel. The skin of your knuckles pulls as you tighten your hands around it. In a sigh, you admit it. “—And for you too, yeah.”

He tilts his head. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “Why?”

Retreating into silence again, you turn the corner onto his street. But even off the clock, Hotch’s presence is commanding, his stare on you unassuming and exposing all at once.

You laugh. “Remind me never to end up in an interrogation with you again. You’re terrifying.”

“You haven’t learned enough from them if you’re still deflecting,” he says, ignoring your jibe. Instead he folds his hands in his lap.

You could double down, tell him jokingly to fuck off and then claim that swearing at him is entirely acceptable in non-working circumstances. What it is stopping you from giving him the answer he wants, you’re not sure. This isn’t the office. It’s not neutral ground. This is your car, your territory. Forced out of the context of work, Hotch is no longer just an abstract concept, your hardass of a boss — he’s a real person. Your friend. And something about that pulls at you.

“I had a little trouble adjusting, at first,” you say, stretching the words out until they become unfamiliar things. “More than I’d expected. I knew when I took the job what it’d be like. On paper, at least. But the first few cases…it was another thing to be doing it, you know?”

It’s the truth. The early days, right after you joined the team, were rough. They’d been a constant guessing game of when to speak up and when to keep quiet, when to shove down all of the stress and the fear and the self-loathing and when, if ever, to let yourself feel it.

Hotch stays quiet this time, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Was it too honest to admit that? His presence has gone to your head, like wine on a summer evening.

“I never let it affect my work–” you say in a rush, self-preservation instincts in full swing. You stop halfway, let the words wither in your throat.

One of Hotch’s hands twitches as if to reach for you, but retreats at the last seconds, remaining limp in his lap. He hums, his voice a low murmur. “I know that.”

You’ve come this far. Might as well finish this. “We’d come home from a case, and sometimes I’d drive Reid back so he didn’t have to get the subway. We’d drive back to our apartments with the radio on. But the news…”

Hotch sighs, “...Another robbery, another murder. Another thing out of our reach.”

There’s no judgment in his eyes, none of the sharp analysis profiling demands. It hits you again that you aren’t talking with the man that conducts your performance reviews, but the man who rolls his eyes at Reid and Morgan’s bickering, the father who’d drop anything to make his son happy.

A smile feels a little out of your reach as you remember those early months, so you settle for a nod. “I picked up a CD or two after the first couple weeks. Then I found out Reid liked classical music, so I looked for some. And it made sense, if I was giving Morgan or Prentiss or Garcia a ride too. I guess it got a little out of control.”

Hotch shakes his head. “That’s not out of control. It’s kind,” he starts, then stops for a second, his features rearranging themselves into a frown once more. “You know you don't have to do nice things for people to get them to like you, don’t you?”

Eyes widening, you almost think you’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

He tilts his head, his gaze on you soft as you put the car into park in front of his apartment complex. “Maybe you don’t do it anymore, but towards the beginning…I got the feeling you thought you’d have to move mountains to get the team to like you. And you didn’t.”

He’s right. You really had felt alone, for the first few months. You’d done everything you could to make yourself tolerable: memorized Garcia’s miles-long Starbucks order, lied about where you lived to Reid so he didn’t feel guilty about taking a lift from you, nodded along when Morgan told you about his housing projects even though you hadn’t a clue about property development. You’d done it all. And it had worked.

Maybe you hadn’t needed to do it. But over time, obligation had morphed into affection, and you liked to. Hence the music.

“Hotch…”

You’re glad he speaks before you can get any further, because you really have no idea what to say. “I mean it,” he says quietly. “Anyone with sense would do that all on their own.”

“Thank you,” you say, swallowing. “I hope Jack feels better soon.”

“I’ll tell him you said hi. He’ll appreciate it.” he says, checking his watch. “I’d better go check on him. Thank you for driving me back. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Tomorrow.”

He climbs out of the car, head bowed against the rain, and you wait for him to get inside before you pull away. You’re not mad about the Beatles. The White Album wouldn’t be your pick of their records. But the drive is long, long enough to let yourself think, and you leave it playing until you’re home.

#hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #how the fuck does tumblr work #soft hotch #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #ssa aaron hotchner

[ssahotchnerr]

Hii Katie!

