Aaron Hotchner X Reader - Blog Posts

I NEED MORE

At Cross Purposes

Sequel to These Fleeting Moments

Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU Reader, BAU Team & Male Reader Content: Fluff, Alcohol, Angst, Slight non-violent homophobia, Injury, blood, bouts of panic Word Count: 13,313 (The rest of the team wanted time with you, too. Idk how this happened. Just take it and enjoy lol) Summary: Reader and Hotch try to make good on their unspoken agreement to stop shutting out the rest of the team. A night out at the bar should be simple enough, right? Note: "---" in place of reader's name Oh, boy... Things are shifting. I try hard, but there are probably still some spelling mistakes that slipped by. Important: It takes so little time to reblog! It lets me know you really enjoyed and I appreciate it so much! :) I probably will not post the next in this series unless the amount of reblogs, with or without comments, on this are at least equal to the number of likes (though I'd prefer it to be greater). Divider by @cafekitsune

Sometimes it seemed like no matter what they did, they couldn’t help but profile in every situation they found themselves in. At the coffee shop when a woman received five texts in a row and then ordered another coffee. Or when a man at the bus stop kept glancing down the wrong end of the street and pulled at his hood nervously.

Other times, profiling skills took the day off.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit is a team of some the most perceptive, well trained minds around. They had the ability to look at a person and gather an almost scary amount of information about them in mere seconds. They were truly amazing.

They were also some of the densest people on the planet.

Morgan and Prentiss’s cackling could be heard from almost any part of the floor. Normally, you’d tell them to shut it after too long but today you didn’t mind so much. You looked up from the papers on your desk and shook your head at them with a suppressed grin. The pen in your grasp rolled back and forth between your fingers. You were well aware of how bad you had allowed yourself to get recently.

Fortunately, three days ago, your impulsive tongue had taken the plunge for you when you suggested something you normally never would. The barricade you had erected around yourself began to break down after you spent part of the night in Hotch’s office.

The words on the paper blurred together. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand as you tried not to think too hard about what happened that night. The two of you hadn’t talked about it since.

The day afterward, you had greeted each other pleasantly and Hotch had given you a knowing smirk when you both had made a beeline for the coffee machine to pour yourselves a large, black serving. Other than that brief moment, he hadn’t acknowledged or brought it up again. You assumed it was something that would be kept private, contained to that night alone. You both had dearly needed that night but at times, the memories of it would make your gaze grow unfocused or your chest tingle.

Your knee pressed against Hotch’s.

The pen creaked in your grasp.

Him clutching you just as fiercely as you did him.

“Oh, god, you’re such a pig!” Prentiss’s laugh cut through the trance.

You shook your head vigorously and blinked your way back to reality, the air from the vents overhead hitting the back of your neck. You realized you had scribbled several erratic lines across the paper, effectively ruining it. Sighing, you folded it, tossed it into the small bin at your feet, and grabbed a fresh one.

“Hey, ---!” Morgan called.

Abandoning hope at finishing this paper any time soon, you leaned back in your chair and turned to look at the other man.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, already not liking the devilish look he was wearing.

“Okay,” Morgan began, leaning in your direction, “If a girl was talkin' you up all sweet-like and then you buy her a drink, wouldn't you –”

Prentiss cut him off with a laugh.

“Oh, come on! You're clearly setting him up to agree with you!” she shook her head, throwing her hands out to the sides.

“What?” he said innocently, “I'm just asking his opinion!”

“My opinion,” you said with a smirk, “is that you're insufferable.”

Prentiss leaned over and presented her fist. You bumped it with your own as Morgan sputtered in indignation.

“Are you serious?” he looked at you as if you just insulted his mother.

“I agree,” Reid mumbled from his own desk.

“Stay out of this, pretty boy!” Morgan jabbed his finger in Reid's direction, “I'm only asking people that actually go out to places.”

Reid's brow furrowed as he glanced over at the other two before turning back to Morgan.

“I think I'd rather stay home than go out and watch you try to force women into talking to you,” Reid muttered, a sly smirk playing at his lips.

Morgan actually rose from his chair to gape at the group of three that were turning on him. Despite yourself, you laughed along with them.

“Excuse me? I don't force women to do anything! Don't go spreading rumors!” Morgan waved his hands at everyone as if he could physically stop their words from traveling through the air.

“Alright, okay,” you held your own hands up placatingly, “Sure. But if you buy a woman a drink she didn't ask for, that's your choice, man. You’re not indebting her. She doesn't need to talk to you at all if she doesn't want to.”

Prentiss gave a mighty groan, her hands reaching toward the heavens.

“Yes! I knew there was at least one sane man on this team!” she exclaimed, actually standing to come and give you a quick squeeze.

You laughed in surprise as she wrapped her arms around you from behind, nuzzling her cheek against the side of your head.

“What about me?” Reid asked, the beginnings of hurt in his tone, as she released you. She gave another small chuckle and winked at him.

“Well, of course,” she smiled.

“And me?” a voice came from behind.

Everyone turned to see Hotch approaching, his gaze flitting over Prentiss’s hand still lingering on your shoulder. Prentiss rushed back to her desk in the same instant that Morgan sat back down and Reid ducked his head, once again focused on his own work.

You cursed internally, wondering how much he had heard and how irritated he might be that you all had taken an extended break.

He paused near the desks and peered at Prentiss expectantly.

“Well, I – Yeah, of– of course,” she stammered, glancing at the rest of the group for help.

Hotch's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as he passed by, handing something to Anderson.

“That was reassuring,” he deadpanned, moving past them and back toward his office.

A collective weight lifted from everyone’s shoulders as they realized Hotch wasn’t about to reprimand them about staying on track.

“Hotch, come on. Back me up, here, man!” Morgan called out with a grin, “They’re calling me a dog!”

Hotch gave a little huff of a laugh that had you mirroring his soft smile. He paused for a moment, considering his response before he continued on his path.

“How about you prove them wrong? Tonight.” Hotch said, glancing back as he walked toward the steps.

“What, go out?” Morgan sat up, excitement brewing in his eyes, “All of us?”

Hotch raised his eyebrows with a fleeting smirk.

“It is Friday,” he proposed.

Morgan's face broke into a grin akin to a child promised ice cream for dinner.

“Oh, yes!” he clapped, “Hell yeah, man!”

He laughed as though already having won his honor.

“I better see you all later!” he said, point at each of you in turn, “I heard about a new place we can go light up.”

You hardly looked at Morgan and his excited antics because Hotch caught your eye as he ascended the steps and gave you a little nod that seemed more pointed than not. There it was. The challenge. I’ll go if you will.

You gave him the most minuscule tip of the head before he turned away and returned to his office.

Reid gave a pinched frown. You suspected the only reason he would go was because it was basically a direct order from Hotch. That made two of you.

Prentiss was already bickering with Morgan again, saying something about rules and etiquette.

“You okay?”

You turned toward Reid to see him watching you with concern. You hadn’t realized your new paper was crumpled in your clenched fingers. You were not helping the environment today.

“Uh, yeah,” you said quickly, grabbing a new paper, “I just, uh, kinda don't want to go out, honestly.”

Reid's expression opened up again, his eyes widening, as he leaned toward you to whisper.

“You think we can fake an emergency together? Say we got a flat tire on the way there?” he gave a little grin, “Then we can watch my new DVD, it’s a nature documentary on bioluminescent sea creatures!”

“That sounds like a really good backup plan,” you murmured with a smile.

Both men nodded at each other conspiratorially before turning back to their respective paperwork. You had only been able to fill out around half the page before Morgan caught JJ’s attention as she walked by, headed toward Hotch’s office.

“Tonight, all of us!” he mimed downing a shot and made an exaggerated dance move in his seat.

She laughed at the ridiculous sight.

“Yeah?” she asked, glancing over at you, “Even you?”

Your fingers halted in their writing for a moment, nerves flaring for just a split second as you heard the disbelief in her tone.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” you huffed a bit sheepishly, running a hand through your hair.

JJ’s eyes sparkled with delight at your confirmation.

“But you all just went out the other day,” you glanced between everyone in disbelief, “How are you already down to go again?”

Prentiss scoffed at the same time as JJ let out a wry laugh, holding up the stack of paperwork she was taking to Hotch.

“Easy,” Prentiss shook her head in a long-suffering manner.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed as she began to ascend the steps, “Alright, I’ll let Garcia and Rossi know, too.”

Morgan gave her a thumbs up.

As the day waned, you found yourself able to concentrate less and less. The ticking of the clock pummeled against your eardrums. The scratching of your pen grated on your skin.

Finishing the last of your paperwork, you shoved it on top of the rather impressive stack. A sigh heaved from your gut as you leaned back in your chair, stretching your neck and groaning softly when the joint popped.

“Hey,” an unsubtle whisper sounded your way.

You shifted to look at Morgan, his eyes glinting as he tapped his watch.

“Wanna make a bet for later?” he asked.

Saying nothing, you merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

“First one to get a girl’s number, wins,” he proposed.

You let your head fall forward into your hands, an incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned.

Prentiss stood with a shake of the head, jabbing her thumb at the other man.

“You see?” she scoffed, but her gaze held mirth in it all the same.

You nodded sympathetically at her with a smirk playing at your lips.

“What?” Morgan spread his arms innocently.

Reid joined in on the laughter that erupted from the group.

In the office above, a soft chuckle was emitted at the sounds that were coming from the desks in the bullpen.

The drive home was just what you needed to clear your head of any lingering reservations. You had offered Reid a ride, still considering the flat tire plan earnestly. He had laughed when you brought it up, saying it wasn’t too late.

“No, it’s alright,” he had waved the offer away, then gave a sneaky smirk and leaned a little closer, “Besides, I kinda wanna see Morgan crash and burn.”

You stopped at a light and a little laugh came from you at the memory.

Morgan had given everyone the address of a new place that had just opened a couple months ago. No one had been to it yet, so everyone agreed to go together for the first time. Prentiss had claimed if she found out Morgan had frequented the place before, she would immediately call an end to his trial and he could never redeem his honorable name. Morgan had crossed his heart that he hadn’t stepped foot in the place.

You arrived at your home and briefly entertained the idea of simply not going. You could tell them tomorrow that you had fallen asleep early. You shook your head at yourself as you slid the key in the lock and entered, dropping your bag into its spot behind the door.

Hotch would see straight through your lie. And even worse, he would know the reason for it and know that you had immediately failed to keep up your end of the unspoken deal.

Sinking down onto your sofa with a sigh, you let your eyes drift closed for a few minutes. The flat silence pressed against your ears. You shifted, grunting, as the cushions somehow felt harder than when you first bought the damn thing. Thoughts of a much more comfortable sofa floated up in your mind.

Your eyes snapped open and you rushed to go take a shower instead.

The glow of the bluish, purplish light emanated from the open door and cast a colorful stripe onto the pavement outside. Music blared from speakers that were nowhere to be seen. As you approached the building, you pulled out your phone to send Reid a text to see if he was there yet.

Stepping inside and spying the crowd of people laughing and dancing, you were suddenly glad you had chosen your light blue button-up instead of a t-shirt. The dress code here appeared to be smart-casual with a heavier lean toward smart.

Before you had finished typing out the message, you spied two familiar blonde heads of hair at a corner table.

“Hey! Over here!” JJ spotted you, and yelled over the music, waving you over.

She had changed into a loose, silky looking, dark blue button-up of her own.

A smile broke across your face as you watched Garcia whip around in her seat. You hadn’t even made it halfway over yet when she shot up and the rapid click-clack of her heels rang out as she ran toward you.

Her arms wrapped around your torso, and all the oxygen was squeezed from your body for a moment. A squeal of delight hit your ears. The brief shock of being enveloped in a hug rendered you still. The last one had been –

“You’re here! You’re really here!” Garcia chanted.

You finally hugged her back with a laugh that only her specific joy could produce from you. JJ made her way over to where you stood, wrapped in her embrace.

“Yeah, I know,” you said as you released each other, “I can’t believe it either.”

Garcia’s dark, shimmery dress matched her eye makeup perfectly.

“And, oh, gosh, you smell so good,” Garcia muttered, leaning in close to get another sniff.

You leaned away with a slightly embarrassed huff.

“Okay, how much has she had already?” you said to JJ out of the corner of your mouth.

JJ had been watching the exchange with a growing grin, hands resting on her hips.

“Um…” she scratched her head, “I think she’s at four shots now?”

You turned back to Garcia, mouth open. She grabbed your arm and draped it around her shoulders with a slight pout.

“What?” she tried her best to look sober, “It’s the weekend! And you’re here, you’re actually here!”

She shook your arm and bounced on the spot as she elongated the last word. Another laugh rang out from your lips.

“I’m so happy! We can dance and have fun. Ooh, and do more shots,” Garcia began to ramble, “Oh, and I can’t wait ‘til Hotch shows up, too, and you both can be happy again and I’ll get–”

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting off Garcia’s chatter with a stiff head-shake. Garcia’s eyes went wide as her hand flew to her mouth and she snapped her gaze back to yours. You desperately hoped that you didn’t look as chagrined as you felt.

“I mean – Um, not that you’re not happy now. Maybe you could be happier, but hey, we can all be happier, right –?”

JJ rubbed at her eyes. You tightened your arm around Garcia’s shoulders briefly, bringing her words to a halt.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Uh, how about you get me that famous drink you told me about before?” you switched gears.

Garcia lit up, her smile returning full force.

“Yes,” she nodded, already clacking away toward the bar, “Yes, that I can do.”

JJ shared a fond look with you before you followed her back to the table a few paces away. You slid into a seat adjacent to her, while keeping an eye on Garcia. You hoped she wouldn't topple over in her haste.

“She probably shouldn’t have any more,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you watched Garcia gesturing emphatically to the dark-haired woman behind the bar.

“At least not until everyone else shows up,” you amended.

JJ grinned as she grabbed her own glass of wine. It appeared to be untouched as she most likely didn’t want to drink while Garcia was far more intoxicated than her. Now, she took a proper long sip. You wondered how much her job was taking its toll on her before you shooed the thought of work away like a pesky fly.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, her voice rather low and you struggled to catch it over the booming beat of the music.

“Where are they, by the way?” you mused as you turned to glance around the place, “I thought I’d be the last one here, for sure.”

“Uh, I know Spence is on his way. And Emily, too,” JJ said, checking her phone, “Not sure about everyone else though.”

You nodded and glanced over at Garcia again, finding the bartender listening to her with slight astonishment. You wondered how much longer it would take for her to get the aforementioned drink. A slight tickle of nerves sprouted in your lower abdomen as the silence stretched on between the two of you at the table.

You clasped your hands together to prevent them from doing something stupid like fidget or, even worse, shake. The music lulled in between rhythms, only providing an even greater silence.

“So,” you began, knowing you ought to say something, “Seen any… good movies lately?”

JJ peered at you, unblinkingly. Her laughter broke through the wall of ice that had been forming around you and you laughed along with her, leaning the chair so far forward that you were in danger of tipping over.

“What are we, on a first date?” JJ asked, wiping at her eyes.

“Apparently,” you responded, still smiling, and shrugged at yourself, “I guess I’m a little out of practice with… this.”

You gestured to everything as a whole. She sobered as you gave your explanation and nodded understandingly.

“Yeah. You been doing okay?” she asked carefully, delicately swirling her wine glass between her fingers.

You fought down a sigh of resignation. Glancing at your watch, you took note of the record timing it had taken until someone asked you how you were doing.

“So, uh, how screwed do you think I am with that drink she’s bringing?” you nodded in Garcia’s direction, the woman in question now making her way back with a very tall glass of bright violet liquid.

JJ looked to Garcia, then back at you, and you held your breath. She graciously allowed the subject to drop as Garcia set the tall glass in front of you with pride.

“There you go, sir!” she said, clapping as she sat down across from you.

“Thank you,” you eyed the radiant drink with blackberries and sprigs of mint on top, “What’s in it?”

Garcia shook her head and made a zipping motion across her lips.

“No can do, baby doll,” she said, “It’s my secret recipe.”

The music’s bumping beat was all that filled the space for a moment as you peered at her, curiosity piqued.

“Wait, you made this?” you asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded with a smile.

JJ gave a laugh, inching a little closer to get a better look at the drink.

“You didn’t tell me that part,” JJ said.

She turned to JJ slowly, eyebrows raised dramatically like an old film star.

“You didn’t ask,” she spoke in a low tone, “There’s a lot you guys don’t know about me.”

JJ shared a look with you, astonished, and you both let out another chuckle.

“Well, go on! Taste it, taste it!” Garcia chanted, practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

You took a tentative sip, waiting for the burn of the alcohol. When nothing came, you glanced up, brows furrowing.

“Uh,” you gave a bit of a nervous laugh, “It just tastes like berries.”

“Yes!” Garcia’s smile widened in delight and she turned to JJ with her hand up.

Eyes squinting in confusion, JJ high-fived her reflexively.

“Am I supposed to taste any alcohol in this?” you questioned, taking a longer sip.

Still no notable taste of any liquor came across your tongue.

“That’s the secret,” Garcia grinned, swaying ever so slightly.

“Maybe it’s a placebo,” JJ smirked at you, taking another sip of her wine.

“It – It certainly is not!” Garcia snapped her gaze to the other woman.

Sensing the shift in her mood, you took another long gulp before speaking up again.

“So what’s it called?” you inquired.

When Garcia focused on you again, her offense ebbed away. You glanced at JJ who gave you a slight toast with her glass. Someone on the dance floor gave a loud whoop that drew everyone’s attention for a moment.

“Huh?” Garcia turned to you again.

“It’s your drink,” you explain, holding up the glass, “You gotta give it a name.”

Garcia bit her bottom lip as her brows drew together.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she murmured, deep in thought.

You took another pull. You thought perhaps JJ was right after all and there was no alcohol in this whatsoever, until your head suddenly felt a touch lighter.

“How about The Purple Penny…” you uttered, gazing at the drink and then at its creator in slight awe.

Her eyes went wide and her jaw fell open as she gaped at you. For a moment, you thought she was about to yell at you, too. You glanced to JJ apprehensively, who only gave you a tiny shrug.

“Shut up!” Garcia squealed, “I love that!”

Relief coursed through you and you all laughed when she tapped you lightly on each of your shoulders with her straight, outstretched arm, as if knighting you.

“Hey, do we get one of those?” a laugh came from behind you.

You turned to see Prentiss as she approached with Reid, Morgan, and Rossi at her sides, looking like the oddest bunch of security guards ever, all smiling at the scene before them. You tamped down the odd crest of disappointment that rose within you at the absence of the final person of the group.

You stood along with the others to allow them to choose their seats at the table. Morgan hugged Garcia tightly and took the seat beside her, to no one’s surprise. Some of the other patrons nearby glanced at the team, embracing happily as if they hadn’t just seen each other a matter of hours ago, and you wondered what they assumed.

Both Prentiss and Morgan had chosen t-shirts, hers a bold red and his a more subtle burgundy, and they somehow managed to make them look smart and stylish. You glanced down at your own pale blue button-up and briefly wondered if you could have gotten away with a t-shirt of your own. A quick scan of Rossi in his stripey button-up and blazer and Reid in his sweater-vest eased your worries.

Everyone settled, Reid asking Garcia about the bright drink and what gave it the distinct hue. You peeked over your shoulder toward the entrance.

“He’s on his way.”

You jumped, turning back to see Rossi gazing at you rather knowingly. A writhing tendril of flame flared in your gut at the sight and you silently turned back to your drink, missing the worried tilt to Rossi’s mouth.

The bluish light from the dance floor twinkled across the violet liquid in your glass, creating an entrancing kaleidoscope effect. Everyone that just arrived stood to head to the bar for their first round of the night, while JJ accompanied the slightly wobbly Garcia to the bathroom.

“Reid?” Morgan held his hand out questioningly.

“Uh, I’m alright for now, thanks,” Reid nodded, holding up his glass of water, staying firmly planted in his seat.

Morgan shrugged and went to join the others. You turned to look at the door, trying to see past the crowd of people that swayed and jumped with their drinks in hand.

“Hey,” Reid called.

You shifted, meeting his gaze to see his lips twisted in the tiny pout he sometimes made when he was worried.

“You okay?” his gaze flitted down to the table.

You followed it and found that you had shredded the piece of the coaster that poked out from underneath your glass. Brushing your hands off, you nodded, grateful that there was no pity in Reid’s gaze.

“Yeah, man, I’m good,” you said with a quirk of your lips.

“I’m not,” he mumbled, screwing his face up as he looked around skeptically, “What even is this music?!”

You grinned, having had the same thought yourself a bit ago. You glanced up toward the ceiling, trying to find the source of the rumbling bass.

“I don’t think even it knows,” you joked.

Reid’s face shifted to mirror yours and your laughter was able to push past the irritating block that had been building in your throat.

The others returned with their drinks at the same time as JJ and Garcia from the bathroom. JJ and Rossi shared a look when they heard the laughter coming from you and Reid. They all settled back into their seats, enjoying a variety of different drinks. You sipped at your own at little more freely, giggling quietly when Prentiss relayed how Morgan already seemed to be failing at his trial of the night.

Morgan, of course, grew affronted, asking Reid his opinion on the matter. When Reid gave an answer he didn’t like, he turned to Garcia who tried her best to reassure him. The liquid in your glass was almost halfway gone when you saw Rossi’s gaze look behind you with recognition.

“There he is,” Rossi called affectionately, “For once in your life, you’re the last one to arrive.”

You swiveled in your seat to see Hotch approaching with a rather bashful glint in his eye. He had somehow managed to make dressing down look like dressing up. Instead of his usual button-up, tie, and suit ensemble, he wore jeans and a black, short-sleeved polo shirt with a little alligator on it which you assumed meant it was expensive.

“Hey,” he greeted everyone with a smile.

You resisted the sudden urge to stand that briefly overtook you once he reached the table. Morgan stood instead and beckoned Hotch to the bar with him, having drained his glass impossibly quickly and in need of another. Your gaze followed them as they weaved between the ever-moving sea of people.

Reid tapped your shoulder and you looked over to see him watching you expectantly.

“Wait, what?” you asked blankly.

A chuckle rippled through the group and a slight flush rose in your neck, but you smiled despite it.

“I said, how do you think Morgan’s gonna do?” Reid repeated.

A soft breath blew past your lips as you held your hands up.

“Don’t look at me,” you said, “I’m taking no bets on that one.”

Morgan and Hotch returned, drinks in hand, to everyone staring with concealed mirth.

“What?” Morgan squinted his eyes at everyone in turn, sinking onto his chair, “You guys been conspiring against me?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Prentiss mumbled, taking a hearty sip of her beer to avoid speaking further.

Banter broke out almost instantaneously and you watched like it was your own private film showing. Hotch swiped a chair from a nearby vacant table and propped it next to yours, close enough that a wave of his cologne hit you a second after he slid onto it.

He raised his glass of dark stout toward you, expectant. A smile forming at the familiar action, you clinked your glass against his. You met his eyes and immediately dissolved into a fit of laughter along with him.

“What’s so funny?” Reid asked, his attention shifted from telling Garcia about the importance of spacing drinks accordingly.

Hotch gazed at the others, the mirth in his eyes falling away into a mocking version of his serious expression.

“Uh, we’re not at liberty to say,” he shook his head.

You fought away the tide of giddiness and schooled your features into a grave mask.

“Yeah, top secret,” you agreed, putting on an air of importance.

“Oh, okay,” JJ laughed, “Thought this was supposed to be a team bonding experience.”

“I think we’re good,” you said, quirking an eyebrow, “We’re a team and this is an experience.”

“Oh, it’s about to be,” Morgan grinned devilishly, drumming the table, “Now that everyone’s here… we’re doing shots!”

Immediate protests rang out from everyone. Except Garcia who volunteered to go with Morgan and help him bring a round to the table.

“No!” you and JJ exclaimed in unison.

“What?” she pouted at the two of you, “Why not? That’s no fair.”

At seeing how the rest began to chuckle at her dismay, you shifted a little so you could look her in the eye more clearly.

“Yes, it is,” you spread your hands, shooting her an imploring look, “You gotta let the rest of us catch up to you. Everyone knows you’re always four steps ahead, Garcia.”

You winked and clicked your tongue at her.

Your over-the-top antics had the desired effect. Her pout transformed into a smile brighter than the moon. She reached across the table for you and you took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Alright, alright,” Morgan held his hands up between the two of you, as if to physically stop the interaction, “You made your point, handsome. Now back it up, before we gotta throw down.”

The ripple of laughter emanated from the whole group and you felt rather weightless as you joined in.

A while later, when everyone’s first round had disappeared, the table was empty once again as they left to help bring the shots and other drinks back. You and Rossi stayed behind since his glass remained mostly full and you didn’t want a new drink along with the shot. JJ had tossed a look over her shoulder, meeting Rossi’s eyes for a split second before they all braved the tide of dancers again.

A small shiver ran through your torso, a chill creeping in from the open door. Your mind went to the jacket you had left in the car as your hands tapped out a rhythmless beat against the wooden table.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically, the sudden question took you by surprise. You were unable to keep the irritation from seeping into your voice.

“You sure?” he pressed.

“Yeah.”

You falsely blamed the alcohol in your system when you heard how hard the word came out.

You met his gaze, interpreted his pointed expression and realized there was no use. A breath heaved out of your nose as you carefully rotated your nearly empty glass. The condensation that collected on the surface chilled your fingertips. You focused on the sensation as you tried to untangle the web of thoughts and emotions that snarled around your body.

“Sorry. Just – tired of that question,” you glimpsed his knowing nod out of the corner of your eye, “It’s- It’s been hard, but…”

Your gaze drifted to the group at the bar. Prentiss was throwing peanuts at Reid who kept looking around, perplexed, while Hotch and Morgan tried not to laugh. The sight of Hotch smiling again lifted something heavy from your throat.

“It’s getting better,” you finished.

Rossi stayed silent for a moment, gaze following yours.

“I’m sure it is,” he smiled softly.

“This helps,” you breathed.

When you looked at him again, he lifted his hand to the back of your head and ruffled your hair as he smile grew. If anyone else did that to you, you’d probably leave them with at least a sprained finger or two. But when Rossi did it, there was only a glowing warmth that burned away some of the sticky threads that ensnared you.

The large tray that Prentiss placed on the table shattered the cozy moment as you both looked at the impressive array of shots with trepidation.

“Do I even wanna know how much that cost?” Rossi groaned.

Hotch shook his head as he slid back into his seat.

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, reaching behind you to give Rossi a little pat on the back.

You chuckled as Rossi rubbed his face in defeat, clearly regretful about agreeing to pay for the first few rounds. You stilled when Hotch drew his hand back and his fingers briefly brushed across your shoulder blade.

Glancing sideways, you found him peering at everyone pleasantly, clearly unaware of what he inadvertently did. You forced your attention to the group as Morgan and JJ distributed shots to everyone, minus Garcia.

Taking yours, you felt Hotch’s knee bump yours under the table. You gave another sidelong glance, wondering if that was an accident as well. He gave you the quickest glance in return as he picked up his small glass.

“Déjà vu,” his voice rumbled lowly, for your ears alone.

Your mouth quirked into a smirk for a split second.

“Mhmm,” you hummed in agreement.

“Alright!” Morgan called out, holding his glass high.

Everyone lifted their own, Garcia with her water and lime, and gathered all the glasses together in a large, tinkling toast.

You spied Reid already grimacing before he even drank the liquid and you laughed. A chorus of grunts and groans rang out from the others as they downed theirs. You threw yours back with ease. You couldn’t help the swell of satisfaction when Prentiss and JJ stared at you, their faces almost matching expressions of surprise mixed with admiration.

“Okay,” Morgan smiled, reaching over and smacking the top of your arm lightly, “You been holdin’ out on us, Mr. I don’t like bars.”

“He’s not even getting started,” Hotch murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye.

When Morgan looked to Hotch, then back at you expectantly, you kept your face as neutral and innocent as possible. Hotch shook his head slowly, disbelief spreading across his features.

“Don’t do that,” he said, a smile forming, “Don’t make me look crazy.”

You merely shrugged, turning to Reid with an exaggerated look of confusion. He laughed before he sipped at his water, washing the taste of the whiskey away. Garcia was watching you with pure delight dancing in her eyes, much like JJ and Prentiss.

JJ and Rossi glanced at each other before they began to laugh. For many long moments, the smell of the whiskey and the sound of everyone setting each other off in a chain reaction was the only thing in the space between everyone.

“Alright, hot shot,” Morgan said when the laughter subsided, grabbing another couple from the tray, “Let’s go.”

He set the next one in front of you, the clack of the glass against the table ringing out loudly. You glanced around, all their faces betraying how intrigued they really were to watch this development.

“What about everyone else?” you asked.

“Who wants another?” Morgan addressed them.

A cluster of hands gestured negatively, except for Garcia whose hand shot up like she was desperately trying to be called on by a teacher.

“Ooh! Ooh! Come on!” she pleaded.

You locked eyes with JJ, having a quick telepathic conversation.

“Alright,” you agreed, “I guess you’ve waited long enough.”

You grabbed another off the tray and placed it in front of her, but Morgan was staring you down over his glass and your focus was on him. Prentiss’s eyebrows went up, whispering to JJ behind her hand. If it weren’t for the loud bass that drowned out nearly everything, you would have sworn you could hear old cowboy duel music playing as you gazed at Morgan with your glass aloft.

Hotch sharply tapped the table twice and you all threw your shots back. The whiskey was rather decent, but it wasn’t the best you’d ever had.

Slamming your glass back onto the table, you watched Morgan struggle to keep his grimace away. The gasps from JJ and Prentiss only served to bolster your confidence and you couldn’t contain your smirk.

Morgan groaned, shaking his head in frustration as he shot his hand out and snatched Reid’s water to take a sip.

“Hey!” Reid protested, pulling back with a frown when Morgan tried to return it, “Keep it. I need a new one now.”

Garcia cackled and you extended your fist which she bumped with gusto.

“We finally got him on something!” you cheered with her.

Morgan was already trying to call for a rematch while everyone else chimed in, trying to get him to gracefully accept defeat. You heard a familiar giggle at your side and looked to find Hotch positively beaming. Rather lightheaded, you wanted to down the rest of the platter if it would keep that look on his face.

Time began to throw its order to the wind, sometimes racing along before you could even catch a glimpse of it. Other times, it would creep by like it was slogging through mud as thick as clay.

You swore you had been listening to Prentiss talk about the adoption process for cats for nearly fifteen minutes, but when you glanced at your watch it revealed that only five had passed.

The others had gone on another trip back to the bar, all the glasses from the platter now empty. Morgan had done away with a good deal more than the rest of you. You were taking a break, knowing you couldn’t afford to go as wild as you wished.

You sank low in your chair and scrubbed at your face. The air around you shifted as the others returned and took their seats. Peeling your eyes open, you smiled at them as they shuffled by.

In a moment, your smile faded as you realized Hotch wasn’t there.

Breath coming a little quicker, you shot up and had to catch yourself on the edge of the table when the chair tipped forward onto its front legs. Settling back down hard, your gaze scanned the whole area in a flash.

“Where’s Hotch?” you demanded, searching the area over again.

“He went to the bathroom,” JJ said gently, eyeing your tense posture.

“Calm down, man,” Morgan laughed, his words rather thick, “What, you want Garcia to track him for you?”

Over here! Help!

You blinked hard.

Rossi sighed as he glanced at Morgan, then at you and your fingers clenched on the edge of the table.

“Kid, it’s okay –” he tried.

His tone launched you out of your seat, your chest burning with a flush you could feel creeping up your neck.

“Be right back,” you choked out and lurched toward the door, stumbling around people in your haste.

The group grew still and the air was sapped of all the joy that previously permeated it.

“I was… just kidding,” Morgan mumbled, gazing at everyone for reassurance.

Garcia gave his arm a light smack.

“You can be so –! Ugh!”she crossed her arms, staring at him.

No one said anything to refute Garcia’s words. The silence grew stale and uncomfortable as they all took fervent glances toward the door, waiting for you to come back.

When Hotch returned, his face shifted from an expression of ease to concern when he felt the abrupt change in atmosphere. Noting the empty chair next to his, he turned to survey the room. His eyes scanned all the dancing forms rather frantically.

“Where’s ---?” he asked.

The frosty gusts of wind tickled your neck as you leaned against the outside of the building, your top button undone. Small tremors ran through your hands and you blamed it on the cold. Your gaze edged toward the end of the street where your car sat parked. You could get in and just be done with this night.

Your heart seemed intent on jumping out of your throat. You heaved in a breath, the frigid air going in jagged. The shaky exhale left a great cloud in front of your face for an instant before it dissipated. If only expelling feelings were that easy.

The crunch of the gravel underfoot alerted you to the approaching figure, but you didn’t look. Instead you glanced at your watch, surprise mixing in with everything else when you realized they had given you ten minutes before someone finally came to check on you.

“Hey,” Prentiss approached you slowly.

“Hey,” you choked out.

“What’s going on? You okay?”

You turned to see her unhindered smile had been replaced with a look of deep concern. Before you could stop it, a scoff came out, forming another thick little cloud. You hated that you had caused the shift in her mood, in everyone’s mood most likely.

An understanding hum came from the woman at your side as she rubbed her hands over the goosebumps that rose on her arms.

“I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?” she gave a sheepish smirk.

“No, go ahead!” you threw your arms out with an exasperated laugh, “Everyone else is, you might as well.”

You glanced over at her agitatedly, but stilled when you noticed her trying to warm herself.

“I’ve got a jacket in the car if you want it,” you lowered your voice self-consciously.

“He really upset you, didn’t he?” she asked earnestly, skipping over your half-hearted attempt at changing the subject.

Cars whizzed by on the street, their headlights illuminating the pair standing against the wall for brief intervals. You lost count of how many went by before you could speak again.

“It’s fine, I know he’s just kidding,” you mumbled toward your shoes.

“Yeah, well. He can be real sweet and funny, but sometimes…” she shook her head with a little grimace.

You nodded, rubbing at your neck. She let you sit in silence for another minute, shuffling close enough that your arms pressed against each other. She would claim it was for warmth only.

“You can talk to us, you know,” she murmured, “You’re not alone.”

Mortifyingly, a searing sting rose behind your eyes. Your jaw clenched and you didn’t dare look over at her. When she felt you leaning into her more heavily, she smiled at the ground.

The swirling puffs of her breath mingled with yours in the space before you. Cars continued to rush past, too many to count. Finally, you pushed off the wall and gave her a tentative peek.

“Thanks,” you uttered softly, “Let’s go back in, you’re freezing.”

“Hey,” she put a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks, “I meant what I said.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know… Thank you.”

She must have found your second reply more satisfactory because she smiled and began to pull you back inside at a startling pace.

“Woah! Hey!” you exclaimed, your cold limbs fighting to move fast enough to keep up, “Hey! Prentiss, what are you doing?!”

She let out a jubilant laugh, saying nothing and continuing to drag you onward. Straight onto the dance floor. You tried to dig your heels in, but it was no use.

“Oh, no, no, no! Emily!” you tried in vain to stop your momentum but once she finally came to a halt you were already in the middle of the crowd.

You gaped at her, astounded. She took your hands and began to direct you, her laughter loud enough that you could still hear it over the music. All the surrounding people were gyrating to the sounds and you began to feel stupid just standing there.

Stiffly, you shifted around as you wondered what this form of dance was even supposed to be. Prentiss shook her head at you, her eyes gleaming with fondness. She leaned close to your ear.

“You’re overthinking it!”

Slowly, you simply tried to move in ways that felt comfortable as opposed to looking a certain way. The sight of her dazzling smile and the sound of her laugh cutting through the rhythm was enough to spur you on.

Back at the table, everyone caught sight of the pair of you and gave various exclamations.

“I don’t know what he was worried about,” Reid muttered, “He’s better than me, at least.”

“Still no match for me, though,” Morgan elbowed Reid with a laugh.

“Hey, no fair!” Garcia began to rise from her seat, affronted, “I’ve been wanting to dance with him for – forever!”

JJ pulled her back down gently.

“Easy,” she laughed, “I’m sure you’ll get your turn.”

“Speaking of turns,” Morgan stood, slightly unsteady, “I’ve been catching the woman looking at me – one too many times.”

He strutted toward the dance floor himself.

Rossi watched as you spun Prentiss around, earning a gleeful laugh from her, and smiled into his beer. He glanced at Hotch, spying his worried look having melted away to leave only a fond smile as he watched the pair of you.

Your chest rose rather harshly when you finished your pseudo routine with Prentiss, and she put her arms around your shoulders as you swayed together to catch your breath.

“Thanks for that,” you said, knowing she’d hear because of how close you were. Her heavy breath and little laugh tickled at your ear.

“Anytime,” she replied.

A rush of gratitude spread through to your fingertips, warming you faster than any alcohol. Still smiling, you spied a man at the bar watching you and Prentiss.

“Uh, don’t look now,” you muttered, “But I think that guy is checking you out.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, “Is he cute?”

A huff burst from your lips.

“I don’t know,” you laughed, “Here.”

You rotated slowly until you had traded places with her and she could look behind you. She gave an approving nod when she finally caught sight of the dark-haired man in the open button-up over a t-shirt that kept shooting looks over.

“Hmm,” she hummed, “Not too bad. But hey, not my priority tonight.”

She fixed her gaze back on you with a smile. You stilled in your swaying and her smile slipped slightly.

“What, did I –” she began, worried.

“You’re a great friend,” you muttered before you could stop yourself and cringe at the sappiness.

Her smile returned, wider than before and her eyes glistened a little.

“Thanks,” she said, “Takes one to know one.”

With Prentiss gone on a bathroom break with JJ and Garcia, you wandered toward the bar. The dancing had left you thirsty for anything that could chase away the dry burn in your throat. You caught sight of Morgan out on the floor as well, with a young woman’s arms around him, and you shook your head with a smile.

Finally reaching the bar, the chaos surrounded you. People crowded around each other, alcohol dulling their manners as they barked their orders at the woman making their drinks. Finding an empty corner, you slotted yourself in and waited patiently.

“What can I get ya?” the woman asked as she spied you, looking rather harried.

“Um, whatever you’re making them is fine,” you motioned toward the group of men off to the left, clamoring and waving their hands.

She nodded, serving something in a tall glass in a flash and sliding it over to you. As you thanked her, you grabbed it to lift it to your lips, but she placed a shot glass filled with a pitch dark liquid next to it.

Perplexed, you looked up to ask her what it was for, but she had already rushed away, her tattooed arms flying as she made more drinks than seemed possible.

Glancing around at the other men, you saw them chugging the drinks but you couldn’t see their shots. Assuming they were supposed to be mixed, you picked up the smaller glass to pour the dark contents in.

“No, no, no!” rushed words came from off to the right.

You turned to see the man that had been watching Prentiss when you were dancing, holding his hand out as if to stop you, with an incredulous smile cracked across his face.

“You’re supposed to drop the whole glass inside,” he mimed releasing the glass from his grasp.

You stared at him blankly. For several moments, the din of the surrounding crowd crashed over you in waves.

“Are you messing with me?” you chuckled as you still held the smaller glass aloft.

The man came closer and nodded with a muted laugh. Wary, you pulled your glass away a little but not enough to make it obvious. The raucous sounds of people enjoying their Friday night dampened a little as your focus was pulled onto him.

“Here,” he held a hand up toward the bartender, “Another one of these, please.”

He pointed at your drink and the woman nodded. Before you could utter a word of protest, another identical drink slid across the bar and the man sidled up next to you.

“Alright, look,” he said, holding up his shot glass, “Watch and learn.”

Sure enough, he let the little glass fall straight down into the larger one and began to gulp down the mingling contents rapidly. He didn’t stop until he drained both glasses simultaneously.

At the table, Rossi noticed the tenseness of Hotch’s shoulders and the hard press of his lips against each other. Leaning over, he peered around him to see you talking to another man at the bar.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Hotch remained motionless, his gaze trained on you as you observed the other man downing a drink.

“Aaron,” Rossi called.

Hotch blinked, and finally turned back to meet Rossi’s perplexed gaze. When he didn’t say anything more, Hotch gave a little head-shake and a shrug.

“That guy’s getting kinda close to his drink,” he murmured.

“What, you think he’s gonna get roofied?” Rossi deadpanned.

“Dave,” Hotch shot him a look, clearly unimpressed, “That’s not funny.”

Rossi shook his head, gesturing in your direction.

“Look,” he nodded emphatically at you, “He’s right there. He’s alright.”

Hotch turned back toward you, watching rather intently.

“The better question is, are you?” Rossi threw at him.

Hotch peered at him, his features hardened as he looked away, taking a purposefully long sip of water.

“Wow,” you said.

When you glanced around to find no one laughing at the man, you assumed he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

“Alright,” you shrugged and copied his instructions, the shot glass clinking onto the bottom of the other. You chugged the drink until it was gone, the blend of the liquids rather sugary and smooth. Finishing it, you exhaled heavily and shared a triumphant look.

“I’m Javi, by the way.”

You shook his outstretched hand and introduced yourself.

“Thanks,” you shook your empty glass, creating a tinkling, “Kept me from looking stupid.”

“Any other drinks you need help with?” he leaned his elbow against the bar with a smirk.

You paused and thought for a moment.

“Well… how would I know?” you asked earnestly.

Laughter jumped from deep in his chest, his eyes crinkling, clearly not having expected your response.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. Wanna pick one at random?” he lifted his eyebrows.

It was your turn to laugh, the aftertaste of the drink was sweet on your tongue.

He pointed at the large array of options listed on the menu above the bar.

“Take your pick, my treat.”

“What?” you shook your head, “No, no, thanks, but I couldn’t.”

He tapped the bar as he shook his own glass enticingly.

“Come on,” he smiled, “Look, I’m gonna hit bathroom real quick. When I get back, you need to have a choice!”

Stunned, you watched him saunter away toward the back of the building. Through the buzz of the drink, you felt a wash of disbelief come over you. Making a friend at the bar tonight was not something you had on your itinerary.

You asked the woman for a small water while you perused the menu and waited for Javi to return, not knowing how much more alcohol would be in the next drink.

Morgan appeared at your side and his hand clapped your back, the force rather stronger than usual, leading to some of the water sloshing out of your cup. You gave a sidelong glare of annoyance as you shook your hand off, reaching for the nearest pile of napkins.

“How drunk are ya, handsome?” Morgan laughed.

“What?” you fired back, affronted, “You just spilled my drink.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “But I meant your, uh, your new buddy.”

He slung his arm around your shoulder, giving you a whiff that only solidified your suspicion that he was far drunker than you, and then pointed toward Javi who was typing something out on his phone near the bathroom.

“The bet was to get a girl’s number,” Morgan chuckled.

Irritation flooded your veins as you wiped the outside of your glass as well as your hand. You didn’t grace his comment with a response. Morgan studied the man silently for a moment, leaning on you heavily. You replayed the night in your mind in double speed, recalling the number of times Morgan had gone back to the bar for another drink as you tried to get an estimate of how wasted he was.

“I mean…” Morgan muttered, pursing his lips in thought,“He is kinda pretty. Maybe he’s… a little light in the loafers, if you know what I mean.”

His carefree laugh rang out, the sound piercing your ears uncomfortably.

“I’ll give you half a point for that!”

You wrenched out of his reach and shot him a hard, backward glance.

“Nice.” your tone was flat.

“Come on, man, I – I’m kidding!” Morgan pleaded, the stupid grin never leaving his face, “I know you like the ladies.”

Hotch approached slowly from behind Morgan and caught your eye. He must have been watching the interaction from afar and seen the unamused look that grew on your face. He put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder and beckoned him over to the table where he had been sitting with Rossi. Surprisingly, Morgan went willingly and you stalked away before anyone else could swoop in to ask you what happened.

Pushing into the bathroom, you were blessed to find it empty, briefly wondering where Javi had gone. Your fingers went numb at the thought of him, Morgan’s comment ringing in your ears.

On a whim, you locked the main door. If anyone came, you’d unlock it immediately but the spiky tingling in your chest made you desperate for a moment of solitude with the certainty that no one would walk in.

Turning on the tap full blast, you cupped your hands underneath the cold stream and splashed the water onto your face. You avoided your reflection, knowing that seeing yourself would only make things worse at the moment.

You let your eyes close and tried to ground yourself. Your breath was coming too quick.

In, out, in, out.

In-out, in-out, in-out.

Your fingers clenched around the sink. Cold. Wet.

In out.

The loud rush of the tap counteracted the ringing in your ears.

In out.

You screwed your nose up. Discarded beer. Smelly.

In, out.

Your eyes opened. Your fingers were white with the force of your grip. The bright tiles of the floor were shiny and new, no one had the chance to scuff and crack them yet.

In. Out. In. Out.

Your heart no longer felt like it was in danger of bursting and you heaved a great sigh of relief, feeling rather lightheaded. It felt safe to look in the mirror. You were surprised to see a rather normal looking man staring back at you. You never would have guessed he had just been talking himself down from some kind of breakdown.

A knock on the door made you jump and you nearly slammed your shoulder into a towel dispenser.

“Yeah, sorry!” you called as you turned the tap off and reached over to unlock the door. You quickly moved out of the way to allow whoever was on the other side a wide berth. Ten long seconds passed and the door remained closed.

Slowly, you shuffled toward it, still wary and under the impression that it would swing open at any moment. Gripping the cold handle, you pulled it open gradually.

An unsurprised breath left your lips. Hotch was waiting patiently on the other side.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice was mercifully steady.

“You want to go outside for a minute?”

A man pushed roughly past Hotch and through the door, nearly slamming it into your face in the process.

“Yeah,” you repeated dryly, “Probably a good idea.”

Hotch led the way toward the back door and a wave of gratitude rushed forth, replacing the odd franticness, as you realized he was taking you away from the prying eyes of the team. Peering around as you stepped through, you briefly wondered if the two of you were allowed to use this door.

The shift was instant. It was like stepping through a portal to another world. The bumping music faded, the darkness enveloped you, and the wafting aroma of alcohol faded away. There was nothing but the blessedly cool night, the glowing stars above, the chilled bricks of the building at your back, and Hotch at your side.

He said nothing and looked at the sky, always knowing when you needed time. Your skin felt like it should be emitting a soft glow with how warm it was. You let your eyes close as the breeze ruffled your hair, letting out a deep breath.

“Thanks,” you finally muttered, finding it odd that you didn’t have to raise your voice anymore, “I… I’m alright.”

“Whatever he said, he didn’t mean it. He’s just drunk,” Hotch said, eyes trailing across the stars that shone overhead.

“He doesn’t need to be drunk,” you responded almost bitterly, “He says those things all the time.”

“What things?” Hotch asked, now a touch alarmed, peering at you searchingly.

When you didn’t respond right away, he fixed his gaze back onto the stars. The brisk wind picked up again and you caught a lingering note of his cologne.

“Uh, nothing really,” you muttered, hand dragging through your hair, “I think I just need to… stop drinking for the night. I’m getting all… irritated.”

A self conscious huff passed through your nose.

“You’re nowhere near drunk,” Hotch stated, “I’ve seen firsthand how much you can handle.”

You whipped your head around to mockingly glare at him but a jolt ran through you at the fact that he acknowledged that night again, however indirectly.

“You been monitoring my drinks, Agent Hotchner?” you narrowed your eyes, but allowed your smirk to grow.

His laugh was rich and full, blanketing the little space between you and providing a shield from the frigid air.

“Busted,” he muttered, deepening his voice humourously.

Silence stretched out for a few minutes, the chilly night doing wonders for your hot skin. Suddenly, the fact that you needed it at all came crashing down on the ease you had settled into.

“So stupid,” you spat bitterly.

“What?” Hotch asked, brows drawing together, startled.

Going out to have drinks shouldn’t feel like fighting a battle with enemies that looked identical to your friends. Normal people didn’t need regular time-outs just to have a successful outing. You were a federal agent, for god’s sake. You crossed your arms, fingers clenching around your biceps.

“Just… all of it,” you mumbled.

Hotch peered at you, studying your expression and body language. He must have agreed because he said nothing, merely leaning his head back against the wall. You watched your breath cloud in front of your face. The dim light of the moon peeked out from behind an actual cloud.

“Have you been asked if you’re alright yet?” you broke the silence, turning to send him a wry look.

He snorted softly, his lips quirking into a smirk.

“Yeah. Dave and JJ,” he nodded.

“I got you beat,” you huffed, “I’ve got everyone except Morgan.”

The absurdity of the competition had you both giggling. You clutched at your chest. This was the only kind of breathless you wanted to be.

It was getting better with the others, but even if you spoke about it, they simply wouldn't understand what you were feeling the same way he did. As you settled into quiet again, your ears pricked up at a steady sound. You blinked and focused on it, discovering with a start that it was his breathing.

Leaning your head back against the cool bricks, your eyes closed as you tried to match your own to his. His presence at your side was solid and steadying. He might have noticed what you were doing because you heard a sudden stutter in his breath before it evened out again.

“You know, I think they might have a little bet of their own going,” you murmured, your head heavy against the wall.

“Who?” Hotch sounded interested.

“Rossi and JJ,” you said.

Hotch turned fully toward you at that, his expression rapt.

“I’ve seen them… giving each other these looks,” you shook your head, “They think I can’t see them.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s about us,” you said softly, apprehensive about how he’d respond.

He was quiet for a moment, only the muted beat of the music inside filling the silence.

“Who do you think’s winning?” Hotch quipped, his gaze glinting.

A gentle chuckle came from you at that, producing little puffs of breath in the air.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, “But… we’re definitely tipping the scales in someone’s favor right now.”

His smile broke out fully now, a true laugh ringing out and you joined in. Your head fell into your hand and your shoulder bumped into his.

Both men stilled as they regained their composure, but neither pulled away from the other afterward. Soft warmth emanated from the point of contact where his shoulder leaned into yours. The contrast of it to the night air was pleasant.

The cloud in front of the moon shifted and you both were bathed in dim, silvery light. The fact that he was standing outside with you, forgoing making the most of his limited time off to help you, had a tide of emotion rising within. You swallowed with difficulty, and the sudden urge to embrace him again came over you like the moonlight.

Hazarding a glance, you saw he was looking to the sky with an air of content and you pushed the urge away, unwilling to disturb that peace. You settled for leaning into him a little closer, your arms touching. When he did nothing to move away, the ease inside you returned.

He was alright.

You were alright.

“We should probably get back in there,” Hotch finally spoke quietly, glancing at his watch, “Before they start sweeping the place for us.”

“Yeah,” your brows furrow in thought, “I think I still owe Garcia a dance.”

Hotch gave a low chuckle, his dimple appearing as he smiled at the thought.

“Good luck with that.”

Hotch went in first, allowing you a couple extra minutes to gather your resolve. When you finally pushed back inside, the music that you danced to minutes before now seemed to ring rather hollow.

Another deep breath, and you began to make your way back toward the table. A group of women cut in front of you, nearly screeching with laughter and almost stumbling over each other. The sight made you laugh reflexively and you were a little less nervous when you continued.

“Oh, hey, there you are,” a voice came, and you turned to see Javi standing from a seat at a small table, “Thought maybe I scared you off or something.”

“Oh, no, I was just, um…” you pointed over your shoulder at the back exit and trailed off, unaware of how to explain without sounding insane.

You shook yourself, switching gears.

“Uh, are you here alone?” you asked, contemplating inviting him to join the group.

He seemed nice enough, and maybe you could try and steer the conversation in the right direction for Prentiss to get to talk to him one on one.

“Yeah,” his smile grew, “You?”

“I’m with some friends,” you said as you both started toward the bar again.

“Oh, cool,” he said, a spark glinting in his gaze, “So that woman, she’s – she’s just your friend?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, nodding.

You were definitely going to try to set them up, as a thank you to Prentiss.

“Alright,” he smiled, then shot a finger gun at you, “I’m gonna go get us two new drinks. I’ll try to find a doozy for you.”

A snort came from your nose as you watched him approach the bar, disappearing into the throng of people that crowded around it. You weaved around groups, heading back in the direction of the table.

A presence appeared at your side and Morgan’s liquor-heavy grip landed on your shoulders. If you had one less drink in your system, you would’ve made the connection much quicker. His boisterous cackle rang out, unaware of his fingers tightening and twisting too roughly as he jostled you playfully.

Hot pain flared across your right shoulder in a sear as quick as a match falling into gasoline. A yelp was ripped from your throat as you shrank and twisted away from his vice-like clutches. Even in his state, Morgan tore his hands away in shock after hearing your cry of pain.

But the damage was already done. Clutching at your shoulder, the slow, hot gush spread under your fingers. Looking down, you heaved a shaky breath at the deep red stain that was steadily tainting your shirt.

“Woah! Dude – I – What – I’m sorry, man, how –” Morgan fumbled for words, bleary eyes wide as he gawked.

“My shirt…” you croaked, unable to tear your eyes away from the trail seeping down your front.

Prentiss passed by and caught sight of you both, changing course to meet you, but her relaxed expression shifted into horror when she spied you trembling and transfixed on your torso.

“Oh, my god!” she scurried to your side, trying to assess the severity of the wound, “What happened?”

“I – I barely touched him,” Morgan held his hands out.

Prentiss shot him a stunned look, her eyes scanning the ground for broken glass or anything that could’ve caused you to bleed so much.

“Hang on,” she told you, disappearing for a moment.

Your breath stuttered, the music dulling as a roar grew in your ears. You vaguely registered the sound of shocked gasps and mutterings from people nearby as they began to notice you. Prentiss rushed back into your space, prying your hand away and pressing a cloth into your shoulder.

You winced at the movement, feeling like your fingers took some of your skin with them.

“Sorry,” she said sympathetically, “Come on, can you walk?”

Your feet stumbled along as she gently guided you back toward the table while hissing back and forth with Morgan about what happened.

“My… my shirt, Emily,” your voice came out in a disoriented mumble.

“What?” she questioned, eyes wide in bewilderment.

The chorus of exclamations and gasps snapped your unfocused gaze up to the table of your teammates.

Hotch shot up from his seat, at your side in an instant. Garcia let out a series of bewildered sounds, grasping at JJ who gaped at you silently. Reid stood as well, approaching to take stock of your injury. Rossi stared at you, wide eyed, before sharing a tense glance with Hotch.

You were dimly aware of everyone speaking, some of it probably directed at you but you couldn’t get your mouth to form words as you gazed at them.

Ignore it. Keep pushing. Keep pushing.

“He’s in shock,” Reid’s voice drifted by.

Hands carefully maneuvered you into a chair. A familiar cologne hit your nose as someone leaned in, prying your fingers away and pulling your collar open briefly.

“I told you it needed stitches,” Hotch’s voice came.

His tone could easily be interpreted as anger or annoyance, but a distant corner of your mind knew he was really worried.

“I didn’t do anything – I just grabbed him, man,” Morgan’s lilted speech was close to your ear.

“Sit down, Morgan,” Hotch spoke measuredly, and the rank scent of alcohol-heavy breath vanished.

You were able to turn to see Hotch putting himself between you and Morgan. Reid held a hand on his shoulder as he mumbled attempts to distract him.

“What the hell’s the matted – the matter with you, Hotch? Huh?,” Morgan nearly shouted, clearly beyond reasoning, “He does somethin’ stupid but what – no, no big Hotch lecture? You’re his bodyguard now?”

J-Just go!

No! I’m not leaving!

“Let’s not cause a scene in the middle of the bar,” Hotch’s even tone carried out, “If you want to yell at me, please do it outside.”

“I…” your voice was inaudible above everyone else’s.

You fumbled with your top button, trying to undo it with one hand unsuccessfully.

Just as quick as Morgan’s anger had flared, it vanished as he snorted and slung his arm around the other man, hanging off Hotch’s shoulder.

“Freakin’ Hotch, man,” he snickered, “You’re so serious…”

“Who’s taking him home?” Hotch looked to the others, the thin line of his mouth was the only indicator of his true feelings.

“I got it,” Rossi said.

“Thanks, Dave,” Hotch mumbled.

“Hey,” Garcia’s teary voice came from the side, “You didn’t have to do this. We can dance another time.”

You glanced at her, trying to blink her into focus and clear away that worried look on her face.

“---?” JJ called.

“Mhmm,” you hummed over the odd wheezing that met your ears.

She exchanged a few worried whispers with Prentiss.

“Oh, hey! Where’s your f – Oh, shit!”

Blinking, you dragged your gaze over to spot Javi, two drinks in hand as he approached, his eyes wide as they took in your state.

“Ohhhh,” Morgan slung his arm around Reid, failing to whisper to him, “Here we go.”

“Come on,” Hotch’s fingers curled under your elbow, “I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

You stood hesitantly as Hotch and Prentiss kept hold of your arms, knowing you should say something to Javi who was trying to understand what had happened in the time he had been gone.

As you were marched through the front door and the frigid night air hit your skin, the shock cleared your head somewhat and you briefly marveled at the fact that none of the staff did anything about the situation.

About halfway to where everyone’s cars were, you were struck with how bizarre the bunch of you must look. You being surrounded by most of the team like they were your secret service agents and Morgan interchangeably hanging off some of them.

“Wait up!” a yell halted the procession, “Hey!”

Javi bounded out of the building, jogging up to the group, slightly breathless and staring at them with bewilderment.

“Woah, lot of friends,” he muttered with a crooked smile.

Your lips twitched upward at the coincidence of his expression as he surveyed the unusual group, clearly wondering how it came form. You looked at Prentiss, trying frantically to think of what to say to ensure he could see her again since he clearly liked her a good deal.

“Yes?” Hotch asked, impatient.

“Listen, um,” Javi rubbed at the back of his head, glancing at the others briefly as he shifted from foot to foot, “I’m no doctor but, uh, here.”

He reached out and pressed a slip of paper into your free hand.

“Why don’t you call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing?” he smiled hopefully.

All the urgency that thrummed through the group dissipated for an instant as they stared at him, stunned, you possibly the hardest out of all of them. Blood that you couldn’t spare rose to your face.

“He’s needs an actual doctor right now,” Hotch’s flat voice cut through the moment.

Javi looked at him, his easygoing air waning as he took half a step back.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, of course,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely, glancing back and forth between you and Hotch’s severe expression, “Feel better.”

He turned and began making his way back to the building. Morgan let out a cackle like a madman.

“I knew it! I knew he was a fruit, man!”

“Morgan,” Reid admonished, his brows drawing together in disbelief.

Garcia and JJ both gave little groans and Rossi shook his head silently.

“Dude…” you muttered, embarrassment flooding you, knowing Javi could still hear him.

Hotch’s gaze ran over you assessingly, and he peered at Morgan with a blooming comprehension that had you dropping your gaze back to the ground underfoot.

The trek resumed, everyone rather silent as the atmosphere shifted uncomfortably. Hotch stopped in front of his car, leaving you with Prentiss as he went to turn it on and move things from the passenger seat.

“How’s the bleeding?” she asked quietly, peeking under the saturated cloth.

You shrugged. A hiss escaped your lips. Not a good idea. Your mind was still rather blank at the revelation you just experienced. You wondered how in the hell you had a job that required profiling people as the small slip of paper burned a hole in your pocket.

JJ and Garcia passed by, giving you affectionate pats on your uninjured shoulder, bidding everyone goodbye.

“Come over tomorrow,” Garcia whispered to you, her gaze concerned.

“We’ll see,” you murmured, “Bye, guys.”

As they departed in JJ’s car, Rossi went to input Morgan’s address into his navigation system. Reid stayed with the man himself, basically becoming a Morgan-rack for him to drape himself over to avoid falling.

“Prentiss,” Morgan blurted, hissing the “s” sound, “So? Did I – Did I win? I prove I’m not a dog, huh?”

Several cars passed by, whipping the frosty air at everyone in strong gusts. You didn’t want to look at him directly at the moment. He wasn’t in his right mind, you were well aware. But it still felt like you had received an insult indirectly.

Prentiss turned toward him, disappointment coloring her face.

“Yeah,” she nodded with a wry smile, “But you did prove you’re a bit of an ass when you’re drunk.”

“Oh, wow,” he hung off Reid to lean closer, “I’m gonna remember that!”

“You know, considering the amount of alcohol in your system, you probably won’t even remember saying that,” Reid said matter-of-factly.

“I’ll remember!” Morgan grunted.

“Unfortunately, you won’t remember any of the hurtful things you said, either,” Reid mumbled, gaze flitting over to you and Prentiss.

“Wha – Hurtful?” Morgan’s brow furrowed, hand coming up to ruffle Reid’s hair, “I just tease ya, pretty boy.”

Reid stared at the other man for a long moment, his silence speaking volumes.

“Alright, come on,” Rossi gripped the arm that wasn’t draped around Reid and hauled him toward the car.

Hotch appeared at your side, urgency dancing in his gaze again.

“Let’s go,” he said, nodding at Prentiss and you, then calling over to the others, “Dave? Let me know when you get him home, please?”

“Yeah,” Rossi grunted in acknowledgment, heaving the inebriated man into the car.

Reid gave you a little wave before turning toward his own car.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly at Prentiss as she helped you into Hotch’s passenger seat, a surprisingly difficult task with one hand occupied.

She clipped the seat belt for you.

“Yeah,” she returned the smile, “See you soon.”

The deep rumble of the tires rolling against the asphalt helped ease the racing thoughts in your head. Hotch had yet to speak in the time you had been on the road. You wondered what the inside of his mind was like at the moment.

“Well… at least we went out this time,” you muttered drolly, slightly hoarse.

And somehow ended up alone together again.

“Yeah,” Hotch tilted his head in a little nod, “Not thrilled about how the night ended up, but it was a good start.”

A sudden, hot sting built up behind your eyes. Hotch had actually been having a good time and you had to go and ruin it. Your heart slammed painfully against your chest and your free hand clenched tight around the seat belt at your hips.

“Sorry,” your voice cracked, shame settling heavily upon you and forcing your head down.

Hotch turned to you, momentarily alarmed as he took in your ducked head and slumped posture.

“I’m not upset with you,” he explained quickly.

That got your attention. You looked up to see him glance back at you, not a trace of deception written anywhere on his face.

“I just wish… the night had gone better, is all,” he continued, then sighed, “I wish Morgan hadn’t drank so much.”

A tiny huff was pulled from you at this. That was something you could agree on. You swallowed thickly, tightening your fingers around your damp shoulder.

“Yeah.”

After several embarrassingly necessary stitches and many instances of inability to explain how the injury occurred other than stating it was an accident, you were back in the warm comfort of Hotch’s car. Your neck and shoulder itched from the tape that secured the bandage under your ruined shirt.

Your finger ran back and forth over the door handle, the shine of the white lights stabbing into your eyes for a moment.

“He was kind of right,” you said under your breath as Hotch turned out of the hospital parking lot.

“What’s that?” Hotch asked.

“Morgan,” you explained, “I was reckless… Back then. That day.”

You swallowed thickly before adding on to your thought.

“But you didn’t lecture me about it.”

The silence extended for long enough that you finally had to risk a glance at him, afraid he would start lecturing you right in that very moment. His jaw was tight, his mouth in a hard line, and he gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary to take the next turn.

“You don’t need a lecture,” he spoke in an undertone.

You turned your attention back to the road, allowing the sound of passing cars to count off the minutes.

“So,” Hotch’s voice jumped up in pitch, attempting to sound casual, “Are you gonna call him?”

The meaning of his words took a little longer to sink in to your scattered, inebriated brain but when they did, the view of the dark street outside swam and blurred. A harsh roaring began to thunder in your ears as you realized what he was really asking you, as you excavated the question under the question.

“What?” the word punched past your lips.

The memory of his stern, disapproving look at Javi swam in your mind. You scrubbed your palms against your thighs as a rather shaky chuckle emerged from your chest.

“W-Why would I call him?”

Hotch’s fingers tightened just a touch on the steering wheel, his head bobbing in a stiff nod.

“Yeah,” Hotch replied quickly and gave the barest chuckle of his own, the sound almost strangled, “Right.”

Sometimes profiling skills took the day off.

Crying, somehow

001

↳ Loss of Virginity with Aaron Hotchner

"Gonna give you all my love, boy, my fear is fading fast. Been saving it all for you, 'cause only love can last." - Madonna, Like a Virgin.

CONTENT/WARNINGS. Prelude to Smut (18+ mdni); Slight Dom/Sub Dynamics.

WC. 0.6K

AUTHORS NOTE. A light start to kinkmas. This is probably the worst thing I've ever written, but I want it out of the way, so enjoy.

kinkmas '24 masterlist

Aaron was beginning to believe there was no view more beautiful than you perched on his lap, skin flushed, lips kiss-bitten. You were a work of art - painted by Monet, sculpted by Conova. You belonged in a museum, put on display to be adored and revered for centuries to come. 

You were positively bewitching.

You wore Aaron’s navy GWU Law sweatshirt, something you had found shoved in the back of his wardrobe, discarded and forgotten. He wore it often during his time as a law student - it was one of his favorites, though he’d wager that it wouldn’t fit his filled out frame anymore. Aaron loved the way it looked on you, he loved the way seeing you in it made him feel.

Aaron’s hands rested against your thighs, his fingertips teasing against your soft skin, his cock hard and straining against the front of his pants as you unwittingly pushed yourself further against him. He needed you with a fierce desperation, inhibitions be damned. He needed to taste you and to feel you and to hear you. He needed to worship you. Aaron needed to know that you needed him, that you wanted him - he needed to know you were sure. 

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, the ghost of a kiss. Aaron could hear you whimper, could feel you grind your clothed pussy against him in response. His hands moved to grasp your hips, halting your tantalizing movements. “You have to say it; I have to hear you say it.”

Your skin flushed a deeper shade of red at the prospect of voicing your desire, of telling Aaron all the places you wanted him to touch you, all the ways you wanted him to take you. 

“Aaron…” you murmured, your heart racing - a ceaseless, unrelenting cadence against your ribcage. You were sure - one hundred percent certain - that you wanted this, that you wanted him to be your first. But, then, there it was… that small, nettlesome flicker of hesitation that kept you from speaking your wants and needs into existence. 

Aaron - damn him and his profiling abilities - caught your hesitation, his grip on you relaxing, his brows furrowing in rumination. “We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to,” the man affirmed, his eyes boring into yours. “If this is too much, too soon… if you want to stop, just say the word. Nothing has to happen tonight.”

“And if I don’t want to stop?”

“We’ll move at your pace,” Aaron promised, face relaxing. “Whatever you want, whenever you want it - it’s yours.” 

His words - the confirmation that this moment was yours, that every passing second and miniscule action would be tailored to your wants and needs… it smothered that flicker of hesitation. 

His words were your green light. 

You bent down, capturing Aaron’s lips in a heated kiss. He tasted like the cheap red wine you had picked up from the convenience store - the wine itself was far too bitter for your liking, though it tasted satisfyingly sweet on his tongue. 

You were an addict. You could kiss him forever, you could lose yourself in everything that was him. 

Your hands left his shoulders, trailing over his chest and stopping at the waistband of his slacks. Your fingertips dipped beneath the waistband as you flirted with the idea of freeing his cock from its confines, delighting in the feeling of Aaron’s teasing smile against your lips.

“I want you,” you admitted, quiet, pleading. “Now. Please.”

Aaron gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your bare flesh as he pulled you further against him. “Take what you want,” he implored. “You’re in control.”

DUTY CALLS

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

a/n: i wrote this super quickly bc honestly i’ll never get enough of this idea however many times it’s done😭

-> drabble <-

"God, you feel so fucking good." Aaron groaned, his voice both hoarse and breathy as he thrust his hips in quick succession against your own, trailing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, the warmth of his body looming over yours as he toyed with the stiff peak.

“Aaron..” His name fell from your lips amidst a soft moan, feeling heat burn through your skin with each stroke of his hips against you.

"I know." He breathed, "Taking my cock so well, honey."