Ok I have a request 🥺🙏🏼

You’re in a secret relationship with Hotch and you both work at the BAU. He notices the last case got you feeling down and these debating if he should show his soft side and comfort you or not until someone from the team goes “sir you’re not subtle. We all know go hug your girl”

AHH GRECY HI I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHHH

not so subtle

cw- your usual criminal minds case content, fem!reader, i guess some angst ??

-

the team trailed onto the jet, having just completed a case. easy conversations lingered amongst everyone, this case being not so different from any other- at least, to them. meanwhile, you silently made your way to your designated seat, feeling absolutely drained. 

to say this case had been rough on you was an understatement. the victims had all been insanely similar to you; hair and eye color, age, even similar body type. it was like you were seeing your face up on the board, that the profile was being given in relation to you. it didn’t help that during the takedown as well, the unsub had immediately latched his attention onto you; giving you the most bone chilling grin as he checked you out from head to toe, as if you were next on his list. you already knew the second you closed your eyes tonight, that’s exactly what you would see in your nightmares.

it also didn’t help that the comfort you desperately craved for the past week, you hadn’t gotten. more than anything, you just wanted aaron. the team wasn’t aware of your relationship just yet, so interactions with him were few and far between. 

you had felt his eyes on you from time to time, checking in on you, but he couldn’t necessarily do anything else. in addition, due to lack of hotel room availability, you hadn’t been able to sneak off to his room during the night- with you being paired with jj, dave with aaron. sure, you had seen him, spent almost every second of the day with him, but you hadn’t seen him. somehow, that made the longing and need for him- as your boyfriend- even more painful. 

as you settled into your seat, aaron gingerly sat at his. he almost occupied the available spot next to you, but hadn’t, which he was already regretting. he knew you were hurting, he knew he should be comforting you. and yet here he was, doing nothing about it. without another thought, he started to get up to move towards you, but again, stopped himself as dave sat across from him. instead, he grabbed a file, to hopefully play off his sudden movement.

dave slightly narrowed his eyes at aaron in suspicion as he sat, but he knew. he had noticed aaron’s eyes on you through the case’s entirety, aaron lifting a hand to place on the small of your back, but stopping himself midway. he had noticed you migrating towards aaron whenever you had a chance, wanting to say something but the words never making it past your lips. if he, along with the rest of the team, hadn’t already put the pieces together that the two of you were together, there was absolutely no denying it now. the two of you weren’t fooling anyone. and now, he was getting tired of waiting around for one of you to do something.

“aaron.”

“hm?” he didn’t look up from his file, making a play at being convincing. 

“just go.”

“sorry?” aaron finally lifted his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“you’re not very subtle. neither of you are.” dave gave him a knowing look, before he glanced in your direction. “we know, so stop being an idiot and go over there. she needs you, but i don’t need to tell you that, do i?”

aaron opened his mouth to respond, but with dave’s expression, he knew he was caught. 

so without another word, and ignoring dave’s cheeky expression, he finally got up and made his way towards you. as he approached, your eyes met his. they were sad, and aaron regretted not already making his way over to you sooner even more if it were possible.

“sir?” you questioned, not exactly sure where he was about to go with this.

“no.” he shook his head as he took the seat next to you, your face falling into one of confusion. “we’re not doing that right now.”

“what?” you asked. your voice was laced with surprise, but also relief. you could already feel part of the tension leaving your body.

he shook his head, opening his arms to you and ignoring the fact that the team were all watching. “c’mere, it’s been long enough. and i can’t stand seeing you upset for another minute.”

#no bc i love the bau!reader and aaron dynamic #aaron trying so so hard to not let his soft side show 🥺 #and dave is the ultimate wingman #can i title these?? i’m gonna title these #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fanfiction

[dudeitiskarev]

soft Hotch, my beloved💞

#Aaron Hotchner gif #Aaron Hotchner gifs #Aaron Hotchner #amor de mi vida #soft Hotch #season one #I can’t believe soft Hotch is the only Hotch there is #dudeitiskarev gifs

[treesters]

Ok I'm not too embarrassed, I'll post this

#my art #digital art #art #doodle #treesters #artists on tumblr #clip studio paint #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #fanart #hotchner #criminal minds art #Sorry I like thinking about like. soft Hotch . DNI /j

[emberfrostlovesloki]

CM Artist Shout Out

Photos by @hannaloony

Y'all what can Hanna not do! Look at how ✨C✨U✨T✨E✨ these are. The pastel aesthetic is so lovely and so spring-coded. The kawaii Spencer and Garcia at the top with the coffee and bears! The look on Hotch's face in the top right! AGH I just love it so so so much! Thank you so much for sharing your art with us. These make me so, so happy. I've made the top left pic the background of my PC. Please check out @hannaloony's page for more great content like this!