He thrust his hips quicker, splaying his large hands across your chest, squeezing possessively at your breasts as he ran his opposing hand from its grip of your hips to your bare ass.

"That's my good girl." He practically grunted, warm skin smacking together. Purposeful in his teasing, Aaron rolled the hardened peak of your nipple between his fingers, pulling a shaky moan from your mouth.

"Fuck, yes.." You whined back arching in a plea for more - his touch somehow both firm and tender against the sensitivity.

"Such pretty tits, darling." He praised, hungry gaze running deep as it wandered back between your thighs. His cock twitched between the pulses of your walls as he absorbed the sight of him disappearing inside your cunt, your arousal soaking his shaft.

As your teeth punctured into your lower lip, a blaring ringtone escaped Aaron’s phone as it lay atop the beside table.

"Shit." He hissed, eyes flitting to the number that presented itself on his screen.

"Aaron.." You begged, "Please don't- fuck- don't stop.."

Your words sent heat pumping through him as he kept up the pace of him without fail, teeth gritting in response to your plea, his jaw tight with conflict. After the passing of a few short moments, he seized the phone in his hand, shooting you a stern look as he swiped his thumb over the screen.

“Hotchner.” He spoke, clearing his throat as he brought his rhythm to be much slower, assuring the sound of your skin colliding wasn’t audible over the line.

Your eyes widened in an instant, the thrill of it only heightening your arousal. You breathed softly, trying your absolute best to remain quiet as you heard a male voice mumbling on the other end of the exchange.

With his remaining hand, Aaron slid the pad of his thumb upward from your breasts, sliding it messily over your lips as he silently mouthed, ‘Open.’

Suppressing your desperation to make a noise, you parted your lips and allowed him to slide the pad of his thumb against your tongue.

"Have you sent the files over?" He inquired, keeping his voice impressively steady as he moved slowly against you.

Satisfied whimpers fought to escape your throat as you pushed them down, feeling Aaron’s thumb pressing against your tongue. Without the need to be told, you wrapped your lips around the thick digit, muffling yourself around his thumb as you watched him clutch the device against his ear.

His eyelids shut for a brief moment before he forced them open again, clearly struggling to hold back as he felt you squeezing him. The sight of you certainly didn’t help either, cunt full of his tauntingly slow thrusts as you sucked sweetly at his thumb, only nearing his release, “Alright. Be there soon.”

The very moment the phone beeped and the call cut, Aaron let out a frustrated groan. He wasted no time in picking up the pace of his hips once more, dragging his now damp thumb down your chin, “You did so good for me, honey. Now show me how loud you can be.”

I LOVE THIS SO MUCHHH!! ♡♡♡

hi! What about Aaron coming to help you with a popped tired before work and reader just feels bad about bothering him or whatever but they’re literally going to the same place:) popped my tired this morning and need to live off my delusions 😭

to your rescue

cw; no established relationship, mutual pining, aaron being darling <3 (and hot)

"i'm so, so sorry." your words left you in an exhale, crossing your arms from where you where standing above aaron.

aaron peeked up from his handiwork, brows drawn into a line over his eyes for a moment, before one quirked up in confusion. "you're sorry your tire popped?"

"no. yes." your face burned in humiliation as you leaned against the hood of aaron's car, watching him replace your tire, a small grunt leaving him as he stuck it in place. "that you had to come to my rescue, and do all this. i didn't mean to inconvenience you and i know you probably have a million things waiting for you at work and you probably had to get jack to school and then you get a call from me who-"

you were rambling as result of being so incredibly frazzled, a peaceful morning turned hectic; the brief panic of feeling your tire give out from underneath you, pulling over amidst morning traffic, not knowing how to switch it out, and having to call your boss, who you happened to have the biggest crush on, of all people to come and save you.

"hey, no," aaron shushed you, shaking his head as he set the lug nuts onto the tire. he was also currently sporting a white undershirt, having removed his suit jacket, button-up and tie to prevent dirtying them - allowing his arms to be on full display as his muscles flexed. "first, i'm just relieved you're alright. and it's not an inconvenience at all. this was on my way, and we're inevitably ending up at the same place, aren't we?"

he paused to meet your gaze, eyebrow raised once more, cheekily this time. your head tilted an inch as you considered this, well yeah.

aaron continued, resuming tightening the bolts on the spare. "jack's already at school, he had to go in early for a club. you called after i already dropped him off."

"i could've called someone else though." you huffed, slight heat filling your cheeks again, "like morgan, or road service for god's sake. but, you were the first person i thought of." the end of your sentence trailed off, as you fell on the shy side.

"i'm glad you did." aaron answered earnestly, so sweetly your blush intensified again. "i would've hated driving past and seeing you stranded on the side of the road. if that was the scenario, i would've stopped regardless."

silence fell overtop you both as aaron finished up, the period of time also allowing for your burning cheeks to cool. once the car was lowered, and aaron was fully satisfied your tire was tightly secure, and safe for you to proceed driving on, did he stand up and finish his thought.

"and besides," his sudden lighter tone of voice piqued your focus back to him, "half the time, i'm looking for an excuse to delay getting the workday started." a smile threatened his face, a shiny line of sweat on his forehead. "don't tell anyone that though. it could ruin me."

you laughed despite yourself - your bad mood, and guilt, nearly disappearing. "of course not. i owe you after this."

aaron chuckled softly, closing your car's trunk after putting the ruptured tire inside. he was just walking past you, to put the tools he had retrieved from his car away, when you grabbed onto his forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

"i mean it, i owe you." you forced yourself to look into his piercing, yet soft, brown eyes, your voice low and sincere. "thank you."

a small, closed lip smile tugged at his face, "by the way, you could never be an inconvenience. especially not to me, i can promise you that."

Adorable!

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

Criminal minds masterlist ❤️

Main masterlist

💘-fluff

🔥-smut

💫-angst

🎉-nothing

Derek morgan ✨️

Plane 💘

Kidnapped 💫

Aaron hotchner✨️

Vacation 💘

Spencer reid

Jennifer jareau

Emily prentiss ✨️

Friends 🔥

Aaron Hotchner Masterlist

Angst=🥀Smut=🪷Fluff=🌸Headcanon=🐛

Art Deco

"The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt" - Sylvia Plath . Hotch's artist girlfriend is getting a bit of a creativity block while Hotch is away on a case. When he comes back, she finds perfect inspiration in him.

rules

* requests are open *

will write for ; anakin skywalker ‘ alec volturi ‘ edward cullen ‘ tate langdon ‘ kit walker ‘ johnny cade ‘ jj maybank ‘ kai anderson ‘ dallas winston ‘ kyle spencer ‘ spencer reid ‘ aaron hotchner ‘ rafe cameron ‘ sirius black ‘ remus lupin ‘ james potter ‘ harry potter ‘ fred & george weasley ‘ theodore nott ‘ lip gallagher ‘ carl gallagher

will not write anything about ; puke ; shit ; illegal age gap ; age play ; rape ; abuse ; kidnapping

Dear Tumblr, IF I TYPED EMILY PRENTISS X READER IS BECAUSE I DON'T WANNA SEE SPENCER X READER OR HOTCH X READER.

LET ME BE THIRSTY FOR EMILY PRENTISS GODDAMIT.

Hello! How are you doing?

I don't have anything extremely specific (sorry, I'm just leaving work and haven't really thought about this).

But if you want to, how about jealous Aaron who has the, very rare, opportunity to go pick up the reader from her job and see her all smiles with another coworker? In this case I was thinking that there might be a age gap between them and the male coworker is more of her age? So a bit of jealous and insecure Hotch?

If you feel comfortable with this of course!

Have a good day 😊

in comparison

cw; fem!reader, age gap, insecure :( and jealous!aaron, some angst, small suggestiveness, fluff <3 wc; 1.2k

You were exiting the building with a few of your colleagues, partaking in what appeared to be an entertaining conversation from Aaron's line of sight. The liveliness on your face was vivid, undoubtedly enjoying whatever the whole of you were collectively discussing.

You looked comfortable, relaxed, happy. You molded into the group well. One of your male colleagues in particular was inching a bit too close, a near awestruck expression on his face as a laugh escaped you. If he took one step to his right, his shoulder would be touching yours. While you were clueless, he was enamored.

Aaron felt his eyes harden involuntarily, a jealous heat swarming through his body; he wanted to march over there and assert his role as yours. However, the feeling wasn't long lasting. A profound sadness climbed up his spine, as he gained a different perspective.

It wasn't that you didn't fit into his life. On the complete contrary: you were the perfect addition.

But something about seeing you with others, with someone closer to your age, was daunting. Intimidating. It sickened him how natural the visual appeared. Reality has smacked him in the face numerous times over the years, he wouldn't be surprised if it happened again. That somehow, someway, you would prefer the latter. The one that had nothing to do with him.

As you walked towards Aaron's car, you glanced back at your coworkers, offering a wave and a smile as they jointly headed to the parking lot. His window was opened a crack, and he heard you call back towards them, "Have fun tonight!"

Aaron exhaled a breath.

"Hey." You chirped as you slid into the passenger seat, leaning over the center console to place a kiss on Aaron's cheek. He was rather stiff as you did so, causing you to lightly scrunch your nose in confusion, pulling away slowly. Something was up.

"Hey," He echoed, greeting you with an almost forced smile. The abruptness of his thoughts had unsettled him deeply - he couldn't shake them. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." You responded hesitantly, searching his face as you buckled your seatbelt. You added after a moment, happy to be in his company and the emotion overtaking your heart. "I missed you today."

But your words went unnoticed, as he had already reentered the void that was his unwelcome thoughts.

In result the car ride home was silent, Aaron's pout unfaltering. His mind was plagued by the image of your coworker being in his place, driving you home, or the two of you huddled together amongst a night out with friends. It caused an uncomfortable, sad pit in his stomach.

"You missed a turn."

"What?"

Your statement jolted him back to earth. No he didn't... did he? His eyebrows furrowed in a line, reassessing the current surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, all familiar street signs. When he confirmed he, in fact, did not miss a turn, he turned to you, only to find a knowing smirk plastered on your face.

His eyebrows quirked softly, obstructing the line drawn above his eyes. "What was that about?"

"To get your mind off whatever you're stewing about."

A smile threatened his lips, due to your witty expression and observation, "I'm not." His tone found a slightly lighter note - amusingly guilty. Anything but convincing.

"Aaron, darling, you're gonna break some teeth if that," Your playful demeanor dropped for a moment, your eyes tracing back and forth, as if you were in a trance. "Jaw of yours tightens anymore."

Your brief distraction eased a notion of his jealousy, he still had that effect on you, thankfully. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his stare forward.

"So what is it?" You asked, "Did you have a bad day?"

He shook his head.

"Bad bout of cases?"

Aaron grimaced, his knuckles letting up only to secure his fingers over the wheel again, "They're always bad."

"Something I did?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but only silence came out. His hesitation caused your face to fall, your shoulders dropping and posture succumbing to the back of your seat.

"No honey, no you didn't do anything." He was quick to reassure, feeling entirely worse. "I can assure you."

Your eyes met his, needing more.

He sighed defeatedly, surprisingly not afraid to bluntly admit, "I'm jealous."

"Jealous?" You froze, but then it clicked. You gestured behind, as if your colleagues were somehow tailing the two of you. "Of...?"

Aaron bit his lip, nodding slowly.

Your expression lightened, a soft and genuine wonder in your eyes, "Why?"

"Are you okay with this?" Confusion arose on your face once more, so he clarified. "This. Us. You signed up for a lot, quickly at that."

Truth be told, the two of you had progressed at a rate neither of you expected, due to the sheer infatuation you possessed for one another. That, too, had been natural.

"I'm divorced, widowed, a father - I come with baggage. My 'going-out' are days long gone. I don't want you missing out."

"Aaron." In a way, you could laugh. It tore your heart into pieces he was thinking this way, doubting himself but he was clueless in an adorably, idiotic way. In summary, he simply never gave himself the credit he deserved. "What could I possibly be missing out on?"

"You could be spending your weekends out, socializing, with people closer in age. And yet, you're..." He came up with an example. "Making pillow forts. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. I'm terribly boring in comparison."

"Hey, I make a mean pillow fort."

He gave you a look.

Your hand grabbed his bicep affectionately, clinging onto it as if you were knocking some sense into him. "I chose this. I chose you. Jack is the addition to my life I never knew I needed. And I don't want to be out galavanting bar to night club to bar. I jump at the opportunity to deny a night out to spend it in. With you. When have you ever seen me wanting to go out and party?"

An expression of distaste flashed across your face at the concept, and Aaron's head tilted to the side as he considered your point.Yeah, that was true.

"I'm a homebody. And if there's anything I've realized over the course of the past months, you're my home. You."

Aaron let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I know what I'm in for. And I embrace it with open arms. I want it." Your face was content, even more so than when you were talking with your colleagues. "I love you. And I love the life we're creating. It's so special, beyond my wildest dreams."

"Really?" A boyish, hopeful expression graced his face.

"Really. I wouldn't want it any other way. I can promise you. This- you're everything I could ever want."

Aaron's hand found your thigh, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze. "I love you too, sweetheart."

You beamed in response - you'd never get tired of the words leaving his lips.

"That one guy though," Aaron raised his eyebrows, taking a quick glance at you. Envy began creeping back, "He seemed interested. Wasn't a fan of that."

You scoffed, unbothered. "I'm into men, not boys. Which again, you are the utmost depiction of." Your delightful smirk resurfaced, admirably looking him over. "Believe me, I couldn't be more satisfied."

He wanted to play into your suggestive remarks, but he needed further confirmation. Once more. "You sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive."

Finally satisfied himself, he surrendered, "Okay."

"In fact, I can think of a few ways to show you just how much later."

CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST

Hello! My name is Kandi and I am an aspiring author. In this masterlist you can find all my works for this series linked under their respective characters. I write for the characters listed but I will make exceptions if requested. Thank you and happy reading!

AARON HOTCHNER

-coming soon!

PENELOPE GARCIA

-coming soon!

DEREK MORGAN

-coming soon!

DAVID ROSSI

-coming soon!

SPENCER REID

-coming soon!

EMILY PRENTISS

-coming soon!

JENNIFER "JJ" JAREAU

-coming soon!

This masterlist along with my others will be updated any time a new fic is dropped or in the process of being worked on.

I was wondering that you could write a Aaron Hotchner x reader but the reader is a doctor and the team don’t know that you exist until hotch one day gets hurt and took to their hospital.

btw love all your fics ❤️❤️

<3333 anonnnnn, you are SO sweet.

-

Your phone had gone off before your pager had, with the nurses’ station calling you, Aaron’s emergency contact, to let you know that he had been admitted, which meant that you were already running towards the A&E, before your pager, calling you in as the doctor on call to the bay you were already running to, started to beep

“Aaron.” You throw back the curtains of the emergency bay, bracing for the worse, to find him seated on the edge of the bed, the nurse pressing a piece of gauze to his forehead.

You assess him from head to toe, your medical training kicking in, he is awake, alert, and upright, which meant to you that he was low risk. It doesn’t prevent you however, from snapping up his chart from the movable table, running through the notes from the paramedic as the nurse busies herself with patching up the scratches on his face.

“You could potentially have a concussion,” you state as you run through the chart, flipping onwards to the next page, “I’m keeping you here overnight.”

“(Y/N)..” he starts, and your eyes snap up to stare directly at him.

“Don’t (Y/N) me Aaron. It says here you jumped towards the bomb, instead of away from it, I think you’ll let me keep you here for one night.” Your eyes narrow as he falters slightly, his posturing sinking with defeat.

“Did she just?”

“Yup.”

“Are they on a first name’s basis?”

“Seems like it.”

The voices behind you have attempted to whisper, but not well enough. You turn, throwing your head over your shoulder to glance at the small crowd, while pulling your stethoscope off from around your neck and positioning it in your ears. A quick look at the guns each of them has buckled to their waist tells you that it’s his team.

“I’m Dr. (Y/L/N)” you throw out to the crowd as you move behind him to place the cool flat edge of the stethoscope on his back. “His girlfriend.”

It earns you a gasp and wide eyes.

“I see no one else was stupid enough to jump towards the bomb?” You say, hearing a deep sigh from Aaron through your stethoscope and a chortle of laughter from Derek.

“No we were not.” Rossi smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

I can’t stop thinking about Hotch and pregnant!Reader! So if your requests are still open can I request soemthing with maybe Jack is visiting the office and he runs straight to you to say hi and then goes “hi baby” to your tum, but the team doesn’t know yet do you’re like 😳

nawwww 🥺

-

Jack sees through the glass doors, standing to the side of the bull pen, the moment he steps out of the lift with Aaron. It makes him smile and his eyes light up as he struggles against the weight of the glass door. It makes Aaron’s lips tilt in amusement, as he puts a hand on the metal handle, helping his son to push the door open, allowing both of them enough space to slip in.

“Hi baby,” he runs straight to you, throwing his arms around your body while pressing his cheek to your stomach, his little body vibrating with excitement.

“Are you?” You look up from the top of Jack’s head, replacing your gaze with a hand to ruffle his hair, to find each of the team staring at you, jaws slack and eyes wide. You feel the prickle of a blush heat up your face and you clear your throat awkwardly.

“We are,” you hear Aaron say, answering on behalf of your family, as he sidles up behind you, the back of your shoulder against his chest.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze in a glance and smile as he places a hand on the small of your back.

🥺🥺

Reader putting on nail polish and not being able to paint their right hand because they're righthanded and Hotch offering help (I feel like he'd either be very precise or completely fuck up)

everything about this request hinted at domestic boyfriend!hotch but my brain always always always goes coworkers to lovers mutual pining bau!reader so we're doing that <3

--

You'd pointedly waited until after the jet had cleared turbulence before you pulled your nail polish out of your bag, not wanting to spill lacquer all over the table. You'd gotten an 'ooh' from JJ at the color, a soft pink that called 'nearly nude', but no one seemed to pay you much attention otherwise, letting you do your own thing.

Your first hand was easy enough. You painted your non-dominant, the polish smoothing on in clear, neat strokes. The result was rather pleasing, and you puffed up with pride until you realized that you'd have to switch hands now, and paint your dominant one.

Well, at least one hand would look good.

The handle of the brush felt awkward between your fingers, painting no longer a trained course of action like it had been in your other hand. Your fingers were shaking slightly as you folded your fingers in on themselves, bracing your thumb against your pointer. Your tongue poked out from between your lips as you concentrated, but just before you could make contact with your nail a voice stopped you.

"Y/L/N," Hotch piped up from the seat across from you, "Would you like some help?"

Everyone's eyes were on you. JJ was being somewhat subtle, peering at you from behind her book with wide eyes, but Morgan and Prentiss ditched etiquette, standing up from across the jet to peer at what was happening. You looked up at Hotch with raised eyebrows, a questioning glint in your eyes, "With.. with my nail polish?"

"Yes." He nodded, "Your hand is shaking."

You wordlessly handed him the brush, watching in mixed fascination and adoration as your surly unit chief took your hand, his large fingers curling around your own. You let your hand go limp in his grasp and he adjusted it to his liking, his eyes laser focused on your pinky nail.

He started in, slow and steady with the brush, the paint coating your nail perfectly. The next nail wasn't as small, of course, so he had to use two strokes, but it came out looking just as pristine as the first one. His own nails weren't long, but when some of the paint bled into your cuticle, he scraped it off perfectly.

"You're good at this." You broke the silent reverie that had fallen over the plane while everyone held their breath. The sight of Hotch giving you a manicure was certainly not one they'd expected to see, and each of them were handling it differently. Some stared, some gawked, some pretended not to notice, but everyone was surprised.

"I used to have to paint my own with topcoat." He admitted casually, "They were splitting and it looked terrible. I suppose old habits just die hard."

Suddenly, the image of your grumpy boss sitting alone in his office after hours painting his nails was all that your brain could conjure. It was equally endearing as it was amusing, both reactions combining to spread a smile over your face.

Apparently your expression wasn't subtle, because Hotch glanced up, amusement shining in his own eyes.

"What, Y/L/N? Are you making fun of me for painting my nails?"

"No!'" You insisted, and he squeezed your thumb slightly in retaliation, "I just wouldn't have guessed that about you."

He sent you the ghost of a smile, his lips upturned ever so slightly to let you know he was okay with your lighthearted teasing. He finished painting your thumb, letting go (to your unexpected chagrin) and the result was better than the hand that you'd painted.

"I'm gonna come to you with all of my manicure needs," You inspected your dominant hand, awestruck at Hotch's precision, "I feel like I should pay you for this."

"I wouldn't mind a tip," He joked, rifling through his bag, "But I'm not done yet."

"You're not?" You watched him confusedly as he dug through his belongings, finally understanding when he pulled out a small bottle of clear paint.

"I knew I still had it." He set it on the table as he turned to zip up his bag, "Now, one coat or two?"

This one is so cute🥺🥺

Couldn’t stop thinking about you bringing home a stray puppy and Hotch not being surprised by it at all, so I had to do write something

Something was off as soon as he walked inside his apartment. It was oddly quiet despite the tv being turned on.

“Honey?” He called for you, but there was no answer.

Maybe you’d gone out to the store? your favorite sneakers were exactly where you’d left them this morning before going to work, though, right under the coffee table in the living room.

He stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie before he went to your room.

You weren’t there either.

A muffled squeal came from the bathroom followed by a quiet “don’t bite me.”

He’d normally knock, but this time he just opened.

There you were, sitting at the edge of the bathtub with a just-bathed puppy wrapped with a towel on your lap.

“I can explain.” You shot him a guilty smile.

His eyes went from your face, down to the trembling dog then up to you again. “Looks like a rat,” he simply said with the most monotonous voice.

It was a matter of time you’d bring home a stray puppy.

“Mean.” You acted offended. “I found him inside a box at the subway station. He’s scared.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” He walked in and crouched in front of you, staring at the puppy. “Someone just took him and threw him in a bath.” He bopped its nose.

“He was smelly.” You kissed the puppy’s head then Aaron’s, too. “Can we keep him? He’s definitely a small breed. Look at his short legs.”

Aaron sighed deeply and looked up at you, already defeated by both of your puppy-dog eyes.

“But he’s not sleeping with us.” He stood up and placed both hands on his hips.

You scrunched your nose with an evil grin and said, “sure he won’t.”

The Suit

Summary: Hotch guest lectures for his daughter’s criminology class. He ends up having to address Foyet’s impact on his life. AU where Hotch never goes into WitSec and remarries and has more children.

Relationship: RetiredHotch x FemBAURetiredReader (college aged daughter too)

Word Count: 1963

TW: Foyet, spoilers, murder, academia, angst if you squint, protective family

A/N: So many fics about Hotch and Foyet address the hidden pain, fear and not so hidden PTSD Hotch contends with. I wanted to write about Hotch and his post-FBI life/career - something fun and saucy - but, alas, this took on a life of its own. I like the idea of writing about Hotch addressing Foyet in a way that’s more like this happened, and it changed me, and now I can talk about it more objectively all these years later. I can still see his family wanting to protect him from something, though, many years behind him, still painful.

————————————————————-

“Honey?! Honey? Where’s my Armani suit? The gray one? That didn’t go in the donation pile, did it?” he asks, referring to the towering, expensive pile of shirts, suits and ties he donated when he retired. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s clearly nervous.

Keep reading

This is beautiful and wonderfully written 🥺🥺💖💖. I love this fic, it's perfect and awesome!!!!

I need a second part or something about Hotch visiting them at the hospital.

Goodbye - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 5.8K / navi / preview

Summary: You're a new agent with the BAU, and on your first case, you make the unfortunate mistake of riling up the unsubs. Your boss isn't too happy with you for doing so, and barely waits until you're alone in your shared hotel room to let you know that. But when he steps out for a moment, his fears are realized, and you're revealed to be the unsub's next target. Can he get back to you in time to save you?

Contents/Warnings: typical cm violence, angry hotch, yelling, reader gets attacked, mentions of guns, reader gets stabbed in the stomach and bleeds a lot, copious mentions of blood, sad hotch

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Your stomach had been burning with shame for hours now, your head spinning as you replayed the incident over and over and over again. You’d slipped up at the press conference you were a part of, accidentally revealing that your unsub was two people instead of one, breaking the cover that you’d needed to maintain for the hunt to go smoothly. Now they knew you were onto them, and would most likely begin a panicked spree. People were going to die because of you.

You were so lost in thought, in fact, that you didn’t realize everyone stopping in the hallway of the hotel, bumping gently into Rossi’s back. He steadied you, turning to set a hand comfortingly on your shoulder. He’d been nothing but understanding since it happened, assuring you that everyone made a mistake or two in high-pressure situations like press conferences, and that no one was going to be angry with you. You weren’t so sure about that last point, though, because the second you’d slipped up, Hotch had seemed possessed with the most terrifying, unadulterated rage that you’d ever seen on him. 

Speaking of your Unit Chief, he stood at the front of the group, passing out room keys. Rossi was given one, Prentiss was given one, Morgan was given one, and you stuck beside Rossi, watching as JJ paired with Prentiss, and Reid stayed by Morgan.

You were fully intent on isolating yourself as much as possible away from Hotch, at least until you were able to look at his face without nearly wetting yourself. But it seems he had other plans, his dark eyes glancing at you for the first time since it had happened, pure disdain lingering in them.

“Y/L/N,” Hotch’s voice sent chills down your spine, far too icy cold for your liking, “This is our key. You’ll be rooming with me tonight, we need to have a word..”

There was a palpable onset of tension at Hotch’s words, and you watched the rest of the team slowly disperse, sending you sympathetic smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Rossi even patted you on the back before he stepped away, leaving you stranded in the hallway with Hotch.

He didn’t say another word until he stepped through the door, and somehow his glare got even more intense when he saw the layout of the room.

One bed. No couch. No floor space.

He had stopped so abruptly at the sight that you rammed into his back, the slip-up becoming a habit within the past five minutes. However, Hotch reacted very differently than Rossi had, stiffening at the contact and stepping away.

He set his bag down on one side of the bed, turning back to face you with an unimpressed glare.

“A- About today,” You started, “Sir, I’m so sorry-”

He held up a hand, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before answering. You felt like a scolded child, shifting lightly on your feet as you waited for him to speak.

“Do you understand what you did?” He finally asked, peering at you through a frown.

“I do.” You started, quickly realizing that the question had been rhetorical and snapping your mouth shut when he silenced you again.

“People’s lives are at stake here. Real people, real, probably defenseless people, that you’ve just condemned to die.” 

You didn’t dare speak, but you felt the shame in your belly grow at his scolding.

“Because you didn’t think about what you said before you said it, they’re going to die. Those murderers are going to break into another couples; house, shoot them before they know what’s going on, and leave them to bleed out on the floor. Is that what you wanted?”

“No, sir.” You cautiously interjected, “Of course not.”

“Well then I’m not sure what possessed you to say that.”

“I-It was an accident,” You meekly supplied, internally cringing when anger flared in his eyes.

“Oh, an accident? Another dead couple, just an accident? These are people, Y/L/N! Living, breathing people! Not for long, though! Not as long as you have a say in the matter, isn’t that right?”

“Hotch,” You gritted your teeth, annoyance now joining the shame that was stinging at your chest, “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?! You know what’s not fair, Y/L/N?” He huffed, stepping forwards to tower over you, “You ruined our investigation. We had them! Garcia was seconds away from tracing them, we knew that they’d call in to correct us about how many of them there were! But you did it for them, and they’re spiraling right now at that loss of power. What isn’t fair is that you single-handedly undid all of our progress, and sent us back to square one after three days of work. That’s what’s not fair.”

You took a deep breath, your frustration manifesting itself in an onslaught of tears that you struggled to keep at bay. They burned hot and stinging at your eyes, but you muscled them down, blinking rapidly, “I understand that I’ve negatively impacted the course of the investigation, and set us back with my mistake. Nothing I could say will ever come close to conveying how sorry I am that I misspoke, but there’s nothing that I can do to reverse that. I will work twice as hard tomorrow, sir, to help regain any traction that we lost tonight. I know I messed up, but I have to focus on channeling all of my energy into fixing it, not spiraling because it happened.”

You watched Hotch’s face harden even further, a sight you’d deemed impossible only moments earlier. His brows were low on his face, his expression the disdainful glare that he usually reserved for uncooperative suspects. He scoffed, “I sincerely hope that you work twice as hard tomorrow, because none of us deserve to. You’ve undone three days of our work! Morgan was up until two in the morning last night. Reid has been questioning people nonstop. Garcia was finally about to track his phone service. That’s not fair to any of us, for you to walk in and destroy our work. New agents prove themselves, Y/L/N, and tonight, you have proven yourself incapable of working with this team.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt your throat ache, frantic words clawing their way up into your mouth where they died on your tongue. None of them would fix this, they’d only make it worse. Your eyes widened and your tears finally showed themselves, a single one slipping down the apple of your cheek before you frantically wiped it away, not keen on having a meltdown in front of the man who’d just called you incapable.

“Sir,” You finally spoke, your voice shaking, “I- I can’t give up this job. I know I made a mistake this time, and it was made worse by the fact that this is my first case, so you think it’s all I’m capable of. But if you just give me another chance-”

“Do you think you deserve another chance?”

Yes was on the tip of your tongue. You truly believed it, too, but all words were lost at the sight of Hotch’s venomous glare. You found yourself intimidated into speechlessness, and it gave your boss the hesitance he wanted to see in you.

“That’s what I thought.” Was all he left you with, striding away to rifle through his bag. You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, your front teeth digging into the soft, pillowy flesh to hold back your sobs. You rushed past him, narrowly avoiding bumping into him to cross the room into the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower,” You weakly explained, and you almost slammed the door in your haste to leave him, “I won’t take long.”

As soon as the door was shut, you let your tears fall. You had to sob silently until you turned the water on, but the second you twisted the knobs and effectively drowned out your cries, you let loose.

Shame, humiliation, frustration, and despair all mingled in your stomach, a stormy mess of emotions that sent you spiraling. You couldn’t physically keep yourself upright, hunching over the toilet as visions of the couple’s next victims flashed through your mind. Would they be a newlywed couple? Or an elderly one? Would they have a pet? Would they have a child? Would they have multiple children? Scenario after scenario raced through your head, each one more catastrophic than the last in terms of heartbreak. But the common thread in all of them was their deaths, the deaths that you had caused. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, the device pressed tight to your body in your constricting work pants. You tore it out of your pocket, praying that it would be good news from Garcia, or an icebreaking anecdote about the crappy rooms from Prentiss.

It was from Prentiss, but it wasn’t soothing. 

‘We can hear him yelling at you, Y/N.’

Another buzz, ‘We’re not angry with you. Everyone makes mistakes. And those people were probably gonna die anyways, as terrible as that sounds.’

‘Please don’t give up, he’s angry and he always takes things out harder on newer agents. If you’re able to muscle through it, I guarantee you he’ll come around, the work that you’ve done so far has been incredibly helpful, save for the one little accident.’

‘It’s normal for us to make mistakes every once in a while. We’ve all slipped up like that before, even Hotch. He just doesn’t want to admit it, because he’s stressed out right now.’

You blinked rapidly, trying to chase your tears away. You’d heard scary stories about your boss, told around the break room tables instead of around a campfire, but he seemed to be more of a monster than they’d let on. You couldn’t see through your tears, and the sound of the water drowned out any other noise in the room. You set your phone down, grabbing a towel that was draped over the shower and burying your face in it. Now you really couldn’t see, which gave the couple slowly sliding the window open beside you all the advantage they needed.

--

‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’ 

Aaron glanced down at his phone, anger still creasing his brows. He bit back a scoff at Dave’s text on the screen, knowing that he was going to be scolded for shouting. 

‘I can’t leave right now, Y/L/N is in the shower.’

‘What, are you in there together? Why can’t you come out into the hallway?’

Aaron finally let out his frustration, a sickened groan leaving his lips, ‘I would never take advantage of my position over any of my subordinates. Don’t be crass.’

‘Your little speech just now proved that they’re not just one of your subordinates.’

‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. You’re making less and less sense by the minute, and I’m not going to sit here and play games with you. Sleep, if you really need to talk to me you can wait until tomorrow morning when we’re back on the case.’

‘I’m not waiting until then.’ Aaron felt annoyance well in his chest at Dave’s persistence, ‘Hallway, now.’

‘Don’t order me around.’

‘You’re coming though, aren’t you?’

--

You had barely dried the tears off of your cheek when your airflow was cut off, a strong, muscled arm winding around your throat. Your immediate instinct was to scream, your eyes blown wide in panic, but another hand stuffed the towel hanging in your face into your mouth, muffling any sound you could have made through a layer of fluffy fabric and the added noise of the shower.

You tried fighting, kicking when you couldn’t scream, but two hands grabbed your ankles, nearly snapping one in an attempt to hold you still.

All at once, the towel was no longer in your mouth, but a knife was to your stomach.

“Make a sound, and we’ll gut you.” A voice hissed in your ear, raspy and rotten. You felt a tear roll down your cheek, this time out of fear and not sadness, but it was ignored in favor of the pair hauling you out the window.

Luckily for you, the window was tiny. One of your captors had to crawl out first, still gripping your ankles like a vice. But then you had to be transported out, and you made it as difficult as possible, twisting yourself this way and that.

They quickly tired of your insolence, pushing the knife so far into your belly that you were surprised it didn’t break skin. The sharp point in your abdomen instilled a sense of panic in you that you’d never felt before, unparalleled to any precautionary training drill you’d suffered through.

Your boot hit the window frame as you were carefully guided out of it, and made a dull thunk. Neither of your captors thought too hard about it, but you knew it was the sound of your taser hitting the wood, the weapon strapped to your ankle in case of emergency situations where you weren’t able to reach your gun.

Like now.

You moved quickly, taking the opportunity that presented itself while your captors were struggling to move you. The second their hands loosened around your ankle, you thrashed in their hold, spinning yourself around so that your chin was tucked safely to your chest while the first person’s arm slid along the back of your head instead of locking into your throat. You swung your legs towards the window, breaking the glass with the rubber soles and screaming as loud as you could.