If you are looking for other cool, nifty, keen Criminal Minds content creators of all kinds, feel free to check out my Aaron Hotchner and CM Content Creator Spotlight (linked).

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Just another little update from me: I'm sorry I've been so inactive on here. Once the semester is over I fully plan on coming back with a vengeance. I have so many ideas I want to write about and one restest to write (I am so excited about this one!) I hope you are all doing okay and have a good start to your week - Love Levi 💛

Tag list (🩷) (@tgskitten)

#criminal minds #artist spotlight #hannaloony #criminal minds art #cozy art #pastel aesthetic #soft reid #soft hotch #bau family #cm #aaron hotcher #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #love love love #art aesthetic #digital art #not my art

[greg-montgomery]

Getting you and Aaron matching keychains!!! You know that he can’t wear big jewelry out on the field and keychains is something small and easy that he can keep on him without getting in the way!!! It’s one of his most special things and always seeks comfort from it when he misses you <3

THATS SO SWEET AND DOMESTIC 🥺🥺🥺

you get them the day after he asks you to move in with him 🥹 it’s a little gift but super special because it symbolises the new step you took together in your shared life 🥺🥺🥹

and it’s so important to him!! bc it reminds him that when he comes home you’ll be there. it reminds him that you are his home <3

it can be something super cute like those keychains that look like friendship bracelets 🥹 and they have your names or your initials (jacks too 🥺🥺🥺🩷) or it can be something silly like those avocado matching keychains 🤭🤭

they’re definitely very unlike him and they definitely contrast with his tough exterior 🤭 you see this big scary man with this keychain:

but it makes him smile so big <333333 it’s his comfort and lucky charm <3333

#so adorable 😭😭😭😭💗 he deserves soft love #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch 🪐 #ask #lumi 🍊

[em-prentiss]

Ice cold

————

In which you have freezing hands, and Aaron warms them up for you.

Cw: fem!bau!reader—I think it could also be read as gn reader, getting together, fluff, first kiss, no use of yn

Word count: 1.7k

This is my first time writing a reader insert, so please be gentle with me lol. I’ve been wanting to write an Aaron x reader for ages and this idea finally came to me last night. Idk if I’ll continue writing these, but if you have any prompts let me know! It took me ridiculously long to come up with this one haha <3

————

The cold bites at your exposed hands and you shiver, dropping your pen and notepad into your coat pockets because they’re all but useless now, your fingers close to snapping in half. You leave Aaron to jot down notes of the crime scene you’re in, keeping your hands in your equally freezing pockets in a poor attempt at keeping them warm.

Who has the energy to dump and mutilate a body in the woods in the middle of January, anyway?

��Isolated and hard to find, safe to say he’s a local.” You murmur, tucking your chin into the collar of your coat. You curl your numb fingers into your palm, cursing quietly at the stiffness in them.

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees. “One with experience, too. No blood spatter, no drag marks. He could’ve wrapped them in tarps.” He clicks his pen closed and slides it into his pocket along with his notepad, making you sigh in relief at the thought of leaving soon. “We’ll know more once Morgan and Rossi come back from the ME.”

You nod silently, clenching your fingers around the cold fibers of your coat pocket as you shiver again. Aaron’s gaze slides to you. 

“You okay?” He asks.

“It’s fucking freezing,” you grumble, hunching your shoulders and trying to wrap your coat tighter around your body. Your hands have gone fully numb now, clenched into icy fists inside your pockets. “My hands froze over. They’re like ice blocks.” You frown, your jutted bottom lip scratching against the wool of your coat.

Aaron smiles amusedly, his heart warming at the sight of your furrowed brows, your chin tucked into your coat for warmth. You shift slightly from foot to foot, subconsciously huddling closer to him and his endless, blazing warmth. 