--

Aaron cast one glance to the bathroom before stepping out, hearing the water hitting the tiles of the shower and starting for the door.

He shut it behind him with a soft click, the key still in his pocket. Dave was already waiting for him, but the usually-comforting presence of his long time friend only made him crankier.

“Hurry up, Y/L/N shouldn’t be in there alone for too long. That’s the whole reason we teamed up.”

“They’ll be fine, as long as you don’t shout at them anymore.” Dave leaned against the wall beside him casually, an unimpressed glare leveled at Aaron.

“They needed to be reprimanded-”

“They’re not a child, Aaron. You don’t need to be their angry parent.”

“Dave, do you realize what they’ve done?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t before, you yelled it for the entire hotel to hear. I’m pretty sure the people on floor two now know the intimate details of this case.”

“I’m angry, and rightfully so.”

“No, you’re scared.” Dave persisted, never intimidated by Aaron for a second, “You’re scared because you know they’re coming after someone, and you’re worried that it’ll be Y/L/N.”

Aaron let his eyes slip shut after a long, tense silence, pinching his temple between his thumb and pointer finger. He could tell Dave whatever he wanted, but he’d never be able to lie to the man.

“I understand that you don’t want to stir up unnecessary panic. What if the couple doesn’t come after Y/L/N? You’d have freaked them out for no reason with the promise of an attack. But you can’t disguise your fear as anger, especially not if it's directed at them. That’s not fair.” Dave’s parroting of the phrase your argument had been overly saturated by only reinforced the fact that everyone had heard everything, and Aaron felt a pinprick of something he’d never admit was shame poking at his heart.

“Agent Y/L/N is not prepared for high-pressure situations like that.”

“Yeah, I agree, they need some more practice. Why did we let them headline on their very first case? Anyone would have slipped up,” Dave insisted, ever the devil’s advocate to Aaron’s stubborn hotheadedness.

“Their mistake will cost us-”

“No, their mistake will cost you, if you don’t apologize. If you react to a miniscule slip up with unbridled rage, they’re never going to feel comfortable around you. They’ll constantly feel like they’re walking on eggshells, that you’re waiting to scream at them for every little thing.”

“What do you want me to do, Dave? Tell them I’m sorry I hurt their feelings? These are real people getting killed, and-”

A blood-curdling, eerie, sickening scream ripped through the previously cozy silence of the hotel, and Aaron’s hand flew instinctively to his gun. But it wasn’t there, and he scrambled to jam the key back into the lock to retrieve it from where he’d left it on the bed.

Dave looked equally panicked, his own gun in his room with Spencer. Thankfully, the young doctor was already responding to the disturbance, their door flying open and revealing him, guns in both hands.

Dave was quickly passed his, and the pair stuck behind Aaron as he struggled. Finally, he got fed up with the key, his hands too shaky to aim properly, spitting an angry, “Come on!” and rammed his shoulder into the rickety door, sending it flying open and slamming into the wall. He sprinted in, barely remembering to snatch his gun off of the bed before he stopped in front of the bathroom door. His shoulder ached from knocking open the main door, but he didn’t hesitate to bare it once more and snap the lock.

He was definitely going to need a brace after this.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” 

--

Of course, they stuck to their promise. The knife was immediately jammed into your stomach, the pain blinding as it slowly spread throughout every inch of your body. You heard immediate commotion from the bedroom, scrambling away from the unsubs as best you could to ram your back against the door. You hunched over, ripping your taser from your ankle and pointing it threateningly at them, but they were now more concerned with getting away than they were with you. Any energy you had possessed before being stabbed was oozing out of you in your blood, a puddle of crimson on the floor as you hunched over it. Your knees gave out and you fell onto your side, barely able to crane your neck up enough to watch them get away. 

You laid slumped against the wall for mere seconds, but they felt like hours ticking by as your life slowly left you. You felt something warm trickling down the side of your face, and without even seeing it you knew that it was blood seeping from your mouth.

You heard the commotion and shouting from just outside the bathroom door, then the lock gave way with a loud snap and the door flung open, slamming into your legs. You weren’t able to move them, though, and you looked up blearily as Hotch stormed into the bathroom, his gun held expectantly before him as he looked around wildly for your attackers.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” His gaze finally fell to the floor, following a trail of blood from where your ankles had been cut by the window. His eyes widened, and a panicked expression that you had never seen on him before took over his face.

“They’re gone,” You rasped, your voice strained from the amount of effort it took to speak, “I couldn’t stop them.”

“We’ll go around the back and call an ambulance,” Rossi mumbled, patting Hotch’s back before dragging Spencer away, “You take Y/L/N.”

Hotch didn’t need to be told twice. He kneeled beside you, prying gently at your side to turn you over. You let out a cracked, pained whimper at the pain that blossomed from his touch, and you saw his chin wobble slightly at the sight of your stab wound and your red-rimmed eyes, not ready to say goodbye to you.

“I- I knew I shouldn’t have left,” His voice shook just as his hands did, where they pressed tentatively against your injury. When you winced in pain, he knew he’d found the right spot, and increased the pressure tenfold.

Your eyes widened and you tried protesting, instead only capable of wheezing out a weak cough. More blood pooled in your throat and you choked on it, alerting Hotch to the fact that you needed to be somewhat upright.

“Okay, okay, you’re- you’re okay, let me just-” He rambled as he slipped a hand behind your head, the one on your wound now having to press twice as hard. He lifted your head slightly, shifting so that you were laying in his lap. Your head was elevated now, and your throat cleared, dark red blood now able to flow freely from between your lips..

“Hotch,” You started, and his frantic gaze flitted to your face.

“Don’t speak,” He shushed you, “Conserve your energy.”

“No, no,” You pressed on, shaking your head jerkily, “I need to apologize.”

“You don’t, please just keep quiet and don’t overexert yourself.” There were tears in his eyes now, his breathing shaky as he continued pressing into your wound.

“It’s my fault,” Your words had him shaking his head vehemently, but you pressed on, “You- you were right. If I hadn’t said-”

“Please,” He cried, a sob clinging to his words as his face crumpled, “Stop talking!”

--

“Fourth floor, room thirteen!” Rossi commanded the paramedics waiting outside with your stretcher, “Hurry, they’re losing a lot of blood!”

“Rossi,” Reid stepped towards the man, looking back at the one unsub they’d managed to apprehend, ‘Do you think he’ll give up his partner?”

“It’s not likely,” Rossi mused, frowning at the sight of your blood on the man’s hands, “But I think Hotch would beat it out of him if he had to.”

“Why was he so harsh on Y/L/N?” Reid’s brows furrowed as he recalled the aggressive lecture they’d all overheard from your room.

Rossi kept a straight face while staring at Reid, but one side of his mouth shifted as he sucked his cheek into his mouth to gnaw on it.

“You know something,” Reid realized, his eyes narrowing as he stared Rossi down, “What do you know?”

“He’s scared.” Rossi finally blurted, offering no other explanation.

“I’ve never seen Hotch scared.” Reid frowned, “I’ve seen him resigned; he knows something bad is about to happen but he knows he can’t stop it, or he knows we’ll get there in time to stop it. But he’s never afraid of what’s coming.”

“Yeah, well tonight, he was.” Then a long pause, “And I made him leave the room.” It finally dawned on Rossi, “He knew something was going to happen to Y/L/N, and I forced him out anyways.”

“Rossi-” Reid started, but the older man waved a hand at him.

“No, don’t start. I’m not gonna spiral like Hotch will, It just- it made me think.”

“Hotch is spiraling?”

“You should have seen him when Y/L/N screamed,” Rossi let out a breathless, dry laugh, devoid completely of humor, “He’s gonna blame himself for a long time.”

--

“There, there you go. You’re gonna be okay,” Hotch babbled, comforting himself more than he was comforting you as you were situated on the stretcher. You blinked hazily up at him as he clambered into the back of the ambulance they’d put you in, his tie brushing gently over your nose as it dangled in your face. He finally got settled, the blue strip of fabric now laying over your chest before he brushed it away, letting it fall over the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re riding with me?” You rasped, your hand hanging limply over the side of the stretcher where it had fallen.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m riding with you,” Hotch’s voice was still trembling, and he grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers and resting your joined hands on your stomach. You glanced down at the embrace briefly, then back at him.

“I’m sorry they got away.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” You winced lightly after your insistence left your stomach stinging, “I agitated them, and I couldn’t even fix my mistake when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t have the chance,” Hotch urged, his voice hardening slightly before he reined himself in, “You- they attacked you, Y/N. You didn’t have the chance to fight back.”

“Did the others catch them?”

“Um,” Hotch fumbled for his phone with one hand, keeping the other firmly locked with your own as he squinted at the screen, “One. They want me to interrogate him, find out who his partner is and where they’re going.’

“Do you think the partner will become less effective in killing now that they’re not together?”

“Definitely,” Hotch soothed you, tucking his phone back into his jacket, “Don’t worry about it, just rest.”

“Don’t- How could I not worry?!” Your brows furrowed, and one of the EMT’s by your side sent you a warning glance.

“You need to relax,” Hotch murmured, keeping his voice low so that yours would follow suit, “You lost a lot of blood and you need to stay awake until they get some more in you.”

You settled back into the stretcher with a resigned sigh, despair seeping through your frame. Not only had you ruined the chase, you hadn’t even remedied it by catching them when they were in the same room as you. 

“You.. You were right, Hotch.” You spoke after a prolonged bout of silence, “I don’t think I’m capable of doing this job.”

“Don’t-” Hotch’s face screwed up in a grimace, his breathing haggard, “Don’t say that. I didn’t mean that, I was- I was worried.”

“You didn’t mean that? Hotch,” You sighed, “You meant every word you said to me tonight, and they were true. I’m not cut out for this, I’m sorry that I messed things up.”

“I didn’t mean it! I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” He composed himself, squeezing your limp hand in his, “It was unfair of me to berate you like that. You didn’t do it on purpose, and it was a mistake anyone could have made. I was just- I was so scared, Y/N.”

“You.. You were scared?” You noted that, for the second time that night, Hotch had used your first name instead of your last, and you filed them both away to think about more critically later.

“I knew they were going to strike again. The problem was, I didn’t know where. It sounds awful, but when we know another victim is condemned to die, we can’t do anything about it. We.. we use them as a means to collect more evidence, sometimes we can’t advance in an investigation unless another person dies. We wait for people to get killed, Y/N, and the more we do it, the less terrible it seems. But I knew he’d come after you.”

“You did?” Something tightened in your chest, a sense of sickening dread that you wished you’d felt before the attack, because it might have saved your life.

“Think about it. You were the face of the press conference, your face and position were broadcasted to anyone watching. We knew they were watching, we wanted them to. When you misspoke, and exposed them to the community before they could, they spiraled. There’s only one hotel in the area, and you mentioned staying as close to the investigation as possible.” Hotch shifted uncomfortably on the rickety plastic bench that he was sitting on, “They knew where you were, they knew who you were, and they knew exactly how to get you. That’s why I teamed us all up tonight, Y/N, because I knew they were coming. I figured there was still a possibility that they’d be too cowardly to attack a government agent in a hotel full of them, but we knew they didn’t shy away from high-risk situations. It- It was you, Y/N, I knew it was you, and- I still left.”

“I.. I don’t understand,” Your mind was reeling, spiraling out of control with the new information you’d been given, “Why didn’t you tell me this before? And- and where did you go?”

“Dave- Rossi wanted to talk to me,” His eyes left your face for the first time in minutes, downcast to the floor, “He was upset that I’d shouted at you.”

“And.. why didn’t you tell me this before?” You repeated.

“I.. Y/N, I tried to.”

Your eyes narrowed and you felt your stomach start to burn again, “No you didn’t! Not one single word that came out of your mouth when you were blaming me for the deaths of innocent civilians had anything to do with the fact that I was about to be stabbed in the crappy hotel bathroom.”

“I- I know,” Hotch squeezed his eyes shut, sighing deeply. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“For?” “For blaming you. For yelling at you. For leaving.”

“Why did you blame me? If you didn’t really mean it, why did you?”

Hotch deliberated that for a moment, the fingers of his free hand brushing gently together, “It was easier for me to be angry than it was for me to be scared.”

You stayed silent, but you kept your eyes on him, watching his expression shift.

“I’m never scared.” Hotch insisted, “Or- or I’m scared all the time. I don’t know anymore, really. But this fear was new, this kind of fear was new, this intensity of fear was new. I don’t usually have to worry about us,” He gestured vaguely to his jacket pocket, where you knew he kept his badge, “I mean, not really. We go into high-pressure situations, but we always come back out again. Even- even if we get a few scrapes here and there, we’re okay. There’s only been a few times where something this bad has happened to one of us, and I don’t know how to deal with it yet, I’m not used to it. So I resorted to anger, which I deal with a lot more often than fear. I dealt with it the wrong way, and I got angry with you. I needed to get angry with someone instead of being afraid, and you were easy to blame.”

He took a deep breath, and you took the liberty of being the one to squeeze his hand this time, his eyes flitting to where they laid together on your stomach, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, I should have just been honest with you. I.. I would promise to do better next time, but I’m counting on there not being a next time, so instead I’ll promise to make it up to you.”

He finished his speech with a soft huff, his eyes worriedly scanning your face for a reaction. You weren’t sure you had it in you to give him one, though, so you let your eyes fall shut, taking one deep breath before blinking them open again.

“You can’t be afraid of being afraid, Hotch.”

His shoulders slumped minisculely at your words, his eyebrows raising as he nodded, “I know. I-”

“Just.. let me finish.” You cut him off, “Everyone gets scared sometimes. You don’t have to forgo emotions just because you’re leading a team of FBI agents. You’re allowed to get scared too, and you’re allowed to tell people that you’re scared. No one would judge you, you know that, don’t you? Prentiss isn’t gonna laugh at you, Reid wouldn’t call you a loser.”

He let the ghost of a smile flit over his face at your examples, and you considered it a personal win.

“You almost lost me today.” You reminded him, watching his face fall, “But not because you stepped out. But because you did deal with it the wrong way. Because you wouldn’t let yourself be afraid of losing me. And I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, Hotch, because I don’t want you to blame yourself. I’m telling you this so that you can grow as a person, and relearn feelings that you’ve suppressed. Use this as an example, as a reason to be scared. Be afraid, Hotch, psych yourself out about this, or it’ll happen again. But don’t blame yourself.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Y/N, and I won’t forget this anytime soon. But I am blaming myself, it is my fault.”

“Hotch, they would have come regardless of whether or not you yelled at me. You’re not responsible for their attack. You can regret that you didn’t warn me, and promise to do better in the future, but warning me would have only given me time, not safety. You couldn’t have stopped them from coming for me by telling me that they were.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” One of the EMTs by your feet spoke up, the intimacy of the moment shattered, “But we’re here, and we need to unload you, Y/N.”

You nodded, looking away from where you’d been staring into Hotch’s eyes and reluctantly letting him let go of your hand. You were jostled slightly by the paramedics pulling you out of the stretcher, but their hastily-wrapped gauze around your stomach did its job, and your stomach wasn’t bleeding profusely anymore. 

Hotch stepped out of the ambulance behind you, standing by the truck instead of following after you. You glanced back at him questioningly as you were being led away, “Aren’t you coming?”

“I.. I can’t, Y/N.” He held out his phone, “They want me to interrogate the man they caught.”

“Right.” You nodded,  disappointment stewing in your stomach alongside the constant pain, “Thank you for riding with me.”

He nodded once, opening his mouth to say something but stalling before he did, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” The EMTs carrying your stretcher stalled at the door, waiting patiently for him to speak just as you did.

“Thank you for.. for helping me.” He tilted his head towards the ambulance, referencing the rather eye-opening conversation you’d just had, “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too.” You smiled weakly, “Now go find his partner.”

He finally let a real smile flit over his face, no longer restraining himself as he knew you’d be safe, “I will. And I’ll come visit you as soon as I’m done. I’m sure the others will beat me here.”

Your smile grew at the promise of seeing him again, though your brain refused to acknowledge why. You supposed you were scared to admit it, but you used denial to mask your fear instead of anger, like Hotch. You’d have to work on that, but for now, you needed a stationary bed.

“Goodbye, Hotch.” You looked at him for one last moment, then relaxed into the stretcher, letting the EMTs escort you inside.

“Goodbye Y/N,” Hotch supplied weakly, letting relief blossom in his chest that the words he’d just spoken to you weren’t his last, but in the grand scheme of what was to come, a few of the first.

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @ssamorganhotchner @toshijimafarms @jhiddles03 @rosaliedepp @cehnyene @zaddyhotch @aliensaurusrex @tojithesourcerkiller @criminalmindsandmarvel @maddie77777 @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @desireav @thelaststraw3 @alanalanalanalanalanna @ccristata

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

When it's my turn🥺🥺

pov: going on a date with aaron hotchner

This was so freaking cute 😍😍

Wonderful Tonight

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 948 Tags: Food and wine talk, implied sex/closed door Summary: A sweet, domestic blurb based on the prompt 'no electricity.' A/N: Two uses of the word 'she', but it's a song lyric and not representative of the reader's pronouns.

“It’s late in the evening… She’s wondering what clothes to wear.” You hum along as two voices—Eric Clapton’s, and Aaron’s—warmly drift through the kitchen like the steam from the wide noodles he’s boiling on the stove. While you whisk together the ingredients for the sauce, rich, flavorful things like peanut butter and ginger and sesame oil, you sway your hips as if dancing, light and carefree.

Both of you are clad in loungewear, clothes so comfortable and worn you never let anyone see you in them but each other; his t-shirt is visibly threadbare, with a frayed neckline and a faded 10th Annual Fairfax County Charity 5k banner across the chest, and when you pass behind him to grab the soy sauce you press your lips to his shoulder just to feel its softness.

You add the soy sauce to your mixture—two kinds, dark and light, a perfect balance—along with minced garlic, and you smile when he turns to grab the colander and brushes his hand against the small of your back.

“And then she asks me, ‘Do I look all right?’ And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight.’” The line is punctuated with a kiss on your cheek, something soft and easy, and then he drains the noodles, adds them to your bowl of sauce so you can toss everything together. The mixture turns them a pale orange, and you pour the finished product into two bowls, stick chopsticks into the mountains of the fragrant food; with a drizzle of chili oil and a sprinkle of chopped scallions, you are ready to move to the dining room, where candles and white wine and the rest of the record await you.

You’ve just set the bowls down on the table when the power goes out unceremoniously and the apartment is plunged into darkness. The record stops, the blissfully cool central air conditioning whirs to a halt, and Aaron looks over at you from between the two candlesticks with a look that just screams, it figures.

Your first date night in almost a month, due to his cases and your schedule and Jack’s boatload of summer activities, and it’s ruined in less than a second. 

“I’ll check the breaker,” he says with a sigh, and you grab a couple more candles from the sideboard drawer and take them to the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom. It becomes apparent, as you cross the apartment, that the problem isn’t the breaker; when you pass by the windows, you can see through the gauzy curtains that the whole complex is dark, streetlights included. Neighbors open their windows, probably an attempt at catching the evening breeze, and you do the same before meeting Aaron back in the dining room, where he stands with his hands on his hips. 

“It’s fine. We can eat in the candlelight; it’s romantic,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist, and he moves a hand to your cheek and leans in for a kiss. You can tell he’s not thrilled about it, always hates when things don’t go according to plan, but you’ll do anything to salvage the evening, and you know he will too. “Let’s move to the living room. It’s cooler now that the windows are open.” 

He arches a brow, but picks up the candlesticks and carefully carries them in while you dust off your rusty server talents and transfer the food and wine. You sit beside each other on the sofa, not across from each other as you would have at the table, but it means you can press your elbow against his thigh, take a noodle from his chopsticks just as he tips his head back to eat it, make him laugh like he hasn’t in weeks, so it’s all worth it in the end.

You’re halfway through your bowl when you get the bright idea to take out your phone and pull up the music app, to pick up where you left off and listen to something other than the chew and slurp of Thai peanut noodles and chilly sauvignon blanc. 

The bowls—and the wine bottle—sit empty on the table, the candles burned down low by the time the album cycles back to the original song, and now when you sway along, it’s with your body snugly in Aaron’s arms. He leans in for a kiss that tastes like ginger and peanuts, one you lengthen, deepen, a hand in his hair, and it’s an unspoken signal; you separate, carry your dishes into the kitchen and then walk around the apartment, blowing out the candles as you leave each room for the night. You make your way to bed, shedding your comfortable clothes, prepared to fill the rest of the evening the best way the two of you know how. 

Some time later, as you rest your cheek against his chest and yawn, sleepy and warm from such a perfect, if unexpected evening, he smooths his hand over your throat and tilts your chin to press a sweet, passionate kiss to your lips. 

He says all he needs to with that one kiss, but you curl your arms around him and smile against him as you ask for just one more. He looks so handsome in the flickering light of the candles, all dark, smoldering eyes and bare skin and striking features, and you let your kisses carry you away. 

By the time you close your eyes, pleasantly satisfied and ready to sleep, the evening’s soundtrack is the last thing on your mind, but as Aaron blows out the final candle and presses himself against your back, he whispers softly in your ear:

“Oh, my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

Taglist: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @dadbodhotch11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @thinking-bucky @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr @ssahotchnerxx @vintagesubmariner @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @hotchnerxo @ashhotchner @hotchs-bitch @jaspxr

This one is majestic 💖💖🤤🤤 Thanks @rivierasunsetdiner

From 2 to 3 (hotch x fem!reader)

Sequel to The Only Heartbreaker Find snippet here

Summary: Hotch has a steady grip on his life. All measured and predictable. Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the lilac breeze. He finds himself with a bedmate but cannot recall the night before. (Also:) After a bad case that leaves you wounded, Hotch and you are scared to cross into 'otherness'.

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch, the great alaskian landscape for some reason, and summer as a motif, ONE BED trope, a lot of dialogue ngl

notes: no tw! hey all - not really a comeback when idk what THIS is but i been listenin to a lot of peach pit and mitski *once this was named Heat Lightning - and it's all fluff and HOTCH pov, after the events of the only heartbreaker. Some flashbacks. some longing. Some utter nonsense of dialogue tbh sry for grammar errors if any! and sry if this incoherent lmaooo <3 ALSO love being surrounded by friends and a community of creators whose work i love sm - and who in turn inspires me to create. sth i didnt think i had it in me anymore lol but ! lemme know if this work was anything

WC: 7k approx

---------------

Hotch has a firm grip on the events in his life. He is a father; was a fair husband until he wasn’t, and he is a regular at all the establishments he frequents: grocery store, coffee shop, bakery, butcher's, farmer’s market; and he has a strict regiment for exercise and pastimes. All to counteract the unpredictability of his work. It didn’t start this way. Naturally, his position came later and then his attitude: sort of a chicken and an egg situation. Except, people who’ve known him longer than the job – which coincidentally happens to be in a disproportionate ratio to those who know him because of it – would argue that he’s always been like this.

A firm, steady hold on his life. In control.

His work seems to test him on that every single day without fail. If it’s not a murder case, or a kidnapping, then it’s a bomb threat – New York still not the same for him but he’s managed to take a hold on the inevitable, unconscious reactions of his body to the city’s name, after some laborious practice. If it’s not that either, then it is an event that leaves one of his agents seriously harmed in the middle of the day.

Strauss casually reminds him of the last one some days, like she means to make sure he’s not as damaged as one should be after everything he's already endured.

And yet, he’s doing okay. If he were the type to do so, he’d wave a hand in the air dismissing it all: firm, strong grip, of course.

Then one morning in the cold, frigid air of the Alaskan landscape, daylight pours in through the opened windows of his hotel room. His eyes still shut, the sunrays warm up his face despite the breeze bringing in chilled air.

He stirs, something tickling his nose. He huffs out, wanting to blow away whatever irritation that is. It drifts away, settling stubbornly on his chin this time. Refusing to wake up just yet, he decides to move it away but his arms are occupied. His body cocooned under the pile of blanket and duvet, weighed down by a bed-mate, hands firm around the stranger.

No wonder he’s not freezing, he realizes, glancing down in surprise. A handful of naked thigh muscle over one of his legs keeps him locked in, and his other hand is settled precariously close to a chest.

She is sprawled atop him, gently snoozing into the crook of his neck. His eyebrows shoot up, and he tries – and fails – to remember how he’s ended up here. How she did.

He must have gotten uncharacteristically drunk last night. All he remembers is spending the late hours with the team, some jokes from Rossi and Garcia over who in their gracious mind would return to this state due to the temperatures. He must have picked up someone at the bar they were in. It wasn’t anything spacious like in big cities, but a new face could have been exciting for some. It isn’t customary to drink either. Too many issues over dehydration, and how alcohol isn’t factually a good alternative to the cold, and ultimately a prevention for alcoholism as there are no nearby addiction treatment facilities (– he remembers the speech from Reid, but not the woman in his bed?) but there had been booze on their table last night.

Albeit not plenty...

Hotch refocuses. He must have made a move on someone. Or the opposite, most likely. Though he’s done little of any of this in recent months. Quite a long while, if he has to measure it . Not since you started out teasing him with small innocuous innuendos, tying up his libido in knots.

He frowns at the top of his bed partner’s hair, beautiful and shining, but he doesn’t remember anything. Your hair is the same color and length, he thinks uneasily. Maybe that’s why the woman in his arms had his attention last night. He reluctantly releases her… waist , and reaches to brush her hair away from his face. It smells like that first bite of a summer fruit; like the air sticky sweet with anticipation of the season; like it could be the last thing he tastes and takes in for the entirety of his life. Something uncomfortably familiar to it he cannot name.

He reaches down and gently lifts her hand where it rests over his torso. Intent on studying it almost clinically but finds at once he doesn’t need to. Not when slender, long fingers, palm calloused in the same spots his weathered ones are – from carrying guns and handcuffs – shed light to the identity of his bed partner. Partner , he corrects. Just work partner. A noise startles out of him. It rises a groan out of her, that even though he should be restricting causes something else in his body to stir awake.

“Chilly”, she rasps, and lifts her face to look at him through blurry eyes. He knows those eyes, though they’re calculative and sharp, teasing too when they’re directed at him. He knows those delicate features of her face too.

You.

You both stare.

The moment stretches. Limbs become aware. Bare skin prickles with a million buzzing needles wherever skin is in contact. Fuck, he breathes out as evenly as possible, he doesn’t remember a time where he’s felt so much all at once. The open window is reprieve to the perspiration appearing at his temples and neck.

And then it isn’t a relief anymore when a hammering from outside barges rudely inside, shattering the silence. You yelp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, both drawing even closer in confusion.

Hotch slides his hand from the heat of your thigh to your back, cradling your body against his. You both wait, ears perked up and high alert.

The hammering continues rhythmically, before turning into a splintering sound, echoing outside. People huff and puff and it starts up again. He relaxes, the noise becoming un-dangerous to your safety.

“Someone’s chopping wood”, you offer meeting his eyes. The sudden movement has made the blanket slip from your shoulder, baring it to the room. “Cold”, you murmur again.

A shiver courses through you and a fierce, protective feeling in him makes him forget all the million questions in his mind. He’s quick to pull the blanket over you. He even has the reflex to look around the room for something warmer. The surest way is to climb out of bed, and shut the window – he’s fortunate to find he has pajama bottoms on. The outside finally kept out, he strides to the hearth of the room and lights up the fireplace.

It doesn’t take long for the space to fill with warmth, and for it, a strange sense of pride settles in. Like he’s procuring for the basics – like the first men to discover caves and fire and the length they’ll go to sacrifice for the protection of a loved one. Take his health of mind for instance. He has to try to grasp how you’ll react, already prepared to lie and conform to whatever you decide on this .

“Thanks”, your voice is a mere whisper, and he stops thinking. With the small size of the hotel and the limited number of rooms, he hadn’t expected them to be comfortable and cozy. His bed is large, larger than the one he has at home, so the sight of you right in the middle, hair splayed over the pillow he’d slept on these last few days, and hugging  the sheets to your chest…

Hotch has the oddest feeling of… he doesn’t know how to describe it. 

Your cheeks look puffy, colored with warmth, and hair messy almost like ran through gentle fingers. Something blooms in his chest. He’s never felt anything like it. But he recognizes it is laced with something eerily similar to relief.

You clear your throat, and he reaches for the pitcher of water over the table. He pours a glass for you and then downs one himself. He toes on the complementary slippers and glances around. The window had been left open and the dozen of blankets say the opposite – though he knows he runs hot after drinking. His collared shirt and suit jacket are haphazardly thrown over a chair, his shoes by the door. Yours too, though there is a clear trail of your garments littering the floor, leading from the door to his bed, discarded as if in a hurry to more relevant things. A wave of heat crawls up his spine and he casts his eyes to the opposite side of the room.

How can he not recall? It hardly seems…fair.

Hotch turns back to look at you, the surprise on your face not hiding your own study of the room.

“What happened last night?”, he simply asks.

You draw in a shaky breath. “Do you not remember either?”

He walks to your side of the bed, sits beside you and offers the glass.

The proximity doesn’t make you as jumpy as before, though it’s the first time he’s the one making the distance between you two. Whether out on a case, or back at the office – wherever and whenever, as if it was a second nature to you – he is the one relying on you making the first move and approaching him. It had been almost funny the first few times it happened. You’d just been hired as a replacement for JJ – another kid on the way right after her second – but instead of attempting to make friends with the group you’d bantered with him.

Out of everyone.

“ You’d think this would be easy, no?”, you’d muttered under your breath, right in front of the police captain in Ohio – or had it been Oklahoma? – and your face so serious and professional Hotch had thought he’d imagined the words. Dead in his tracks, he’d stopped to peer down at you by his right.

It had been mid-June. The exhaustion of a humid day spent over casefiles weighing Hotch’s soul – almost like the first heat spike right after spring. Heavy. Draining. And more to go. Dressed to the nines in a suit like you’re the unit chief, you’d show up at the office on your first day a bit over-eager to start. Hair away from your face. But the top of your nose and cheeks are a different tint of color, sunburnt though he knows the unit you transferred from allows vacation days as much as the BAU. Not even a hint of a polite smile when you’d shaken his hand. Neat, polished, tidy – Hotch had thought: There’s an agent who knows how to be professional.

In Ohio or Oklahoma – you'd angled your body a bit like a bodyguard towards him. A certain stance you never seemed to drop, as familiar to him as if you’d always been there. Funny how that seemed to happen too. Shorter than Hotch, smaller in stature, but as feral as you’d been having a stare off with a criminal. Funnily protective.

“Excuse me?” Hotch had cleared his throat.

“Cops?”, you’d said in a serious tone, “you give them a donut and coffee and surely that means the work is done?”

His gaze had followed yours to where other police officers were gathered, with boxes of take out and pasty shops had been discarded over a meeting room table. As if the BAU and Hotch personally hadn’t requested files necessary for the case they were there to help with.

A kid caught for misbehavior, Hotch had looked up in shock but the police captain had no ears for your jokes – not that he had any during the whole speech he had given him over not antagonizing victims. Victims, for god’s sake. You’d scoffed that out too. (Hotch remembers).

“What?”

You’d rolled your eyes. An uptick of your lips and the smallest scrunch of your nose. “I’m just messing around.” He had nodded, flabbergasted, but had paused when he’d seen you pull out something from your pocket.

“Figs”, he’d stared down at your hands clasped together. Carefully wrapped in towels, you offer him fresh figs which you'd untucked individually before handing one to him. The interviews you’d both done this morning in a white suburb had brought you through gardens and parks and playgrounds. Wives and mothers had gravitated to you first, like in any case as this one. Accommodating you especially with teas and lemonades and fresh fruits.

“I usually eat them whole”, your knuckles had covered the bounty, hiding it away from the captains and the precinct. Voice a whisper, you had leaned in, your elbow brushing against his.

He had a white collared shirt on, sleeves rolled up, while you had long shed the suit jacket in favor of commodities. “But you peel like this”, thumbs together you had teared at the unblemished skin of the savory fruit. It had pulled apart, thin and flimsy as you explained how the color of it signified an early season picking. Then once satisfied, and with fingers stained, you had popped the whole thing in your mouth. The grin that had followed was mischievous, but it was accompanied with a slight crease of your brows.

“Not ripe”, you had given your verdict, “but I was dying to try them out. Now, I know and I’ll be back to buy them once they’re ready”

His own fig had come apart in his hands, but he scooped it all up and chewed quickly. It had been years – an eternity even – since the last time he had been this keen and appeased by stolen fruits. Sweeter than he remembered, more so than what yours must have been.

The third fig you had eaten raw. A quick flicker of your brows up and wide, daring him to say something in reaction as you swallowed. Then you scrubbed your hands clean with the towels before resuming your previous position. Seriousness and professionalism once more, and the captain had re-approached like nothing’s occurred. No testimonies or evidence as you hid your tracks too.

“You’ve got a little something there”, you had pointed with the tip of your pinkie at your cupid’s brow, not looking back at Hotch. He had gotten the cue a bit late, but then followed - swiping at the same spot on his mouth, without realizing his gaze intent on yours. The clear sticky substance had been scrubbed off just in time.

Then a split second before the captain opened his mouth, your last words had swooped in like a heatwave.

“Not a lipstick stain and unfortunately harder to explain” The consequences it left seemed to remain for long, not bound by the weather. He paid half a mind to your following statement.

“ – Captain! Shall we insist again on how not trivial it is not to dismiss the statements of the civilians...”

The glass of water still full to the brim doesn’t spill over even with his hasty movements.

He swallows thick before asking, “Did we…?”

You take the glass from him, tilting it and refusing to respond – your face going beet-red. Hotch smothers a smile. Water slips from the side of your mouth and he fists his hands, the inanest, strangest desire to clean it up with a thumb resurfacing.  You slam the glass to the bedside table with purpose and swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No”, you let out, breaths irregular, but voice not as raspy as before. As you settle into a proper sitting position, the sheet drop to your collarbones, held by your arms.