He turns his back on the deserted crime scene and focuses instead on you, his eyes lingering on the flush on your cheeks, your skin bitten from the cold. He looks perfectly warm, you think grouchily, in his stupid large coat and his stupid neatly wrapped scarf.

“And yet when we went to literal Alaska you didn’t have any complaints,” he says. 

You huff indignantly, “Excuse you, at least in Alaska I knew it was going to be—” You cut off as his fingers wrap around your wrists and gently pull your hands from your pockets.

Immediately the cold bites at them again, but that’s not what makes you falter. “What are you doing?” You ask as he cups both of your hands between his. Distantly, you think it’s a stupid question. But his hands are so warm, large and completely engulfing yours, making you feel like you just stuck them in an oven. You let out an involuntary sigh, your brain going blank at the sudden heat from his hands.

Aaron ignores your question. “You weren’t lying,” he says mildly, bending his head to look at the way your nails were turning blue. He brings your hands up to his face and blows warm air on the blue tips of your fingers, massaging them with circular motions to force the cold out of them. Your heart picks up at the way your hands disappear beneath his, what’s visible of them looking small in his gentle grip.

Your skin is icy beneath his own. “Jeez, are you anemic or something?” He looks up at you and his lips tilt upward at the flush on your cheeks, deeper now than it was before, and you both know it’s not from the cold.

“No,” you squeak, the excessive heat of his hands rendering you incoherent. His thumbs rub gentle circles onto your palms, slowly forcing the warmth back into them. “Just terrible circulation.”

Aaron hums and looks back down at your hands, massaging them thoroughly until you start to regain the feeling in your fingers. You waggle them experimentally and he smiles a little, moving his thumbs up to your knuckles and rubbing them slowly.

You can feel your blush deepen as you look at him. His gaze is fixed on your hands, utterly focused on his task as if it were the single most important thing on his mind today, as if you didn’t have any pressing concerns like a team waiting for your feedback or a serial killer needing to be caught.

By the time he’s moved to your wrists your whole body is warm, your blood buzzing under your skin. He’s involuntarily shifted closer to you, your hands held so close to his chest your fingertips ghost against his shirt. 

His warm fingers brush over your wrist, catching your fluttering pulse, and your breath is trapped in your throat. Aaron presses your palms together and secures his hands over yours, finally done with his task. The warmth of your joint hands travels to your cheeks, the way his thumbs absently skate over the heel of your hands making your whole body flush. “Warm enough now?” He murmurs.

Just about to catch fire, actually. But you nod. “You’re a useful partner in conditions like these, Agent Hotchner. What with your furnace-like hands.” You try to joke through your racing heartbeat.

He chuckles lightly, his dimples digging into his cheeks. His hands are still holding on to yours. You’re glad for that, because otherwise you’re sure you would’ve risen on your tiptoes and pressed a thumb to each dimple, watching the way your fingers dip into the crevice. 

“Happy to be of service. Anything else I can warm up for you?” His eyes are like sun warmed honey, gazing into yours, and the words leave your mouth before you can think about them.

“My lips are cold too.”

Oh god.

You drop your gaze as your cheeks start to flame, a jittery nervousness suddenly making your stomach hurt. You try to tug your hands out of his grip but Aaron holds on tighter, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and holding you in place. 

You’re still looking down at your joint hands when he clears his throat. “I can help with that,” he says evenly, as if his own heart isn’t racing abnormally fast.

Your head snaps up. “What?” You breathe, frozen in place as he lets go of your hands. You don’t even register the sudden cold, your whole focus on the way he takes your face into his palms, his warm fingers pressing against your cold cheeks.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Aaron asks. His face is serious, all hints of his previously playful smile gone. Briefly you start to wonder if this is one of your many dreams about him, but his hands sear your skin, the icy air burns your lungs as you raggedly breathe in and out. 

You swallow, your throat unbearably dry, and nod. “Yes.” You grip the lapels of his coat, feeling the soft fibers between your fingers.

His face transforms. The hard lines soften, his seriousness melting away as he smiles again. The breath returns to your lungs. “Thank god,” he says bluntly, and you laugh, butterflies in your stomach, in your veins. You grin at him as his thumbs stroke your jaw, his fingertips sliding into your hair as he tilts your face up to his.  