He's mesmerized by the movement, like he hadn't experienced the same privileges as that sheet moments before.

“I think I’d remember”, you shrug.

No, he almost corrects aloud, he’d remember and never permit himself to forget.

He stands abruptly, feeling parched. Fills another two glasses with the jug of water and looks down at the quarter zip you’d donned the night before, now lying at the foot of his bed.

“I don’t remember a thing”, he admits, frowning at the garment.

“Last thing I recall,” you glance back at the door, “Was Derek pulling out that bottle of absinthe in his room.”

Hotch winces. That seems to be his last memory too, even though he’d given the other man a look of disapproval.

“We each drank some but Reid started on his monologue again and we ended up playing cards”, you raise your eyebrows and he nods, understanding that the bottle had been then forgotten for the game. Yet after 3 sleepless nights chasing a lead from the Cyber Unit, they’d all felt restless, tired, and drunk without drinking. Exhaustions of the likes he hadn’t experienced since law school.

He would have been used to the feeling but now finds himself out of his depth.

Just as fiercely as you’d broached the subject, you look away from him, and move again. He recognizes the look on your face. Something of a realization, he notes.

“I, uh,” your voice is a timid whisper, “My leg doesn’t ache”

Hotch blinks. “What?”

“Extreme temperatures make my bullet wound ache”, you reach for a hair tie by the bedside table. It’s mingled with his personal belongings: his wristwatch, a pen and notebook he keeps when he cannot sleep because of late night work observations he writes down, and the silver cuffs of his button-downs. With two steady hands you gather all your hair away from your face and into a tight ponytail. “My surgeon said I would always be a little sensitive and I usually take numbing pills”

Something akin to regret ignites in his chest. The day he’d beheld you bleeding out, gunshot wound to your leg, had been the longest day of his life. That was nothing to wait in the hospital.

He’s unconsciously moved closer, clearing the distance once again. Any shame he’d felt over the situation you’ve both found yourselves in dissipates.

The back-to-back cases surely have not helped. They’d gone from Florida, hot and humid and unbearably long summer nights, to a case in Alaska. Case after case like usual, but then he’d asked the team if they’d rather take a few days off – all unanimously agreed they’d rather hop to the other flight.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he stops himself from offering comfort, your leg propped up under the covers. He belatedly recognizes it had been the same one holding him down while sleeping, as if both your bodies remembered the transaction of comfort – offering and seeking it – without preamble.

You wince, “It’s my responsibility. I don’t want to be an influence on the decision-making of the team.” Yet you still seek to bring levity. “Wouldn’t want to sway the vote. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest when you would have held me to different standards, boss ”

“I already do”, he confesses softly, and watches with satisfaction as the words brighten up your face, the same way it makes you shy away. Yet as much as he’d prefer to make you see the truth, clear as the snow outside, he redirects.

“I’d rather you’d told me. We might have been better off another night in Florida”

“In that motel room?” you echo, brows up, “Are you kidding me? I slept with moths and mosquitoes in my room. I’ll let you know I didn’t impact that building’s electricity bill at all. I shouldn’t have even paid since the showers were inhumanely hot too.”

Surely that had been the deciding factor for all of them to want to leave Florida at once in favor of Alaska.

“I didn’t even sleep well”, you say under your breath, and cross your arms before you, frowning. “If anything I would have left Florida even if you’d said the case was in Antarctica”

He watches with amusement as you finally meet his eyes. Once unable to do so, after the place you’d both found yourselves in, your gaze is challenging again. Teasing.

“Are you telling me you had a better time in Florida?”

“It was fine”, he says, not admitting to anything.

You sigh, no smile yet so he continues.

“It was humid but we did have air conditioning—”

“Yes,” you murmur talking over him, “one in 3 rooms had it and my room wasn’t the lucky one.”

Hotch goes on, unaffected, “-- and Derek bought those tablets for insects to install in the room. If you’d only plugged one in a socket…”

You lean forward, to be heard though your voice doesn’t raise in volume, “The rechargeable night light which doubled as a pesticide? Which smelled like chemicals and expired?”

“And even the quality of the motel wasn’t up to perfect standards the restaurant nearby was satisfactory,” He has to stifle the smile that wants to escape. You fully sit up this time, the tiniest wince shadowing your face as you switch into sitting cross-legged and move even closer, arms falling away at your sides.

“ You mean the restaurant which was open from 11am until 3pm and then only two hours at dinner time? The only restaurant open for miles in that location?”

“The food was good – great even.” Hotch insists, “ Someone even called it a contender for Michelin stars”

Your right hand curled into a fist lands on top of his knee. “Why did you have to remember that? I mentioned it once. In passing.”

One of his brows shoots up, but he doesn’t smile just yet. It would be admitting defeat – your positions switched whenever you both argue over something.

Your smile, on the contrary, is tentative. Triumphant even, the minute he notices a memory flash in your head.

“Remember the second night?” He halts as you speak, and in retrospect that is a mistake. Finally all attention is on you. “When you suggested we order take out from there?”

How could he not remember when he had gotten the urge, for the first time in his life, to walk back to the establishment and demand his dinner – which had arrived in the little boxes all scattered and pressed as if someone had sat on them before the delivery driver had handed them out to Derek. He’d even considered Yelp and one-star reviews. The sudden burst of anger was so cataclysmic that of course, you’d notice first.

It had been you who’d marched back to the building and said no more than a few impolite words. You’d both agreed to pretend like Hotch hadn’t joined in halfway into that speech.

“Don’t”, he warns, “Don’t bring it up”

Your attempt at appearing formal falls short, immediately, because your hair comes apart from the strict do. Wild strands frame the sides of your neck and cheeks, and that same sunburnt look graces your face.

“But I will,” you argue, your fist bumping three times over his knee to punctuate your words, “Nothing to complain – my butt.” An indignant scoff, “ You wanted to flee Florida faster than the rest of us. If you hadn’t been already around us, having that phone call, I’m certain you would have called the pilot first to give commands to Alaska.”

The sheet and the duvet and any semblance of a cover have been forgotten. They never even cross your mind as you’re in a full-blown out winning argument – gesticulating with arms and body.

“I know with goddamned certainty you would have walked into the cockpit and turned that plane around if we had been mid-flight too.”

“I’m not a pilot”, he offers, his one-track mind diverted. Your shoulders are bare to the air. Thin straps pool at the sides, right next to the sheet at your biceps . Bare, he realizes, his mouth dry. Unlike him clad in pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, you seem to be the opposite. A fire tendril reminds him of the state of your leg too – his palm had been wrapped up comfortably over bare thigh not as if he’d urged the position but had found comfort in discovering it there. Had made sure it didn’t move back.

“I’m not so certain that is the truth.” You spearhead the argument, unencumbered. “That there might even be a field you know nothing of – seems impossible to me.”

The last trail of decency perspires with his sanity of mind – the cover slipping further below your collarbones.

Hotch calls your name with gentle urgency, and tears his eyes away from yours at once.

Not before he notices the heat spreading across the unblemished skin. Neck and top of your chest – apparently they get sunburned too.

“Oh,” your breath is a shiver. He feels it from the head of his hair to the tip of his toes. “Sorry”

Your knuckles stay over his leg, while the other pulls up the sheet. He feels your eyes on him still, and the tension that fills the air is unlike the one before. Awkward and stifling.

His voice sounds foreign in the room. “Are you…”

“No”, you let out at once, “I have shorts on and well… a stupid goddamn tank top.” You tuck back up the thin straps, frustrated and breathing heavy.

“God, I’m sorry again”

He turns sensing something else in your voice: hurt.

“Nothing to be sorry about”, he reassures, “nothing at all”

“Easy to say,” you mumble, “when you’re the one in decent clothing.”

“You are too”, he says with some fight, not allowing you to reprimand yourself.

“Come on,” you murmur, staring at your hand over his leg, “We haven’t even gone swimming together. Not sure anyone is meant to see this much from a coworker before.” Your tone of voice chokes him up, “Thought bleeding out and clothes teared at the back of an ambulance was going to be the height of it.”

A reflex as normal as breathing, Hotch reaches for your hand, clasps it over his knee. He must be the only one who feels the jolt of the touch. Pushes through it because he won’t ever let you spiral into the dark motions of insecurity and shame.

You’d had this discussion more times than a few. A wound as the one you’d bared was no easy feat. Not only did it impact your job for months, having you stationed in the office and out of the field. It has done a number on your self esteem too. The health counselor had helped you come to terms with associating the value you bring at work with the one you hold within yourself.

Hotch had been unaware of the fight going inside you at the time. Some of the frustration had been angled towards him too, being the unit chief and the one commanding your stay-in. That was, until one late night Friday, he'd ordered you to stay seated after everyone had left, and he’d come clean about New York.

Hotch had never brought up New York in the months and years that followed. Not even to the people that had saved his life: Derek and Penelope. The ones who’d seen him bleed and scream, shrapnel on his skin after the SUV he was supposed to get in with Kate had exploded before the two of them.

He wasn’t sure Penelope even knew how long he’d clung unto Kate’s hands, after. Derek had because he’d been the one to pull him up, firm hands under his elbows.

Hotch watches the emotions on your face play out with the story unraveling.

He would have liked to lie until death if possible, never wanting to bear having you see him as anything else but frail and vulnerable. But that hadn’t seemed to help you and he was at wit’s end. Dark undereye circles and similar body exhaustion – Hotch had been feeling the consequence of you pulling away from his companionship.

“I don’t know what to say”, you conclude after minutes in silence. The air conditioning in the building had been shut off; the entire office was dull.

Hotch stares down at his empty hands, the memory of holding you in them long vanquished.

“There is nothing to say”, he inhales deeply, “I was reminded of it because Strauss requested I attend a conference in NYC next month.”

“Shit,” you shake your head, your hands over the table slightly trembling. “I can’t stand her”

Hotch smiles.

“Can’t someone else go? Can’t you miss it?”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t serve me any good in the long term.” He leans over the table, his voice conspiratorial, “It’s a large piece of land with five boroughs – the jet would have to land there sometime.”

“Right,” you nod. He stands up before he feels compelled to confess other vulnerabilities. You do the same, both mutually agreeing not to bring it up.

He'd thought for sure that had been in it but a month later, inside the elevator, you’d broached the topic.

“Are you meant to head out alone?”

His gaze pans to yours.

“To New York?”

“No”, he replies.

You nod, staring at the doors, before turning to him to ask, “You leave on the 11 th ?”

“Yes”

“Count me in, then. I’ll bring my paperwork with me.”

Surprise and a tinge of something else but he hadn’t argued back.

Months later, you’d willingly knocked on the bedroom door out in another state, everyone getting ready to pack and leave after the case had been solved successfully.

Your second one back in the fieldwork. Surprisingly for him, you’d followed all his orders to not strain yourself. Closer to Rossi and Reid, helping with their work in different precincts. Conducting interviews and examinations, and around more people than precedent.

“I don’t know how to act like before”, you lean back against his door frame, voice a muddled whisper, rivaling the noise of the heater he’s yet to turn off. The air is stale inside the bedroom. Dusty furniture and nothing remarkable apart from the fact he’s the one occupying it.

He finishes zipping up his go-bag, throws it further over the made bed but doesn’t turn around; overly familiar with the hardship of opening up to someone while looking into their eyes.

“I don’t think I used to be careless or freer before- before the shooting”, a soft, subdued bump, your body slumped against the door, eyes almost closed. “I didn’t think there would be anything different about me – people get shot all the time in our line of work but I am different.”

At the silence, Hotch turns to sit down at the corner, elbows over his thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling different.”

“That’s just it, right? It could have been worse…should have been. I know how lucky I am.” The hurt in your gaze is not hidden. “That’s why I feel so stupid to say this now—” a gulp, “I’m acutely aware of my leg”

Hotch pauses. “Aware?”

He meets your gaze though he doesn’t find amusement there, only the echo of regret, guilt and sorrow.

“It’s as if everywhere I go or what-whatever I wear, my leg has been painted red and everyone can see it. As if I’m carrying with me a marker that tells everyone how much I was hurt or that I’m not the same”

You cross the floor of his bedroom and perch on the other corner of the bed, leaving the door wide open.

“Physical therapy helped with being back on the field and retrieving my stamina. Then again…”

You mimic his position, and look down at your feet - at the phantom of the bullet wound on your thigh. Hotch hadn’t left your side in the hospital. He hadn’t dared to when he’d never felt fright like the one that day. He hadn’t reeled it in either. Long stays by your bed after recovery, talks with the nurses and doctors, and when you weren’t on painkillers or somber – you’d both act like him holding your hand in his, chatting about easy things was normal.

The wound had brought you closer for a few weeks, until therapy began, and until he made it clear you were not to return to work for some time  Until the reminder that he is your boss froze the progress made.

Anger and frustration built and it eased up only after the talk on New York.

Still. None of you dare touch the other. Funny that, Hotch thinks, staring back at his hands. He’s come to terms that he might have just pictured it all in his head.

“I’m doing good mentally”, you say convincingly, hands moving as you gesture. “There are no more nightmares or panic attacks. I’m good in that respect.”

“If anything I feel more regulated now, with the tools I have on how to deal with a bad case or another bad scenario. I just…”

“Just?” He pushes a little.

You push your hands through your hair, remaking a ponytail and then giving up, fingers unsteady. “I feel hideous.”

The turn to watch him is so quick, Hotch equates it to the same reflexes out in the field. As if he would laugh or be insensitive to your feelings.

“I can’t look at myself in the mirror”, you swallow thickly, “For god’s sake I can’t wear dresses anymore”

You disguise the tremble in your voice with a laugh. “I know it’s stupid in the grand scheme of things. You can say so. It’s all in my head.”

You slap your hands over your knees and stand. “Well. Thanks for hearing me out. It’s not New York 2.0 at least.”

“Wait—"

All those hesitations that had frozen Hotch into place fall away. You stare at his hand clasped around your wrist, pleading with you not to leave. Another minutiae reflex.

 “Hotch, I’m fine”, the words in your mouth wobble and face to face he finally notes the tears gathered in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me what you’re going through,” he rushes out first, “However unimportant you think it is, I always, always value what you share.”

You bite your lip, frowning so not to cry. His hand traces back to hold yours steadily, his thumb making soft circles over your knuckles.

“You went through something traumatic.” Fuck, he did too, that day. “Give yourself some time”

You sigh, your shoulders slumping further. “Sure, Hotch. Time is all I have as a medicine lately.”

Your fingers squeeze his before tugging you tug your hand away. You give him a weak smile. “I hope it fixes my self esteem too eventually, when I think nobody finds me attractive anymore--”

“But you are.” Hotch stands abruptly, and he doesn’t think before he blurts. “You’re a beautiful woman”

The stance you’re both in – close but not too much, a stand-down but not technically one, both of you frowning and looking almost angry at one another – might appear to an outsider as if you’re both arguing. Even in the back of the ambulance, you’d fought all the way.

“Hotch…”, your voice is a warning, and you’re about to roll your eyes – he can tell. “Honestly, this is all…nice, but I wasn’t looking for fake compliments”

You grimace when he doubles down. “Fake?” he sputters. “Fake? You think I’d lie about this?”

“Come on…”

“I don’t let out vacuous words.”

“Yes, when you’re on the job or whatever but I’d rather you not give me empty flattery…”

“I am being honest”

“I doubt it’s the same as when you pointed out Spencer’s awful new haircut…”

“I mean it”

Your reaction – a scoff and a glower – makes him fight harder. The anger climbing up his bloodstream is inane. It makes his entire body overheat.

“How about you tell me?” He pulls you in swiftly, a quick gasp parting your mouth open. His intense eyes meet yours – narrowing. The tears in yours dry out as you gaze up at him. “Tell me if I’m being dishonest with you: you’re the single most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life”

Those eyes of yours – the color sometimes sprouting up in his dreams when he couldn’t sleep – meet his mouth for a fraction of a second before darting away. Blush dusts your cheeks and your legs wobble.

His heart does the strangest thing: starting up a new hurried rhythm.

“So? What’s the verdict?”

You clear your throat and straighten, extracting your hand from his grip. “Truth”

You put a step between each other. “Thank you”, you mumble, “but you don’t have to do that”

The fire from the fight – or maybe your presence - had ignited in him still but he wants it to die down quicker than this. “What was the solution, angel? Let you doubt yourself?”

 Even regret, he’ll battle if he has to, though his own is more due to his poor memory.

“I don’t mind at all, angel,” he says softly. Sweet as you look right now, he feels weak to his bones. Thus he bites his tongue, omitting just how beautiful he finds you right now.

“Good,” you reply, blushing “good then… I’m, uh, glad. I’m relieved I have these on when I usually sleep with far less.”

Another tear in his heart.

“I was going to bet you slept in a full suit,” you mock with a smile, “Penelope and Spencer have theories, though his were that it was more of a nightdress and night cap situation – Disney’s Scrooge rendition.”

A chuckle escapes him. “No hats.”

“Your best pal, Dave, isn’t helping the allegations either. The things he’s said behind your back…” None of you notice the gravitational pull, both your arms now resting over his legs.

He laughs at the giddiness on your face. “Would I want to know?”

“He’s mentioned a silk suit once or twice”, you shrug, laughing, “so it doesn’t wrinkle during sleep. Smart, but unrealistic”

“Sure.” He smiles back, “Not as much as a hat you wear to bed”

“I denied that theory too”

“Good to know”, he gives your hand a small squeeze; your other clutching loosely the hem of his shirt, distracted by its softness, “I wouldn’t want people thinking that of me.”

“I’m protecting your honor if anything”, you continue, enjoying the tangent this conversation has taken. He’s too taken by the shine of your eyes to care. Too caught on your every word. “I had something to say against the suit as well. Penelope didn’t consider the summer.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head, all serious, “what a mistake”

“Not breathable with all those layers…”

“What was your theory?”, Hotch has both of his hands softly wrapped around yours, massaging the muscle of your forearm. He’s convinced himself not to linger on the goosebumps pebbling your skin. It could be a result of the fireplace, or the temperatures.

Your teeth latch onto the softness of your lower lip. “It wasn’t anything too crazy like Derek joked about…”

One of his brows goes up in question.

“Birthday suit”, you respond with a stifled laugh. “I simply said you’d probably prefer comfort. Boxers and a soft tee.”

The words are hushed, intimate.

Your fingers toy with his shirt, “Though I would have preferred a white one.”

His mind is hazy and slow. “Preferred?” He blinks.

“Not that this one isn’t…good”, your breath fans his chin, and looking up at him, you say, “White would make you soft… gentle. Opposite of what you appear on the outside but how you truly are from within.”

He lets his eyes fall shut. He hurries for something wise to say, the ground beneath him having tilted. “I do choose comfort above all else”

“I know”, your fingertips sneak underneath his shirt and the first touch makes his whole body tense up, though your hand stops there. The muscles of his stomach ripple. “You’re burning”

His large palms engulf your arms, rubbing up and down slowly. The tremble of your breath is hot against his jaw, your mouth near.

“As warm as the fireplace”, you let out a laugh, though you don’t move away from the breadth of his body. Hotch watches in fascination the shiver taking over yours.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“Mhmm”, you shake your head. A strand of your hair tickles his chin. He watches your eyelids flutter shut and the moments remain suspended.

God, how he wishes he’d bottle up this feeling every single time it occurs . A piece of him lives in each of them too, every time they happen.

The first time he’d felt time pause, and resume trickling slowly had been when you’d both shared a dinner together. Nothing peculiar over that night. Not the food, nor the location. Not even the city the BAU had been stranded in for a case. Nothing except for the company. You, sitting on a barstool, elbows perched over the marble ordering greasy food, still in work clothes, neat and polished, but your hair loose over your shoulders.

“I’m not mad about it”, you speak softly, pulling him back to this present moment. You tilt your head to look up at him, “When I realized…”

He nods, a massive boulder of a weight loosening from over his chest.

“I was conflicted –” you swallow, “embarrassed too”

He encourages you to continue with comforting touches, gentle patterns on your arms formed by his thumbs.

“I was thinking, what if you kick me out of bed? And I think I’d have relived the shootout again instead.”

He shakes his head, “Never. I would never have”

“I know—”

A breath rushes out of him when your hand splays over his stomach, having dared to reach fully under his shirt. You’ve always been more courageous than him, he thinks. In another life he would have already crashed the distance. Pulled you into his arms and tasted your mouth.

“I think I’m… Happy.”

Your eyes full of emotion do it for him. Something compels him, a deeper pull than anything he’s ever experienced.

That’s when the knock on the door resounds.

You both retreat with a smile. You untangle your legs from him, shifting away from his lap.

“It’s okay you can get it”, you say, “but let’s not go back like nothing happened once you do”

Hotch brushes a kiss on the top of your head. On your temple. On the apple of your cheek before standing up. “I’d die if I did, angel.”

Turns out behind the door awaits none other than hotel room service – something Hotch didn’t know was provided in this tiny establishment. He takes the trays and lines them on the table. Waffles and eggs and fruits, together with freshly brewed and hot coffee. The concierge tells him it had been prepaid by Hotch himself, the night before, though ordered for past midnight with a message he’d left on the phone.

“Wow,” you let out, “That’s a lot of food”

He hands you a coffee and sits down at the foot of the bed.

“I know.”

“Maybe we are smarter while drunk”, you say overjoyed, taking a plate of waffles.

He settles with the plate with eggs and bacon. “I wonder how wise we are when we can’t remember everything…”

The memory of the night before would return. 

Hours later. Long after you’re both sated with food and the company. Again in bed, but this time sober and fully aware of how you curl around Hotch’s body, and how he tucks you against him.

Another few hours of sleep, until both minds and bodies were fully rested. Followed swiftly with fevered grasps. Kisses that were bound to happen at last.

“Absinthe” you laugh, pointing at Hotch like he hadn’t been in the same room where Derek had pulled out a full bottle of alcohol out of thin air like a magician.

“Are you going to penalize him over it? Will it impact his annual agent evaluation?”

Your laughter is loud enough to wake up the entire hotel – the entire small city. His jaw hurts from grinning all night. Hotch grabs your hand in his once he notices how unsteady your feet are as you walk down the hallway.

You wrap your other arm around his, “Are you going to, Aaron?”

“I wouldn’t”, he smiles down at you. He’s lightheaded but not drunk on the one glass he had.

“I feel unsteady.”

“How much did you drink?"

You happily sigh, leaning fully into his side, cheek against his bicep. “I don't know. I must be drunk. I’m taking pills so it probably messed me up.”

“What do you feel?”

“I don’t know”, you huff out, “restless and exasperated. Like my heart is in my throat too. Maybe I might get sick”

“Oh, angel” You smother your smile against his arm. He reaches with his free hand to touch your forehead and feel for temperature. “You’re fine. You’re not hot”

But you don’t move away and neither does he. Both having stopped in the middle of the hall, nowhere near either of your rooms.

You’re warm. Eyes intense and stirring like clouds before a storm. Entire face heated and… blushing?  Unmoving from your position next to him, you lean into his touch, his hand dropping to engulf the side of your face.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Your eyes flutter closed before opening to gaze at him in wonder. “In your bedroom?”

“You could take my bed”, he murmurs. His thumb traces a line from your cheek down to your jaw. “I’ll be there if you need me”

“Nonsense”, you blurt, “We can share”

He doesn’t know how he manages to make it to his room. He’s in a daze, dreaming surely, even though you’re solid and warm against him. His key is in your hands, unlocking his door. His hands on the small of your back, comforting and steady. He feels on fire just from your presence, from the act of watching you hurrying to get into a room you’ll both spend the night in.

The innocence of it all is intimate. His heart beats rhythmically fast and he feels it everywhere on his skin.

“Make yourself comfortable”, his voice is unwavering as he folds his suit jacket on a piece of furniture. He can’t help but be fast in his motions, like this is all part of a dream unless he’s not under the covers as fast as possible.

A like-mindedness you share as well. Your clothes end up in heaps on the floor. You quickly tuck yourself under the covers.

That lightheadedness makes him stumble. He’ll dry out – die out - feeling your body against his. If not from the emotions he’s kept hidden for so long, then it will because of the warmth you’d exuded.

“Good idea”, you say as he leaves a window open. “I love feeling the sun on me when I wake up.”

It must be real, after all. He pauses, thinking of other things that might make your stay as comfortable as possible.

“The fireplace?”

“That’s okay” your voice is muffled by the duvet up to your nose. “After we wake up”

That reminds him.

“Breakfast?”

You nod enthusiastically. You had skipped dinner because of work so the only other thing he looks forward to – apart from waking up to your face in the morning – is sharing breakfast together.

After a message left to the receptionist, he lies down, pulls the covers up to his stomach.

“Mhm, it’s nicer than my bed” you say through a yawn. You reach for his forearm, squeezing it lightly once. “Goodnight, Aaron”

He brushes a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, goosebumps chasing it on your skin. “’Night, angel"

============

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygrangerreading @hotchs-bitch @skyler6666 @rousethemousee @arsonhotchner @ssa-izzy @fatherhotchner @anetoupekelly

tagging people who've interacted w part 1 :)

@azenpal @mischiefmanaged71 @fromthewalls @jhiddlesbatchles03 @jasmine-galaxies @jaspxr @multiobsession @caprisunzz

This one is so beautiful and perfect 😍😍💖💖

Faultless - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 7.5k / navi / preview

Summary: After a car accident leaves you with a painful concussion, Hotch volunteers to be your live-in nurse so that you don't have to stay at the hospital. He's hellbent on spending the weekend doting on you, drowning in guilt because of the accident and your subsequent injury, but you're hellbent on spending the weekend getting him out of his bad mood.

Contents/Warnings: typical cm case mentions, slight gore/mentions of injuries, reader has a concussion, hotch is sad :((

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

“Easy,” Aaron muttered, his breath short from lugging your bags up the stairs while supporting you under one arm, “Don’t trip.”

You felt around the doorframe with your foot, making a point of stepping over the wooden board on the floor and crossing the threshold into your apartment. You had been exhausted before having to climb up thirteen flights of stairs, and you were going to complain for a very long time about the elevator being out of service on the one day you needed it the most.

You felt around blindly for your couch, gently tugging yourself out of Aaron’s grasp to sit down on the padded cushions. You could feel him still hovering over you, the concerned frown that had been settled on his lips all day probably still in place, but you couldn’t muster up enough professionality to open your eyes, to pretend like your head wasn’t splitting itself open from the inside out.

Your throbbing headache was the result of a rather concerning concussion, one that you’d acquired from your head hitting the dashboard after an unsub had rammed their vehicle into your own. You had been in the passenger’s seat, and thankfully the van had hit you by spinning out and sliding into your bumper instead of t-boning you. You were certain you’d be dead if he’d hit anywhere else.

You wanted to say that you escaped unscathed, but you hadn’t. Aaron’s hand hadn’t quite shot out fast enough to cover your chest and keep you pressed against the seat, instead it had brushed against your shoulder as you lurched forwards in your seat, your skull slamming into the dashboard. 

The medics had said it was only the locking of your seatbelt that had kept you alive. If it hadn’t given what little restraint it could offer (subsequently burning a line into your neck from where it slashed across your skin), you’d have shot completely forward, probably catapulting through the dashboard and dying before you hit the ground.

You’d never been more thankful for seatbelts.

You heard your bag being set down beside the sofa, then the soft click of your door being shut. Hotch was light on his feet as he trekked back through your apartment to stand beside the couch, not wanting to make your headache worse by storming around.

You heard rustling from beside your head, and you blearily peeled open your eyes to look for Hotch. He was much closer than you’d expected, kneeling on the carpet beside you, one of his hands reaching for the bandage on your forehead while the other held a new, fresh one.

“I need to replace this,” He tapped lightly against the end of the bandage, “You bled through it.”

You groaned at the harsh lighting above you, but knew that he needed it to rebandage your cut, so you nodded. You let your eyes drift shut again, only wincing momentarily as Hotch peeled the blood-soaked bandage from your wound and began tending to it.

You were somewhat surprised at how attentive Aaron was being. He had been kind to you since day one, letting you know that the rumors you’d probably heard about him from the rest of the team were just jokes, that he didn’t bite, and wouldn’t rip your head off. He’d apparently noticed your reluctance to relax around him, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t scared off by his reputation. You quickly learned that there were truths in both sides of the story, that he frowned far too often for his own good, but that he was a softie at heart.

You supposed that he had volunteered to take care of you after the crash for three reasons.

One being that he had been driving when you’d gotten into the impromptu accident. Of course, it hadn’t been his fault, the situation was out-of-control. But he often blamed himself for any casualties that happened on-site, simply because he was the Unit Chief. It meant that he was often plagued with guilt over situations that didn’t even concern him, and you’d have to be sure to comfort him later about it.

Two being that you were rather young for an agent. You had joined the team far earlier in your career than almost anyone else had, (save for Reid, of course), so you were, regrettably, babied. Sometimes it was more subtle and caring, like Prentiss remembering to pack your favorite snacks in her bag just in case you didn’t bring any. Or how Derek was always quick to offer up his windbreaker when you were outside without a jacket. But most of the time it was teasing, the way an older sibling would mock the younger one. 

When it was mockery, it usually consisted of playful shoves in the elevator, aggressive pinches to the cheeks, and constant mentions of you being half their ages or more. You were never discredited as a team member because of your age, but everyone was always jumping at the chance to remind you that you were young enough to be Rossi’s child.

That particular joke hadn’t gone over well with Rossi, either.

Then the third reason, similar to the second, you were their newest agent. Your age and your time at the BAU were significantly shorter than anyone else’s, and while one again, no one ever thought you incapable, you noticed that everyone had a tendency to watch over you a little more than they did anyone else.

Especially Hotch. You’d thought yourself delusional the first time you realized that he seemed to hover over you, side-stepping in front of you in potentially dangerous situations and sending medics to you before anyone else. But you’d come to accept that he was especially doting, even if he’d never admit it through the surly frown on his face.

This was extremely evident now. The unsub had died in the crash, a suicide committed so that he wouldn’t have to face years in prison. That left you and Hotch as the only surviving victims, and he’d pulled his seatbelt right out of the wall trying to get out of the car and around to help you. 

--

“Y/L/N,” He shook your shoulders urgently, “Y/L/N, wake up!” 

Your head was throbbing, your throat dry from screaming, and your neck burning from the scratch of the seatbelt. You wanted so desperately to let yourself go, to succumb to the comfortable darkness that threatened to envelop you whole, but the full-blown panic in Hotch’s voice stopped you. You’d never heard it that frantic before, and you used almost all of your strength to peel your eyes open, your head pounding at the sunlight.

“I need an ambulance,” He shouted into his earpiece, the sound only making your headache worse, “We have a federal agent down!”

“Don’t close your eyes.” He urged, his panic-riddled gaze flitting over your bloodied face. He held your head up, your neck too fatigued to support it, “Look at- dammit, look at me, Y/N, don’t close your eyes!”

You tried saying something, anything, but your chest was heavy and your mouth wouldn’t open. You saw the anxiety in his eyes, you wanted to reassure him that you’d keep your eyes open, that you’d pull through for him, but nothing came out. Instead, you studied his face, your eyes grazing over every stunning feature it displayed. His nose, ever-so-slightly crooked, was divided in half by an angry red gash. His eyebrow was slit similarly, a red ooze trickling down his cheek. His lips, always held in that intimidating frown of his, were trembling slightly, his teeth digging into the backs of them to hold in a sob. His hair was caked with sweat and blood, a crimson trail making its way down his temple, but you knew he’d be okay. 

He watched you watch him, his panic dwindling each time you blinked and your eyes reopened. The moment between you two was serene in a morbid way, both aware of the other’s near-death and both relishing in the other’s life. His own breathing was shaky, nearly shakier than yours, but he grounded himself with one hand on your cheek, the other behind your head and supporting your neck.

Sirens sounded throughout the wooded road, and the next unsteady sigh that came out of your mouth was one of relief. Hotch reluctantly looked away from your face, tracking the van that screeched to a halt in front of the crash site and rushed over to you both.

Hotch had helped load you onto the stretcher that they prepared for you, his hand never leaving your cheek as the other slipped around your waist. You stared blankly up at whatever happened to be in front of your face, but as you were loaded into the ambulance, your eyes lingered on Hotch’s bloodied form, standing outside and craning his neck to watch you be hauled into the back of the ambulance.

A medic began asking him what hurt, what possible injuries he might have, and if he could remember any part of his body getting hit specifically. But he didn’t answer while the doors were still open on you, only looking away when they shut in his face, obscuring his view of you.

--

You were honestly jealous that he’d escaped in such great condition. All he had to show for the accident was a sprained wrist and a few cuts, and your brain had been slammed into your skull.

You were jealous, but not resentful. You were glad that he hadn’t gotten injured further, especially because it meant that he was cleared to take care of you. The rest of your team had all volunteered, even Rossi stepping up to offer his nursing services. But Hotch had insisted, a self-loathing glint in his eyes as he told you he’d make sure you were alright over the weekend.

And as he kneeled beside your head on the couch, his tongue pinched between his lips in intense concentration as he rebandaged one of your cuts, you knew he would deliver on his promise. You just wished he wasn’t doing it out of guilt.

“That should last for a few hours.” Aaron smoothed the bandage onto your skin, his voice as low as humanly possible so as not to aggravate your headache further, “We’ll change them again after dinner.”

You let out a soft groan, raising one hand to cover your eyes, “I forgot about dinner.”

“You don’t have to eat if you’re not up for it.” Hotch used your coffee table for support as he stood.

“No, no,” You shook your head slightly, moving as little as humanly possible while doing so, “I meant, like, I don’t have anything here that we could eat. My fridge is empty.”

“It’s fine.” His hand came to rest on your shoulder for a second, a reassuring gesture because you couldn’t see his face, “We can order pizza.”

“Pizza,” You nodded hazily, “Yeah, pizza sounds good. I’ve got cash in the drawer,” You motioned vaguely to your kitchen, knowing full well you hadn’t been specific enough for him to locate it, “I’ll call later and we can-”

“Y/N,” Aaron interrupted you gently, “Don’t worry about that now. You need to take your painkillers, and the doctor said they’d make you drowsy. Why don’t you take them now, and you can nap until dinner?”

“But- but it’s already nine,” You protested weakly, “It’s too late for me to nap.”

“These are not normal circumstances,” You felt the couch dip by your feet, and you bent your legs, your calves pressed flush to your thighs, “You nap whenever you feel tired.”

“Are you hungry?” You peeked one eye open, wanting to see any hidden information he might have withheld from you otherwise.

“No,” He shook his head, and from what you could see of him, he looked truthful, “I can wait.”

You let your eye slip shut again, nodding once, “Okay. Where are the pills?”

They were harder to swallow than you thought they’d be, large and grainy and awkwardly-shaped. Aaron had to support the back of your neck while you sipped, and his other hand supported the water glass from the bottom, your hands too shaky to ensure a safe drink.

The water was heavenly, though, and you regretted not asking for some earlier. Your throat, dry and cracked from screaming during the accident, was soothed quickly by the icy liquid, and you finished the entire glass in only a few big sips.

“I can get you more, if you want?” Aaron’s voice came from directly beside you, and you shook your head lightly, slumping back down onto the pillows.

“No thanks,” You breathed, “I just want to nap.”

You felt a hand on your thigh, pressed close to your knee in a reassuring pat. Then a blanket was draped over you, most likely the fuzzy blue one that laid on the arm of your couch.

“Sleep for as long as you need,” Aaron’s final words to you sent a thrum of endearment up your spine that blossomed in your chest, “I’ll stay right here with you.”

Aaron fought the urge to reach out once more, letting his hand take up permanent residence on your leg. The gesture had been comforting, of course, but he couldn’t deny that it had felt cozy, natural even. He had never been one to get lost in his fantasies, but the single touch had him imagining all of the other blissfully domestic scenarios in which he could replicate it.

You’d be watching a scary movie, your brows furrowed in anxiety. You’d flinch at a jumpscare, tighten your hold on his arm, and he’d shift his hand over to your thigh, squeezing it gently in reassurance.

Or you’d be on the jet after a long case, your head slumped onto his shoulder. He’d rest his hand on your thigh, a soft but intimate gesture, so that you knew you could relax.

Or he’d be laying beside you in bed, his head on the pillow as your back rested against the headboard. He’d reach up and squeeze your thigh softly, compelling you to set down your book and finally lay down to sleep beside him.

His breath hitched and shame burned at his cheeks when he realized that he’d just let himself get lost fantasizing about being in bed beside his coworker. You were recovering from a concussion, one that he blamed himself for, and he was having delusions of married life with you.

He stood from the couch abruptly, shaking his head slightly at his unprofessional behavior. Your little apartment was stuffy from being closed up for five days straight, and he set off towards the windows, keeping the shades pulled for your head’s sake but slipping the windows open underneath. Fresh air rushed into the room and he breathed it in desperately, as if it would purge him of his delusions. 

He shut his eyes momentarily, exhaustion gripping at him but panic keeping him awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the way he felt when your head had hit the dashboard.

He had reached out as soon as he’d seen it coming, desperately trying to catch you before you could get hurt. But he hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been enough. You had slammed face first into the dashboard, a blood-curdling scream torn from your throat as your nose cracked. It was still crooked, swollen and bloody, but Aaron had just replaced the bandage over its bridge, and you’d mentioned that there was ice in the freezer if the swelling didn’t go down.

None of his own injuries were on his mind as he replayed the accident, the sinking hole in his chest as he’d watched you hit your head. You’d crumbled against the dashboard on impact, and he swore he’d never felt as much raw panic as he had in that moment. Being unable to get to you for those few short seconds had been agonizing, and he’d do anything to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. 

Once he’d finally gotten to you it was like it wasn’t real. He was holding you, you were looking at him, he was looking at you, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel real that you were injured, and at the same time, it didn’t feel real that you weren’t dead. Nothing about the scenario felt real, and he’d stood there in paralyzing panic as he waited for the ambulance.

He’d been a wreck on the ride back. They hadn’t let him into your ambulance, and he’d kept eye contact with you until he couldn’t see you anymore, the doors shutting on your near-lifeless frame.

He hadn’t even accepted his own hospital room, forcing Reid to give the doctors one of his infamous ‘second opinions’ so that he could deny treatment and reach you faster. He was almost certain that the young doctor had only done so out of fear of losing his job, because the intensity that he knew had been present in his gaze at the time scared Reid.

As soon as the doctors had let him go, reluctantly so, he’d taken up a chair by your bedside, waiting restlessly for you to wake.

He turned back to your sleeping form on the couch, ready to go and sit down again. He wanted to sleep too, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to, so he settled for the idea of sitting beside you, staring into oblivion while you slept. It was the most rest he was going to get for a few days, if his guilt never died down.

He realized that you’d shifted in your sleep, your feet now stretched out to the other couch cushion, the one he’d been sitting on. He started for one of your chairs, stopping before he could lower himself into one, and glancing back at you. 

He needed to be with you.

Holding your drained, near-lifeless body had been terrifying. He had felt your breathing shallow, had seen your eyes struggle to open, had watched the life dim in your eyes. Sitting across the room from you at that moment seemed like his personal hell, his fingers itched to feel the warmth of your skin and his ears longed to hear your calm, even breaths.

He padded to the couch, reaching carefully for your feet. He slid his hands under your ankles, lifting them off of the cushions and turning, sinking down onto the couch and resting your feet in his lap. 

It felt perfect, he could feel you, he could see you, he could hear you, but it felt wrong. It felt intimate, just like his hand on your thigh had. He lectured himself once more on not being delusional, his brain already cooking another domestic vision up before he could stop it. He kept his eye on you, his cheek resting against the back of the couch as his eyes drooped. Your chest rose and fell steadily, your eyes shut snugly, the bandage on your forehead no longer soaking up fresh blood. Your injuries were starting to heal, and Hotch took solace in the fact that you wouldn’t be plagued by your cuts anymore.

But your concussion, that would last. He knew that you’d be okay, it hadn’t been fatal, but you were going to suffer for a while. Guilt and despair once again stabbed at his chest as he thought about what it would be like if he had just caught you, if he’d reached over a split second sooner.

--

The painkillers that the doctor had prescribed you hadn’t fixed everything, but they had dulled your headache. It was a soft pounding now, instead of the raging fire that had burned behind your eyes. You blinked them open hazily, squinting around the darkened apartment and shifting to do so. Your feet hit something solid, and you felt it move beneath them. You peered at the other end of the couch, seeing your feet stretched out over Hotch’s lap as he dozed.

His face was set in a deep frown, worse than the one that normally adorned his features, as one of his hands laid over your ankles. You had assumed that in sleep, Aaron would relax, but it seemed as if he was even more stressed than before.

You felt an instant pang of embarrassment, you must have shifted in your sleep to lay your legs over his lap. You chided yourself on probably making him uncomfortable, though you couldn’t deny the butterflies that flitted around your stomach at the feeling of being so domestically intimate with him.

When he wasn’t barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. Actually, even when he was barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. You’d tried to suppress your feelings towards him, especially because he wasn’t just your coworker, but your boss, and you thought you had succeeded. Sure, the feeling of his hand on your cheek had been nice, the rampant concern in his eyes after the crash had been endearing, but you knew you had to settle for just being friends.

Your stomach grumbled, as if on cue after you’d just woken up, and you tugged your feet out of Aaron’s lap, sitting up cautiously against the arm of the couch. He didn’t seem to notice, although his unconscious frown deepened when his hand fell to his lap, and you grabbed your phone, ordering pizza for the both of you. You were happy that you remembered his favorite type of pizza from an impromptu late night at the office a while back, or you’d have had to wake him, and you wanted him to get all of the rest that he could. The delivery said it would be there in 20 minutes, and you used that time to get yourself another glass of water. It was a simple task, and your nap had apparently returned some of your basic capabilities, but you couldn’t deny that Aaron helping you drink had been better than drinking alone. The bottom of the glass was cold on your fingers, and you wistfully wanted his hand to be there instead.

You stood leaning against your kitchen cabinets, the living room behind a partition wall that shielded the couch from your view. Your apartment suddenly felt empty, and even though you knew Hotch was just sitting on your couch, you felt alone.

You weren’t sure how this would affect your feelings towards him. He’d already been so caring, so attentive towards you, and it was pushing you closer and closer towards a dangerous territory that you weren’t sure you’d ever come back from. You’d stayed sane by keeping a healthy distance between you, engaging in casual conversation or trading jokes, but pointedly avoiding sitting beside him in tight spaces or taking his jacket when he offered. Now that boundary was gone, and he was sleeping on your couch, your feet having been draped across his lap only minutes ago.

You were too lost in thought to hear the shuffling from your living room, but you were alerted to Aaron’s consciousness when he came rushing into the kitchen, eyes blown wide in panic before they settled on you.

“Y/N,” He breathed, his shoulders heaving as he let out a sigh of relief, “I thought- god, you were just gone, and I panicked.” He slumped forwards against the counter, blinking sleepily as he tried calming his pounding heart.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” You set your glass down, leaning over to set a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He nodded, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face and hissing in pain when it irritated one of his barely-healing cuts.

Blood began blossoming along the tear in his skin once more, and you tutted, pulling his hand away from his face. 

“You’re bleeding.” You reached for the bag of bandages that he’d set conveniently on the counter after patching you up, wetting a cotton ball with the disinfectant that sat beside it.

“You don’t have to-” He began, waving you off while prodding gently at his cut, but you cut him off, once again tugging his hand away from his cut.

“Just let me take care of it,” You barely caught yourself before saying ‘you’, deciding that ‘it’ was far less intimate. Your cheeks flared anyways, though, the knowledge that you’d almost slipped up haunting you as you cleaned up his cut.

The cut was on the apple of his cheek, just below his eye. Your thumb rested against the dark circle above it, the pliant skin flushed under your finger. You made a mental note to be sure he slept well this weekend, even if it would be on your couch for lack of a spare room. You felt his eyes on you as you cleaned up his cut, but pointedly avoided looking at him so as not to give yourself and your feelings away.

You weren’t sure if you’d survive gazing into his concerned eyes only inches away from his face.

You discarded the soiled cotton ball, your fingers slightly moistened by the chemical. The bandage crinkled beneath your fingers as you peeled the waxy paper from it, smoothly spreading the cloth over Aaron’s wound.

You left a soft tap on the pad of the bandage once you were finished, moving away to get yourself out of the potentially awkward situation as fast as possible. But you felt resistance, your eyes widening as you realized that Aaron’s hand was cupping the back of your neck. 

You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him placing it there, but the suggestive warmth that it brought you had your concussion and the car accident wiped completely from your mind. 

All that was there now was Aaron, his dark eyes staring intensely into your own as he tugged you closer so that your noses were brushing. He seemed just as transfixed as you were, barely breathing as he drank you in. The short, soft breaths that he was taking were fanning gently across your face, grounding you even more in his presence.

“Hotch,” You murmured, not wanting to shatter the serene silence with your voice, “We can’t.”

You wished you kissed him. You wished that you’d shut your mouth, pressed it to his, and moved on with your day. You wished you hadn’t said that, hadn’t prompted him to ask ‘Why not?’

“Because,” You breathed, your voice shaky as he leaned imperceptibly closer to you, “We have to-”

The sound of the buzzer to your apartment interrupted your moment, the atmosphere shattering at the harsh sound, ‘Delivery!’

“-go get the pizza! We have to go get the pizza.” You slipped your head out from under his hand, rushing for the door and leaving him standing over the kitchen counter.

You answered the door with shaking hands, nearly handing the pizza man a $50 instead of a $20 for your $15 order. 

Aaron slumped against the counter with a heavy sigh. 

He hadn’t meant to lose what little control he still possessed after the accident. He supposed that the shock and terror at nearly losing you made him want to ensure that he never lost you without telling you how he felt. But that didn’t excuse his actions, or the mortified exit that you’d made as soon as you’d gotten the chance. Clearly, he’d made you uncomfortable.

You brought the pizza back to the kitchen nearly in tears, terrified at possibly never getting the chance to kiss him again. You’d wanted to, you’d even brushed away any fear of losing your job out of desperation to reciprocate, but you’d panicked. You had panicked because what if it wasn’t good? What if he didn’t like it? What if it was a spur-of-the-moment that he’d regret later, and you’d be the one he kissed out of pity just because you’d almost died? You knew that both of you were high-strung, emotions running strong, and you were sure that it was the only reason he’d tried to kiss you. You wouldn’t let yourself believe that he had even an ounce of feelings for you, not the same way you had them for him. You wouldn’t let yourself enjoy temporary happiness if it meant that ever-lasting heartbreak would follow.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, “I’m so-”

“Do you want one slice, or two?” You cut him off, standing as tall and confidently as possible with the boxes in your hands.

Aaron stilled, stiffening slightly against the counter, “What?”

“One slice,” You swallowed what little saliva was in your mouth, “Or two?”

He stared at you silently for a moment, his discerning gaze picking you apart. Finally, his shoulder slumped, his face falling as he muttered, “One.”

--

The meds that you needed to take before eating were a hassle. This time it was a liquid prescription, and Hotch provided the medicine cup that you needed to measure it out with. It tasted bitter and grainy, and you quickly shoved pizza in your mouth to mask the aftertaste.

“These are supposed to knock you out,” He squinted at the fine print on the bottle, hovering over you much less since your run-in in the kitchen, “It says you might be kind of out of it for the night.”

You nodded silently, keeping yourself as far away from him on the couch as possible. You knew he was watching you shy away from him, and you tried not to look at the expression on his face, whatever it was, because you didn’t want to see it.

If it was disappointment, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be disappointed in you. If it was anger, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be angry with you. But if you ignored it, if you never saw it, then it wouldn’t exist.

You ate your pizza in silence for a terrible, awkward, stifling few moments, during which you shoveled as much into your mouth as possible so that you wouldn’t have to speak. Finally, though, Aaron finished his slice, and opened his mouth, this time not to put pizza inside.

“Y/N, I really think we should-”

“Do you want to watch tv?”

“Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but-”

You had reached for the remote without letting him finish, clicking on the television and turning the volume up.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke, his voice softer and more meek than you’d ever heard it before, “Please.”

You felt a hot wave of tears brimming at your eyes, and panickedly tried to blink them away, dread tugging your stomach down. The last thing you wanted to do was confess, but your medication was inhibiting your filter and making you more emotional.

“I’m sorry,” You blubbered, “I wanted to kiss you!”

You set your empty plate on the coffee table in front of you, the ceramic thunking against the wood, “I really wanted to kiss you!” 

Aaron watched you slump forwards, your face in your hands as you sobbed.

“Hey,” He reached out, setting his own plate on the table, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry, come here, Y/N.”

He slid his hands around your waist, tugging you upright and back onto the couch. He expected you to curl up against the other arm of the couch again, hellbent on getting away from him, but you fell into his lap, your face pressed against the material of his pants.

He brushed a cautious, gentle hand over your back, the other hovering awkwardly by your face. He couldn’t really see it, not most of it, anyways. Your flushed, tear-stained cheek was all that he could see as you sobbed into his lap, and he reached forwards, brushing a stray tear off of your skin.

“Don’t cry,” He repeated, his voice low, and soft, and soothing, “Y/N, it’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s not okay!” You gushed, rising from his lap as a steady stream of tears dripped off of your cheeks, “I feel gross, and you’re helping me, and- and you’re so sweet and I’m tired, and you’re so warm, and soft and I wanted to kiss you so badly but I- I got scared and now- now everything is messed up!”

“Shh,” Aaron cut off your ramblings by pressing his broad thumb to your lips, the rest of his hand cupping your cheek comfortingly, “It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up, everything is okay.”

“It’s not!” You repeated, “I’m never gonna get to kiss you again, and I ran away! I ran away, god, I’m so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid.” Aaron fought back the smile that threatened to take over his face, upset at the distress on yours but elated to hear that you’d wanted to reciprocate, “I promise you I’m not upset, and- um, if you’d like the chance again later, maybe we can consider kissing again.”

“Do you mean that?” You hiccupped pitifully, a sniffle following it.

“I do,” He promised, half hoping that you wouldn’t remember the embarrassing promise he’d just made to you in the morning, and half hoping that it would be the first thing you asked for when you woke up, “I promise.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, blinking drowsily as your medication ran rampant. He continued rubbing your back, though his hand fell from your cheek when you spoke.

“I’m tired.”

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle, nodding reassuringly, “I thought you would be. Why don’t you lay down, you can sleep for the night and then tomorrow we can- oh.”

Without a second thought, you’d slumped over onto his shoulder, your arms wrapped around one of his own as you clung to his arm. In your hazy, post-cry daze, you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, the material of his quarter-zip soft against your lips. 

“I love you, Aaron.” You mumbled, your voice still wobbly from your tear-fest.

The admission struck him with the most comforting sense of shock, one that made a smile burst over his face. You shut your eyes without even waiting for him to respond, your legs tucked neatly underneath yourself as you designated him your pillow for the evening.

He knew you wouldn’t hear him, and even if you did, you wouldn’t comprehend what he was saying. But he said it anyways, leaning his head against your own and murmuring a soft, “I love you too, Y/N.” as you snoozed.

Aaron watched your chest rise and fall slowly and evenly, relieved that you were sleeping peacefully. He knew full well that you'd have a splitting headache for far too long, and was happy to see you get some temporary relief.

The dramatic reality show that you'd insisted on drowning him out with was still playing softly in the background, eerie music choices and startling sound effects amping up the ridiculousness of the surely-false story. Aaron reached for the remote that was in your hand, gently uncurling your fingers from around it. He set your hand back in your lap, but it found his once more, a soft whine coming from your throat as you shifted in your sleep.

Your head that had been slumped onto his shoulder fell forwards, your neck surely suffering at the awkward angle. He rushed to readjust you, but you followed the motion blindly, your head slumped into his lap. At first, your nose pressed against the zipper of his pants, and he panicked. Before he could adjust you, though, you turned over, nestling your cheek against his thigh facing the television instead. Your face relaxed from where it had been scrunched in unconscious concentration, a serene expression crossing it as you sighed contentedly.

Aaron thought it was the most adorable noise he'd ever heard. A soft smile threatened to break over his face after his panic, and for once, he let it. You weren't awake or coherent enough to see it, so why not? He smiled warmly, happily, adoringly at you as you slept in his lap. He reached for the blanket that had been folded on the arm of your couch, quickly shaking it out as best he could and draping it over your frame. You snuggled into it just as much as you had his thigh, and after a drawn-out moment of staring at you with a lovesick smile, Aaron let his head fall back against the cushions, his eyes slipping shut as he let sleep take him a happy man.

--

Waking up was warm. You blinked open your eyes, your gaze immediately landing on the plates that you hadn’t cleaned up from the night before. The pillow you were laying on was considerably comfier than any you knew were on your couch, and you rolled onto your back to see that it was, in fact, not a pillow, but your boss. 

Aaron’s face was relaxed as he slept, a stark contrast to his crankiness during his first nap. Now he looked serene, happy even, as he leaned back against the back of the couch, his hand draped over your waist. You were sure that sleeping at that angle would prove difficult for him, so you slowly sat up, humming softly as he stirred.

“What…” He mumbled sleepily, squinting around at your apartment, “What time is it?”

“Really? That’s all I get?” You propped yourself with one arm, your hand pressed flat against his thigh, “You promised me a kiss, you know.”

His eyes widened, any leftover drowsiness instantly vanishing as he stared down at you.

“That is,” You started, uncertainty lacing your voice, “If you’re standing by your promise?”

“You want to?”

“I do.” You nodded, waiting eagerly as he blinked owlishly, his brain running at full speed.

“So do I.” Was all he said before he surged forwards, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was lazy, somewhat sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it was perfect, because it was with him. You hummed softly into the kiss, leaning forwards to rest your forehead against his own, bringing him closer to you. 

You broke away after a few moments, keeping it short and sweet instead of dragging it out. You weren’t opposed to going further, not when it was Aaron you were with, but you were still concussed, and eager to rest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, your nose nestled against the heated skin of his neck as he sighed contentedly, one hand coming to rest on your back.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” He mused, his voice slightly raspy from sleep.

“How could I forget?”

“I wasn’t sure if you meant it.” He added, “You were pretty drugged up.”

“I meant it.” You spoke softly, “I’ve meant it for a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Aaron admitted, “Me too.”

The silent serenity of the moment capture you both, and you nearly fell asleep again nuzzled into his neck. But your stomach grumbled, once more letting you know that it was time to eat, and Aaron chuckled softly at the sound.

“Breakfast?”

‘Breakfast sounds perfect.”

You moved out of his lap, your heart fluttering as he took your hand, tugging you up onto your feet and guiding you into the kitchen. The pizza box from the night before was still sitting on the counter, as were the medical supplies, but he pushed them aside, making room for your toaster.

“Anything on it?” He questioned, pulling two pieces of bread out from your loaf.

“Just butter.” You hummed sleepily, pulling said spread out from the refrigerator. 

As soon as he emptied his hands, the slices of bread now toasting, you snuck up behind him, your arms winding around his waist. He stiffened in surprise, but melted at the embrace, turning so that your face was flush to his chest instead of his back.

“How’s your head?” He asked, punctuating his query by smoothing his hand over your scalp.

“It’s better,” You started, “Not completely, but the meds seem to be helping.

“That’s good.” He seemed to tense when you told him it wasn’t completely better, the popping of the toaster giving him an excuse to turn away.

“Aaron?” You pressed, standing beside him and watching him open the butter, “Is everything okay?”

“Your head still hurts.” He mentioned dismissively, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because your head still hurts.” He deadpanned, waiting for you to prompt him further. 

“Aaron,” You started, your voice hesitant, "You can't seriously blame yourself for that car accident." You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing the answer but wanting him to hear the words spoken aloud.

"I do." He had no trouble admitting it, avoiding your gaze as he buttered the slice of bread he'd just taken out of the toaster, "You knew he was going to swerve, you even told me."

"I guessed he was going to swerve," You reminded him, "I didn't know."

"Well I didn't listen, and he did, and he hit us, and now you have a concussion."

“Aaron, stop.” You set a hand over his, taking the knife from his grip and abandoning the toast he was doctoring, “Look at me.”

He followed your instructions, meeting your eyes hesitantly, hoping to not showcase the self-hatred swirling in his own.

“You had no possible way of verifying whether my guess was true or not. We were in the middle of a high-speed chase, what if you’d stopped to avoid a crash but he’d kept going? We would have lost him.”

“We did lose him.”

“But now he can’t hurt anyone anymore. He didn’t get away. If you’d stopped, he would have.”

“But your concussion-”

“Doesn’t matter to me. We got the guy, that’s what matters to me. I’m okay, I’m alive.” You gestured down your frame, as if showcasing your living, breathing body, “And you’re okay, you’re alive. Yeah, I’ve got a week-long headache in front of me, but it’s worth it to me to know that that guy is gone.”

“You got hurt, though. We got him, and I’m glad. I won’t deny that. But I can still be upset about you getting hurt.”

“So can I,” You agreed, “But don’t be mad at yourself. I’m not mad at you, why would you be?”

“I… I just-”

“You just have a habit of blaming yourself for things you had no control over. And I won’t let you do it now.”

You huffed lightly at the end of your sentence, and it seemed to bring him out of his hesitancy. He cracked a slight smile, “You won’t let me?”

“I won’t.” You doubled down, “You’re not allowed to.”

“Yes, sir.” He teased, turning back to the toast and laughing incredulously when you bumped your hips against his, sending him stumbling sideways as he was caught off-guard.

“You need better balance.” You grabbed the knife that had slipped from his hands as he’d stumbled, buttering your own toast while he stabilized himself, “That almost floored you.”

“I wasn’t ready for it.” He insisted, a hint of a whine slipping into his voice that you’d never heard before, “No fair.”

“Anything’s fair now,” You laughed, “I’m injured and you have to be nice to me.”

As soon as you were finished buttering your toast you plated it, slicing it in half up the middle. You headed for the living room, intent on turning the television on and eating with Aaron, but he took you by surprise, charging you from behind and wrapping one arm around your waist, the other taking your plate from your hands so that it didn’t fall.

You shrieked indignantly as you lost your balance, but his arms snaking around your waist stopped you from falling. He turned you around, and you heard his soft chuckles against your cheek as he scooped you into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. You stared down at him breathlessly, your mouth hanging slightly open in surprise.

“You need better balance,” He mocked you, “That almost floored you.”

“Aaron!” You repeated his earlier comment, a bashful laugh escaping your lips as he held you tightly against him, “No fair!”

His laugh, deep and loud and comforting, made happiness swell in your chest, not even dimming when he set you down. You grabbed your toast once more, hearing him pad after you until you got to the couch, sitting much closer to him than you’d elected to the previous night.

“I’m gonna tell Garcia that you terrorized me this weekend,” You mused, biting softly into the buttered toast with a crunch, then as an afterthought, “Oh my god, what are we gonna tell her? The team, they’re all gonna find out. What do we do?”

“Nothing for now.” Aaron reassured you, setting a hand on your thigh while you ate, a smile growing on his lips as he remembered fantasizing about doing just that the night before, “We don’t have to be their big scandal yet, for now, let’s just be us.”

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @honeybrowne @aaronhotchnersbbg07 @la-stuffs @jhiddles03 @criminalmindsandmarvel @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @ink-and-fables-4-u @curr3ntlycry1ng @simpingfortoomanypeople @toomanyfictionalboyfriends

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

This is one of my favourites!!!! It's so good and cute💖💖

Hey girl, I hope your having a good day

I was wondering if you could write a Hotch! fem reader where they're married and have been for like year's but the team doesn't know about it and one day Morgan calls out Hotch and they both answer! I hope that made sense. Love your blog💕

Hotch? Which one?

Gif by hqtchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Wc: 1.7k

Warnings!: fluff, kissing, mentions of a child case, not.al criminal minds things, maybe kinda suggestive, playful and soft Hotch, but seriously super fluffy

Description: You are secretly married to the one and only Aaron Hotchner, what happens when Morgan yells out Hotch, and you both answer?

A/n: awe, thank you 💕 seriously loved this idea, hope you all do too! Sorry it took me so long to get out! Anyways, here is some Hotch fluff for your Saturday night ;)

-Masterlist-

----------

Your eyes flutter open as you feel a warm pair of lips on your neck. You sigh contently, but bury your face in your pillow, not ready to get up yet. A deep chuckle fills your ears and you smile to yourself as his arm wraps itself around your waist.

"Goodmorning sweetheart." He whispers into the morning air.

"G'morning." You murmur sleepily. The kisses start up again and you giggle at the ticklish feeling, turning around in his arms. He pulls back slightly, and he just stares at you. 

"God, you're beautiful." He says and leans forward to place his lips on your own. You kiss him passionately as your heart warms at the compliment. 

"Dont wanna get up." You mutter against his lips and he chuckles again. 

"You have to sweetheart." He sits up on his elbow peering down at you. "We have that conjoined case today."

"Oh, don't remind me." You roll your eyes as Aaron softly tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "We have to pretend, again." You whine and he sighs. "Do you know how hard it is for me to pretend that I'm not in love with you?" 

"Probably just as hard as it is for me." He pauses, thinking for a moment. "We could, just tell them." He suggests and you freeze, a little shocked by his words.

"Honey, are you sure? I know we're in different departments, but you said you wanted to be professional. And I mean it keeps us safer. I guess it doesn't matter, up to you. Maybe we should, I mean my team knows, but yours doesn-" He cuts off your rambling with a searing kiss and you freeze for a moment. He pulls back and it takes you a few moments to process words. Your husband's kisses usually have that effect on you.

"So do you want to tell them?" You ask after you catch your breath.

"Yes. As soon as this case is over." You smile and nod.

"Okay. But we aren't ever going to finish the case if we don't get up." Aaron rolls over top of you holding himself up with his arms on either side of your head.

"If you insist." He starts, placing a kiss on your nose. "But maybe… a… few… more… kisses…" He places a kiss on your lips after every word, already forgetting that he was trying to get you up in the first place.

* * * 

After several more kisses, you and Aaron finally make your way into the office, just in time for your two teams to meet together in the bullpen. You are eternally grateful that no one finds it suspicious that you both come in at the same time. Probably thinking you just had a meeting together before the case. Your teams head to the conference room after seeing you walk in not noticing Aaron's hand on the small of your back.

Little did they know of the wedding rings resting on your necklace under your blouse and Aaron's on a pin under his tie. 

When you think about it, it wasn't really your plan to hide your marriage. You never thought you would be one to hide the love for your husband. But then you had met Aaron Hotchner. Funny enough, it had been a conjoined case similar to the present case. Aaron being the unit chief of the BAU and you the unit chief of the Child Crimes Unit, you clashed. A lot. 

Never getting along, your teams dreaded cases where you had to get together. Of course, one case in particular hit a little too hard, and Hotch had found you curled in a chair, crying in one of the break rooms. He had rushed to your side in an instant, comforting you through your tears. That night you had seen a whole different side of Aaron Hotchner. 

Of course that one moment turned into a beautiful new friendship. Which had led to dates and kisses and a secret relationship. A marriage was soon to follow, and you both wanted to married so bad, you had just eloped. Only Rossi, Jack, and Jess by your sides. Rossi officiated the small ceremony and that was about six months ago. 

You had told your team after a month, fining it too difficult to keep it hidden. They had all agreed to jokingly call you Hotch, after hearing Aaron's own team do it to him.

You had already talked to them about avoiding that in today's case.

Aaron had found it harder to tell his team. They were his family. But he wanted to protect you as much as possible. Especially after Haley. 

Your thoughts are dragged away from a small kick under the table. You turn to your left, and spot your husband with a slight smirk on his face. The meeting continues, Garcia presenting the case.

"Alright lovelies, and guest lovelies! We have three murders, all local, all 10 year old boys." She begins and you take a deep breath preparing yourself. As much as you loved your job, it was always hard to hear of all the horrible things people did to these poor kids.

A hand finds its way to your thigh and squeezes to ground you. You shake away your wandering thoughts again and focus. 

"They were all killed the same way, strangulation. Coroner says it was a pillow over their face, while sleeping." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Local police have no leads, and are desperate for help." Hotch looks up at his team and yours listening for ideas.

"Could be remorse." Davis, one of your agents speaks up first. Jj and Reid nod along.

"It's almost peaceful. He doesn't want to hurt the kids, but he feels he needs to." Morgan adds.

"I suggest looking into people who have lost a child." You suggest.

"You got it babe. Got more for me?" Garcia asks and the teams continue to go back and forth with ideas, nothing really building up the profile. Idea after idea is passed around. Everyone was beginning to grow frustrated, the tension building in the room.

"What about a sick kid? A kid in pain?" Prentiss starts rattling off. She stands and begins pacing. Wilsom, one of your best agents, stands as well.

"Yes. The remorse, the peaceful killing, it all makes sense." He starts.

"When did the killing start?" Aaron asks.

"Three months sir." Garcia answers.

"Check out parents, male, early 30s, who recently lost a child to disease, an accident, anything." Hotch speaks and Garcia is instantly typing away.

"Two hundred seventy four hits." 

"Try limiting it to the victim's profile, men with a ten year old boy." Jj pipes up.

"Thirty seven hits." 

"The child would have been in pain, he believes he is stopping the pain. He doesn't want the kids to hurt anymore. He thinks he is helping them." Garcia shakes her head, that doesn't lower her search at all. You think and think. 

"There has to be something else. I want everyone to look into the jobs of the suspects. I know it's a lot, but there are a lot of us. The quicker the better." You say and Aaron nods.

"What are we looking for?" Rossi asks.

"He would have needed to blend in. Parents couldn't have been suspicious of anything. Repair men, plumbers, electricians. Anything. Get to work." Hotch announces and everyone stands moving around. You and Hotch begin discussing more of the case, trying to find different angles when Morgan speaks up.

"Hotch?" You and Aaron both turn around at the name, ready to answer.

"Yeah?" Two voices ring out and it takes you a moment to realise you and your husband had both answered. You freeze and so does he. The room is tense and silent. Your team stares at you with smirks on their faces, and Aaron's with shock. 

"What?" Spencer is the first one to say anything, case seemingly forgotten for the moment, his brows furrowed, and you giggle at the situation. Aaron looks at you and smiles softly. 

"Alright. I guess we have some explaining to do." He says and Rossi chuckles patting him on the back. 

"Hi guys, I'm Agent Hotchner, nice to meet you." You say with a smirk and wave slightly. Garcia's mouth falls open and Morgan lets out a loud laugh. 

"Im sorry. What?" Emily looks more confused than you have ever seen her and you can't help but begin laughing again. You leave it to your husband to explain. But he himself looks like he is barely keeping it together.

"We may, or may not have gotten married." Hotch says way too casually for anyone to process. Its only silent for a moment more before the room erupts with questions and shouts of congradulations. You catch money being exchanged between Wilson, Rossi, and Davis and they each shoot you a wink. You roll your eyes as Hotch tries to calm his team.

"Alright! That's enough." He says sternly, but you see the twitch in his eyebrow and the smirk threatening to break out on his face. "Yes, we are married, yes we eloped. No, we aren't talking about this now. We can discuss it when the case is over. Please get back to work, I will be in my office if you need me." He finished with an official tone and he swiftly walked out of the room. All eyes fall to you and you take that as your cue to follow your husband. You smile softly at the team and quickly walk out of the room. 

As soon as you shut the door to his office, Aaron has you pressed against the door, his face buried in your neck as he laughs.  

"Did you see their faces?" You asked, amusement filling your voice. He nods and presses a sloppy kiss to your neck. Pulling back, he gazes at you and shakes his head. 

"God. They are going to kill me." Aaron whispers. "Seriously. I think Garcia was planning my murder." You roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"Oh please. You'll be fine." You say and he smacks your ass playfully. 

"Yeah, you don't have to deal with the wrath of Penelope, so shut it missy." You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck kissing him gently. 

"You are ridiculous."

"But you love me."

"That I do."