“Your efforts at flirting are tragic, by the way,” he murmurs, just before he presses his lips to yours and steals your indignant reply. Immediately you melt into his arms, one hand slipping into his coat and the other resting on the hard line of his jaw. You always wanted to touch it, and as your fingers skate over it, wander over the skin that meets his neck, you feel his erratic pulse beating.

It’s good to know you’re not the only one ridiculously affected.

Aaron reluctantly pulls away when you both are breathless, his lips turning up into a grin at the sight of your dazed eyes. He leans in close and presses soft, gentle kisses on your lips—just to make sure they’re properly warmed up. 

You slip your hand into his hair and sigh—the cold has nothing on you now—just about to kiss him properly when his phone rings.

Aaron steps back and the biting cold replaces his warmth. You shiver as he digs his hand into his pocket and takes out his phone, your lips abnormally warm and your hands slowly returning to their once freezing state. 

“Yeah Dave,” he answers, his eyes still on you. You jut your bottom lip and he grins, his hand reaching for yours. He links your fingers together and softly runs his thumb over yours, making your cheeks flush again. “Sorry, we ran into traffic on the way. We’ll be there in an hour or so.”

Aaron ends the call and you laugh as he tugs you to the car, your fingers still linked. “What?” He smiles and you beam back.

“Traffic?” You raise your brows. 

He rolls his eyes. “What did you want me to say? ‘Sorry I got carried away kissing my beautiful subordinate’?” You reach the car and he opens the door for you, but you don’t get in. 

Your heart skips at his words. He smiles and you finally reach up and place your thumb into his dimple, your own smile spreading. “Yes,” you say simply, unable to believe you can finally do this. “You know they have a running bet on us.” You murmur, leaning forward to kiss the divot in his cheek.

Aaron’s skin warms beneath your lips. His hand falls to the curve of your waist and he squeezes lightly. “I know,” his voice comes out a little tight and you smile. He clears his throat and gently pushes you into the car. “The faster you get in, the faster we can collect. And we’ll use that money for our date, yeah?” 

“Deal.” You grin and get into the car, Aaron’s gentle hand guiding you into the seat. He can’t help but give you another kiss before he closes the door, your lips sweet and soft between his own.

You sigh as he climbs into the driver’s seat, your cheeks delightfully warm and your hands only slightly chilly. Aaron pulls out onto the road and his hand finds yours again. 

You thread your fingers between his and look out the window, feeling absurdly grateful for the cold woods you were in.

#emily is crying in the club lmfaoo #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you #soft aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner drabble

[bau-drabbles]

aaron 100% does face masks with you and gets upset if you start your self care sesh without him

this idea is so sweet omg, i love spa days with aaron bae :") <33

"love i said i'd only be 15 more minutes" his slight huff is heard as he enters your bedroom. you chuckle a little, looking at the small pout that's on his lips when he comes next to you. it was finally friday night and after a long tedious work case, he wanted nothing more than to be all wrapped up with you watching your favourite series. only now he felt slightly betrayed at your lack of patience and starting your shared ritual without him

"you took too long" your answer comes as a gentle tease, setting down the red face mask you've finished applying on your face perfectly. you note his eyes slightly narrowing at you, holding back the eyeroll as he answers

"only because i bought the snacks that you wanted" hotch quipped back but there's a soft smile that pulls on his lips as he sets down the bags next to you, removing his jacket. there's a tenderness as he kisses your temple carefully, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder for comfort

"well i'd better catch up, hadn't i?" his voice is soft, amusement laced between the words as he changes into more comfortable clothing. jack was staying at his aunts for the weekend so you both had all the time in the world to focus on each other, relishing in each others company

hotch chose the panda headband to pull his hair back as you grab the mask, the one you're currently wearing since he likes to do the same steps as you even if he doesn't quite understand the purpose behind them. but he likes the feeling and your company above all. he would've been content watching paint dry so long as he had you by his side

hotch is an intelligent fbi agent and a strong man but here, this is where he can finally be aaron. just aaron, a man who's spending time with his love. he had all these little questions about the face masks, his face resembling the same face jack makes when he's utterly curious about something and it makes your heart gush at his innocence.

"feels funny" he comments, looking in the mirror at himself while you nod with amusement, looking back at the pot.

"it contains mint extract that's why it feels tingly" you answer him and he nods softly, enjoying the comfortable silence that settles between you two. the tv is playing but neither of you care to pay attention, his arms wrapped up around your waist as he takes a warm sigh of relief for the first time that day. the tension from his shoulders practically melt away and a tender smile pulls on his lips just at the sight of you

"i love you" he murmurs softly, kissing your lips carefully in order not to smudge your face mask while your lips pull into a sweet smile

"i love you too" you hummed, ruffling your hand softly against his hair. his dimples show as he presses another kiss to your lips, his hands laced with yours while he snuggles close.

"but don't you think about starting early next time"

#asks #sry this is short tumblr lost it first time and i couldn't be bothered rewriting it 😩 #i love soft hotch :( #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader fluff

[hotchsreader]

For the Rest of My Life

Words: 1.5k

Reader has an anxiety attack at work, and Hotch helps her through it. Very soft Hotch.

You knew today was going to be a hard day. You woke up, hair caked to your forehead and your legs felt like jelly, like you were not meant to be walking on them. As you sat up, your entire room spun around and it took more than a couple minutes to ground yourself. You knew what to do in times like this, you had your useful skills learned over the years tucked away in the folder in your brain, but today it felt like the cabinet holding them was locked.

You walked into the bullpen, eyes foggy and head down. Usually, you greeted everyone with a happy and hopeful smile, but today that felt too hard. The muscles in your face felt like they would snap if you tried even to talk. Derek looked up at you, and over at Emily trying to gauge the problem, but Emily just shook her head no and let you sit at your desk, forget about all that was going on in your brain, and throw yourself into the reports that were due. You sat there for a few hours, with no one bothering you and your focused workspace. It was very easy when everything felt like this to throw yourself into work or a project because it makes the mind stay busy. It’s when you have nothing to do that everything feels like it's going to come crashing down around you. It’s when you have nothing to do that it creeps up to the surface and begins to slip out, mostly without your control.

You were so focused you didn't hear the familiar sound of steps creep up behind you until an arm was placed gently on your shoulder.

“Hey, I know what you’re doing, and I would like to see you in my office ASAP,” Hotch said to you, he leaned down to say it in your ear so no one else could hear. He knew that allowing everyone to hear what he said would make this all worse on your end.

You didn’t think twice, you got up from your workspace, pushed the chair in behind you, and followed closely behind him. You realized as you walked behind him how tall he was, and how well fitted his suits always are. You start to wonder where he buys them before you realize how far your mind has wandered in the minute it takes to get to his office.

“Have a seat, and tell me what's on your mind.” He sits in his chair and motions for you to sit down in the chair across from him. You feel the tears slip out before you even hit the chair. You knew this would happen at some point today, but Hotch actually taking the time to pay attention to you, to realize something was wrong enough to come out of his office and grab you, made the tears sting just a little bit more.

“Oh no, sweetheart what is going on?” He immediately jumped up and rushed around his desk to you the minute he saw the tears falling from your eyes.

“It's just… it's just a hard day for me is all.” You sniffled and tried to wipe your tears but he brushed your hand aside and wiped them for you. He placed his hand on your knee as he bent down beside you, looking up into your eyes.

“Is it your anxiety?” He asked, you could tell his voice was laced with concern. He would do anything to protect you, but it is hard to protect a person from their own mind. No matter how much he had tried to.

Your palms had started to become clammy, and you were shaking. The entire time you were trying to throw yourself into your work you had ignored what was going on inside your brain. In hindsight, that was a bad idea because now every little thing that happened alongside your anxiety was fighting its way out. You started to cry a little harder, your shoulder bobbing up and down as the sobs tormented you.

“What can I do honey? I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Hotch was speaking in a soft, gentle tone. This was not the first time he had helped you through an anxiety attack. The second night you spent with him you realized you had forgotten to submit a report on the case you all had handled that week and started to panic. He calmed you down then by reassuring you that he was in charge of when they were due, and he absolutely believed you that it had been done you had just forgotten to submit it. You have never been one to turn something in late, even at work. The only thing about now, this was the first time you had an anxiety attack at work, and you have no idea why it was happening.