"I love you too sweetheart." And he kisses you, or at least tries to through your giggles.

----------

Thanks for reading!! <3

I'm so in love with this😍😍💖💖 You did a great job @kryptonitejelly I love you and your writing

Hi!!!! I really like your blurbs and your style when you write. I hope you are doing perfectly fine 💖💖.

Can I make a request? I would love to see one blurb where Aaron and BAU!reader are dating and they arrive earlier than everyone and he is hugging her from behind but they are giving their backs to the door so they don't see or listen the team arrive (they are so lost into their own little world). Btw the team doesn't know they are dating, soooooo... their relationship is a secret but they are now exposed.

I hope you understand everything because English isn't my first language and it's easy to write.

Have a nice day/afternoon/night and lots of love ❤❤

A/N: I hope you are doing well too <33 and your English is perfect, don’t worry about it. Sending you lots of love as well 💕

“We’ll get caught.” You murmur, as Aaron slips his arms around you, the front of his body pressing into your back.

“We are early.” You feel him shrug, as you sink into him, your hands coming to rest on his arms as you both stare beyond the full glass windows of the main dining hall to the restaurant which Dave had booked out for your team dinner.

“It’s nice here.” You say as he turns his head to press a kiss to your temple.

“Would be a nice place for a wedding.” He mutters beside your ear, to which you smile, hands squeezing his arms lightly.

“Not sure whose wedding you are talking about,” you tease, as you stick your hand out in front of both of you. “I don’t see a ring on my finger.”

“Good things come to those who wait.” He chuckles, kissing the side of your ear. You laugh in response, dropping your hands, your head tilting back and to the side as he meets your lips in a kiss. You knew, that despite your teasing, he would acquire a ring within the hour if you wanted him to, and drop to one knee willingly.

-

“Is that…” Penelope gasps, as she grabs onto Emily’s arm.

“Hotch and (Y/N).” Emily confirms, as the two women freeze slightly beyond the open doors of the dining hall.

“What are we looking at,” Spencer comes up from behind, squinting, only to widen his eyes. “Is that?”

“Hotch and (Y/N).” Morgan repeats the same words Emily had said earlier as he stops behind the trio, now forming a crowd.

“Hey guys, what are we… Hotch and (Y/N)?” JJ joins in, as she clamours past Spencer to stand beside Penelope who has her phone out, in a picture snapping frenzy.

“Why are you assclowns standing out here.” Dave’s voice interjects, as he stops behind the group, before he hums in understanding. “I see they’ve outed themselves.”

“You knew Rossi?”

“Of course.”

“They told you?”

“Not in words.”

“Should we interrupt them?”

“Don’t see why not.” Emily smirks as she pushes past the group into the dining hall. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

This is so good!!!! I love it 💖💖 I need a part 2🥲🥲

The Only Heartbreaker (Hotch x Reader)

Summary: A case hoists your whole team to a location where you're forced to work closely for a week with your boss and the man you've been harboring unwanted feelings for. Those emotions start to fester, making you both act unlike yourselves. (aka someone yearns over someone and is MAD about it) // Rating: Teen up (case mention, blood, guns etc) AN: this brought to u by me procrastinating and a heavy dose of mitski <3 FLUFF FIC

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, case HEAVY, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch,

WC: 4.5k approx

---------

It wasn’t a good day. It was a hard one: with interrogations that never end, seemingly stretching out longer than average because of people (and you couldn’t really blame them) being reserved and restrained in speaking out, ;and no rest. You’d grown familiar with the latter, but not the first. And you were by far the only one suffering from the events of the day. Prentiss and Reid had slipped away earlier, choosing to go back to the morgue for another talk with the medical examiner.

Rossi and JJ sit in the room nearby, talking with some of the kids, unfortunate for witnessing something they never should have known existed. Terror lingers in their faces, even after they’d been pulled away from the piazza where bullets had rained upon. Morgan is still out there, refusing to return and standing watch with SWAT, in case the culprit wanted to show up again. Not that they’d ever let him go alive at this point.

Hotch, the man of few words and your boss, stands by your side, body tense and nerves taut. He’s as close to losing his temper at the police chief before you as you are. Which is why you defuse the situation before that happens.

“Chief Smal, how about I get back to you on that after an hour?”

The man, who’d been rambling on and on about the incompetence of the FBI for not stopping something that you couldn’t ever predict, stops. He gapes at you, offended and angry. If he was any less animated he wouldn’t be fuming out of his ears and nose.

“Excuse-me?”

Hotch makes a sign to move, talk or whatever he thinks can fix this. But you don’t allow him.

“Great”, you chirp, feigning better than an actress, “You are excused.”

You turn sharply away, leaving the man sputtering and shocked, and continue down the hall. He’d been so goddamned annoying and useless, keeping you both away from your jobs – and hounding Hotch like he’s the boss. Like Hotch can’t just wave a hand and have the man dismissed without a contradiction. But this man, the one who is always direct and curt, was being nice. He’d been nothing but fucking courteous the whole time.

You knew this. You’d had an entire fucking week working close by with him, paired up since the jet dropped you off on location. And that niceness you’d once found commendable and charming and had made you swoon far too many times to count (not that you would admit you do, you’re not insane), is now irking you.

Even now you can almost hear his voice. First, gentle when he calls your name. But then not. And you realize he’s trailed behind you. Long strides made by his longer legs and taller frame, and he followed you easily as you stormed off.

There’s no hint of niceness in his clipped tone as he calls your name again.

“Agent, I’m speaking to you for fu—”

You swirl around, stopping abruptly. He doesn’t swear. He never does. And you don’t storm off, nor do theatrics, like this one, where you pausing so suddenly almost causes him to crush into you. Both blinking at each other, you realize none of you feels like themselves.

Hotch exhales, some of the tension easing out of him. You’re fucking welcome, you want to rush out. Not having Chief Blabbering Mouth pestering you has made you both calmer already.

“What was that about?”

You decide to act, yet again. “What was what?”

“Stop that”, he says in exasperation. A police officer passing by winces at his tone.

He doesn’t know Hotch. Not like you do. This pitch of his deep baritone, and the look on his face – he’s not mad at you. He’s mad with you. Knowing him, even madder that he’d succumbed to the pressures of diplomatic righteousness and bureaucratic relationships, and let a random, inconsequential chief of police get to both of you. Knowing him, he’s already blaming himself for it. Sinking deep into that hole of guilt trips, faults and self-criticism.

His body language is hostile, weary, very high-strung. You bypass all red alarms blaring in you telling you not to – but you reach out either way. A hand on his elbow and he flinches.

“Hotch,” you will your voice to sound soft, though your mannerisms mirror his, “I know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? Give me some credit”

One of his dark brows flicks upwards in question.

“I know” you sigh, not taking it personally when you touch him again and he grimaces. “I know. I was right there okay. Right fucking there”

The rest of the BAU had been inside the shopping mall at the time you and Hotch were having a fully fledged argument in the piazza. Some topics you don’t even recall. On more snipers. More check-ups. Or less law enforcement visible in the streets, making civilians antsy.

When the first bullet had hit, it had been so loud, you’d instantly forgotten. Everything had gone quiet. Not just you and Hotch, but the entire world. Then the second bullet had pierced the air, and the man you’d been bickering with – some would say even yelling at – had caught both your arms, lifted you up like he’d turned superhuman with a click of a button, and made himself bigger and taller, shielding you with his body. It had been less than a minute because he hadn’t done just that. Like the crowd around you, running and pushing each other, he’d done the same: hauling your ass – and himself – out of sight and inside a building nearby.

You’d both been there. Though with all your training and your experience, you’d frozen on the spot. People had fallen around you, murdered in cold blood. But you’d been there, even though your body had refused you.

Hotch blinks, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t expect thanks from you”

“Jesus, Hotch”, this time you bump his forearm, like you would a friend to make him act right, “I’d never. Not because of what you think.”

He blinks again, perplexed by your actions.

“But because it reminds me how useless I got. I don’t need that fucking reminder”

He pauses, tiredness etched in his face. “You’re swearing in the place of work, Agent”

If you had rested, and gotten some sleep like the rest of your colleagues you’d have had the strength to roll your eyes at him. In normal situations he’d have never let your crude language get past one (single) fuck. In better situations, you would never use crass language in front of the man you’ve had high regards for, beyond simply respecting him as a boss.

“I’m aware, Hotch.”

Your lack of fight gives him pause. “Did I let him get that far?”

You nod. Not that you’d judge him for blacking out when the chief spoke - you’d done the same. “Not to our faces. I overheard him speaking to his subordinates that the tits gave him hell last night over a misspell on a report”

Hotch shuts his eyes, his frame shaking when he huffs out in frustration. He places a hand over the one you’ve got hanging in the air in-between both of you, waiting for him to act less like a feral animal and more… domesticated. He only guides your palm to rest over his other wrist, patting it twice. A gesture so strange to outsiders but not to you – indicating he’s granting you physical contact because it comforts you.

“I’ll forward his name to the board”

“Hotch, I don’t want you to fire someone because they referred to me as tits.”

He reads your implication because he mutters under his breath. “He called you other names, didn’t he? I’ll call someone right now—”

“God, no. Hotch, listen”, you drop your hold on him, his eyes tracking the movement, and you don’t want to notice how his body deflates at the loss of contact, “I don’t need you to fire that man because of some words. I can handle those. I’d rather we focus on our jobs”

Like a petulant child, so unlike him, he takes a step back. The intention clear as day in his eyes. He’s ready to head back and chew his head out.

“You are doing the same thing!” you blurt out, making him stop. “You’re letting him rip one at the BAU’s involvement because you feel guilty and that you deserve it. And I’m letting those words pass because I feel guilty as well. Guilt is eating at us”

“Right” He looks unconvinced. This might be the only moment you’ll have to address what happened outside so you steal it.

“Hotch, I swear”, you will your voice softer than before, “Homeland didn’t warn us to begin with. We couldn’t have predicted this.”

Those words open up his features: the lines between his brows easing up, the crooked wince of his mouth drawing into a line, and his shoulders un-slumping.

“Okay?”

He grants you a quick nod, the five minutes of privacy in a crowded precinct ending at once. Officers stop by you, and Hotch lets you go.

“I’ll handle the rest of the interrogations”, he murmurs just for your ears, brushing against your side as he moves past you.

Wait, and then…?

He pauses, like he’s reading your mind, knowing without you voicing it aloud that there’s something worrying you. Then he says the next words that render you breathless, before parting from you. “You’re in charge of communications with local law enforcement. Decide and brief me later. And behave .”

The trust he hands over is unwavering, blinding with its intensity. You remember it too with dubious clarity: the fight before had been about police visibility.

You shuffle in your feet and welcome the swarm of officers waiting for your signal. Without the presence of the unit chief, they seem calmer too, directing questions your way. Unlike Hotch, who’s strict in not giving anyone leeway, you do so. It takes hours, but it’s due to your inexperience. The day before Hotch had been the one commanding an entire panicked room swarming with law enforcement officers.

You find the rest of your team in the breakroom, having decided to forego a small rest in order to get back to business right away. Morgan briefs you on the new developments. Garcia through the speaker cuts in with her findings: the address of the suspect’s summer home. You feel it at once: a fresh new hope for the nightmare to end.

“Alright,” Hotch moves to stand beside you for a better vantage point. Exhaustion and lack of sleep makes your body feel relief from his closeness, the scent of his cologne making you let out a small sigh of content. “When we get the call, I want everyone out – Kevlar vest and helmets. Follow Morgan’s lead in terms of SWAT’s assessment of the situation. JJ will stay on top of the news…”

You keep your eyes to Morgan, knowing meeting your boss’ gaze will free the emotions you’ve kept down for so long. Not resting or sleeping isn’t only because of the grueling case. Some of it is the proximity to Hotch. Having to work side-by-side, sharing almost every meal time together – because of the different task forces he’d decided to set up – has taken a toll on you.

Not that you’d never done it before. Working within the unit and traveling were undetached parts of the job and Hotch has always been so professional. So fucking formal. So incredibly decent with you during your time at the BAU that catching feelings had been as surprising to you as it would have been to him (not that he’ll never know). But he is a gentleman. He is nice and kind and the most patient man. With a humor as dry as a desert, and a penchant to protect everyone he knows– yes, including his most recent recruit he never kept closer than two meters - the man had still reeled you in. Hook, line and sinker.

Doesn’t matter that he smiles and laughs like it physically pains him to do so – he'd still tricked you into feeling attraction to him. Restless in bed, you’ve spent this entire week considering if this is how poor souls felt when witches and wizards seduced them with contrived love potions. Because how... How does someone so reserved make you feel dazed and unbecoming just by looking at you?

Surely doesn’t help knowing your room shares a wall with his and at night you hear just how much he doesn’t sleep as well.

“...are you following?” Hotch snaps you out of your thoughts, yet you still don’t look at him.

It’s torturous because in this one week you’re getting to know him more than you’ve ever done in all your time at the BAU. Unfortunately for you, he’s not someone to hate and loathe.

“Sure. We don’t go in guns blazing.” You sum up, and Morgan smiles at your words. “You’re set on that tactic, boss? Can’t we switch up to my alternative?”

“No”, he says confused, “Had you been paying attention you’d have known I already declined Morgan’s offer.”

Even reprimands don’t make those emotions fade away. Documents shuffle and empty coffee cups are thrown in the bins, and Hotch stays there, staring at you until you give up and look at him. Morgan pats your back, following Reid and Rossi out. JJ and Prentiss chuckle on the way out, but neither of you makes a move.

“Steer clear of SWAT”, Hotch murmurs, eyes flicking across your face.

You hate that small action the most because you know what it represents. One late night after interrogations, with everyone gone, he’d confessed reading people’s body language had been his expertise since he was a kid. A talent gifted to him from growing up in a volatile household with an impulsive violent parent. Doing it had been his way to survive. Now, he’d made a career out of it. What a fucked-up talent , you’d said that night, and it had made him laugh like you’d been both in a bar, drinking and sharing stories like old friends.

Studying your behavior though, seems to cross a precarious line. If he’s any more attentive towards you. If he’s even just a tiny bit more protective of you...

“I won’t”

Hotch scoffs, not believing you. This week is to blame for him knowing you just as well. “Fine, stay close to Morgan then.”

Then in a move that sucks all the air from your lungs, he hands you his own cup – full, steaming and untouched. “Take it. I made it for you”, he says like he’s handing you a report to fill in, and not being sweet by preparing you a coffee every single time he made one for himself.

“Hotch, I--” First the massive responsibility of talking to the officers, and now this. God, your nerves are about to snap. Frustration loops around your throat, your heart about to burst with emotion. So, you resort to saying something unkind and awkwardly ridiculous. “We need to see other people after this.”

He watches you take a sip, the small sigh of content telling him he got the order right. Like Hotch has ever done anything incorrect.

“I’m getting used to you”, you try to joke, voice fluctuating and hands trembling, “One more day and I’ll learn your bathroom habits”

He shakes his head, a small smile parting his lips, like he doesn’t mean for it to happen. “I’d rather you just drink and follow my orders. Less spitting fire, angel”

You look up at him, holding back a grin that would surely tell him how much you like him. “You saying I should swallow, boss?”

The question – a goddamn slip up if there’s ever been one – affects him in the most enticing of ways. Red rises over his neck, climbing over the collar of his button-down, the way it does when he runs, and then it reaches quite slowly his cheeks. Your face heats but not because of this stupid thing you’ve ever said to him.

Hotch clears his throat, but he still doesn’t look away and that’s how it happens . Your heart beats a little harder, your skin zaps with awareness, and your fingers tingle.  Like it seemed to happen the first night you’d both found each other alone in the hotel’s restaurant. Like it did when you had to knock on his hotel room at an ungodly hour because you got a tip and found him wearing a white t-shirt and shorts and fluffy, sleepy hair. Like it seems to happen when time stills and slows down, everything quiets to a low comfortable buzz because it’s just you and him.

He says your name, half in pleading and half in warning. Something warm curls inside you but you shove it aside.

“I’ll head out”, your voice is softer, breathier, and you’re first to cut the tension, running away at once. You’re out of there before he understands the entirety of you.

The call, as Garcia dubbed it, comes in a few minutes. A confirmation that the suspect has been sighted at a local supermarket. His phone pinged near the summer home she’d discovered. Morgan and you are out, following the neat movements of SWAT officers through the neighborhood.

In your periphery, FBI and police officers secure the perimeter. A split second where you meet Hotch’s eyes, in full uniform like he’d ordered – a small understanding passing through both.

Then the rest happens. The building is a two-stories house, and Homeland had warned you about the sudden cult following the suspect had amassed, reinforcing his numbers. It took a simple attack into innocent civilians for him to get a blind following. A shiver goes through you recalling what Homeland Security’s words had been: Better they’re all together, making ridding them all the easier.

“First floor clear”, comes Morgan’s voice through your earpiece. He’s ahead, helping lead one squad while the other is taken by a leader of Homeland forces. When they split in two, you go against Hotch’s orders, deciding to not let any squad without BAU counterparts.

“Footsteps”, Morgan warns.

In retrospect, that single word should have been more alarming, more of a signal of what was to come, because in a split second the entire house bursts in repetitive rattling noises. You take cover, you take aim, your teeth chattering with every shot that rings in your ears, with every bullet zapping through the air.

This had been part of your training – the most aggravating one, but you aren’t a close match to SWAT and Homeland’s agents. There’s shouts and lightning quick orders bouncing in everyone’s earpieces. Stats to update on the enemy’s fallen men. And whoever becomes injured on your side. You know, in the same moment as you shoot and miss someone intent on doing the same to you that their retaliation will be greater. Those same warning words from Homeland come back: Trained to kill. No mercy.

And then you take a gamble, your own feet taking you fast to the other side of the room, through the same way you’d entered. Coward’s way out. The face of the man you haven’t killed startles you, quicker than you. His eyes bloodshot red. His face is pale but unforgiving. A regular man – similar to the one who’d shot in that piazza solely because he’d wanted to, and had wanted to be a leader to men like the one before you. Your hands shake but you still shoot. Not fast enough. Not when he fires two bullets before one reaches him.

“Agent down”, the voices in your ears shout, and you blink slowly, not comprehending the situation. “I repeat, one agent down”

Is that your heart on your throat or the effect of the uncomfortably tight bulletproof vest?

“ Clear. This floor is clear”

The man who’d been aiming at you falls to the ground like dead weight. Horror clutches your limbs, sticky warmth pooling at your thigh and well, yes, he is dead. Your laugh is dry, callous and it pains your lower back.

“Fuck, what is that?”

A Homeland agent crushes his arm around yours, lifting half of your side up, your legs shaking under you. “Easy, agent. Don't put your weight on that leg” He jerks his head to your own feet and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. Blood seeps out of you, gushing and your head goes light.

“Jesus, is that my thigh or yours?”

The agent chuckles, granting you a wincing smile through his helmet. “Yours, sorry. It’s a nasty one.”

No shit, you’re sure you say because he chuckles again. Something lighter in his face like you’re not in the middle of a shootout. His weapon hangs low too, and you glance around. In fact, nobody around you yields their weapons, and your ears don’t ring anymore with the constant sounds of bullets. Sensing your thoughts, the agent beside you nods. He carries you heavily through the hall, ungentle but doing his best when he doesn’t know you and is suddenly responsible for a wounded agent.

“Where--?”

Your question cuts off, another body wrenching you away. Large, strong and familiar and then you smell him before you hear his hurried, stern words.

“...an order. I told you to follow one order and you’re...” Hotch leaves your side, mumbles excuses to the other agent who hasn’t left your side before sinking to his knees before you. He looks ridiculous in his t-shirt and vest; arms bare showing his toned biceps and forearms and frowning at you. Stupid, because who struts in a dangerous situation like that? He tears one short sleeve, more fabric coming off than planned. Your mouth goes dry. It’s the fact you’re shot on the leg and not that those same rough hands go soft when they make contact with your wound. He’s unbearably gentle, wrapping your thigh to stop the bleeding.

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here” He stands at once, curt with the other man, but you’d still prefer him over Hotch.

“I didn’t--”

“No talking”, he snaps, throwing your arm over his shoulders, his other hand latching around your waist and landing on your hip. Even with the adrenaline and the heightened awareness towards the bulletwound, your mind is one-track.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Hotch says, and he lifts you with ease, using his own leg closest to your side to hold both your body weight. He doesn’t wobble. He doesn’t strain. Not like the Homeland man. He surely doesn’t squirm like you are, while his warm breath huffs against your temple and hair.

Mad at you is a different look on him. But you’re a masochist because this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Insane too, because you’ve never felt more than in this moment.

“Stop”, he murmurs only for your ears, deftly leading the way out of the massive building. You hold a breath when he glances quickly at you. His eyes don’t relay the anger transferring to his body and actions. They’re soft and pained.

“Don’t look so glad you got shot” he whispers, and you think you imagine his hand squeezing your hip; the closeness that tightens the small distance between you.

“I’m not”, you lie, voice a squeak. You try again because the bad outweighs the good. Though the latter is his arms around you, and the blanket of his fierce protectiveness. “I’m definitely not”

Hotch looks at you again, the small crinkle at the sides of his eyes giving away the small amusement at your tone. Damned this week, for making him know you just as much as you do him. It doesn’t last long though. He guides you through the agents camped outside the house, further down the street where ambulances remain parked in standby.

“Here”, the EMTs run to you, rolling out the stretcher, but Hotch doesn’t give up. They help him lay you gently over it, and this time you don’t hide the disappointment in your face when he moves away. He witnesses it, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk about this”

You close your eyes slowly, opening them back to that disgruntled face of his, staring you down. “Looking forward to it”

The EMTs get ready to roll you out but he stops them, his hand going out to squeeze your hand in his. Quick, supportive, and professional – the tiniest bit professional. Your throat clogs, one of the EMTs cuts through the pant leg, not wasting time to tend to you.

“I’m sorry for it... Hotch, I--”

Something flashes behind his eyes, and you don’t imagine it: raw emotion, untainted, unprompted. It makes everything so much worse. If he says something sweet it will ruin you forever.

“ You’re fine”, he mutters, soft, slow, like he’s reassuring himself. He puts that big hand of his on your arm, rubbing it in comfort. “Brave girl” So goddamn soft you think you must have been killed inside this house, gone and become a ghost.

You blink away tears, your heart swelling. The sudden potential that he might feel just a teardrop of what you do is dangerous. More than a goddamn shootout.

“You better not forward my name to the board", you joke humorlessly. Then you move. Your stretcher carried by the EMTs is taken inside the ambulance. The sigh of relief you let out surprises both workers.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” one of them asks, looking at your wound.

“Yes”, you confirm, watching the doors close, cutting your view of Hotch. “More than I'd imagined”

Maybe you’ll need a transfer, or perhaps Hotch will get rid of you for insubordination. Anything to keep these feelings at bay.

“ It’ll be quick surgery”, one of them says. “It’ll hurt less when you’re through”

The door launches open and you all freeze, the stubborn man you’d left behind pushing to sit down beside you and closing it again.

“Ready to go”, Hotch slams a hand, urging the driver to depart. The vehicle moves and your heart feels suspended, waiting for him to give you another sign.

“Had to make sure you're okay”, he says with a small smile. Foolish hope springs inside your chest.

“Or reprimand me on the way there”, you rebut, a jolt going through you when he reaches a hand to brush your hair away from your face – strictly unprofessional.

“Same thing, angel”, Hotch reassures.

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygranger @anetoupekelly @sleepyreaderreads @azenpal @skyler666 @ultrabuzzlightyear @rousethemouse @arsonhotchner

Hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Hotch x Male reader, the team get a case that leads back to an old unsolved case of a group of children going missing and start showing up dead at different ages from sever injuries from fighting(?)

Reader is part of the bau but has alot of secrets to hide including being one of the younger children that went missing and managed to escape but not without physical and emotional scars (being forced to play a cruel game of survival of the fittest for the entertainment of the Unsub who streamed the gruesome cruelty)

Maybe the unsub captures reader cause he was the one that got away and the team start to peice together reader was one of the missing kids by how fast reader state of mind went to a primal kill or die (like readers afraid he'll die there and no one will ever find him or know or care so when they do he's relived and breaks down but another part of him think he doesn't deserve it cause of what he's done to survive)

Hotch being there for reader

FIGHT CLUB

Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader.

Summary: The reader is trying to find the group that ruin his life, but keeping it a secret from his team is differcult when he has to ask them for help.

Warning: Dark fic. Blood, fighting, death, abuse, kidnapping, swearing, drugs, unsub violence, bad eatting habits, bad self care, scars, angst. This whole fic is just dark and strange the ask it self is amazing and may help you know if this is something you can handle. (Any other warnings let me know xx)

Words: 9.4k

A/N: Hiiii! Omg this ask 😍😍 I love you!! I had to split this into a couple different parts due to I'm up to 12k words and got so much more i wanna add to it right now. Next part will be posted next week (hopefully!!) I just couldn't wait to post this. I did change it a little and hope this is what you were after. 🖤🖤 thank you for the request my love.

Part two. Part three. Part four.

Another body has shown up, and if you're right another kid will go missing in just a couple hours a few towns over from the latest body. You know it's just a matter of time as you read the article, one that barely has any information of the latest victim found, another teen boy. While the article prints out you give the detective on the case a call, you know you shouldn't, you should just let this go until your team is called in properly. But hey, there is no harm in asking innocent questions, is there? 

“Hello, this is Detective Rose,” An older man answers.

“Hello Detective, I'm with the FBI, SSA agent (Y/L) from the Bau unit” Your voice comes out sharp as you hold back the emotions swirling in your mind. If this is the group you believe it is, you're going to have to bring your team in, but no way could they know just how long you have been looking for them.

“Oh Agent, how can I help?” The man's voice is filled with confusion.

“I heard you found a body of a teenage boy, I read in the report he was badly injured and a 

John doe, look I think he might be connected to a case I'm working and I need you to send me all the information and photos of this boy you have as soon as you can” You don’t have time to explain to him, nor the patience.

“Case, but there's only one body?” There's a small arrogance laying under his tone as he speaks his next words. “Plus he seems to be a runaway, he doesn’t seem like the type anyone would be after”

“Excuse me” You can’t help but sneer into the phone, anger filling you up. “How dare you, he is a child, someone has to be missing him and even if not he deserves justice, so I figure you better send me what I asked for before I called your boss” Venom seems to drip from your words as your grip the phone like your life depends on it. Silence fills the other end and your patience seems to dry up, opening your mouth to send him another order when he finally speaks up again.

“Of course we don’t need that, files and photos have been sent, reach out again if I —” You hang up before he finishes speaking, you don’t need anything more from him. 

~~~

Sitting on your couch, your mind spinning as you go through the new photos of the crime scene you have received. This is it, this is them, no doubt about it. He fits the victimology, he’s the right age, fit and covered in so many cuts and bruises it’s impossible to see his face. What makes your heart drop the most is the cut on his left forearm, two other previous victims also had it. You know how they got it, hell you got one quite similar to it. Which means you know where they are being kept and where they are going next which means it's time to bring your team in. Grabbing the pile of older files, ones that you have collected over the years, pulling the top few files off the top for the team to see, placing the older ones at the bottom of your to go bag. You can’t let your team know just how long you have been investigating this case. If you do things could unravel and your past could be exposed, the one thing that could never happen, because if it does you might not have a job any more. 

Your phone starts dinging, your alarm going off. Great you pulled another all nighter, something you have been warned against many times in the past month. 

~~~

Hotch has been on your ass a lot lately about looking after yourself, he’s the only one who can tell when you're struggling. Maybe that's why you're having a hard time figuring out how to bring this case to him. You know he’s going to know this isn’t just a regular case for you, you might be good at hiding your personal life and emotions from the team but that doesn’t include Aaron. You're not sure how you grew close to your boss, you two have hangout, outside of work many times, even including getting to know Jack and spending many weekends watching his soccer games, and of course getting ice cream afterwards as a reward. Somehow Aaron managed to get you to join them both for movie nights and your friendship has never been stronger than that night. But then you had to go and ruin it, pulling yourself away from him, when things started feeling real. You started feeling like you belong and not just with him, but with the team you're surrounded by. Belonging somewhere is something you have never felt before and it's terrifying, so you pull away from them all. Space is a good thing plus there were only a few reasons you took this job a few years ago and you need to remember that.

~~~

You're the first one at the office that morning, even beating Hotch to the office for once. You wait at your desk, your desk is different from the others. They all have personal items on their desk, things that make their desk seem more welcoming and comforting. Except yours, its fill of paperwork and a small fake desk plant that Garcia placed there one day that you just didn’t have the heart to move. Aaron arrives not long after you. Aaron stops by the glass door when he spots you, and he’s glad you're facing the other way so he can just watch you for a moment. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, the last few weeks you have been more off than normal. You're someone who keeps to themself and he knows that, maybe that's why he was surprised when you were spending a lot of your time with him and Jack. Not that he minded at all, he loves spending time with you, maybe more than a boss should but he shouldn’t be blamed when it comes to you, you're different. But when he was spending time with you, he managed to figure out your tell, and how you go inside your own mind when things aren’t right. Maybe that's why, even when you started putting more distance between you both, he couldn't help but remind you to get some sleep or remind you to eat, the two things you always seem to forget about. Aaron lets out a small breath, preparing himself for whatever the reason is that you're the first one here. The glass doors open and within a second you're spinning around in your chair, and the first thing Aaron notices is the files in your hands and then the bags underneath your determined eyes.

“Good Morning Hotch” Your voice is full of energy, which he can only put down to the empty coffee cup beside you.

“Morning, you’re here early” Aaron stares at you questionably, raising his eyebrow when you don’t respond.  “Is there a reason why?”

“I need to talk to you, it's important” You jump up quickly, meeting him in the middle of the room.

“Alright, my office then” He bites back a sigh as you nod enthusiastically, climbing up the stairs before him. He can’t help himself but compare you to a puppy, one who uses up all their energy but still refuses to back down when it's time to rest. He’s waiting for you to burn out, it may have been three years with you on the team, but he can’t help but wait for you to break. He doesn’t understand how anyone could keep going at the pace you do without any consequences.

~~~

You both enter his office, Aaron places his bag down before taking a seat at his desk, signalling you to do the same, so you do.

“Okay so I found—” You can’t help but start, holding your own homemade files,your leg bouncing as you speak.

“Stop” Hotch holds his hand up to silence you, dread fills your eyes as you do. “Did you sleep last night?” Accusation dripping from his words, his stern stare digging straight into your sole, making a strange shiver roll down your spine.

“That's not important” The confidence seems to slip by as he stares at you longer, you can’t help but sink in your chair, the uncomfortableness just making you want to run.

“But it is, I need to know my agents are looking after themself” Aaron holds back the proper lectures he wants to give you. Sometimes he wonders how you managed to become a full functioning adult with the way you treat your body, running yourself so low he wonders how you're alive at all.

“I look after myself perfectly fine Aaron” You have to physically bite your tongue to hold back the taunt you want to say instead, but you need him to listen to you instead.

“Do you, because you didn’t sleep last night, and can you even tell me the last time you ate something homemade?” 

“Last night” Smirking cockily at him, you indeed did make something last night so he can suck it.

“It doesn’t count if it was your usual cheese on toast” Aaron smirks as yours slowly disappears. 

“Okay, uncalled for Hotch” Grumbling as you place the files down before crossing your arms. “Look I get it, I need to improve, but I need your help on something much more important, please?” Your mask starts dropping, the fear and doubtfulness visible for just a few seconds, before you pull yourself together again, your face hardening up again.

~~~

“Tell me what this is?” Hotch reaches for the files, the pile alot bigger than he first thought it was.

“Someone is kidnapping teenages all over the country, and just hours surrounded the kidnapping another teenage is found dead a few towns over from the new victim, I have found about seven different cases over the course of 18 months so far, but the dead victims are never the ones from the recent kidnappings, they look older almost like they could have been kidnapped years prior maybe, they all have the same marks all over their body, the victimology is the same” You take a deep breath as Hotch flicks throughs the file. “The ones being taken are either from abusive households or already living on the street, they aim for the ones who are strong but not confident, they seem to find the quiet ones are go after them, but they are quick, they don’t leave much room for the kids to escape, they move fast” Your words seem to run from your mouth, the rush to get out of your mind and into Aarons ear makes you forget to breathe. The urgency is great and he just doesn't understand. 

“You keep saying they” Hotch looks up the files, his boss face activated, his lips pursed together. His eyes burn into you once more, you have to do everything in your power to not physically respond to that call out, unfortunately your body straightens up, your throat clutching. 

“I believe it has to be at least two unsubs if not more, and one of them could possibly be a woman” You take a deeper breath as your heart starts to pace, your mind screaming at you to stop as Aaron's eyes narrow more.

“And why do you think that?”

“Because they're fast, they move around the country, and according to the autopsy the kids are well nutritious, they cause of death is mainly blood lose, or hits to the head, I think—-” You quickly cut yourself off. No you can’t say that, you can’t let that detail out quite yet, he won’t understand, no one will understand not yet. “I think they must be keeping them somewhere safe before they dispose of them” You change the words that almost slip out quickly, but not fast enough for Hotch to not notice. Hotch watches you closely as you grow quiet, waiting for his response. Your leg bouncing as your nails dig into your arms, your eyes begging him to say something, just anything.

“What do you think they are doing to them if they are keeping them for so long then?” His question is innocent enough, but oh lord. Your stomach is now on fire, your eyes darken with anger as you speak.

“Training them to fight each other, fight to the death and then they keep the strong ones for who knows what” Oh but you know, oh you know too well what they are keeping them for and that makes you want to be sick. 

~~~

Silence fills the office as he stares at you, the anger that fills your eyes is something he hasn’t seen before, and he has seen you angry. But this is different, this is almost a murderous glaze in your eyes, something that makes Aaron uncomfortable. 

He knows what he has to do, even if he doesn’t like it. 

“How long have you been investigating this, how did you manage to get all of this information?” His voice is low as he speaks, his words filling with disappointment as he speaks.