“Just stay with me, hold me.” Hotch grabs you, lifts you up, and takes you over to the couch in his office. He sits you down and runs over to his desk where he grabs tissues. He sits down in front of you on his knees, takes the tissue, wipes your eyes, under your eyes, and gives you a new one to blow your nose with. After you do this, he takes them all to the trashcan, returns to you sits down, and guides you where your head is on his lap and he is stroking your hair. He knows that laying down and having your hair stroked is one way to easily ground you, so you can return back to your normal state and are able to function again.

You clear your throat and ask, “How did you know something was up?”

He lets out a small laugh, “When you walked in. You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t wave, and you didn’t even lift your head up to check if I was in my office like you always do. I let you have a little while, hoping you’d be able to pull yourself out of the trance you were in, but once I realized you couldn’t, I intervened.”

You shift, rolling yourself over, so you can get a solid look at the man. His forehead is creased, meaning he’s worried about you, and his hand hasn’t moved from your hair. He uses his other hand to rub your cheeks with his thumb and he hums your favorite song.

“Do you know what caused this anxiety attack?” He looks down at you with a half smile as you smile back at him, letting him know everything is getting easier. The pounding in your chest has started to ease up, but you can still feel your heart rate is pretty fast. If you got up now, you’d probably either pass out or your eyes would go blurry for a minute, preventing you from moving.

“Honestly, no. I woke up and felt very groggy and focusing to even get myself out of bed was tough. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a while, so I thought if I just worked through it, I could ignore it enough that it’d go away.” You now, roll your eyes at the thought. You had been dealing with anxiety since you were eleven years old. You had dealt with these types of episodes before, you had to face it head-on or it would just get worse. You learned your lesson this time.

“You could’ve just come to my office. You know I am always here for you. Always. I would have helped you get through this. You didn’t have to let it build up this badly.” He jokingly waved a finger in your face to symbolize you had been bad. This brought a hearty chuckle out of you, which in turn made him smile. Seeing Hotch smile could cure most things for you. He was a great man, a great dad, and a great boyfriend. He would do anything if it meant that you would be okay. You had just thought this one wouldn’t be as bad.

“I know, it’s just embarrassing to have to deal with this. I wish, I just wish I could be normal.” You let out a heavy sigh, as he looks at you.

“Hey, if having anxiety makes you not normal, what does having nightmares related to the things I’ve been through make me? We all have our demons, and we all have things that make us different from the people around us. There is absolutely no such thing as normal. Who you are, and I mean this, and everything about you makes you perfect to me. Anxiety included.” He says, completely serious.

You look up at him, sit yourself up, and place a soft kiss on his lips. He returns it, grabbing the back of your head to emphasize how much he means it.

“I wouldn’t have made it through this without you, Aaron Hotchner.” You smile, your mouth inches from his. He kisses you again, and bites your lower lip. You laugh.

“I wouldn’t have made it through a lot without you, if this is the way I can repay all you’ve done for me, I’ll do it for the rest of my life.”

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #soft hotch #anxiety #anxiety attack #hotch fic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #x reader #female reader #fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #drabble #bau team #bau reader #marchhotchness #f!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner headcanons #tooth rotting fluff

[littlecarmine]

THOMAS GIBSON as YOUNG AARON HOTCHNER

CRIMINAL MINDS — 1.11 “BLOOD HUNGRY”

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[boredelle]

The Weight of Air

who: aaron hotchner, gn reader tw: smut, albeit soft - minors DNI about: the first time you're with aaron this has been swirling around in my head for a few days. not sure what it is, but I think I like it.

The first time you're intimate with him, he is insistent on taking things super slow and he wants you to stay as still as humanly possible. His touches are as light as a feather; making your body ache. He enjoys watching the goosebumps rise where he's brushed the pads of his fingertips. His eyes are full of lust when he sees you involuntarily shiver because the only thing on you is his hot breath against your cool skin. You think you may actually cry because it's unlike anything you have ever felt before, and you need a release of some kind.. any kind. You're touch starved, so it doesn't take long before you're there; mind-blowing bliss ignites every nerve in your body. And when he's holding you afterwards, you wonder how you ever made it this far in life without him.

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