“A few months” A lie, you both know that. But Aaron knows better than to question that right now, the can of worms that could open could be too hard to close.

“Why are you just bringing this to me now?” His voice raises, the disappointment sweeping out. “You should of came to me as soon as you saw a pattern forming” 

“I know I should have, but I wanted to see if I was right, maybe see if I could find any clues before bringing the team into a goose chase” You try to reason with him, gulping as if you know what you have to say. “I think I found them, and if I'm right another person was taken last night and I have a feeling that another body will be found near the state line of Nebraska and Wyoming, we need to take this case, we need to save them” A shaky breath leaves you as you lean forward, placing your hands on the desk, your eyes pleading. 

“Aar, please trust me on this” Gulping thickly as you see his eye flash with something unreadable as you say his old nickname, one you haven’t used in months.

“I need to make a few phone calls” He looks away from you as he picks up the phone. Standing up you smile slightly at him, thanking him quietly as you make your way out. 

~~~

The team soon arrives within the hour, where hotch is up in his office on the phone the whole time. Your body is on edge, sipping on your third cup of coffee as your mind runs. The team all stood around, talking and laughing as they usually do. Of course they try to get you to join in, but with one glance at you, they know this morning is not the time to get you to join in with them. It's Dave that talks to you this morning, his eyes couldn’t help but keep drifting to you as the team standing around teasing Reid and his crosswords. 

“Hey kiddo” Dave stands in front of you, pulling you from your mind, and mainly your eyes off Aarons offices.

“Ah, Morning Sir” Forcing a small smile as you do your best to focus on him, and not whatever conversation is going on inside the office right now.

“How many times have I told you Rossi, or Dave is fine? '' He smile’s down at you, hating to see the bags underneath your eyes, or the fresh scratch mask around your wrist. You wear long sleeves half the time, but that doesn’t stop the team from seeing the way your scratch at your arms when you get overwhelmed. 

“Right sorry” Pushing a small chuckle out, as you give him a weak smile. “My bad”

“It's okay, are you doing alright?” Rossi looks down at you worriedly, you weren’t the most talkative but right now you don’t even seem to know how to be your regular self.

“Fine si– Rossi” Your body tenses at the slip up, your eyes flicker back up to Aaron's office.

“Alright, if you ever need to talk kiddo you know I'm around” He smiles at you, one that's full of concern. A part of him wants to reach out, place a hand on your shoulder so you get the message, but he knows it won’t work with you. You don’t react well to physical touch, you jump when someone gets too close. The team remembers the first time Garica tried to give you a hug, you jumped back, hiding behind Morgan who was closest to you in that moment. She touched your shoulders, and you have never moved so fast, your body tensing your hands rolling into fist. You apologised as soon as you calmed down, you gave them no reasoning as to why. But they understood and no one has tried to touch you since, they even became your human shields when random people would try to hug you as a thank you. You were extremely grateful for that, it's been like that for three years now and still no one asks you why and you owe them so much for that.

~~~

Hotch finally emerges from his office after another hour, a sour look plastered across his face, and when you catch his eyes you know why. They found the body. 

“We got a case” Hotch calls out to his team, everyone's head shoots up to him. A deep unnerving tension seems to fill the room due to the seriousness on his face, and the way his eyes never leave yours. The air seems to leave your lungs as you stand up, grabbing your notebook off your desk before following the team into the conference room. Hotch waits by the door as the team walks in, placing his hand up in front of you to stop you. 

“One moment” His voice is low as he speaks, not wishing for the team to overhear.

“We found two bodies, one of them is Jason Ducan” Aaron speaks softly, as he watches your face flicker with recognition at that name. 

“They found a body” You stare up at him, your eyes now empty of emotions, putting them on the backboard as you prepare for this case.

“Jason Ducan, he was my first missing kid when I worked here” Your breathing hitches as fear flashes through your mind, doing your best to keep your poker face on. Do they know where you work, have they been keeping tabs on you for the last three years? Or maybe they never stop keeping tabs on you. 

“He doesn’t fit the profile, he was seven, from a good family. He was too young there is no way they would take someone from a family like that, it would be too difficult” Your mind spins as you speak, your words speeding up, slipping over each other in a hurry. Hotch hates the far away look that creeps into your eyes, almost more than he hates the numbness that dominates inside you. Taking a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t make it worse, Aaron slowly reaches out to you, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. You flinch sharply, your eyes narrowing on his hand, on his familiar touch. Aaron is the only one allowed to touch you, and only at certain times, only when you're ready for it, and normally you welcome his touch. Today is not the day you welcome it, his touch feels like fire, it sends painful memories of your past through your mind. 

“Don’t” Your voice is low and full of danger, a shaky breath follows as he doesnt let go immediately. 

“You need to tell me if this case gets too much, okay” Aaron words hold no judgement as he lets you go and just like he expected you stroll straight past him, anger radiating off you, as you fall into the chair beside Morgan.

~~~

Hotch starts the briefing, grabbing the team's attention with your homemade files. He informs them of everything you had told him that morning, minus your theories. 

“So you made these files?” It was Morgan who asked the question. The one thing that had confused the whole team, because this screamed to them as an off the books case, something Hotch would never do. 

“No I did” You speak up, leaning forward. You almost feel bored as Hotch gives the team the basic information, information you have been sitting on for many years. Everyone's heads turn straight to you, curiosity and surprised looks all over them. The quiet one who normally seems to keep to themself, is investigating a crime alone, and somehow convince Hotch to make it a real case. Oh you could feel the questions and doubt spreading throughout the room, and all you do is smirk at them as you lean forward.

“I didn’t think much of it at first, but something didn’t feel right so once I saw a second body drop in the same way. I started investigating a bit more, but I was always weeks behind, so in my time of hoping for new leads I went back and searched months back trying to find anything” You give them a brief explanation, making sure you don’t make eye contact with anyone, not needing to lose your nerve right now. The room stays quiet, giving you the confidence to keep talking, so taking a deep calming breath you continue. 

“After I got an alert last night of a kid going missing, I knew it was them. Conor Blue, he fits the description that the unsubs go after. He’s between the age of Nine and fourteen, he came from an abusive household and he’s into sports which isn’t always a go to, but something I see they prefer” You speak slower than this morning, remembering to breathe as you do. Hotch might be hard to convince, but making sure the whole team has your back on this case, is something you didn’t think through. You needed their help, because without the team, you can’t get close enough to get rid of them for good.

“How long have you been looking into this?” Emily asks, looking over at you with concern. She can see ghosts in your eyes, and whatever answer you give her, she’s not going to believe you. 

“About four months” Your lie is solided, you know that, you made sure all the files you gave them only look that old. Even if they have older information inside you can say it's from research. 

“He came to me this morning, and I have been on the phone with a few detectives” Aaron glances at you as he says that, your stomach drops. He knows you used your FBI statues to gather information you weren’t supposed to have, opps. “And It seems to be happening all over the country, so we need to make a fast move on this case, two new bodies were discovered this morning” Hotch continues, the team watches you instead of Hotch. They all notice the tense look on your face, the way your eyes darken, your lips tightening as a way to stop yourself from interrupting the boss. Photos pop up on the screen as Hotch keeps speaking, your eyes land on the photos, your stomach twisting. Jason laid in the dirt, his body covered in bruises and blood, a hopeless look in his eyes. But what makes your mind ache is the body laying beside the ten year old boy. A 20 year old guy. He looks strong, someone who you know could only live that long in that place, if they were extremely strong and brave. The marks around his neck send a shiver down your body, your stomach swooshes so much you think you're going to be ill. He’s the only one that ages with that mark, and there is only one guy who would do that. He’s still there, and that's all your fault.

~~~

“So (Y/n), any theories?” Rossi the one to ask you, his eyes on the notebook that you're clutching tightly.

“Quite a few” You glance up at Hotch, silently asking for permission to take over, he gives a quick nod and with that it's your turn. “It's a team, I want to say at least two older ones that have been doing this for many, many years, and if anyone has lasted long enough they would train them to join them, using them to find more opposition. They need a good routine of fighters, more opportunity for them to grow” You speak in a matter of fact, your fingers tapping away at the table.

“What makes you think they are fighting each other?” JJ glances at you from the photos.

“Easy, look at them, there is only one way someone can get that many bruises and cuts on them. Also not to mention the autopsy results mention multiple broken bones that have healed, internal bleeding due to multiple blunt force trauma”  Your not sure why but air soon becomes harder to inhale, it feels thick and the room starts heating up. Everyones eyes are on you, but you can’t look at them so you're focusing on the files in front of you instead. “Also look at their hands, they aren’t just defensive wounds, they fit back, also they are strong, it's like they train them. Plus they are well nourished so I guess someone is looking after them, my guess is a women is one of our unsubs” 

“That’s one hell of a theory” Morgan says, his eyes burning into you. His gut is full of distrust when it comes to you with this case, something doesn't seem right.

“I know, but have a look and you will see why I’m right, also this case is nothing like we are use to, I have many theories and most of them are strange but, you can see why” You speak from gritting teeth, your hand now gripping the table in front of you. 

“We are going to Nebraska, wheels up in thirty” Aaron eyes stay on you as you zoom out of the room, dying for some fresh air. 

~~~

“Jupiter wake up” Her viciouses voice fills your ears, as a piercing pain invades your side. A sharp hiss slips through your lips as your eyes shoot open, your body shooting up into a sitting position, pushing the thin blanket to the side. Inside you feel numb, nothing inside you is alive anymore, years of training has made you the perfect soldier. 

“Morning Ma’am” Your voice is emotionless, your eyes are dead as you stand up looking up at her. Keeping your hands behind you, your head slightly bent. 

“We have a new comer, you are to welcome them this morning, I don’t care if they live or die just clean up your mess” Her voice is assertive, a cunning look on her face as she leads you down the hall and past the other trainee soldiers. Some of them are still asleep, most of them without blankets, only winners get comfort items. You stroll past the training room where your fellow soldiers are lifting weights before being allowed to eat. You glance at them a part of you wishing you could join them, but that's not your task this morning. Instead you get to fight, and you get to choose the outcome, oh you do enjoy these fights. You always win, and even better, it doesn’t take much effort. Ma’am leads you to the empty swimming pool, where most fights to the death take place. As you walk over to the edge you spot your opponent, he looks small and extremely frightened, barely a challenge. He’s already got blood over his face as he hides on the corner of the pool, the area where the bloodstains seem to be less. A small chuckle leaves you as you check him out, the thoughts of destroying him winding you up. Licking your lips softly before glancing over at Ma’am waiting for permission to go down.

“Go on, but try and make it fair” She laughs softly, enjoying the murderous gaze in your eyes. In a matter of seconds you're jumping into the pool, smirking darkly as you make your way over to him. The boy looks to be about 14 or 15, a couple years or so younger than you. He looks up at you, a confused and scared look plastered over his face, it grows when you stop a few metres back from him. 

“Y you… you're alive” His whisper is barely audible, but it makes you freeze. That voice, you know that voice, how? 

“Come here, now” You growl at him, gritting your teeth as you stare into his eyes.

“I thought you died (Y/n)” He takes a small step forward staring at you with hope. Oh how wrong that looks for a place like this. 

“That's not my name” You spit at him, a horrible shiver dripping down your spine. 

“Yes it is” He speaks more confidently as he steps closer. “Your name is (Y/n), we used to be friends” That name, why do you know that name, it's wrong, it's so wrong. 

“I don’t know you” You sneer at him, taking a step towards him, dangour radiating off you.

“Yes you do, we used to be best friends, (Y/n) please you have to remember me, its Ryan” He begs you to remember. You freeze, Ryan. You know a Ryan, but he’s younger than him, Ryan was ten last time you saw him. But this can’t be him, because that part of your life is long gone, and who the hell does this guy think he is turning up claiming to be a part of that time. You react quickly with a sharp growl escaping you as you launch yourself on him.

“I don’t know you!” You scream as you grab him by his neck, and punch him repeatedly with your other hand. You're a lot stronger than him, using all your strength to pound into him. You let go of his neck, he falls forward with a gasp, begging you to stop but it falls on deaf ears. You knee him in the stomach as he falls forward, grabbing his hair holding him in place as you let him have it. 

“I don't know you” You scream as your anger explodes. “I don’t know (Y/n)!” You shove him into the wall, his body slides down, so you kick him, as you scream repeatedly. “I don't know Ryan” You keep screaming, blood starts to pile around him, as you lose control. “I don’t know you!”

~~~

“I don’t know you!” A scream invades the quietness of the jet. Everyone's head turns towards the scream full of pain, landing on you. You're asleep at the back of the jet, shaking violently with tears streaming down your face. Aaron is up in a matter of seconds, running quickly towards you. The team stays quiet, letting Hotch take control of this situation. He drops to his knees beside you, small whimpers and cries leaves you as you stay dead asleep. 

“(Y/n), wake up” He places his hand firmly on your arm, giving you a rough shake. But nothing, you stay asleep but your cries get louder. 

(Y/n), open your eyes” Aaron shakes you again sharper and luck is on his side. Your eyes shoot open, breathing heavily as you scan your surroundings. The jet, you're on the jet, with your team. Oh shit your team, everyone is watching you, they stare at you with unreadable emotions on their faces, and you hate it. Soon you let your eyes drop down to the man beside you, fear enters you quickly, yanking away from his touch you straighten up quickly.

“Sir, I’m so sorry sir I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I am extremely sorry sir It won’t happen again” Your words fly out of you with fear, your breathing picking up, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you watch him, waiting for the punishment. 

“It's okay” Aaron gulps, hating the fear you're experiencing, the panic attack that’s consuming you. “You are okay, you are safe here” Aaron speaks calmly, taking the chance to place his hand on yours, he’s grateful you don’t pull back.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep” Your voice grows quiet, your lip quivering as the adrenaline dies down. 

“It's okay you're allowed to fall asleep” Aaron reassures you, his thumb running over the back of your hand smoothly.

“I am?” You look up at him hopeful, your eyes full of tears. You almost seem child-like as you ask that simple question.

“Yes you are, I only woke you because you were having a nightmare” Aaron smiles softly at you, hoping he doesn’t embarrass you as he informs you.

“Oh no” You yank away from his touch, panic filling you. You know you sleep talk occasionally, what the hell did you say?

“We all get them, its okay”

“No.. what did I say?” You stare at him with a look of horror. Aaron's face drops, he knows that look, he’s seen it almost everyday of this job. A look victims have when they open up to much of their past, scared their abusiver will come back for them.

“You didn’t say much” He tries his best to comfort you but he knows that determined look in your eyes. “You said ‘I don't know you’ ” 

A small sigh leaves you as you lean your head back in relief, that's all you said then you are fine, you can recover from that. “Thank you” You force a small smile, before raising your voice, turning to look at your coworkers who all seem to be pretending not to pay attention anymore.

“Sorry for disturbing you”

“You're not disturbing us” Hotch is quick to correct you, hating to think that you would think you're a bother. “If you want to talk about it–”

“No thank you, I’m fine” You interpret him quickly, a sharp glare and turning your back to him is all the dismissal he needs. 

~~~

You're in the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, heading downtown to the morgue. You sat in the back seat, reading through the Jason Ducan files, before sighing loudly and laying your head back. The two men in the front seat share some curious looks before glancing back at you.

“You alright back there” Morgan questions you, a small smile on his face.

“Not at all, this makes no sense at all” rubbing your forehead as the frustration causes another headache. “Why the hell did they take Jason Ducan three years ago he doesn’t fit the profile and they wouldn’t of dumped him like that he would of hide the body better, you would think they know not to show of the bodies we are investigating” You can’t hide the frustration and anger invading you, your hand squeezing into fist and you think back. He was a clue back then yet you were so focused on moving on you didn’t see it, this is bad. 

“Maybe your profile is wrong” Dave shrugs as he speaks, as if it's a casual thing.

“My profile is not wrong!” You snap at him, the anger burning away at your chest.

“I still don’t understand your interest in this case” Derek turns around to face you, a distrustful look in his eyes, one you can’t help but return.

“Well, no one was looking into it, someone has to care. I'm sorry if that irritates you Derek” Glaring deadly at him, as his eyes widen just slightly at your comeback before turning back to the front.

“I was just asking.'' He grumbles before glancing at Dave who is staring at you through the rearview mirror, watching as your face drops as you cross your arms. 

~~~

You are shown the bodies and as the doctor talks you can’t hear her, the words flying over your head as you grab some gloves and start touching the bodies. Three pairs of eyes on you, watching like a hawk as you move like lightning. Your hands travel around the older unnamed victim's neck. The dark unformed bruises with a slight cut you can tell were made with wire, your stomach spinning as you move away from it and down to his feet. 

“His neck wound was made by wire” You state as you kneel down by his feet, anger flooding through you as you see the scars. They are doing it again. “Holy shit” Your words are barely audible, but Morgan catches them, his eyebrow narrowing as he watches you.

“What did you find (Y/l)” Morgan makes his way over to you, spotting fear deep inside your eyes before you quickly mask the emotion once more.

“You need to ring Garcia” You look up at him, gulping thickly. “I think they are recording them” 

“What, how can you tell?” It's Rossi that asks as he walks over, joining you and Morgan at the feet of the victims. 

“Look at this” You show them the bottom of the left foot of the victim, where a big L is cut into along with the name victory which looks like it has been tried to be cut out. 

“Okay” Morgan looks at you puzzled. “How did you get that they recorded them from this?”

“The L, It means they lost, I bet they showed this to the camera to show them that they truly did lose this time” Maybe what you said doesn’t make sense to the profilers, but it's what they do. But they stopped, you know they stopped. You couldn’t find them on the dark web so they had to have stopped but you never relooked when the bodies started dropping again. 

“You can’t know that” Morgan goes to argue with you, a hand on his arm stops him. He turns his head to see Dave shaking his head at him. Morgan stares at him stumped wanting to argue but he can read that look in Dave’s eyes, there is something more going on here. 

“It makes sense, they can earn money this way and also they are sick twisted little fuckers who can find other twisted fuckers to enjoy in on their torment as well” You speak quickly as you pull your phone out, taking photos of his foot. 

“Okay I guess I’ll call Penelope then” Morgan sighs glancing at the dead set look on your face before walking out. You go to move onto Jason Ducan, touching his foot lightly before freezing. You stare at him for a few moments, your body frozen in place. He’s too young, his family loved him. How could they take him from them? It doesn't make sense.

“(Y/n), do you want me to do it?” Dave calls out to you kindly, breaking up your thoughts.

“No I got it” You reply letting out a small breath before pulling back his foot and taking a photo. A small W has been crossed out and replaced with a L, your heart crashing into your stomach as you see it. In a flash you're pulling away and making your way outside for some fresh air.

~~~

You lean against the SUV as you ring Reid, who is driving to see the other body that was discovered last night. 

“Hey (Y/l), You're on speaker phone” You can hear Reid smile through the phone.

“Hey guys, are you at the body yet?” You focus on slowly your racing heart beat as you speak to them, readying yourself to pass on the information.

“Not yet, we are still two and half hours out from the town” Emily response, glancing at the phone as she drives. 

“Okay that's fine, I just have a few things I need you to look at when you get there” Taking a breath as you think back to the cut on Jason's foot. “On his left foot I need you to see if there is anything cut into it, I am sending you a photo of the other two victims' feet okay” You quickly send them the photos.

“Okay I got it” Reid replies after a few moments.

“Oh that's gross” Emily groans.

“That's because you hate feet” Smirking just a little at her reaction.

“It's not my fault they are smelly and gross” She laughs just a little.

“Also you two should be driving through a small town called Cobar, it's a small town with a big population of homeless teenages It might pay to stop and talk to them, see if they have seen anything out of place lately” You take a sharp breath as a strange feeling starts filling you as you think about that place.

“Sure we can do that” Emily nods, her face tightening into a frown. “Hey, um are you okay?” 

“I'm good, why?” Your lips pull into a thin line as you line.

“Because this case seems to be weighing on you alot” She explains, tapping her finger on the steering wheel.

“Nope It's just another case, I gotta go” You quickly hang up before she can ask more questions. Reid and Prentiss share some strange and concerning looks as the phone beeps.

“What is he hiding?” Emily mumbles to herself as she stares out at the road.

~~~

The rest of the day goes by quickly, you three end up meeting up with JJ and Hotch back at the precinct. Rossi and Morgan go and talk with Jason Duncan's parents once they arrive trying to get more information from them. JJ works with other precincts where the other bodies and missing boys have been reported, trying to get all the information she can. You and Hotch work together trying to organise a timeline for the last 12 months, and with all the information you already have some parts are easy to fill in. Until he starts questioning you on the one part you can’t answer. 

“They shouldn’t be here, they should have gone east” Hotch sighs as you both stare at the map laid across the table. 

“I agree but they didn’t” You don’t agree with that, but according to the timeline it makes sense. 

“But do you agree?” Hotch looks up at you, doubt playing across his face. 

“What are you getting at Hotch?” Huffing little as you pick up your coffee, staring back at him.

“You said they would be coming this way, so why would you think that?” There’s his stern look eating at you. Making your stomach sink as you hide the truth from him. The truth is, you know their base is around here. This town is the first thing you remember when you escape but you can’t tell him that, no one can know. 

“I don't know” You lie, and it's a bad one.

“Don’t lie to me” 

“I'm not lying!” You don’t mean to snap at him, but fear and guilt were eating away at you and you can’t contain it anymore.

“Then tell me the truth” His words are sharp and to the point, but his face stays calm, his eyes soft and caring as he stares at you.

“Fine, I had a feeling like this town means something, because look at the pattern here Aaron” Your shoulders tenses up as you lean forward, pointing at the map. “Look, they always avoid this town, and they always avoided leaving bodies in this state until last night so since they did that I decided to take a risk and wait for them to leave us something around here and do you want to know what I’m thinking right now” A smirk slips onto your lips as you speak, a feeling of excitement spreads throughout you as you share your idea.

“You think their base is around here” Aaron finishes your thought, not liking that smirk on your face. 

“Exactly and if they left us this breadcrumb it only means two things, one they are somehow becoming sloppy or two—”

“They know you are investigating them” He finishes your sentence again, dread filling him due to just how close you are to this investigation.

“Not me, but someone yes and we can use that” 

“How?” 

Luckily Aaron's phone rings just before you have to answer that.

“It's Garcia” He glances at you before answering it, placing it on speaker. “Hey Garcia, what do you got?”

“Well boss man, I got good news and some gross news” Penelope's sweet voice floats through the phone. 

“What's the good news Garica?” You straighten up as you hope.

“Well our unnamed victim is Liam Clark, he’s 19 years old and went missing five years ago in florida” Garcia informs you both just as the door to the conference room opens and the rest of the team walks in. 

“Alright, can you send through his family information please” You sigh, leaning backwards in your chair, the stress of the case becoming too much. 

“Will do my love, now are we ready for some more information?” Her voice starts filling with dread as she types aways.

“Hit us with the good stuff baby girl” Morgan speaks up, coming to sit on the edge of the table by the phone.

“Oh I wish it was good news chocolate thunder, but (Y/n) was right.” She sighs as Aaron phones dings. “I found their profile on the dark web and all their live streams have been saved, there are hundreds of them, maybe even closer to a thousand, and they got back many, many years” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t looked at them all yet but there are some that are over 25 years old” 

Your heart sinks, your palms becoming sweaty as realisation sits in. Your videos are still up, your team could find out in a matter of seconds what you are. 

“25 years…” Your voice is as quiet as a mouse, your throat tightening up as your team glances over at you. “How did no one see this?” Your voice gets louder, filling with anger as you jump to your feet. 

“They hide their tracks well” Reid speaks up, his eyes focused on you.

“Bullshit, no one can hide their tracks that well!”

“Okay you need to take a breath” Hotch gets up, walking closer to you. Watching the anger firing up inside your eyes.

“No, we need to find these monsters and make them pay, they have hurt and ruined so many innocent people's lives” You spit the words out, your hands squeezing into fist. 

“Is that all?” Morgan questions you, getting up, standing uncomfortably close to you.

“What's that meant to mean!?” Your body is already in defensive mode, locking itself down as Morgan has a determined look inside his own. 

“Well you seem to be hiding something from us and I would like to know what that is?” His questioning is dangerous, he steps closer to you. The rest of the room falls quiet, your eyes burning into his.

“How about, none of your damn business Morgan”

“It is my business when you drag us into it” He huffs back at you. “Just tell us what you're hiding” He steps closer, his breath lingering on your skin.

“Back the fuck up Derek” Your voice is lower, and full of danger. You can feel yourself about to snap and if you do, you don’t think you will be able to stop.

“We barely know you, so why don’t you just tell us what the hell is going on” Derek demands to know “What is wrong with you (Y/n)?” His hand raises up, and before you can process what is happening. Bam. Your fist collides with his mouth and you see red as he stumbles backwards. You follow him, a low growl leaves you as you punch him again, this time aiming for his eyes. He manages to block, trying to hold you back, but you don’t stop trying to get a blow on him. You can hear voices all around you but you can’t hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Soon there are arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you away from Morgan. You struggle against them trying to break free as you stare daggering at Morgan who is being confronted by three people of your team, you don’t recognize them. Soon there is another person in your way, your body tenses as you see them. They quickly place their hands on your cheeks which make you freeze, the anger vanishing from inside you. Your vision starts easing up and faces start becoming recognizable. The person who is holding your face gently, has beautiful eyes, and a soft smile.

“Your safe (Y/n)” JJ speaks softly, “Just take some breaths” You stare at her, and soon start copying her breathing. Rossi lets you go, moving towards the rest of the team as you calm down.

“Let me go JJ” Your words are as cold as ice, the numb empty look in your eyes being replaced by guilt and anger. 

“Okay” She takes a breath before removing her hands and as soon as she does you bolt out the door.

~~~

You keep running once you get outside, you don’t stop, you can’t, you just can’t. Your mind is spinning and the only way you know how to get it to become quiet again, is to run. So that's what you do, you run. The sun is already set so you enjoy the darkness as you run. You can’t believe you lost it and punch Morgan, but what the hell is he getting at? Now what the hell are you meant to say, what lie are you meant to produce that will cover your ass. You're not sure how long you have been running for, but you're running out of breath when you see a corner store and think oh why not. Checking you have your wallet you head inside grabbing a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes. Walking back out you open it, throwing the rubbish in the bin before lighting it and taking a long drag. Closing your eyes as you inhale it, it's been a long time since you last smoked and god does it just hit right tonight. Slowly you begin walking back to the precinct, enjoying the nicotine hit. You know you're about halfway to the precinct when you decide to check your phone after feeling it ring a few times. 

Missed phone calls: Aaron Hotchner (6)

Penelope Garcia (3)

You're not sure how many smokes you have consumed already but the pack is way lighter than it used to be. You really should ring them back instead of lighting another one, but oh well you think as you bring one more to your lips. Pulling out the lighter just as a car pulls up beside you, groaning softly as you recognize it. You keep walking, not caring to look at him as he rolls the window down. 

“Get in the car” Hotch yells at you, following you.

“Nope” You go to light the smoke instead when he stops the car and gets out. 

“We are an hour walk from the precinct, get the hell in” Aaron doesn’t bother to hide his anger, holding himself back from grabbing that cigarette from your hand.

“Or what?”

“Or you're fired, and I’ll leave you here” He huffs angrily, seeing you weighing up your options.

“Fine” You take a long drag on your smoke before stomping it out and climbing in.

~~~

The ride back is quiet, as you stare out the window.

“How angry is everyone?” Your voice is quiet and empty. Almost empty because Aaron can detect a small trail of sadness and fear in your words. 

“Morgan winded you up on purpose, he pushed you too far. That wasn’t okay what either of you two did” Hotch ignored your question, because he knew you wouldn’t accept that fact no one is angry. No, everyone is just worried and concerned about you, something you don’t know how to spot or accept when it comes to yourself. He wishes you could just trust the team, trust him enough to let them help. 

“I have a past” You pull yourself closer as you stare out the window, thinking about your next words carefully. 

“You don’t have to tell me” Aaron quickly tells you softly, needing you to know there is no rush.

“And if I do want to tell you?” You glance at him quickly, and for a moment you forget he is your boss and see him in the light of your friend. 

“Then I'm here to listen” He smiles lightly at you. You nod quickly looking back out the window, and then slowly you move your hand towards him, which he happily takes sliding his fingers between yours.

“I was abused growing up, no one cared and nobody knew, I never told anyone” You stare out the window, emotions settling down as you speak. “This case brings back memories I never wanted to relieve back up, I have to find these people so that we can save these kids” Your voice is sweet as you speak, this is a side no one but Aaron ever gets to see.

“And we will get them and we will get them help” Aaron smiles weakly as he pulls up. “But once this case is over we need to get you some help too, okay?” His thumb slides over your hand as you glance at him. If only he knew that nothing on earth can help you, and at the end of this case you don’t think you will still be on this team.

“Okay” You nod forcing a small smile before pulling away and making your way inside.

~~~

You walk in quietly, followed by Aaron. The team is staring up at the tv, watching some of the latest fights. You freeze as you catch a glance of his face on the screen. You knew he was still there but the look in his eyes is killing you. He's gone, replaced by a murderous robot, his skills are fast and sharp. 

“Ryan” His name slips off your tongue before you can stop it, your body tenses up as you stare at the screen and the way he gets his opponent down in one quick move. Emily pauses it as everyone's head turns to you once more. This time everyone looks at you with concern as they see the tears forming in your eyes, which you quickly push away once you let everyone get a good look.

“You know him?” Reid asks you, tilting his head as he asks you. 

“Um y yeah..” You take a deep breath. “I went to school with him” It's a lie, but you know it's golden. “He went missing when he was around 15 years old, we were best friends then one day he didn't turn up to school and well” You take  a deep breath as Aaron leads you to a chair, your arms shaking just a little. “He was officially determined missing a week later, his parents were absent, they didn’t care for him” That wasn’t a lie, he told you about his parents and how much they hurt him and how they were barely at home. 

“Oh (Y/n)” JJ places her hand softly on the table beside your hand, not touching but showing you she is here for you. You give her a soft smile in response. 

“If he’s been there this whole time it's been twelve years” Twelve years, he is never going to be the same.

“Jesus christ” Morgan groans with regret as he looks at you. “That's what you were hiding?”

“I had a feeling he was there.. I was just hoping I was wrong” Your voice is weak and tiredness is starting to take over. It's been almost 48 hours since you last slept.

“Now we got a lead, tomorrow we get Garcia to look into him but let's call it a night it's late we all need sleep” Hotch states, everyone nodding in agreement including you as you stare at Ryan's face on the screen. That's all your fault.

Here’s my list of fandoms and characters I write for!

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel Novak

Crowley

Jack Kline

Lucifer

Rowena Macleod (platonic only)

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Spencer Reid

David Rossi (platonic only)

Jennifer "JJ" Jareu

Penelope Garcia

Emily Prentiss

Bones

Temperence "Bones" Brennan

Seely Booth

Zack Addy

Jack Hodgins

Lance Sweets

Angela Montenegro

Camille Saroyan

Daisy Wick

Finn Abernathy

Wendall Bray

Colin Fisher

Vincent Nigel-Murray

Arastoo Vaziri

Clark Edison

James Aubrey

Hayes Flinn

Hannibal (NBC)

Hannibal Lecter

Will Graham

Hannigram

Frederick Chilton

Marvel

Avengers

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Steve Rogers

Thor Odinson

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Sam Wilson

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Vision

Tom!Peter Parker

Stephen Strange

James "Bucky" Barnes

T'Challa

Scott Lang

Loki Lauefyson

Ultron

Zemo

Raimi Spider-Man

Tobey!Peter Parker

Otto Octavius

Norman Osborn

Harry Osborn

Webb Spider-Man

Andrew!Peter Parker

Harry Osborn

GOTG

Peter Quill

Gamora

Drax

Mantis

Groot

Rocket

Daredevil

Matt Murdock

Foggy Nelson

Venom

Eddie Brock

Venom

Deadpool

Wade "Deadpool" Wilson

The Punisher

Frank Castle

Billy Russo

Harry Potter

Golden Trio Era

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger (platonic only)

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Fred and George Weasley

Ginny Weasley (platonic only)

Draco Malfoy

Neville Longbottom

Luna Lovegood

Cedric Diggory

Oliver Wood

Older Maraduers Era

Marauders Eras

James Potter

Severus Snape

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Before GT Era

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Percy Weasley

Riddle Era

Tom Riddle

Slashers

Scream

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Poly!ghostface

My Bloody Valentine

Harry Warden

The Boy

Brahms Heelshire

Friday The 13th

Jason Voorhees

Halloween

Michael Meyers

Nightmare on Elm Street

Freddy Krueger

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Saywer

Child's Play

Chucky

Tiffanny

Laid To Rest

Jesse Chromeans (ChromeSkull)

House Of Wax

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Black Christmas

Billy Lenz

Sherlock (BBC)

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Mycroft Holmes

Jim Moriarty

Mary Morston

Greg Lestrade

Molly Hooper

The Maze Runner

Thomas

Newt

Minho

Gally

Frypan

Brenda

Supergirl

Kara

Alex

Winn

Brainy

J’onn

Mon El

specific reader characteristics (male, poc, short, etc.) are only per request if they further the stories plot. Im trying to make all of my stories gn or with a reader with no specific characteristics to make them all inclusive. If they have specific characteristics they will be put at the top of any story!

Hotch- Do you know where the unsub is?

Garcia- No, it would be inaccurate to suppose that you could not help saying that it is not almost partially wrong.... Oh, on the contrary, I would definitely say that I reject the idea that it is possible with a certain lack of improbability that I know or do not know where it might not be and if it really wasn't there and even if it wasn't where I don't know it was, It would not mean that he did not know for sure where he was not, now that he was not there.

If his name ain't hotch don't let him near that crotch. Legs open in 30.

Crédits to owner

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

i'm so done with seeing and finding purely smut fics, what happened to yearning?? what happened to developing plots??character development??fluff?? angst?? hurt/comfort?? what happened to those monologues of characters that hurt your heart and made you go insane AGH